- I am sorry that the line spacing and italics etc have really fucked up. I tried fixing it but it won't work. So I am so so sooorrrryyy. Please just try and make sense of it. It's times like these I think life is trying to punish me!
Thank you for all your reviews on the other chapters! I love hearing your thoughts. Sorry about grammar – but I'm not really bothered by it, it's only a fun little story. (:
There is only one more chapter left before the Epilogue! I can't believe I have actually finished a whole complete story.
In this chapter there is a few references to Owen Sheer's poems because I really like them. And, there is another memory of Rebecca and Benedict because I actually love the pairing.
This chapter is a little angsty… so enjoy!
"… And I realise that's how I felt when we first met -
an uncut key, a smooth blade, edentate,
waiting for your impression , the milling and the grooves
of moments in time, until our keyways would fit,
… From then on I was sure we were keyed alike.
That our combinations matched,
our tumblers aligned precisely to give and roll perfectly
into the other's empty spaces.
… a master key fit.
So when did the bolt slip? The blade break in the mouth?"
Extracts from "Keyways"; Owen Sheers.
Chapter Nine
Mary ran. She ran from everything, trying to put all the thoughts in her head behind her and just abandon ship. There had been a time where she cried in longing for her past life – now she cried because she had it back. Thankfully she had found the main staircase effortlessly, and from there it was fairly easy to locate her room.
On pushing the door closed behind her, she slumped against the dark oak and closed her eyes to everything. The only sound in the room was the lulling crackle of the fire and the perpetual tick of the clock on the mantelpiece. She remained slumped there, her breath ragged and her head swollen, refusing to opening her eyes – and in doing so having to face the reality around her. All she was able to do right now, was calm the torrent raging throughout her body. All she was able to think about right now, was how weak she was for letting all this upset her so.
Mary rested against the door in undisrupted silence for five minutes. She was quite surprised that Colonel Johnson hadn't come back to find her – perhaps she had been mistaken about him too. The only thing that connected her life to those downstairs was the occasional scuffle of feet on a floor board. Mary soon gave up trying to calm her tears, it was futile and the best course of action was to just empty herself completely of all emotion.
Taking another shaking breath, she decided to do what she would at Longbourn. Domestics.
Slowly prizing her tear stained eyes open she looked around. Her trunk, which she had not previously seen when she was escorted to her room the first time, lay closed and locked on the edge of her bed. She stepped towards it, knowing what lay inside, and deciding it was best if she closeted all those memories now rather than later. Fumbling with the keys held on by a leather strap to the handle of the trunk, Harriet turned them in the lock and flipped the lid.
There lay everything material she knew from the past few months of her life. It lay there, looking up at her with a sickening pastel glow. Seizing the dresses roughly in her clenched hands she threw them aside. Emptying out the trunk and in the process emptying out all emotion from her chest. Soon it became a soothing ritual. Grab – grasp – throw – listen – gasp – turn – grab.
Then there it lay. A pearl hidden deep within the sand. The diary. It had swiftly moved from being a mere book of fragmental memories to being the passage to her heart. The one place where strands from two lives fused together other than in her herself. Mary warily glanced at it for a few seconds before taking it up in her shaking fingers. She spun suddenly her arm flexing, getting ready to throw the damned book into the fire when she caught herself. Her eyes were trained to the cackle of the flames. It was too easy. Mary wanted it to hurt her – she wanted it to hurt so she would know how foolish she was.
Weak kneed and giddy she approached the fire. She opened the book and took the corner of the first page between finger and thumb. Mary rubbed the worn paper gently, like one would rub a bank note, before haring downwards. One page fell into the fire where it shrivelled like the scrotum of a castrated lamb. She seized the next one roughly at the top, and ripped – shaving the flesh from the book head to toe.
Again and again pages were ripped, gnawed, shaken, slashed then destroyed. Most of the book had gone, and it fell limply in Mary's hands – her fingers black; as bloodied as a butchers. She had just disposed of her latest victim when her gaze snapped back to a page. A page where the script was not her own.
Dear Mary.
I know if you are reading this then I have returned you safely to your family and we have parted ways. Thinking forward to the inevitable moment, the mere thought of being parted from you hurts me to no end.
By the time you read this, I will be thinking how being parted from you has almost torn my heart in two.
I am deeply regretful for having kept your true life from you – I was merely being selfish, I couldn't stand to be parted from you so I held on until the last possible moment. I understand that you are angry with me, and probably never wish to see me again, but you
mustknow. I must be allowed to tell you, if just once more, that I meant every single word I ever said to you.
You mean
everythingto me and I love you with my whole soul.
Daniel.
X—x—x—x—x—x—x—x—x—x—x—x
(Half an hour earlier)
Mary stood too quickly with an intake of breath, and watched sickened as everyone beamed up at her.
"Excuse me… I am very tired, I think I'll retire" She mumbled quickly before her tears overtook her. She turned sharply on her heel and fled.
Mary had never visited Pemberley before. Darcy and Elizabeth had only been married a few months, and besides, why would the least favoured sister have visited before the others? The strange house posed a problem for Mary now. She slipped out of the balcony doors and paused – looked apprehensively through the curtains of rain to the darkened grounds beyond. She needed, more than anything, to walk and find some secluded spot away from the house. Perhaps if she moved far enough away into an unknown place she could pretend she was still at… Mary blocked her thoughts quickly. Not wishing, but agreeing with herself that maybe it was best to forget that life.
I thought if I understood my past everything would fit together, but it hasn't. It has only left me isolated once more. Everything is different now, but everyone is acting the same more than ever. How can I dwell under such a reactionary view? How can I behave as they wish me to after…him?
Is it possible to wish, to want, to
long , for a smutronstalle that you never really possessed? I cannot wish that I never remembered my past, that would be a lie, I am glad I remember my family… my home. A home that I never fitted in to. Frayton had… no. I cannot think about Frayton or him. He has left, gone, forever. I have no hope of ever seeing him again.
Who would want
me? Stupid, plain, ridiculous Mary Bennet.
Try as I might to hold onto Harriet I cannot. Her heart belonged to him and his to her. I am a completely different person now. Harriet is
dead. And Miss. Mary Bennet, the forgotten sister, rules in her place.
Mary Bennet then moved on down the stone steps, pretending – jesting with herself – that she was walking to meet her courtiers. She imagined what it would be like to be Queen, to rule, to for once be on the top of the food chain instead of wallowing away at the bottom. Would it make her happy? People would adore her, foolishpeople would at least. Would her court adore her? They would smile curiously to her face but as soon as her back was turned the factions would squabble about how best to catch her in their traps. She would become a caged bird, singing with a voice that was not her own.
How much different is that to my present circumstances? Mary wondered to herself as she sunk down to sit on the bottom steps. She drew her knees into her chest and wrapped her arms around them and the sodden material of her dress, trying to find some comfort in the gesture. Her slight frame shivered somewhat against the cold and the rain. She rested her cheek to her knee and allowed her hair to plaster her face. She wished for the rain to simply wash her away. Those people in there, the ones that call themselves my family are no different to courtiers. They do not compete for me, but they do not care for me. I am not sure what angers me most, the way they act as though I am the favoured child, or how they pretend that it has always been so. I remember how it was before my accident; I remember drifting unnoticed through the corridors of Longbourn, barley recognising anything in my own home which was mine. They are not making the effort to be extra kind to me for my benefit – they are doing it to squash the guilt they felt in ignoring me the whole of my life.
They probably would have fooled me if I had not learnt what it feels like to be accepted. For my whole life up until a few months ago I simply accepted my position as Mary Bennet – the runt. I didn't know what it was to be loved and accepted by someone to whom I almost became a daughter figure to. I didn't know what
love was. The love of a parent and child, and the love of man and woman.
My family just had to take me away from that life to fulfil their desire to resolve their guilty consciences. No,
he extracted me from that life.
After Mary had left the party, all conversation trickled to a stop and the whole family looked at each other sheepishly. It had been fine to pretend that they were willing to play happy families when they had their audience, but as soon as Mary had fled the elephant entered and concealed it's self in the shadows. That elephant in the corner currently looked through the eyes of Fitzwilliam Darcy. He had internally refused to play any game. He would not pretend to Mary that he felt more than he did, he would not forcefully throw himself at her like the rest of the party. He knew something that none of her family did. Mary Bennet was notnonsensical. She was, in fact, extremely clever. As soon as Mrs. Bennet forced her to sit beside her something in Mary's eyes flashed as she realised how the evening was going to pan out. Even Darcy found it hard to grasp how her own family didn't realise Mary would see through their desperate act. It had taken a few hours but finally they realised when Mary fled from the room with unshed tears in her eyes. They now all sat in silence, their guilt crushing them into the ground.
Darcy turned slowly and paced to the window, the only sounds in the room the rustle of his clothes and the click click clicking of his shoes on the wood floor. He wasn't surprised in the slightest to spot Mary out in the rain. She was curled up in a tight ball at the bottom of the stone steps leading to the lake. Her shoulders were shaking violently, Darcy couldn't tell whether it was with cold or because she was currently crying. Judging on the last look he had caught off her, he deduced it was probably a mix of both. The night was cold, and the rain would make it colder tenfold – someone needed to go out and comfort her. But who? Darcy certainly was not the right person for the job, Mary knew him as a proud solemn man, hardly the person she would share her troubles with.
"Oh Mary" Came a soft voice by his side. Darcy jumped, turning his head slightly to look at the tormented face of Jane Bingley. She, like Darcy, had not been a fan of her families plan. She understood how much it would hurt Mary in turn, and now before her eyes was the painfully raw proof.
"Tonight never should have happened" Darcy muttered, his tone harsh but not accusing, and certainly not harsh enough for the rest of the party to pick up on it. Jane glanced up at her brother-in-law with his furred eyebrows and sighed. Even if he was of a much more reserved character, they had their similarities.
"She can't be allowed to stay out there all evening, she will become ill" Darcy didn't reply, just kept his eye on the trembling figure. "I will go to her" Darcy snapped his eyes towards Jane then her protruding stomach and went to protest. Jane gave him a rare look telling him not to question her, before walking back to her husband and whispering something in his ear. Darcy watched the dark reflection off the window and Jane announced she was too tired to sit up anymore and was going to her chambers. Jane started to waddle towards the door when it was suddenly flung open. The door came to a banging rest on the wall and the whole party flinched. Two figures stood in the doorway with water seeping to the floor around them. Darcy turned sharply, slightly annoyed, from the window to get a better look at their faces.
"Blasted evening for travelling" Colonel Fitzwilliam announced with a laugh – the other man Darcy did not recognise.
"Colonel Johnson, Richard – I didn't think you would arrive until tomorrow" Elizabeth rose from her chair after a few seconds of shock. The whole party swiftly followed and gazed wearily at the two beaming travellers. Colonel Johnson took in the sickeningly bright room, and then its occupants. Something looked almost half dead in all of their faces, especially in the eyes of the gentleman stood by the window. It took less than two seconds for Johnson to realise he must be Mr. Darcy – he was the only person in the room he had not encountered before, and he had such a strong air of power brewing in his dark eyes.
"We came hurrying back to Derbyshire as soon as we heard the news" Colonel Fitzwilliam addressed Elizabeth and then turned his attention to Johnson who promptly caught his eye and smiled slowly. They had left, to be strictly accurate, three minutes after they had received Elizabeth's letter filled with the joyous news. They had currently been residing in town, and given a lot of people quite a shock as they both tumbled out the front door and down the steps to their horses which were quickly being saddled.
"Of course, I wouldn't expect you to care about the travelling circumstances" Darcy gestured to the weather outside with a wave of his hand, his eyes catching Mary's figure for a couple of seconds more in the process.
"Even if it is stormy" Came Elizabeth's slightly scolding tone as she stepped forward and beckoned them into the room before passing them to speak a few quiet words to the butler who had admitted them.
"All in the name of a little spot of adventure" Johnson replied charmingly, ringing his hands together as he gratefully stepped further into the warmth of the room. Colonel Fitzwilliam turned a knowing eye to his friend – they had many stories of their journey to share with the party, and he was itching to do so.
"Quite" Was all he replied at present.
As Elizabeth quickly spoke to the butler, the two men took this opportunity to great the other silent members of the room. Once everyone had bowed and curtseyed respectively, Colonel Fitzwilliam immediately struck up a conversation with Jane who had been hovering by his side, visibly itching to the leave the room. Fitzwilliam had no intention of letting her leave as he bombarded her with questions about the baby. Jane, too polite as ever, replied to his questions kindly and when Elizabeth instructed both men to "go and warm yourselves by the fire, you look like a pair of drowned rats" Jane found herself swept along in the mix.
Johnson stood facing the fire, and out of the corner of his eye he watched Mr. Darcy on the opposite side of the room from him. He stood by the window and was turned towards it slightly, but not at such a great angle that he couldn't easily observe the rest of the party. Raking his fingers through his damp hair absentmindedly, Johnson placed his hat on a small table by the fire and set off across the room to great his host.
Darcy watched out the corner of his eye as Colonel Johnson approached, and something tugged guiltily in his gut. What would he say when he found out who Mary was? Darcy found it very hard to believe that, with the casual was in which both Colonels entered the room, Daniel had informed him of anything. Darcy wished time would suddenly slow so that he could have time to calculate the best way of explaining everything to him.
"Mr. Darcy, how do you do. Colonel Johnson at your service" All too soon he was being greeted with a smile and an outstretched right hand. In a panic Darcy snapped his eyes away from the window, and tried, like a child trying to hide something broken, to obscure the whole of the window from view.
"Pleasure to meet you; I should thank you for your help with…" Darcy's head unconsciously jerked in the direction of out the window, Johnson curious at the movement looked passed Darcy and out of the rain battered window. Is that a figure? No, it can't be. Who is foolish enough to sit outside in this weather? It is a figure, it's a woman. What on earth is she doing? And why is Darcy looking at me in… oh. It's Miss. Bennet. It has to be, but why? Why has no one gone to bring her back inside – why aren't her family more concerned? They don't realise she's out there, do they?
"Is that Miss Bennet?" Johnson's eyes were glued to the window – he almost didn't want to believe it. "Why on earth has she been left alone out there?" Darcy looked to the creased brow of the Colonel, and then all of a sudden something changed in his eyes.
That reminds of that time when I was at Frayton. Harriet had just finished that piece on the piano, although of course it was really Daniel playing – I cannot believe thought he could fool a military man. I was talking to… what was her name? The older woman, with the funny hem on her dress? Mrs. Twinnings that's it! Then all of a sudden Daniel came up behind me in a panic, he couldn't find Harriet. I laughed and told him she was probably getting some air, and then he scarpered off. I turned back to Mrs. Twinnings and… well; I still have no clue what she was rabbiting on about.
"Where is Miss Mary Bennet?" Fitzwilliam inquired, spinning about the room, arms outstretched.
It had been some time since Daniel had approached me, so I went to investigate. I had walked towards the window overlooking the balcony and stone steps to the gardens and there they both were.
"She has retired for the evening; it is an extremely long journey from Frayton Abbey" Elizabeth replied, carefully, cautiously.
He has his arms around her and she was pressed against him, her face rested… wait. What?
"Frayton Abbey!" Johnson hissed suddenly, his eyes going wide as two ends of thought fused together in his mind. Mary Bennet. Harriet. Harriet was Mary Bennet. Mary Bennet was Harriet.
A look of panic and raw shock panned across the Colonel's face as he looked to Darcy. His lip curled and he drew in breath to speak but Darcy silenced him with an undiluted look. A look so undiluted that all the air was knocked out of the Colonel. He had himself just discovered the masterful Darcy trait of being able to convey whole symphony's with one timed look.
"Later" came Darcy's hasty whisper. "Pray, I'll explain later, but not now"
"You must explain now, sir." His brow creased again, anger swelling slowly in his chest. "How came she to be here, more importantly how came she to be sitting outside on a night like this!"
"Her family have little tact, however wait, I implore you. I cannot explain now"
"I am going to go to her, and then, you will explain"
With that Johnson made a shaky excuse, much on the same lines as the one Jane had made just a few moments ago. Darcy watched him stride from the room. He caught Jane's eye, questioning the Colonels statement. Darcy simply nodded slightly and all was explained.
Mary was busy murmuring her curses to the rain mixed tears running against her lips when she heard movement beside her.
"Harriet" He started softly as he settled down beside her. She was surprised to hear the voice – she hadn't even considered the fact that she wouldn't have seen him again. But here he was.
"She's dead" Mary gaze didn't waver from the stone in front of her. She wondered why he was here, but her brain couldn't seem to care. It couldn't seem to care about anything anymore. It was as if the rain had washed away every feeling that she ever possessed.
"How can she be, when I see her sat right beside me? Mary? Harriet? What difference does a name make?"
"She was never alive." Johnson sighed slowly, his breath condensing quickly in front of him. He understood from her being here and Darcy's look that something disastrous had happened, but he was cold and tired and severely impatient. He honestly wasn't in the mood to be having this conversation.
"Never alive? How can you say that? From my short time at Frayton your life burned brighter than most" His voice was surprisingly calm, even to his ears. It hadn't been lost on both of them, however, that it had taken him a few moments to school his emotions before speaking.
"That was fiction. It wasn't real. It didn't count"
"Did it feel real to you? Did you believe it was real?"
"Of course it felt real – I thoughtit was real" Mary's voice picked up emotion now, and she leant forward a little on the step. Her eyes snapping up and looking across the grounds. Johnson watched as her hands played with the hem of her dress agitated. He reached forward to place a warm hand on her arm.
"Then don't you dare tell me that those months didn't count for anything. Daniel lo-" She jumped up suddenly, taking a step away. Johnson swivelled so he was looking up at her ghostly pale face. Her charcoal eyes pierced him for the first time through the mass of her inky hair.
"No he doesn't! If he 'loves' me so much then why did he leave? Why did he leave me here, alone? He promised me that he would never leave me again, and I believed him"
"He loves you, Mary! Never let go of that"
"Helied to me once, why shouldn't you lie to me now?" She took another trembling step backwards, almost tripping up but managing to catch herself, moving her quaking arms outward for balance. "Why shouldn't anyone lie to me? What does it matter if poor, pathetic Mary Bennet gets upset?"
Another step. "I shall tell you why it matters. It's because Imatter"
Another.
"I have my own voice"
Johnson felt then as through fire had flashed before his eyes and by the time he shook his head clear he only caught the last traces of her dress disappearing inside. Scrambling up, fumbling all the way up the steps he pursued her. He blinked against the sudden bright light in the hall and swore to himself. Pemberley was as difficult to manoeuvre as a maze to him. He exhaled, his whole body shuddering and brought his freezing finger tips up to massage through his waterlogged locks. A crack behind him made him swivel on the spot, turning around he spotted Darcy in the entrance to a dimly lit room. Darcy acknowledge the sodden Colonel staring at him dumbly before motioning him to follow with the flex of a long finger.
"Come, and I will explain"
X—x—x—x—x—x—x—x—x.
Everything was quiet at Frayton that evening; even the clocks seemed to have stopped ticking. Everything, apart from the pianoforte. Daniel sat and wielded with the tips of his fingers music so heartbreakingly sorrowful, Rebecca was sure that his body wouldn't be able to contain the emotion anymore. He was playing the piece, which was what they had all silently agreed to call it now. The piece where Daniel had saved Harriet from embarrassment. Rebecca closed her eyes and remembered how close the two of them had sat at the piano. Suddenly the image of Harriet was replaced with that of her sister Beatrice. She looked to Daniel and noted a change in his face – sitting there at the piano was her Benedict. Through her childish eyes she saw them sit too close together – then she remembered something more…
The evening was extremely warm, and soon the ballroom became too overheated for Rebecca to tolerate. She parted with her family and began to manoeuver her way through the room, trying to find a cooler place to hoover. That was what she told herself anyway. Rebecca hadn't been especially hot in the ballroom; she just wanted to find a valid excuse to search for Benedict. The night had turned out to be long and tiresome. Miranda had danced with many gentlemen, at the time she had been in humour to, but now her feet were aching and she just wanted some lively conversation with the Earl. He had promised he would be in attendance but he hadn't seen him for some hours. She slowly wiggled her way through the throng of people and on her journey she ended up slowly walking behind Lady Woodchester and Mrs. Punt. She knew the two old women reasonably well since she was a child but they were both renowned gossips and she was told not to take any notice of them. It was for this reason she was quite keen to listen in on their conversation - to find out what the newest ton titter tatter was. It could prove a valuable conversation starter.
"My dear, have you heard about the poor Miss. Pasley?" Lady Woodchester pulled on Mrs. Punt's arm slightly to get her attention. Rebecca's ear pricked up at the mention of her name. Something clenched in her chest – she didn't remember anything of interest happening in her life. Nothing did.
"I don't believe I have, pray, do tell"
"Well then, I bring great news. I hear her family are soon to hear news of her engagement" Rebecca almost tripped over the hem of her dress in shock. Engagement. Benedict.
"To whom?"
"Surely you cannot guess?" Lady Woodchester laughed, a bell tinkling in the slight breeze.
"To the Earl of Greycote! Oh, that is wonderful news, is it not?"
"Is it? How is that wonderful?" The women came to an abrupt stopped momentarily as the Lady looked her companion up and down. Rebecca skidded into a stop also, narrowly avoiding going into the back of them.
"Well, Rebecca and the Earl are all so obvious in their feelings" Mrs. Punt explained calmly, tugging her partner to start walking again.
"Rebecca? No, I speak of Beatrice Pasley" Beatrice. Rebecca covered her mouth with her hand to stop from protesting, interrupting them, shaking Lady Woodchester until all her secrets came tumbling out. How could he marry her sister? He seemed so… with her… not with…
"Beatrice? But the Earl so obviously cares for Rebecca"
"No, you have it all wrong. The Earl is simply getting closer to Rebecca so he can then conqueror the eldest and richer sister! His 'affection' for Rebecca is all just a ploy"
"Says who? I refuse to believe it"
"His mother, the Dowager Countess herself. She told me just yesterday" Rebecca stopped walking and stood in the crowd. His mother had confirmed it – the Dowager Countess was so respectable, so kind, it must be true. How could it not? Her aggravating elder sister and that rake! When did he plan this? How was he going to put this plan into motion? Then a thought struck her. She hadn't seen her sister or the Earl all night. Something greater smacked her in the face. She often didn't see her sister and the Earl for quite lengthy periods at assemblies. What if they were together?
"Poor Rebecca. How shall she bear it?" Mrs. Punt continued, both ladies unaware that they had stopped being stalked by the very person they least wanted to hear the news.
"Reasonably so, I dare say. Everyone likes to be crossed in love now and then"
"To think, there we all were believing the Earl would sweep her off her feet! But I do love a bit of heartache, my dear"
"As do I" Lady Woodchester confirmed.
With that the subject was over as quick as it had begun. The two ladies turned left towards the card rooms and Rebecca found herself being carried on out onto the terrace. Rebecca stood leaning herself against a stone wall and looked out over the warmly lit London. Rebecca never thought her life would amount to this. A silly girl gazing out towards London but never being able to seize it. It wasn't her fault entirely, yes she had never tried to see and conquer the world, but the unwritten laws of womanhood prevented her. Something inside of her wouldn't let her take the two ladies words as gossip. It is easy to listen to gossip on others, but a lot harder to take it about yourself. What if… was all that circulated around her mind. What if Benedict was just playing a game? A great game of chess.
The more Rebecca thought about it, the more she could understand the old bags' words to be true. The first time they met, hadn't her sister sat too close? Hadn't they laughed together at parties, at dinners? Hadn't they strolled together sometimes on walks… Rebecca had always accepted this, because, when Benedict had looked at her – she had thought there was a greater sense of urgency, a gripping passion in his every movement. No, that was just acting. Playing along.
Rebecca wondered whether she should have played chess with her own life. Coupled with her reasonable fortune and looks nothing much could go wrong for her. She could have set her sights on a king and taken it. She could have played the game society played so well and married for money and power. She could have thrown away love for a few years and once a princely heir and a spare were born taken a lover. If her love for the Earl was going to amount to nothing more than heartache, then why shouldn't she play the money game and gain a title higher than his in the mix?
She shook these thoughts from her mind and told herself she couldn't marry for anything less than love. Even if it meant being alone forever. She knew the ladies prattle was meaningless gossip but still the more it circulated around her head the more everything started to click in place. She had never doubted her judgment this much before, she had been sure of his character, she had studied it most ardently for months, but people can be wrong. Maybe he was a vile man playing the vile dirty trick?
Rebecca started to walk in the small gardens by the house and more doubtful thoughts fill her head all the while until a sob rocked her and she settled down on a bench at the back of the garden. Her brain was so full of doubt and panic she couldn't repress the emotion anymore and it overtook her. All the glances and smiles passed between Benedict and Beatrice. It all made so much sense. Rebecca found herself suddenly cold, confused and feeling ill. Her tears were an outward outlet for all the feeling in her body. She tried to repress them at first but soon she gave up trying and let them wash over her. She turned her body and lay down on the bench. Settling on her back uncomfortably she looked up at the stars. She timidly reached forward and tried to reach them but her fingers enclosed around thin air. She felt utterly useless. Her character had failed her, being a woman had constrained her to a servant's life – under the control of her father, husband, and more genuinely men in general. She cared not for the ball or the men she had promised to dance with, what she wanted more than anything in the world was a 100% reassurance of something in her life. Benedict's love – something she had believed to be true – seemed too sweet now. Rebecca had never thought gossip would have affected her like this before.
The Earl of Greycote arrived at the assembly reasonably late and had been lured into the card room by Mr. Tomas. He had had a drink with the men and snuck away to find Rebecca to ask for a dance, and to apologise for his appalling lack of punctuality. He searched through a few of the stuff crowded rooms before coming across Mrs. Pasley talking animatedly with three others he was not acquainted with.
"Excuse me, Mrs. Pasley" He had approached rather timidly and with a faint blush on his cheeks. The lady in question turned to face him and bowed with a smile.
"Lord Greycote, what can I do for you?" A glint in her eye told Benedict she knew exactlywhat he was about to ask.
"I actually came to enquire to the whereabouts of your daughter. I cannot seem to find her anywhere" He asked, trying to remain proud not bashful – in failing to do this all the three ladies present thought him very handsome when flushed.
"Of course you have" She replied kindly trying to set him at ease. "I believe she is dancing. If not then she is most probably on the terrace"
"Thank you" He bowed to the four of them and turned to continue his search.
He was walking for some time before he veered off down a small side hallway. Checking around himself he slowly wondered passed door, wondering whether she could have snuck in one for some solitude. A loud crash behind him made him jump and spin around. A man he recognised but couldn't place came stumbling out of the door, his arm around none other than Miss. Beatrice Pasley.
"Lord Greycote!" All colour drained from her face when she spotted him. He stood there glued to the spot – wishing the bubbly of amusement wouldn't stretch as far as his face.
X-x-x
"Ah, Lord Greycote. I hope you have come to return my daughter. I have no doubt that you were the reason we are so late to leave for home" Mr Pasley greeted him as Benedict wondered back through the now quiet roomed, still searching for Rebecca.
"Actually, I haven't seen Miss. Pasley all evening. I have been searching in vain" As soon as the words were out of his month, something in her father face shifted.
"She was not with you?" He enquired. Panic setting in on his face and in his tone. He looked at his wife quickly and she took a calm step forward towards Benedict, taking hole of her husband's arm soothingly.
"No, sir" Benedict replied slowly. Trying to suppress the rising concern in his chest.
"Then where the devil is she? Oh, Rebecca" It was not a cry of annoyance, but of deepest worry. Benedict could only stare at him blankly for a few seconds before Mrs. Pasley swooped in.
"Dear, I am sure she is not far"
"you don't understand, this is most unlike Rebecca" Benedict could imagine, she would never do anything that could upset her father like this – she loved and respected him too much for that. She would never consciously do this, and that was what scared him the most. What if something hadhappened to her?
"It is most unlike her. What could have happened to her? My daughter!" Her father continued. Benedict shared a worried look with the rest of the party, apart from Beatrice who had avoided his eyes at all costs. The Earl took a deep breath and took hold of the situation.
'I am sure that she had just gotten lost somewhere on the premises, she may have tried to find an empty room" Benedict chanced a glance at the mortally embarrassed Beatrice again "and wondered too far and lost her way. I suggest we split up to search for her. You take the building and I shall search the gardens"
They then parted and Benedict made his way towards the terrace with his heart in his throat. He looked out over the darkness and saw a rough form in the dark resting on one of the benches. He practically ran down the steps and came and knelt by its side. Rebecca lay there fast asleep on the stone bench. On closer inspection he detected dried tears staining her cheeks and also she was shivering slightly. He frowned deeply at the presence of tears before instantly shrugging off his coat to wrap around her.
"Miss. Pasley. Rebecca? Rebecca you must wake up" Benedict knelt close to her side and shook her shoulder as gently as possible when trying to shake some life back into her.
"Hmm? Where am I?"
"You fell asleep on a bench at the assembly. Please put on my coat to keep you warm, you are shivering" The Earl stood again as Rebecca pulled herself into a sitting position. She rubbed her eyes slowly and looked at the sharpening figure in front of her. Her heart swelled slightly as she recognised his light features – also that indescribable curl of his lips.
"Lord Greycote?"
"Yes. Now the coat. Please" Without offering it to her again he dropped it onto her shoulders. She relaxed body sagged slightly under the heavy material. Rebecca wriggled back into his warmth for a few seconds before trying to shrug free. Benedict places his hands firmly on her shoulders and refused to let the material slip.
"No, I can't. You will be cold then"
"It does not matter as long as you are warm enough. You must have fallen asleep earlier. I arrived late and could not find you in the crowds. Your family are worried sick, and your father… they are searching the building now. We must return to them"
"Why did you come searching for me?" Rebecca grudgingly wrapped the coat tighter about her when she realised that resisting would be useless. Benedict stopped mid step – turning on his heel to look back at her.
"Excuse me?"
"Why did you come searching for me?"
"You were lost… I mean, I was worried – I couldn't find you anywhere. I had to make sure nothing happened to you"
"Why would you care if it did? What would it matter to you if I was injured?"
"Rebecca, I don't understand. What are you –" He had turned back to her now, taking a step closer – wanting to do something comforting. Her words were confusing to him, but the tone of her voice cast no doubt in his mind to her emotions. Pain.
"I know you don't care for me. I heard of your little plot" There, she had said it. Rebecca hadn't meant to say it in so few words; she had planned to let him come to the realisation that something was wrong by himself.
"My plot?"
"To use me to get to my sister!" She took a step away, trying to sidestep him back towards the building.
"Rebecca"
"No, I have –" He grabbed her wrist, pulling her back towards him and squeezing his hand around hers suddenly in a deadlock.
"Rebecca, listen to me. I care about you so much. How can you even say I am using you – to get to your sister of all people? I loveyou with my whole soul"
X—x—x—x—x—x—x—x.
(Five hours later)
"Darcy what happened?"
"How is she Elizabeth?"
"Resting"
"Darcy, I demand to know!"
"She's unwell. She fainted is all"
"What do you mean 'is all'? You had to carry her in from the grounds! It is three in the morning, Darcy! What the devil was she doing?"
"I think she was hallucinating"
"Why do you, dear?"
"It was what awoke me. I –"
"What awoke you?"
"She was calling his name!"
"Whose name?"
"Hisname. You know full well whose!"
"You must write to Frayton immediately."
