Okay. So long chapter. And guess what! It reveals Elizabeth's deepening maturity. Plus, some serious angst. And it's long! A sort of belated Christmas/ New Year's present. Read the note at the end, if the ending shocks and angers you a little…AND THEY FINALLY ADDRESS THE LOVE ISSUE (after Darcy agonizes about it for a while)…plus a KIDNAPPING plot! Oh man! This thing is as good as the movies: )

Happy reading!

Darcy's Dilemma

The library was darkened; the fire had long been extinguished. All that remained were the embers, which afforded only the slightest glow. Over the mantelpiece, the clock claimed an unreasonably late hour. The figure in the armchair, however, did not appear to have any intention of retiring to bed.

How changed was this man with the furrowed brow and the troubled expression? The past seven years had greatly altered him. At one-and-twenty, he was now a man, and everything in his bearing and stature proved it, save the boyish twinkle that appeared in his eye whenever he was around a certain person (said person happened to be torturing his thoughts at present). Some would call him proud, although those who knew him best realized he was only reserved, disinclined towards much conversation. With a certain person, he could be open and talkative and merry, but the rest of the world only saw a detached gentleman heir to a great fortune. Perhaps this disturbed him.

He had done extremely well in school and even shown an interest in politics. His father's health, however, had drawn him too often to Derbyshire to permit any serious attachment. Did he bear this against the old man? No. Not at all. Throughout the years, during which his father had become progressively weaker, he had learned selflessness and sacrifice, two characteristics that had greatly spurred his maturity. Thus, he bore his father nothing but the greatest of regard and respect, and his affection for him had deepened to an enormous extent.

Who was this fellow, then? A riddle, it would seem; an anomaly from the customary heir. He was neither wild nor calculating; carefree nor mercenary. Indeed, if he had any faults they were his reserve and his trusting nature. Indeed, he did trust; he had not learnt the hard lessons yet in that area.

Who was this figure in the armchair, then? What troubled him so greatly that he wiled away the time during which he might have been resting to sit before a fire that had long been reduced to mere embers? It was Fitzwilliam Darcy, and, there he sat, cravat undone, boots muddied, and face forlorn, clutching his side, though the pain had long subsided. His expression was contemplative, although it did not illustrate the depth of his thoughts.

He had been there sometime-since departing the card-party, as a matter of fact-but his thoughts were no more worked out than when Elizabeth Bennet had first confronted him. Frustration had long set in, combined with an obstinate desire to think nothing more of the subject. But he could not help it. Something had to be done, and it was up to him to work out a solution agreeable to everyone…including himself. Therefore, putting the matter aside was out of the question.

He thought of Amelia. How beautiful she was, with her heart-shaped face and clear blue eyes and honeyed hair and rosebud lips! How accomplished and sweet and compassionate. He thought of the art she had for conversation, her forbearance in the face of familial hardship (her father, it was rumored, was a drunk), her grace and poise and elegance, and the natural charm which she possessed in abundance. How could anyone not love her? How could anyone claim she was deceitful and mercenary? What ignoble motive could lie beneath her angelic face? How could Elizabeth level such accusations?

To do justice to Elizabeth, he attempted to consider the flaws in Amelia Lawrence. Determined to be fair, he thought of the shrewd, calculating gleam he sometimes noticed in Amelia's eyes, the falsetto laugh, the eyelashes that seemed designed for batting, instead of blinking, the shortness of temper occasionally displayed, the faulty intelligence upon matters, the tendency towards gossip. But surely these were only minor faults of character? He could detect no true harm in them-certainly nothing to the degree which Lizzy imagined.

How could she? He thought indignantly. Was she not his best friend? Should she not have his happiness at heart? Indeed, he would have supported her, if she had formed such an attachment. He would have supported and encouraged her. Did she imagine these things to further her own ends? Or was she merely jealous of the increasing amount of time he was spending in Amelia's company?

Such thoughts naturally led to her. Oh! Curse the girl, he thought, the confounded impetuous scamp! What was to be done about her? Bold, carefree, headstrong, childish Elizabeth Bennet!

There she was, in his thoughts, as usual. Elizabeth, the pixie with the brilliant eyes and the freckled complexion, as thin and flexible as a blade of grass, with the curls which were always wildly bound up about her head in the messiest of buns. Lizzy with the ready wit, the indomitable will, and the steadfast loyalty-a leader of spirit, ingenuity, and cunning, with a mind so keen as to set his fellow schoolmates to shame. What right had she to occupy his thoughts? She was nothing to him…but a dear friend. Indeed. It was not right to think of her so often. He must think of Amelia and only Amelia. The beautiful creature who was to accept his proposal of matrimony and make him the happiest of men! How could Lizzy begrudge him that?

Yet, she did. He closed his eyes, to better envision the scene in the window-box earlier that evening. What had Lizzy accused her cousin of? Her words came clearly, as though from her own lips.

She is after your money, Darcy. Your money and your land and your power. I wish you could see that. I wish I could make it apparent. But I thought it was only a game with you. I thought you would be wise enough to see her true intentions.

How could she think such a thing? Amelia certainly had no interest in his inheritance. He had heard her more than once refer to it as a sordid affair. Why, only the other day, she had denounced it!

"I do not consider money at all important," she had said, with a becoming blush. "It is a man's character that matters, after all. Why, I should be a queen with the poorest of men, who had the best of hearts! What need have I for money? I have lived long enough without it."

He had heard her, quite clearly. If her words were not true, then what in the world was? Lizzy was only selfish…she claimed she could see past Amelia, but he did not think she was capable of seeing past herself.

Now he was doing her injustice. But how could he help it? She had referred to his great love for Amelia as a vague inclination. A vague inclination! Indeed, she did him a sore injustice! Had he not been surrounded by beautiful, accomplished women since birth? As if he could be distracted by a pretty face! There were women in London, after all, with ten times Amelia's beauty and breeding, yet he loved her above them all! Did she not think him capable of knowing true love?

What did he love Amelia Lawrence for in particular? Why, he was sure he could think of several things…but, then again, why should he have to think of reasons why he loved her. He loved her…and he would not make excuses for himself! Or list her accomplishments as though she were a horse to be bought. She was his future bride, after all!

Or was she? Elizabeth had made it quite clear in her impromptu departure that to proceed in his engagement with Amelia Lawrence would be to sever all ties with herself. It would be a question of whether he could live without Lizzy's friendship. Could he? Again, Elizabeth's face was conjured to mind-angry and bitter and passionate:

Very well then, Mr. Darcy. I do not believe we can be friends.

Was this how it was to be? Could she not reconcile herself to his engagement? He did not think it likely she would. But he had never, in his wildest dreams, envisioned life without Elizabeth Bennet's friendship. The months spent without her were bleak; every separation was impossibly long and impossibly painful. Correspondence was but a meager substitute. If all ties were severed, as Lizzy had implied, could he bear it? He told himself that he could, but he did not believe it.

Something inside of him asked, Is Amelia Lawrence worth it? Could her love make you happier than Elizabeth's friendship?

He told himself that it could…but, again, he did not whole-heartedly believe it.

He thought again of Elizabeth and her unjust accusations against Amelia. Was there a motive behind them? It was ridiculous to attempt to assign something ulterior to her actions, but he could not help himself. He was driven to it, and, while he did not think it likely that Lizzy would sabotage his plans without some just reason, he still could not believe that Amelia was only after his money. Why would Elizabeth, his dearest friend, say things against his intended? Perhaps there was a motive, indeed. And, as much as Darcy hated to think of it, hated even to admit it to himself (for he had been thinking it, subconsciously, for seven years), it must be brought to light.

Could Elizabeth Bennet love him?

Could jealousy be a factor?

It was laughable. It was ridiculous. But it had some grounds of truth.

Not that Elizabeth would ever openly admit it. Darcy laughed. She would rant and rail and scream and bite and claw before she ever owned to having such feelings. Had she not revenged herself upon any suitor who had dared to mention such things to her? Indeed, but why else would she care so much about his proposed engagement to her cousin? Why should she take the trouble of warning him? Why should she punch in the gut?

There was only one clear answer. She was in love with him.

He loved Elizabeth as the truest and dearest of friends but not in any other way. No. It would be too strange, after all of their dealings together, to love her in the way he loved Amelia. He should have known her feelings would fall prey as she grew older, and that their relationship should be so changed. How could it be helped? Friendship almost invariably led to something more. Now, on top of this raging antipathy towards Amelia, he would have to deal with her own suppressed feelings.

There was only one thing to be done, he resolved, and that was to write to his father.

The letter to Mr. Darcy was duly dispatched, and, the following morning, Darcy took a turn about the Netherfield grounds to air the thoughts that had so plagued him the night before. He was red-eyed and disheveled from his late-night sojourn in the library, but the fresh air had beckoned and he had always been an early riser.

He had not been there above an hour, strolling about with that look of imperturbable thought, when he was interrupted by a piercing scream in the direction of the woods that bordered the Netherfield property. It sounded like Amelia's.

He did not waste a second more. Without further thought, he ran swiftly into the thickness of the woods, dark even in the bright summer sunshine. It did not take long to distinguish the direction of the scream; it came from within a thicket of bushes within a heavily shaded area of the forest. Within the thicket, he could distinguish parts of a bright pink gown. There was no further doubt in his mind that Amelia Lawrence was in distress.

So swiftly was he running, that he was not paying the slightest bit of attention to his surroundings. Indeed, he did not even see the trap until he was caught up in it. Only then did everything truly come to light.

One minute he was running, and the next he was caught in a thick net, suspended high in the air between two sycamore trees. He hardly knew what had happened, only he was within few feet from the thicket of bushes. He struggled against the net to no avail; he was caught.

The screams subsided soon afterwards and two figures emerged from the thicket. The first was Elizabeth, which hardly came as a surprise to him; the trap was her signature. The second, however, was more difficult to identity. It was clothed in a bright pink dress and wearing a bright pink bonnet, both articles of clothing belonging to Miss. Amelia Lawrence. The figure, however, was most certainly not Miss. Amelia Lawrence, and, as it approached closer, Darcy was astonished to make out the sullen face of Elton beneath the bonnet's brim.

"What mischief is this?" he cried down from his lofty prison.

Elizabeth smirked up at him. "Merely Elton in a dress!"

"Yes," Elton reiterated sourly, "I am in a dress."

"May I be so bold as to inquire why?"

Lizzy sighed. "Because Elton likes dresses. Why else?"

"I most certainly do not!" Elton exclaimed vehemently. "Lizzy paid me to do it."

"Paid you?" Darcy asked, not recollecting Lizzy having any money whatsoever to dispense with.

"Two loaves of blueberry bread and a gold wristwatch," Elton answered.

"It was a remarkably fine wristwatch," added Lizzy.

"No doubt taken during your highwaymen days?"

She nodded. "And well-worth wearing a dress."

"Then why did you not wear it?"

"Because I was the one with the wristwatch," she answered, as if this made perfect sense.

Darcy sighed. "Why am I up here?"

"Because I have kidnapped you." This was said in a very matter-of-fact manner. "It was the only way, you see."

"The only way?"

"To make you see reason."

"By reason, I suppose you mean madness."

"Hardly."

"Will you cut me down?" he asked, exasperated.

"Perhaps."

"In the near future would be preferable."

"I am sure it would," Lizzy replied. "Then again, I would delight to leave you hanging up there, until Amelia should happen along to rescue you. Not that she would. She had a great fear of heights."

Darcy glared down at her. "So this is how you are to resolve the problem, eh?"

"Yes," she answered. "And what better way, I ask? I now have your complete attention."

"This is a childish solution, Lizzy! What fairness is there in this?"

"Plenty, I'm sure."

"Elton," Darcy cried, appealing to her companion, "why do you allow her to get away with this? Can you not overpower her and help me down?"

Elton considered for a moment. "What are you offering?"

"The satisfaction you would have in helping a fellow man in need?"

Elton and Lizzy both rolled their eyes.

Darcy sighed. "Alright…five pounds."

"Five pounds!" exclaimed Elton, his eyes round.

"Come now," said Lizzy, "five pounds is hardly a fortune." She glared at Darcy angrily. "I am sure that gold wristwatch is worth more."

"Too late!" exclaimed Elton. With a quick swipe, he managed to catch Lizzy off-guard and knocked her to the ground. Apologizing for his betrayal, he tied her to a tree with a length of rope. She glared daggers at him and struggled against the ropes but said nothing. Apparently, she had resigned herself to her fate.

Meanwhile, Elton had lowered Darcy to the ground. Before he released him from the net, however, he ensured his five pounds would be duly paid. Once a formal promise had been enacted (with Elizabeth as a sullen witness), Darcy was released. Stretching his limbs (which had been uncomfortably squished within the net), he instructed Elton to go into the Park and ask the Steward for his reward. He scribbled his signature on a piece of parchment for this purpose, and Elton was thus dispensed with. Elizabeth, meanwhile, had yet to be dealt with.

"How quickly the tables turn upon you, Lizzy," he said, taking firm hold of her elbow before cutting her free from her bondage.

"I think you had better let me go now," she said.

"No. I think you had better come with me," he answered firmly, guiding her through the woods and back onto Netherfield property. "I have been thinking several things over, you see; some of these things concern you." He kept his tone casual, but Elizabeth could tell how very serious he was.

She wished for anything but this interview. Never before had she been so frightened of being taken into his confidence. Last evening's conversation had so altered their relationship, placed them both in such a changed light, that she hardly knew what more would follow. Yet, how she longed for some explanation! Some credence for the bitterness and unrest that had kept her awake all night. She felt so conflicted and so torn emotionally that she hardly knew herself. What was wrong?

They came to the south lawn, where a set of wicker chairs were positioned elegantly overlooking the surrounding verdure. In the distance rose the forest, contrasting in its charming wilderness with the sculpted gardens of the Park.

"I think I had better go now," she said, echoing her former statement.

"No," he said angrily, all traces of casualness gone. He pushed her into a wicker lawn chair, with a brusqueness that was uncharacteristic and unnatural. "We are going to have it out! No more tricks. No more games. No more traps. We are going to handle this like adults."

Lizzy picked at her dress, slightly ashamed and slightly awed by Darcy's authoritative stance. He stood before her, pacing the lawn, his brow furrowed and his jaw set.

"Tell me at once, Lizzy," he said, with a suddenness that was alarming. "Are you in love with me?" He said it so quickly it would have seemed it had only just occurred to him, not that he had agonized over it all evening…perhaps subconsciously agonized over it for years.

Elizabeth's head shot up. Her mouth was agape and her eyes were wide, devoid of mischief. "What?"

"Are you in love with me?" he repeated, running a hand through his hair and not daring to meet her incredulous gaze. He felt like a fool for asking, yet he could not take the question back. It had just slipped out. He had not intended to ask it.

"In love with you?" she asked. "Darcy, are you deranged?"

"No," he answered, "mad, perhaps. But not deranged." He willed himself to meet her eyes, only to find them riveted upon the woods. Her cheeks were slightly red. Emboldened, he said, "I do not ask such a question to make you uncomfortable or bring any more awkwardness between us. No doubt you think it very silly and presumptuous I should ask you. But circumstances require it."

"Circumstances?" she asked quietly. "Have things gone so far as that?"

"They have," he admitted, not without reluctance. "I have written to my father."

Her eyes flew to his face. Again, he refused to meet her gaze, which was now fraught with something akin to fear. "You wrote Mr. Darcy?" she asked.

"Yes. The letter was dispatched only this morning. It is a mere formality; I already know what he shall write," Darcy said. "He will urge caution and wariness and beg me not to be hasty. But I am tired of waiting, Lizzy. I have waited enough…my feelings can no longer be repressed. You must know why I wrote to him, Lizzy."

"Yes," she answered distantly. "But I thought we had more time."

"Time?" he asked, "why, we shall always have time together, Lizzy. But it is time that drives me to this rash action. It is time that makes me hasty. You see, I have only the summer, which, as we speak, is nearing an end. If my feelings are not made known, if my love goes undeclared…I do not know what I shall do. I cannot part for Miss. Lawrence without relating my feelings for her. I should be miserable."

"I understand," Lizzy remarked dully. Her gaze had returned to her hands.

"But you do not, Lizzy," he said gently, "because you have never loved anyone. You do not understand how it feels." Had he so forgotten his original question that he would accuse her of being ignorant of love?

"No," she replied, keeping her voice detached, "I am sure I do not."

"I have known Miss. Lawrence almost as long as I have known you, Lizzy dear," Darcy continued, as if determined to make her understand, "and, admittedly, paid no heed to her when we were younger, if only to think her a pretty, if not troublesome creature, always underfoot. I believe you contributed to this opinion of her."

She inclined her head in acknowledgement.

"Oh, but Lizzy! How wrong I was. How wrong and how blind!" Darcy spoke so earnestly, the depth of his love for Amelia was apparent. How it pained Lizzy to see him so! "This past month I have realized at last the sweetness of her true nature. My eyes have been opened, Lizzy, to see the beauty, both inner and outer, that radiates from within her. In short, dearest Lizzy, I cannot help but wish to make my feelings known to her-to ensure they are reciprocated. I do not know what I shall do if they are not…"

"I am sure they shall be," Lizzy answered, with a trace of sarcasm that went unmarked by her companion.

"I am filled with hope, then," he said. "I only wish that you would abandon your false ideas of Amelia's character. They do you no justice."

Lizzy said nothing. She would not refute her claims. To do so, in her opinion, would be to lie. "Shall you propose to her soon, then?" she asked quietly, picking at her dress.

"Today," he said. "I can wait no longer."

"You will not wait for your father's letter?"

"No. I cannot."

Elizabeth shook her head. "I do not think that is wise!"

"It probably is not," he replied, "but it must be so. I know that to act without his permission is foolish. But what of it? The worse he can do, after all, is to disinherit me. And what do I care if he does? Nothing whatsoever, I assure you." He looked so rapt, so happy, so full of joy that Elizabeth could not bring herself to say anything against his plans.

"Go then, if you must," she said, her heart in her throat. "I will try and be happy for you." She paused, biting her lip. "Only, Darcy, could you promise me something?"

"Of course," he said, taking her hand and squeezing it gently. "Anything."

"Try not to forget me."

"Forget you?" he exclaimed, "impossible!" He tugged at her chin. "Forget the dreaded pirate Blondebeard? How dare you even suggest it?"

She smiled sadly. "You are caught up in ecstasy. I shall no longer detain you. Go." Her voice cracked on the word. "Make your intentions known. Declare yourself. And may I be mistaken on the character of your intended! I hope that I am, for your sake."

Darcy was entirely too caught up in his own happiness to notice the maturity and poise with which she carried herself, the absence of her typical childishness and sarcasm, the self-control she had exhibited throughout the entire interview. So too did he fail to notice the sadness in her eyes, the paleness of her cheeks, the ghost of a smile upon her lips.

"I have your permission now," he said, "and it is, indeed, the thing that makes me happiest. You have cleared a great deal from mind, Lizzy. A great deal."

"I have already spoken my mind," she said, "and I apologize for what happened last evening at the card party."

"It was forgiven that very instant," he replied.

She did not remind him of her distrust of Amelia. She could not destroy this mantle of perfect happiness he had assumed. It would be too cruel. He was, after all, her dearest friend, and his happiness was all that mattered now.

"You are my best friend, Lizzy," he said, catching her up in a tight embrace. "And I will never forget you."

"Put me down, I say!" she quipped, in a Lizzyish manner. How resolutely she was struggling to appear happy for him!

He twirled her about some more before setting her down. She frowned up at him in a playful manner. "You had best go now," she said. "Your betrothed grows anxious, I am sure."

He smiled. "Yes. Yes." He repeated it over and over again. "I must go now." He glanced at her. "Will you accompany me?"

She shook her head. "No. I think I'd rather wander in my own way, if you don't mind."

He nodded. "Alright." Bestowing a kiss upon her forehead, he was off down the slope. Elizabeth watched his figure retreat into the forest, no doubt pursuing the short-cut to Longbourne.

The wind had begun to pick up and the sky was darkening. Rain would soon follow. Perhaps even a storm.

Unaware of the weather, Elizabeth remained situated upon the downward slope for some time. She did not cry or weep or show any outward signs of the great depression she had succumbed to. Her eyes, however, as ever betrayed her; they were a misty blue-grey, troubled and filled with tears that refused to be shed.

She would remain there the rest of the day, even when the rain began to pour in turrets, thinking of the question he had never allowed her to answer.

Okay…remember. An engagement is NOT final. So don't worry too much yet. They will get engaged, but this is the thing that will help Lizzy grow up. She's not going to let her man get away THAT easily, after all. C'mon…she's the dreaded pirate Blondebeard: ) Thanks for reading, everyone!