Chapter XI.

Pemberley, 16th August 1820.

The events of the twelfth did not go quickly by. The Darcys had left Pearlcoombe late that evening with no sign of Lydia. Since the call from the nursery, they had heard nothing from her.

Elizabeth had ended the evening feeling very frustrated. Not just with Lydia, but with herself as well. The move had almost worked, she had almost spoke. If only... Now she doubted her move, wondering if the action had drawn Lydia even further back.

It took her awhile to try and forget the blame. When they had arrived at Pemberley she had told Darcy what had happened, along with the belief that she was at fault. He had emphatically refused to believe such a possibility. He told her of Georgiana and Wickham, when he had tried to break them and the reaction his sister showed. It had been very similar apparently. It had taken him four long hard weeks, just to get her to even look at him. He, who had been her only confidant. He told her not to give up hope.

That was four days ago. Since then, Elizabeth had kept up a daily correspondence with Jane, waiting for the first sign, any sign from Lydia. They had gone back to the original plan, of waiting silently, for her to make the first move, not them. To let her know that they were there for her just by their presence alone. Darcy encouraged the correspondence, remembering well how much a comfort it had been to write to Richard when Georgiana had been the same. The letters did not contain much, indeed the only subject they mentioned was Lydia. It was a frivolous waste of paper, but they could well afford it.

At the moment however and for the first time since the twelfth, her mind was not on Lydia. Instead it was working out the difficult problem of how to slide out of her husband's embrace without him waking up. She tried once more to gently move and then the problem was taken out of her hands as he opened his eyes. She smiled and moved up to kiss him. It was only meant to be a short kiss, but Darcy quickly took control, rolling her on to the bed, his lips still locked on hers. Once he had her impaled by his arms he drew away briefly to gaze at her.

"Good morning," he uttered huskily, drawing a laugh from her.

"Do you plan to greet me this way every morning?" She asked him.

"Only when I am awake enough to do so," he replied, smiling. He laid another kiss upon her lips, before gently sliding away. He settled into a resting position beside her, his arm propping up his head. "What are you plans today?"

"Write to Jane but that's about it," Elizabeth replied. "Why?"

"I was thinking we could take advantage of the sun and have an outdoor luncheon with the children."

"Sounds perfect."

"I had a feeling it would."

"You did? Since when did I become predictable?"

"You haven't. I have just perfected at reading your thoughts." Darcy paused as he sent a loving gaze to her and then added, "between two souls entwined, there is always..."

"A complete meeting of minds," Elizabeth finished, smiling. Darcy leant down to kiss her and all thoughts of the plans for the day were forgotten.

Mr Bennet was to remark later- in half a joking manner, mind you -that he would have done well to have gotten to the bottom of the matter straight away, instead of 'indulging' -as he put it- in his wife's nervous whims. As it was, he barely had time to think, occupied as he was by his own hopes and concerns. After all, having some mysterious stranger greeting you in your own house as if the former lived there can put anyone out of their pervious good humour.

The stranger had not come into the house by illegal means, of course, but had been invited, on the authority of name alone. Mind you, where Mrs Bennet is concerned, a familiar name was all that required you- or a stranger, as it happened to be in this case -to be welcome with open arms.

When we last encountered that good woman, she was entertaining her sister with the gossip of family before a visitor was announced. This visitor's name we shall leave for the present, as he is to meet Mr Bennet very soon. He shall remain for now as the mysterious stranger who was waiting for Mr Bennet's return.

Mr Bennet left Pemberley in good time and with regular breaks along the way- one of which was a short detour to London to inform Mr Gardiner that the matter his brother in law had gone to Derbyshire for had, for the moment, been taken care of -he managed to arrive at Longbourn several days in advance of the predicted time that Mrs Bennet would have lasted before sending out a search party. At least on her side in any case, for his was preparing itself to be the recipient of many a good-natured and enthusiastic addresses on the lateness of his return.

So, while his favourite daughter and family were settling down to a delightful outdoor luncheon upon the grounds of their estate, Mr Bennet had slowed his horse to a stop and had dismounted outside Longbourn. Upon arriving he was to remember later that all he had noticed about the place was nothing out of the ordinary, which was strange in itself, for surely the arrival of a horseman would provoke a response from someone, would it not?

Nevertheless at the time Mr Bennet chose not to comment on it, instead walking up to the house and letting himself in. Upon his entrance he was greeted by the laughter of his wife, and the younger chuckle in return. Alarm bells finally began to ring at this moment. Mr Bennet was an astute judge of character, but even on this occasion the most amateur of students would not fail to determine the chuckle as male. Without further delay, Mr Bennet headed for the drawing room.

"Oh my dear Mr Bennet," began his lady the minute he appeared in the drawing room, "we have most anxiously been waiting your return!"

Mr Bennet was already on his guard, and his wife's greeting only made him even more so. Without the slightest appearance of altered composure, he both took in the occupants of the room and the reply to Mrs Bennet in the same moment.

"We?"

"Oh sir, how can you be so tiresome, do you not notice there is some one else here to welcome you home?"

Mr Bennet had, but he was not about to let his wife know that. He turned his gaze to the gentleman instead, as the mysterious stranger began to rise under his stare.

The stranger walked forward and held out his hand to Mr Bennet. The latter paid him only one comment. "And you are?"

"Why Mr Bennet, do you not recognise him?" His wife cried. "He is our dear Lawrence, returned to us at last! The Collinses will not inherit after all, with our only son and heir to stop them!"