Chapter 11

It was with a heavy heart that Darcy arose the next morning to see the light dusting of snow that had accumulated on the ground during the late hours of the previous evening. If the conditions were as such here, the roads would already be dangerous further north. He needed to leave for Pemberley now or risk being snowed in for the duration.

Simmons, ever aware of his master's unspoken wishes, had already begun packing up his clothes, books and other personal effects. Darcy checked his watch; it was still early, much too early for his friend to be about. Bingley and the early morning sun were not usually expected to rise together. He would still be abed for at least an hour more!

Darcy knew he must linger; though his returning home was eminent, he owed his friend the consideration of wishing him well before he left. And Bingley would perhaps be more likely to remember to pass along his fond farewells to the appropriate parties if he was reminded of such niceties in person.

After informing Simmons of such, Darcy left for Netherfield's breakfast room, ready to linger over his coffee and paper.

He had just selected a third muffin and buttered it carefully when Bingley arrived, a veritable whirlwind of good cheer.

"I say, Darcy, did you see the snow? Had not expected that so early in the season. Jane," Bingley stuttered embarrassingly for a moment, "Uh, er, Miss Bennet…had told me that it usually doesn't snow here this time of year." Darcy bit his cheek to keep himself in check from exclaiming over such a senseless conversation. Is that what engaged people discussed— the weather?

Bingley poured himself some coffee from the sideboard and selected his own breakfast, two sausages and a helping of eggs. "What of Derbyshire?"

Mr. Darcy sighed. Though his intuition had already claimed it to be so, he had hoped that the London Paper would prove him wrong. It was not to be. "It seems the snow has blanketed all of England, though it is not deep. Precipitation was expected in Derbyshire as early as two days ago according to the almanac." He put down the paper and stood up. "I must be for Pemberley, Charles."

"Of course," Bingley managed to say around a bite of egg. He swallowed before speaking, "It has been wonderful having the company. I hope you can return for the wedding in the spring."

"Are you to stay here through the holidays then?" Darcy wasn't terribly surprised. If Bingley felt for Jane even a small portion of what he himself felt for Elizabeth, he knew that it would be rather painful to leave his Lady Love behind and celebrate the season elsewhere.

"Yes, Mrs. Bennet has already invited me to share their Christmas dinner."

Darcy turned away, smiling rather bitterly at Bingley's easy acceptance among the Bennets. First impressions were seemingly impossible to change!

"What of you, Darcy? Christmas at Pemberley?"

Darcy nodded. "It will be the first time we have celebrated the season at home since Father died."

Charles sobered instantly, remembering what the holidays had been like after the deaths of his own parents. It was one of the reasons why he and Darcy had become such fast friends— they were both orphans. "Might I be the first to wish you a Happy Christmas?"

"Thank you, Bingley," Darcy said as he bowed politely to his friend. "And thank you for having me here as your guest."

Bingley waved such civilities aside, bounding forward to shake Darcy's hand, "Oh, none of that, none of that. You know you are always welcome."

"Please remember me to all of our friends?"

Bingley smiled. "Of course!" His eyes became sly. "You know, I would speak to you on something. I know that my sister has always teased you of it, but are you…?"

Darcy interrupted him, already moving quickly from the room, "Another time, Charles; remember what I have said." And then he was gone.

Bingley sat again at the table and glumly resumed the consumption of his breakfast. There was nothing sadder than losing one's guests. He pondered that for a moment before smiling widely. Well at least with Darcy's agitation at the mention of a certain person, he knew that he wouldn't be without entertainment for long! He could not wait to tell Jane.

Darcy's trip to London was easy, the snow on the ground so little that it could hardly impact his travel. Once arriving in London, however, things became more difficult. Sam Baily was an experienced driver, and though he could hardly read, he quickly gathered reports from his fellows. After hearing about the treacherousness of the road further north and the carriage accidents that had already occurred because of foolhardy travelers, he refused to make the trip. It took much coaxing on the part of his own missus and Mr. Darcy to alter his resolve. He was truly tested when his missus reminded him that it had been many months since Darcy had seen his sister.

It was Mr. Darcy's argument that finally resolved him, "I would not wish this to be a dangerous undertaking; see that the carriage is checked and refitted as necessary." He clutched his beaver hat to his head as a sudden gust of wind blew through the street. Looking up at Sam sitting atop the carriage, he added, "Let it be accomplished quickly, however."

As Sam drove Mr. Darcy across town, his mind grew excited at the possibilities. After depositing his master at his destination, he turned towards that particular part of town that was well known to him. There was a new axle that Sam had been meaning to look into and with such a command from his employer, he could hardly do otherwise!

His wariness quickly turned to eagerness as he saw and heard that, though the axle was expensive, it was considered to be much more reliable than the previous offerings of the same. It had been a long time since he had visited the carriage makers in London. Suddenly, new and fascinating avenues were open to him. He liked the look of a new metal driver's seat for himself, and the thicker and stouter carriage wheels would make traveling over the winter easier, so he thought it wise to make the investment now.

Darcy knew, though he wished otherwise, that his orders would take time to carry out. After sending Sam away to follow his instructions, he squared his shoulders and surrendered to his duties. As there was little way around it without seeming entirely impolite, he must make a few calls to his acquaintances. The very last was to the Hursts and Miss Bingley at Grosvenor Street.

Caroline Bingley, still not recovered from her brothers defection and engagement to a country nobody, had no compunction at voicing her disproval; she began her strictures almost from the moment Darcy had accepted a cup of tea. "So Charles is set in his choice?"

At Darcy's acknowledging nod, she continued, "I suppose her mother has already been through Netherfield suggesting changes— lace at every window, more candles in the ballroom." She and Mrs. Hurst smirked at each other, "Such vulgar relations!" She shuddered, closing her eyes for a brief moment.

Darcy said nothing.

Miss Bingley sipped at her tea, and though Darcy had not agreed with her vocally, she was not uncertain as to her power. He had recently come from Hertfordshire where he must have endured all manner of roughness. Though she could no longer deny that Darcy admired Miss Bennet, there was still no announcement from that quarter. At least Darcy still understood where his duties lay.

Perhaps a reminder as to the unsuitability of the Bennets would be necessary, "Are all the Bennet daughters still at home?" There had been a whisper of something, nothing confirmed of course, but once the engagement of her brother to Jane Bennet had been announced, there had been the slightest of whispers about the youngest daughter and a known rake. She admitted rather painfully to herself that she had been forced to squelch them, knowing that it would do her family no good to be attached to such scandal. But there was no reason to spare Darcy from the rumors if it could still ensure her own comfort.

There was something sly about that question that lead Darcy to tread carefully, "All the unmarried ones are, yes."

"Ah, yes," Miss Bingley purred as she smiled rather snidely, "I had heard that the youngest Miss Bennet had run off from Brighton with one of the officers. So she has married after all."

"I heard no such rumor, only that Miss Lydia was lately married," the finality in his voice was telling.

So he knew of it. Even worse, he was actually defending the marriage, even though she was aware that it had been a rather hurried affair. It was all mind-numbing! She thought she had known Mr. Darcy; she had spent years aligning her opinions with his, but this? It was inconceivable!

Mr. Darcy was formidable among the London ton; it was one of the reasons why she had always courted his favor. Why was his opinion suddenly thus altered? It had been something that she was so sure he could not possibly approve of.

Mrs. Hurst noticed her sister struggle at Mr. Darcy's set down and not wishing to be included in his censure spoke, "We have been such a small party here. I have heard that dear Georgiana is not in London; how desolate we were to hear of it."

"My sister is at home at Pemberley."

"Are you to join her for the holidays?" Mrs. Hurst continued.

"As soon as may be, yes."

"Oh, how wonderful," Mrs. Hurst added with a contrived smile. "Pemberley must be beautiful during the holidays. And to be with good friends and family at that time of year— that is what the season is all about, is it not?" She paused tellingly, but Darcy said nothing. Mrs. Hurst had never been as good at the cultured subtleness that Caroline had somehow mastered. Finally, rather haltingly she added, "If only Charles would come to London."

Mr. Darcy, once a co-conspirator for getting Charles to London, remained silent. Much grief had come from that decision, and though Bingley's sisters still refused to see their own culpability in the whole, Darcy had yet to truly forgive himself for causing his greatest friend such pain. Mrs. Hurst, like her sister, was a capable hostess, and during his momentary inattention, she had succeeded in filling his teacup once more.

Darcy took a deep sip. He had done his duty, and now the visit could be concluded. For the next five minutes he endured all of the frivolousness present in a sitting room presided over by two contentious sisters. Finally he was able to take his leave, citing his need to see to some business in another part of town.

Christmas was on its way, and with the little leisure time he had been afforded lately, he had not chosen all of Georgiana's Christmas presents. He made his way to her favorite bookshop, not far from the Hurst's townhouse, and lost himself for an hour or so amongst the smells of leather and the printed word. He had a substantial pile under one arm and was just reaching for a new novel that he was sure would interest his sister when he overheard the beginnings of a conversation from a few shelves over. "And he will marry her?" The curious voice of a cultured female had spoken rather loudly in the surrounding quiet of the bookshop.

"Yes, even though her history is practically transparent," answered her companion, her voice subdued.

"What could have convinced him then?"

Darcy leaned closer, curious, hoping that the man under discussion was not Bingley. A few hearts must have been broken by the announcement of his friend's engagement. He hoped these two women had not been some of the hopefuls; it was hard to contradict the vitriol of a woman scorned.

The second voice spoke again, clearly resigned, "He claims it is love, and at least from his side, he seems to believe it."

"And what of her?"

"She seems to be attached…"

"There is little to do in such cases, Lady Latrisha, but accept it then."

"But he has the wealth, the bearing, even the title after Papa dies. With so much to attract her, how can he be certain that her feelings are true?" asked Lady Latrisha.

Finally Darcy knew of whom they were speaking; he had read of it himself only days ago in the papers. Viscount Larson, Lady Latrisha's own brother, had become engaged to a Miss Webber, a lady of little background and even smaller means. He knew Viscount Larson mostly by reputation, having graduated from Cambridge many years after him. Much like Darcy, the Viscount did not often court the favor of the ladies of the ton, and he had remained securely single for years. Miss Webber had no connections, nothing it seemed that should attract the wealthy and attractive Viscount. She had been toasted as a beauty, it was true, and as she was both demure and intelligent, she was expected to make a good match, though not a spectacular one. Her success had been as preposterous as it had been complete.

"I cannot allow him to throw our family pride away on a woman with so little background, even if mother likes her. What if she is just a fortune hunter like the rest of them? It would break my heart." Darcy winced as he heard the telltale sound of a handkerchief being dusted across a wet cheek.

"It does you credit, Lady Latrisha, that you are taking into account your brother's feelings."

"But what if I am right?" Lady Latrisha sighed.

"Let us hope that you are wrong."

Darcy smiled to himself as he left that conversation behind and headed to the counter to pay Mr. Johnston for his purchases. Perhaps it was not as revolutionary as he had expected, the idea of marrying for affection these days!

It was perhaps well and good that Darcy was in such a temperate mood when confronted by the bill from the carriage makers. After loading the bags, Sam had approached his master and enthusiastically handed him the bill while rhapsodizing on the carriages newest features. One look at his master's appalled features and Sam Daily quickly realized his error, and instead, climbed onto his seat and waited for his orders.

Inside the coach, Darcy set the basket of food from his housekeeper beside his feet, chose a book from the pile at his side, and then tapped on the roof, "Drive on, Sam."

Sam did as he was bid, but Darcy could not read. Still he heard the words of ladies in the bookshop speaking about love and affection in marriage. He could not believe his good fortune at the ever varying opinions of London. If Lady Patterson was willing to accept Miss Webber of questionable heritage so long as there was affection, she could have little to say against Miss Elizabeth Bennet of Longbourn if he could secure hers. And with the early approval of Lady Matlock, Elizabeth's way would be clear, for not many would dare cross his aunt.

Now he must wait for the lady's thoughts on the matter. The coming of winter had been timed rather badly for him. He would now have to be separated from Elizabeth, not only by distance, but also propriety and whatever it was that had bothered her so.

He thought on that— her subdued, sometimes hostile manner. There was something in her eyes, though, that he could not dismiss. He had learned his lesson at Rosings; instead of admiring from afar, he had engaged her in conversation, pushed her, courted her really, and he had noted her responses. She had neither been impertinent nor cool in the majority of their interactions. In fact, she had seemed rather flattered by his attentions— the darkened cheeks, the lowered eyes, all spoke of her own attraction to him.

Except, he reminded himself, in those odd moments that he could not attribute to anything. Not her past performances, at least. Suddenly she had withdrawn completely, painfully so, treating him far differently than ever before. Something was going on, and it had much to do with his aunt, he decided. He would not forget Elizabeth's pale features and fidgeting hands when Aunt Catherine had been mentioned. And he had not forgotten how closed-mouthed Mr. Bennet had been about the whole thing.

Darcy chuckled darkly. He felt like Ja'far from The Arabian Nights' Entertainment— ordered by Harun to discover the murderer of the mysterious woman hidden away in the trunk. He remembered all of that forbidden book, but The Three Apples had particularly struck him. Often he had wondered what it would be like to be a Bow street runner, using his intellect as his guide in solving the more heinous crimes of London. In some ways, his recent tracking of Wickham had healed him of such dreams. There was never much happiness to be discovered once the case was solved, so to speak.

He knew, though, that his future happiness completely depended on discovering what had happened when his aunt had come to Longbourn. He thought over all the facts or the few that he had been graced with. He still had the letter from Georgiana among his personal papers, where he could readily read and reread Elizabeth's words, marveling at the woman who had stolen his heart. He very nearly had it memorized.

Lady Catherine had paid the Bennet's a social call. Unlikely.

Not that he suspected Elizabeth of lying, but his aunt did not pay social calls strictly for politeness sake— particularly not in the winter, and certainly not fifty miles from her own home. No matter how much she would have argued it, Lady Catherine was getting on in years; fifty miles, even if the roads were good, would have been uncomfortable for her.

Secondly, she had suffered apoplexy while she was there.

He was no medical doctor, but he had heard of the occasional death by apoplexy and how angry the victim had to be preceding their demise. Several doctors urged their patients to keep their tempers to ward against it. Lady Catherine had a temper. She had lost it and died. But how could she have lost her temper surrounded by those she would have considered her social inferiors? Rather, Darcy could see her sitting amongst the Bennets rejoicing in her superiority. He frowned suddenly. No, there was one at Longbourn who would always trump Lady Catherine, for he had seen her do it.

At Rosings, Elizabeth had frequently bested Lady Catherine, both in politeness and social superiority. Lady Catherine had shown quite an interest in the second Miss Bennet, speaking to her and of her, even when she was present.

Why was that so?

He had not questioned it then, expecting, or rather hoping, that Lady Catherine had wanted to get to know the woman that he was interested in. While he had hoped that Lady Catherine would accept Miss Bennet, he was not ignorant of that lady's wish to have him for her own son-in-law. She had often spoken of it. Had she recognized the competition for her own daughter in the impertinent country miss? That seemed likely.

After the shock of her death had worn off, he was beginning to remember Lady Catherine as she really had been and not as he had hoped she would be. She had not been as Lady Matlock. Nearly every trick, shy of compromising her daughter so that Darcy would be forced to marry her, she had tried. She had spoken of the two as wedded already, regularly enough that it took all of Darcy's wits to free himself from Rosings and his aunt, time and time again. He had thought that Lady Catherine would have accepted Elizabeth as her new niece. But what if this was simply not true?

It still did not explain what she was doing there though! No matter how painful it was for him to admit it, Elizabeth was not his fiancée. Lady Catherine would have had no viable reason to call on the Bennets.

A sudden connection struck him as a slap across the face. There was one subtle link he had not thought of.

Mr. Collins, that bumbling idiot parson of his aunt, was also Elizabeth's cousin. He was in Kent. He often sat with his aunt for tea. He listened intently to every single word of verbiage that came forth from the mouth of his patroness. Would Lady Catherine have betrayed herself? Could it be possible that Mr. Collins knew something? He rolled his eyes as a headache began to form. His patience for fools was already spread thin. Now he was grateful for the snow that would keep him from Kent for the season.

He smiled suddenly— Colonel Fitzwilliam was still in Kent! And as a member of His Majesty's army, the Colonel did not lack the tenacity needed to question fools; he had often spoken of it. Darcy would leave this one up to his cousin. A weight lifted after he carefully planned out the letter he would write once he had arrived at Pemberley, and soon the gentle sway of the coach lulled him into a dreamless sleep.

Thanks again, Marina and Gayle