Elizabeth awoke with a hangover that matched in every way the hangover she had suffered on Armistice day fifteen months earlier. On that remembered day she had picked up a stranger which led to her falling in love, getting seduced, and eventually getting abandoned. She just couldn't wait to see what fate had in store for her today with a demented gray mouse heading her way. The mixture of brandy, sherry, and wine had been a combustible combination and the previous evening was just a blur though flashes of Edward Rochester and his wife, Anne DeBourgh, howling at the moon from one of the towers at Pemberley seemed to be part of it. Her low spirits of that day also matched perfectly with how she felt now that she had convinced herself that all she was doing was prolonging the agony. Before meeting with Darcy at his London home she had begun to heal and get on with her life. Now she was living in paradise but her prince charming didn't know who she was. It was a French farce and she was acting the buffoon.

She staggered into the bathroom and applied cold compresses to her fevered brow in an attempt to clear her mind so she could reason her way though her dilemma. She couldn't help thinking that this whole charade had been an exercise in futility. It simply wasn't going to work. There were too many distractions and not enough time spent with Darcy. She had no idea just how many lovelorn females were planning to drop in for a visit. Once Caroline left she had hoped to see more of Darcy. Now she was going to have to contend with Anne DeBourgh. And just what kind of a woman was she? Was she her own enemy as Caroline was? Elizabeth found it difficult to reconcile Charlotte's description of Anne as a hero-worshiping woman who had a crush on Darcy with Lady Catherine's description of a homicidal maniac. Granted, Lady Catherine had a propensity for melodrama and occasionally distorted the truth but a murderous step-daughter was taking it a step too far even for her. She could only imagine that Lady Catherine's antipathy towards Anne stemmed from Anne's penchant for curiosa. She herself had been granted access to the upper shelves of her father's library at the age of fourteen and any questions about the content of some of the books were given freely and without embarrassment. Lady Catherine had been born in another age when ignorance was bliss.

Since she didn't have any work to do, she had decided to spend a couple of hours walking about the estate. With no one to impress with her womanly charms she chose to wear slacks and an over-sized fisherman's jersey for her hike. A glance in the mirror told her she had succeeded in disguising her sex. Breasts, waist and bottom had disappeared. She looked like a waif. Lydia would have swooned and that thought made Elizabeth smile. It was Lydia's contention that the minute a woman stops trying to look her best on all occasions, she's on the fast track to spinsterhood.

Lady Catherine was in the breakfast room which surprised Elizabeth but the surprise was mutual. She was regarded with a raised eyebrow and a smirk. "Very attractive, dear. Is that the latest haute couture?"

Elizabeth deigned not to respond but dropped into a chair and poured a cup of coffee. "Is Mr. Collins not dining with us this morning?"

"He dines with the local vicar on Mondays. Then they look for good used clothes and books for their flocks."

"You're lucky to have such a good friend."

"We were both lucky to meet when we did. He didn't dismiss me as a pathetic old fool and I saw in him something more than a village cleric on the lowest rung of his profession. I'm not sure what he sees in me but I find him clever and amusing." She stopped for a sip of coffee before leveling a devilish grin at Elizabeth, "He also tells a rollicking good bedtime story."

Elizabeth laughed out loud in surprise, "He tells you bedtime stories?"

"Nonsense tales."

"Sorry. I'm not familiar with the genre."

"Oh, the king sails out to see the world in his leaky rowboat, sinks and is washed up on a deserted island. He turns savage and when he's finally rescued they won't let him back into England until he learns not to eat grubs at the dinner table. Or the king sails off to war and meets Mata Hari. They fall madly in love and when she's executed as a spy he loses his mind and they won't let him back into England until he takes sanity classes. Nonsense tales."

"His kings seem to be rather stupid and misguided," Elizabeth allowed, still grinning. "I take it that Mr. Collins is not a royalist?"

"I have no idea. Politics are my least favorite subject. But I do know he thinks the royals should do more for their subjects. Especially for the children. His greatest joy is reading the classics to children and seeing their enthusiasm and clear desire to learn."

"And now he makes up stories for your amusement. Perhaps he should write nonsense tales for children."

"I've suggested that. He has a creative mind. His latest fable is about a king who almost dies in the war but an angel saves him and takes him to her home on cloud nine. They fall madly in love and he forgets his earthly home until he wanders off one day and falls off the cloud. When he wakes up he has no memory of the time he spent with an angel. She follows him to earth unable to forget him. Of course she doesn't forget him. Woman never forget. Not my favorite story. Robert died in the first Boer war more than forty years ago. It was supposed to be just a small conflict, but he died just the same. Broke my heart. I still think of him. No, woman don't forget. Stupid story. Not my favorite. Nonsense tales!" She added dismissively.

Elizabeth was transfixed in stunned disbelief. With bated breath she waited for a knowing glance or a wink but Lady Catherine was done with the subject and had turned her attention to the day's menu.

Elizabeth left the house in a bemused state of mind. The good vicar had been meticulously putting the puzzle together. And the clues? He was a kind and decent man and a student of the human condition. Not a village in England had been left untouched by the evils of war. Surely he had seen many veterans fresh from a hospital. To see a tanned and healthy man who'd spent a year in a hospital walk into the room announced as the missing master of Pemberley must have piqued his interest. Instead of indulging in idle speculation, he'd remained silent but had amused himself and Lady Catherine by creating fables to account for the year Darcy went missing. In his clever mind the question would naturally arise that if Darcy's body was healthy, then why the subterfuge? Only one answer would come to the mind of an intelligent man, especially a man of the cloth who dealt with the ills of men. Mental problems were feared. Children damaged at birth were too often hidden away in an attic rather then let society know there was insanity in the family. Was Darcy mad? After several conversations with that man, Mr. Collins would have to conclude that he was not. Then what? Then he would focus on the curious habit that Darcy had of holding the key ring and it's precious key. Elizabeth had recognized the reflective look on Darcy's face as he searched for the door that would open to his memory of a lost year in his life. Mr. Collins had the opportunity to study Darcy for several months and he too would eventually come to understand that part of the puzzle. Hence, an angel had found him. But he fell off the cloud and forgot her. How very romantic, Mr. Collins. Now all she had to worry about was if Mr. Collins could see her wings.

She headed out to the forest following a creek until she came to the rich farmland which provided the wealth of Pemberley. She circled around and walked a further half mile before clambering up a steep rise and looked down and found what she had been looking for in a small vale which ended at the arc of the creek. Below her stood the shell of an unfinished building which she surmised was the school which was started before Darcy went to France. Once again she was overwhelmed with sadness but this time it was mixed with anger that he had given up. Did he plan to spend the rest of his life in mourning what couldn't be helped? This was not the man she had known in Hertfordshire. She felt a keen disappointment as she turned away wondering who Darcy was? He bore no resemblance to the man she had fallen in love with. With the rising mist her sense of foreboding increased. Smithy had no history, no sense of self. In many ways he was new born. Even if the man she knew as Darcy eventually remembered her, she was coming to understand that she might never again see Smithy.

It was all too depressing. She had reached the point where she was seriously thinking of talking to her father. The only problem with that was the possibility that he would tell her what she didn't want to hear.

She was startled from her thoughts by the high pitch of a shepherd's whistle and almost simultaneously a collie flew by, ears laid back, followed by a young man who doffed his cap politely and continued on at a leisurely pace. An eighth of a mile away on a low rise a handful of sheep stood waiting patiently for their orders which the collie was delighted to deliver with canine enthusiasm. Elizabeth straddled a log and relaxed, watching the bucolic entertainment until she felt the first taste of rain.

Without much enthusiasm, she started back to Pemberley. She'd come here to help him remember what he'd lost but was finding it a difficult task. She hadn't spent more than an hour in his company and now he was in Town probably making sweet talk to Anne DeBourgh. She didn't for a minute believe Lady Catherine's description of that young woman. Not that it mattered. She was already jealous of Anne DeBourgh. She followed the creek back but her return turned out to be rather tricky as she tried to avoid the slippery rocks and the mud muddles. By then the rain had turned into a torrent. It took her an hour to get back to the house and by that time she was soaked to the skin. However, when she spotted Darcy's car her spirits lifted considerably until she saw an unknown car parked near his. Anne DeBourgh had apparently arrived. Perfect! She was about to meet her rival looking like a drowned rat.

Betty dashed down the steps carrying a towel and an open umbrella, "We were getting worried about you, Miss Bennet. We thought you'd gotten lost."

"I'm a country girl, Betty. But thank you. Now if you'll draw me a bath I'd be eternally grateful."

In the anti-room Elizabeth dried her face and tried to make sense of her unruly curls but gave it up as hopeless. She just hoped she wouldn't meet anyone on the way to her room.

*****

Charles Bingley had gone to ground for the past two weeks. His instructions to his servants were clear and concise. He was in Cornwall and they weren't sure when he would return. He was not available to anyone and that included his best friend Will Darcy and especially his sister Caroline.

For the first week of his self-imposed exile from the world he stayed in his room fluctuating between disappointment and outrage, wondering where it had all gone wrong. He'd been seriously courting Anne DeBourgh for the past three years. There had been summers boating on the Thames and concerts in the park; flowers sent to her twice a week, and to his everlasting shame, he'd even sent her a love poem. His entire world knew he was smitten for in truth, he had worn his heart on his sleeve. When Darcy had gone missing he had cooled his ardor out of respect for her grief but in every other way he had lent her comfort trying to ease the pain of loss they both shared. He'd spent hours with Anne, listening to her memories of how kind Darcy had been, how he often teased her and ruffled her hair, how all the girls were mad for him but he had never succumbed to their overt attempts to seduce him. He was above all that. He was a saint. Charles knew that the Darcy he had known was a good man but certainly not a saint but he didn't argue with her. He knew how the living tended to deify the dead.

Her tears were terrible to see and he'd felt helpless in the face of so much bereavement especially when over the course of a year, it showed no sign of lessoning. He himself still mourned the loss of his friend but the intense pain had eventually eased to a dull ache of regret as it had when his parents had died. Life went on as it must. Thoughts of Queen Victoria mourning the loss of Prince Albert for forty years would occasionally intrude but still, he'd held on hoping that time would heal her.

When Darcy rose from the dead her transformation had been miraculous. Gone were the incessant tears. Only joy was her constant companion. Her new found happiness appeared to him at times to be almost a form of hysteria but he made excuses for her trying to understand how fragile she was after such a roller coaster ride of emotions which had besieged everyone who knew Darcy. Even he at times found it hard to remember that Darcy was just a phone call away and not moldering away in some French grave. When she began to turn down his invitations with one excuse after another he still rationalized her actions for loving her had become a habit he couldn't break. All she needed was time and he was willing to give it to her.

But time, he had learned, had a way of altering one's perception. Whether he had grown weary of a courtship that had gone on too long or her tears no longer had the power to move him, he could not say, but he'd begun to feel a sense of relief that his courtship was coming to an end. Looking back he realized that she had never shown an eagerness for his company but he had attributed it to her natural reserve. She had never allowed a kiss but he attributed this to natural shyness. Still, old habits die hard and uneasily he had called her again two weeks before her birthday fully expecting her to refuse with another lame excuse. He was prepared for it. What he wasn't prepared for was the excuse she offered. Nor had she softened the blow when she told him that she wouldn't be seeing him anymore, that she would be announcing her engagement shortly. A cold fish was how Charlotte Postlewaite had often described Anne though he hadn't seen that aspect of her personality until that shocking response to his invitation.

Never once had he suspected that she had another suitor. When had she had the time? Who was he? And how long had it been going on? These were all questions that flooded his brain, none of which he was capable of voicing.

Well into the second week of his confinement, disappointment for all the years he had wasted turned to outrage for all the years he had wasted. He'd been suffering in silence for nearly two weeks unwilling to leave the house or take any calls for fear of the kindly meant condolences they would offer. He was quite sure the news that he had been jilted by Anne DeBourgh was the topic of conversation at every breakfast table in Town. Of course he knew he was being irrational. He was a nobody on the lower rung of society. Nevertheless, he felt humiliated and betrayed and was convinced he would never recover his usual high spirits.

At the end of two weeks he bathed, allowed his valet to groom him, gave instructions that he was now home, and descended the stairs to enjoy a fine breakfast. It had come to his mind that he was not yet twenty four years of age, had all his teeth and wasn't bad looking. He was an educated gentleman and was in possession of a handsome income. Surely there was a perfect woman waiting for him somewhere, some place. Not that he had any intention of getting mixed up with another female for at least a year or two. He'd mourned the loss of Anne for two weeks and when you considered that she had never even allowed a kiss on the cheek two weeks was more than she deserved.

While he was planning his future he was interrupted by a phone call from Darcy who automatically inquired after his health and didn't really wait for an answer. Darcy was the kindest man he knew and Charles fully expected to receive some words of consolation from his best friend. He had to know of Anne's forthcoming marriage but not one word of comfort was forthcoming. Only an invitation to Pemberley which Bingley accepted with alacrity. The chance to get out of Town and out in the country was just what the doctor ordered. What surprised him was that Darcy wanted him to come to Pemberley that very day. "What's the rush?" he'd asked.

There was an unusual hesitation from his friend before he said something that gave Bingley the first laugh he'd enjoyed in weeks. "I need a chaperon, Bingley." Naturally Bingley wanted an explanation and naturally Darcy said he would explain his predicament when he got to Pemberley.

As Bingley shouted orders to pack his bags, he was quite sure that he didn't need an explanation. He had come to realize that there was at least one trait he shared with his sister. They both had pursued a romantic fantasy much too long when there really had never been any hope. Caroline had been making a fool of herself for years. But Darcy had always been able to handle her with diplomacy. So why of a sudden did he need a chaperon?

He was still an hour from Pemberley before he remembered Darcy's new assistant. "Ah ha!" he shouted. According to Richard, Miss Elizabeth Bennet was a stunner. He couldn't help himself. He had to grin with malicious delight at the thought of Caroline turning orange in a fit of apoplexy. At least orange would match the color of one her more outlandish dresses. It would serve her right after the miserable way she had treated him all his life.

By the time he reached Lambton, Bingley had another thought. Could Miss Bennet be the source of Darcy's discomfort? He was after all, a handsome man and wealthy beyond most woman's dreams. Had she set her cap for Darcy? If so, this visit should be a great deal of fun. Visions of Darcy running all over the estate from two oversexed females made him laugh so hard he came close to running off the road. Added to his enjoyment was the possibility that Richard was at Pemberley. It was he who had encouraged Darcy to hire Miss Bennet. Darcy would be furious with his cousin, might even call him out. Bingley's vivid imagination and sense of fun had gone into overdrive. By the time he parked his car at Pemberley he was in high spirits. And Anne DeBourgh was all but forgotten.

When the assistant housekeeper, Mrs. Smythe, escorted him to his usual room he suppressed a smile. His sister's not so subtle attempt to insult him by sending her assistant had missed the mark. In fact, it was a relief not to have to deal with Caroline's snide remarks. She'd been calling the house three times a day for the past two days. He knew she must be furious that he'd had the audacity to leave the city without informing her or leave a number where she could reach him and that suited him just fine. He'd had it with women who treated him with contempt.

After a quick wash up he left his room and immediately ran into Darcy at the upper landing. The two old friends chatted amiably as they descended the stairs. and both stopped abruptly as an apparition appeared below them in the foyer. Charles's jaw dropped staring at a waif wearing a very wet jersey which had stretched to her knees. But what really caught his attention was the mass of wet curls falling around her beautiful wet face. She looked almost savage. And delicious. He glanced with uncertainty at his companion. Darcy was eying her in wide-eyed surprise. "Is that you, Miss Bennet? Have you been for a swim in the lake?"

"Certainly not," she snapped. "I went for a walk."

"A perfect day for it. And did you enjoy your walk, Miss Bennet?"

"Thoroughly, Mr. Darcy. And thank you for asking."

As she squished past them and headed up the stairs, Charles watched Darcy watching her ascent. He had known this man for many years and had seen his reaction to many females but this was something new. "You're smoldering, Darcy."

"Hmm?"

"You might have introduced me to the water nymph."

"Oh. Didn't I?"

"I think I'm in love."

That got Darcy's attention. He turned to Bingley with a frown, "What?"

"You didn't tell me she was so beautiful."

"I didn't notice. She's very clever. Makes a nice change."

"Clever in a beautiful package. Hard to beat that combination."

"Forget it, Charles. She made minced meat of your sister. You'd never survive her wit."

"But you could?"

"I won't dignify that remark with an answer."

"Speaking of my sister, is she still trying to lure you into her sticky web?"

"You didn't know? She's no longer an employee. She quit without a word and left here in the middle of the night."

Charles followed Darcy into the billiard room, "Why on earth did she do that?"

"I fear that her fondness for my wine cellar did her in. According to my spy, she had imbibed too freely that morning and nearly toppled down the stairs." He handed Charles a glass of wine, "Fortunately, Miss Elizabeth Bennet caught her in time and got her safely to her room. Apparently she sobered up and left that night."

"I can see why. Knowing the entire household had witnessed her disgrace, she wouldn't have any choice. Poor Caroline."

Darcy eyed his friend in amusement, "Sympathy for your sister? I'm all astonishment. But not to worry, Charles. Apparently, Miss Bennet is the soul of discretion. Naturally, my spy is also the soul of discretion. If my aunt knew of the incident she would have been delighted to discuss it at length. So, Caroline's reputation is still intact though I must admit the atmosphere has lightened considerably."

Bingley sat quietly digesting this information. So Caroline was out of the picture. Charles scratched his head in confusion. If Darcy didn't need protection from the arts and allurements of Caroline, then who was he worried about? Darcy certainly didn't need a chaperon to save him from Elizabeth Bennet. Quite the reverse, he thought. There had been no fluttering eyelashes from that young woman. In fact the only emotion she'd shown was embarrassment and annoyance. Darcy, on the other hand, hadn't been able to keep his eyes off her.

He'd been worried about his friend wondering when if ever Darcy would get back to normal. He'd spent too much time thinking of the past when he had the rest of his life to think of the future. Darcy was a dear friend and he wanted him to be happy. In Bingley's mind happiness came in the form of a woman which unhappily reminded him of Anne DeBourgh. Darcy still had not offered one word of condolence, nor was there any mention of Anne DeBourgh's forthcoming nuptials and Bingley was loathe to bring the subject up at the moment. Besides, Darcy really had never encouraged him in his pursuit. Actually, he had made several subtle hints that Jane Postlewaite might suit him better. Perhaps he should call Jane next week. Discussion would come that night when two old friends would continue their ritual of brandy in the library when the house had grown still. One thing was for sure. The next time he imagined himself to be in love there would be no love poems.

*****

Lady Catherine and the Reverend Collins were the first to enter the drawing room for the cocktail hour. Lady Catherine was in an excellent mood. Anne DeBourgh had not arrived as she had feared and it was now so dark there was little chance that she would. Next came Darcy and Charles Bingley. The younger man immediately approached Lady Catherine who graciously offered her hand which he took with a smile, bestowing a kiss. She granted him a smile of appreciation for his gentlemanly behavior and the evening was off to a comfortable start.

When Elizabeth Bennet entered the room wearing a lemon hued gown fashioned in the empire style with it's high waist and deep décolletage he was reminded of the portrait on the first landing. There was just such a woman sitting on a stone bench as her lover stood by in admiration. Mr. Collins had never seen a more beautiful woman. He suspected that the comfortable start of the evening was about to take a little turn as Bingley tripped over his feet as he rushed towards the young woman. Beside him, he heard Lady Catherine chuckle and nudge him. He followed her eyes to the window where Darcy was frowning at the spectacle.

Whether he had never met the woman who could incite a desire to copulate or the thought of his own parents working up a sweat in the back bedroom of the parsonage had killed his appetite for carnal pleasure, Mr. Collins had no way of knowing. He didn't miss what he'd never had but did admit to a certain pleasure in watching the ritual of courtship. Bingley was acting like an hyperactive schoolboy in his attempt to ooze charm and bonhomie while Elizabeth was eying him with a faint smile which seemed to Mr. Collins to be verging on a giggle. Darcy had turned his back on the comical scene and was staring into the darkness, missing all the fun.

The fun didn't last, however, as an abrupt obscenity by Lady Catherine followed by a groan signaled the arrival of another guest. Anne DeBourgh walked in, stood posing in the doorway for a brief moment, then made straight for Darcy. "I had a puncture in Lambton," she cried. "Forgive me for being so late."

As she crossed the room the heavy scent of musk followed in her wake. The Reverend was surprised to see Anne clutch Darcy's arm the way he had seen Caroline Bingley do so many times. Anne was usually so restrained and shy. What could she mean by it? She obviously had neglected to notice Darcy's ill-concealed distaste to be so handled. Mr. Collins thought she had just made a mistake.

A gasp from Bingley drew his eyes to that young man. He had turned from Elizabeth to stare at Anne in shock and horror. The last he'd heard, young Mr. Bingley was thoroughly smitten with Miss DeBourgh and though the general consensus had it that she was indifferent to his charms surely it didn't call for such a reaction. Darcy headed towards Elizabeth with Anne still clinging to him. He looked uncomfortable and resigned. He introduced the two ladies to each other then quipped to Charles, "I think you know Anne."

"Not as well as I thought I did." Charles replied before he turned on his heel and walked away.

Darcy tried to follow his friend but Anne had a death grip on his arm. "Oh, leave him be, Will. He's just sulking."

"Charles sulking? Impossible. It isn't in his nature. I've seen him provoked to anger on rare occasions and always with good cause. What have you done?"

He was smiling as he queried her but Anne's anger was instant. Her face paled and she released his arm, "I never gave him any reason to believe that I would marry him. What would I do with such a child? I want a real man!" She too turned on her heel and stalked off.

Oh the drama! It didn't get better than this. Mr. Collins was already writing his next nonsense tale when the door opened and Richard Fitzwilliam entered with his usual panache. He stopped abruptly to digest this tableau vivant. Elizabeth Bennet's beauty was breathtaking as expected, Darcy looked to be in his usual state of confusion; Anne and Bingley were glaring at each other, and his aunt was scowling into her empty glass. Mr. Collins seemed to be enjoying a secret joke.

"What a jolly party," he cried. So glad I could make it."

Darcy ignored his cousin. He turned to Elizabeth, "You smell of wildflowers, Miss Bennet. My friend called you a water nymph but I think you live in the woods."

She smiled at his fancy, "It's called Summer Breeze. Do you like it?"

"I think I like everything about you, Miss Bennet. I'm particularly pleased with what you've done to my office."

Elizabeth suppressed a sigh. As compliments go, it wasn't bad. One thing was clear. He was not enamored of Anne DeBourgh and neither was Charles Bingley. She thought perhaps that she would stay at Pemberley for a little bit longer.