A/N: Okay, here are two more. This was what I had planned for Emily from the first.

Thanks for all the lovely reviews, I really appreciate them.

Emily's POV

I ran my hand lazily down the broad plane of his back, enjoying the feel of the thick muscle that bunched and flexed as he moved. His hair in disarray from our enthusiastic lovemaking the night before.

He was beautiful, and he was finally mine.

I have never been happier.

It had been five years since I had last seen Robert. Then, he had been a handsome young man of nineteen, tall, thin, gangly, and so eager to prove himself. He is still tall and handsome and has grown into his limbs quite nicely; but now, he is much more self assured and carries himself with an air of quiet confidence that only adds to his appeal.

We met when I was seventeen. He came with his father to check on my mare that had developed an infection in her leg. Mr. Martin had a way with animals that had earned him the respect of all the landowners in the area and Robert was training to follow in his footsteps. It was the first time I had ever seen him as I had been away at school, and I knew as soon as I looked into his eyes that he would be trouble for me.

My father would never allow me to be courted by a tradesman's son.

No matter how much I tried to avoid him, I seemed to find myself continually drawn to the stables when I knew he would be there. He eventually worked up the courage to talk to me and from then on we began a tentative friendship. That whole summer he seemed to keep finding reasons to visit our horses, and we would spend hours together in the stables with only a few words spoken between us. Both just content to be in the same space; sharing tasks and furtive glances.

After a while, he stopped making up excuses and confessed he came everyday for a chance to see me.

That day he kissed me.

It was only my first kiss, yet somehow I knew, I wanted him to be the only lips I ever touched again.

We spent the next few weeks meeting wherever and whenever we could. We exchanged many more kisses, which were soon followed by declarations of love and promises for the future. We were in our own little bubble, and I had never been happier.

Until my father decided it was time for me to marry, and began the negotiations over cigars and brandy in the drawing rooms of the neighboring estates. A parade of single gentleman and widowers of varying ages from just a few years older than myself to the grotesquely old were invited for dinner to 'inspect the merchandise' and I was to be sold to the highest bidder despite my vehement protests.

It wasn't until I was informed one morning that my fiance would be arriving that afternoon for tea and to begin making wedding plans, that I broke down and told Robert what was happening. He was livid at my father's heavy handedness, and decided that it was time we stop sneaking around and make it official.

We spoke to my father that very day.

I don't think I had ever seen my father so angry; he forbid the union and insisted I marry the suitor he had selected for me or he would drive Robert and his father out of business and out of town.

In desperation, I blurted out that we had to marry as I was carrying Robert's child. I don't know why I said it, it just flew out of my mouth before I could stop myself.

I honestly don't know who was more shocked by my declaration; my father, Robert, especially as he knew there was absolutely no way I could possibly be pregnant, or my fiance who stood frozen in the open doorway of my father's study, his mouth open and his fist partially raised as if preparing to knock.

Needless to say, he didn't wait around to talk about the wedding, he fled after informing my father, rather nastily, that he was withdrawing his offer of marriage. My father, if possible, looked even more angry and sent me to my room so he and Robert could have a 'discussion.'

I never saw Robert again after that.

I was locked in my room until it was verified that I was not, in fact, with child, but by then, word had gotten around and any chance my father had of convincing someone to marry me was nil.

My mother and father both were being snubbed by the entire town as a result of my apparent 'situation,' and my father had had enough and was considering sending me away. It wasn't until the doctor that examined me, unintentionally let slip one night at the tavern that I was still a virgin, that things started to calm down.

Unfortunately for my father, but fortunately for me, the men of the town no longer found me quite so suitable, and my father finally admitted defeat and began drinking instead.

I later found out that Mr. Martin had moved away within days of the incident, but was unable, despite all my efforts, to determine where Robert might have gone.

I cried for a week, refused meals for another week, refused to speak to my father for months, and finally gave up searching for him after two years. I just couldn't keep doing it. Every dead end just shattered my heart that much more.

It wasn't until Charles came along that I had even considered marrying anyone else, but by that time, the situation with my father had gotten out of control and I just wanted … I just needed … to get away from him.

He drank, and when he drank he would get angry and blame me for ruining everything. And when he was angry at me, he would sometimes hit me if I happened to be in the way of his hand, which I seemed to be quite often, especially as he would search me out to rant at me.

He never hurt me badly enough to need a doctor, but there were weeks I couldn't leave the house because I had bruises that would be too hard to explain away. My mother, of course, just buried her head in the sand and pretended nothing was happening.

I didn't really blame her, she was just as afraid of my father as I was.

Charles was my ticket to freedom.

I know how horrible that sounds. I really do, but each time my father drank he got just a little more violent than the last time. I was afraid that one day he might not stop.

Once Charles started coming around, my father stopped hitting me. I wasn't stupid, I knew it was because he didn't want Charles to know what was happening, but whatever the reason, I was grateful for the reprieve.

All of my hopes were shattered that day Charles explained that he was engaged to another woman and would be leaving to marry her.

I knew I had to find another way to escape my father, even if it meant being a governess or companion. And I began making plans, and gathering my belongings. I knew, without a shadow of a doubt, that this would be the last straw, and that I would not survive another encounter with my father.

My mother, in a rare moment of solidarity, gave me a small bundle to take with me. It contained a small amount of cash and all of her jewelry. She knew. She had always known. I hugged her goodbye, unsure if I would ever see her again, and waited out my father.

I needed to get in his study and access the emergency stash of money he kept hidden in the old globe on his desk. I had discovered it purely by accident one afternoon when I tripped over one of my father's boots and knocked the globe off the desk and onto the floor. It cracked open and revealed it's treasure.

I just needed to wait for my father to go to bed so I could get it and leave by the next morning. Unfortunately, my father remained in is study late into the night, and I decided to try again the following day.

The day that Charles came to speak to my father.

The day my father shot and killed Charles.

My mother was too ill to leave her bed when I left to fulfill my promise to Charles. The guilt I felt over my part in his death, not to mention that my father was the one to kill him, forced me to confess my role in the whole debacle. What made me feel even worse was knowing that not only had my plans been destroyed, but that there was a woman out there somewhere whose hopes and dreams had just been snuffed out.

I may not have loved him, but Charles was a good man that hadn't deserved what had happened to him.

The trip took me almost a week. Charles had told me where his friend lived, so it was just a matter of getting there. I checked into the Inn and waited until the next day before calling at Pemberley.

It went infinitely better and devastatingly worse than I had expected. The Darcy's were very gracious throughout, all things considered, especially considering the role I played in Charles' murder. I hadn't expected the raw emotion that each displayed at the news, and it tore at me. I was also very touched by the deep affection the two obviously shared. It was evident in every touch, every look, and every word.

It made my heart ache for Robert. Seeing that level of love and commitment was just too much, and I made a hasty departure, my duty to the Darcy's complete. My next stop was to London.

Charles had spoken of his sisters often, and I felt I had an obligation to offer my condolences in person … I also had a guilty conscience that I hoped would be assuaged.

I finally located the Hurst's London residence, only to find they were out of the country for the next month. I declined the offer to leave a message.

That was hardly information one left in a note.

I knew the name of the farm in Scotland his sister Caroline lived at, but I had forgotten her new surname, so I prayed it was easy to find. I decided to go home first to check on my mother, who had been ill when I left, but was in the very capable hands of her maid, Adeline. The return trip took less time than expected, and I arrived home two days earlier than planned to find my mother being looked after by the doctor.

The stress of my father's incarceration had simply been too much. She passed away that night.

It took me two weeks to bury my mother, arrange to store the things I wanted to keep, and make arrangements with the solicitor to sell the estate to pay off my father's significant debt.

I kept the globe … and the six thousand, three hundred pounds contained within. I wondered why my father had so much money stashed away that could have been used towards paying off his debts, until I found his packed valise stashed in the stall next to his favorite stallion. He had been planning to run.

I decided to keep the money and let the bank fight over everything else. I packed a bag, saddled my favorite horse, and left my childhood home, and all I had ever known behind me. I never looked back.

I rode as far as London, sold my horse, and booked my travel to Scotland. It took almost two weeks, seven different coaches, one attempted robbery, and all of my patience. It was actually a very beautiful country, and I decided to spend some time exploring it once my duty was complete.

Charles sister lived in a run down farm that showed signs of recent improvements and repairs. It was obvious someone was making an effort to fix it up. I saw a large man repairing a portion of the fence and tried to get his attention to ensure I was in the correct place before I started banging on the door.

When he turned around and our eyes met, I froze.

I never, in all my widest dreams, imagined I would see him again, so when I came face to face with him after all this time, I almost thought my lonely heart had conjured him. Except he looked so very different than how I remembered.

I still knew it was him. No matter how much he had changed, I would know him anywhere.

It was Robert. My Robert.

He finally approached me, his eyes brimming with the same emotion I was sure was in mine, and took my hand. I felt the same surge of warmth I always felt when we touched.

We both began speaking at once … but he let me go first … and my story came pouring out as he listened intently. When I explained who I was looking for he seemed to suddenly come back to himself and awkwardly stepped away.

That's when he explained about his wife … his pregnant wife.

My heart shattered all over again. To finally find him after all that time, and he was bound to another.

It was just too much.

I spoke to Caroline, said what I had gone there to say, and took my leave soon after. I couldn't stay there. I couldn't be in the same house with the woman that was sharing Robert's bed. That was sharing his life and bearing his child.

I don't remember how I got back to the Inn, I just remember the pain, and the tears. Lots and lots of tears.

He arrived the next day and begged me to listen to his story. He said he was miserable, and stuck in a marriage with an immature and spoiled girl that was carrying the child of her dead lover. A man she never stopped talking about.

He told me what happened after that day in the library, and he told me about his first wife. Then he told me he had never stopped loving me, and asked me to stay a few days longer so he could see me again.

I did. I stayed a week.

And then we left.

I know it wasn't right what we did, but I have tried to do the right thing and it had never gotten me anywhere. And I wasn't willing to let him go again.

He couldn't divorce her or she would be shunned, so he hired someone to run things, established a weekly delivery from the market, set aside an account for Lydia and the baby, and filled out all the paperwork to leave his half of the farm to Lydia in the event of his death.

Robert Martin and Emily Palmer died three months ago in a freak carriage accident.

Two months ago, Mr. and Mrs. Robert Stratton, bought a small farm in Galway, Ireland, and are expecting their first child.

Is what we are doing wrong? Probably. Especially in the eyes of the church, but we just can't seem to bring ourselves to care.

Love was stolen from us once, and for better or worse, I will not let it go again.

I have paid my dues in this life, and now I plan to reap my reward.

Mr. Palmer's POV

So cold.

I have never felt to cold in all my life.

It isn't just the bare cell, or the filthy rag that passes for a blanket in this dismal place, or even the bitterly cold wind that seeps in through the cracks and crevices … no, it is the bone deep cold from the knowledge that today I am going to die.

I killed a man.

I killed an innocent man in cold blood and for my sins I have been sentenced to hang.

Not that it means anything, nor will it have any bearing on my fate, but I am truly sorry for what I did. I really don't know how it happened. It happened in slow motion and yet, so fast that I couldn't stop it.

I had been polishing my gun to take with me. My gambling debts had gotten too large and I knew it wouldn't be long before they came and took everything, so I needed to go. I had stashed some money away for just such an emergency, and I knew it was time. I knew that the estate would have to be sold to pay off my debts, but there should be enough left over for my wife and daughter to start over somewhere else. Somewhere the taint of my indiscretions wouldn't follow them.

I knew it was the coward's way out, but I was, in essence, a coward, so it was fitting.

I had been polishing my gun and drinking, trying to convince myself that I was doing what was best for everyone. Better a husband and father that was gone, than one in debtor's prison and shamed. It would just drag up that nightmare with Emily from five years ago.

I had been drinking, not realizing exactly how much I had imbibed until I started to feel that familiar anger. The anger that only came out when I was in a weakened state … when I was drunk. I knew what happened when I drank, the anger would surface and take over my rational mind.

Anger at Emily for ruining my plans for her marriage to supply me the money I needed to get out of debt, anger at my wife for failing to provide me with a son, but most of all, anger at myself for what I did, each and every time I allowed that anger out. I knew I was weak; too weak to stop drinking, too weak to stop gambling as the losses started to accumulate.

I hated myself at times, but that didn't stop the cycle from continuing.

Then along came Charles Bingley like a beacon of light in my darkest hour. I could sense right away that he was an man that was easily led, and I did everything in my power to push he and Emily together, even going so far as to make sure they were seen alone together while out riding. It was insurance in case he didn't fall in line with my plans for him and his money.

But then I overheard him talking to Emily in the garden that day, and knew the game was over. It was time to put my plans into action. It was time for me to leave.

I started to feel that familiar anger and knew I needed to stop drinking. I didn't want to hurt her again, not on this day, my last night in my home, and most likely, my last night to ever see her again. I didn't want to hurt her anymore.

But then he came in. He came into my study and started to explain why he couldn't marry my daughter … why he would be unable to stay in the area … how he was so very sorry for any misunderstandings. And the anger reared it's ugly head once more, only this time it was aimed at this man … this man that had been my last hope of salvation … my last hope for being the kind of man I had always wanted to be.

Before I even realized it was happening, my hand was raised and the gun cocked. I don't remembering pulling the trigger, I just remember feeling the gun jerk and hearing the sound of his body as it fell.

Everything after that was a blur until I woke up here. Cold and alone.

Cold, alone and more scared than I have ever been in my life.

Today I would die.