AN: Sorry for the delay - just busy, but here's a long chapter with a small cliffhanger for your trouble. And for the reviewer who questioned why the shore would be moving toward the ship - sometimes, I hope I am communicating less about the laws of physics and more about the characters' states of mind. Elizabeth was reluctant to return but felt an inevitable pull...

The Bennets had hardly stepped into the house when a small girl, dark hair whipping behind her head, came racing down the hall toward them. She nearly barreled into the children, skidding to a stop across the polished marble floor.

"Thomas!" she hollered, the party jumping as her voice bounced off the entry hall walls. "Are you Thomas?" she said, in a slightly quieter tone, grabbing the little boy's hands.

"Phebe," her father said with a touch of exasperation. "What did I tell you about your voice?"

The tiny girl slipped a solemn gaze at her father and intoned: "One must use a softer voice when one is indoors, par-tic-ly when guests are present."

Mr. Bennet chuckled while Elizabeth and Mary hid their smiles behind their gloves. The child was too young to be purposefully mocking her father, but the mimicry was nonetheless apt. Mr. Bennet slid a glance at their stern host and looked surprised to see his broad smile.

"Come here, rascal," Darcy said with a chuckle, patting his daughter on the head. "Why don't you show Thomas and his cousins to the nursery?" Phebe smiled brightly at him, hopping from foot to foot as the children handed their winter cloaks to the waiting servants. Then she grabbed for Thomas's hands again, leading him excitedly away.

"I am Phebe," they could hear the girl chattering, as she led them away. "We will have so much fun! We have a playroom, and we can play hide and seek. Esther, that is my sister, never plays with me. There is a maze in the garden. Maybe we can build an ice castle outside, too! And the river froze - I can show you...". She kept up a stream of possibilities, hardly pausing for air as the other children trailed dazedly behind her.

Georgiana sighed. "Yes," she commented to the group, "she is always like that. Please, do come in and warm yourselves."

"Phebe," Mr. Bennet remarked companionably as he followed Miss Darcy through the entry hall. "It is a beautiful name."

"Yes," Georgiana agreed politely. "Her mother chose it from the Bible. St. Phebe was one of the earliest followers of the church."

"Ah," he responded, "I see. I cannot say I recall St. Phebe, but I am sure hers is an inspiring story."

The thread of their exchange was lost as they entered a sitting room full of the extended Bennet family. Jane and Kitty rose from their seats by the fire, enthusiastically greeting their sisters, while Georgiana introduced her cousin, Miss de Bourgh, to Mr. Bennet.

"'Tis good to see you again, Anne," Elizabeth said warmly as she settled into the soft cushions of an armchair by the window. They exchanged condolences and fell awkwardly silent. Anne de Bourgh then turned her head to listen to Mr. Bingley recount a story about an ill-fated business venture, which ended with shoeless horses and an angry farmer.

Smiling or nodding occasionally as the conversations circling around her required, Elizabeth looked quietly around the room. It was decorated for the season, with evergreen boughs on the mantle and windows, as well as a small tree with golden ribbons in a corner of the room. The furniture was neither gaudy nor uselessly fine, but unmistakably elegant with its gentle mahogany curves and embroidered upholstery. Soft light flickered from a crystal chandelier and matching sconces around the room, chasing away the grey light leaking in through the window sashes. The glow from the fireplace warmed the walls, which were plain whitewash, just as they were at Longbourn.

"Georgiana wanted me to paint the room," Darcy said, following her eyes and correctly reading her expression. "She said the new Chemist's brew colors show a modern sensibility." He shrugged. "I hate to seem old fashioned, but I do not find verdigris to be in the least bit relaxing. I wish to be at ease in my own home."

"Well said, young man," Mr. Bennet commented. "I personally find I am most at home in my library, though I daresay that is not because of the color."

"He did allow me to paint my favorite room - the music room - chrome yellow," Georgiana offered from across the room.

"A very subdued chrome yellow," Darcy amended.

"Mother put intense color on nearly every wall at Rosings," Miss de Bourgh noted. "Including a ghastly purple in the dining room. I am told it took some 10,000 whelks to create that very pigment."

"Well, you must be sure to preserve it, then," said Mary solemnly. "It would be a shame if the poor creatures sacrificed their lives in vain."

Kitty giggled, and then looked about anxiously, relaxing only when she saw that Miss de Bourgh and Georgiana were laughing, too. Elizabeth felt herself relaxing as she listened to the spirited talk about home decor, noting that Anne de Bourgh still appeared wan and birdlike, but otherwise much improved by her mother's demise. These were certainly the longest sentences she had ever heard Anne speak.

"You have not been to Pemberley in a long time," Darcy murmured, interrupting her observations.

"True," she responded quickly, trying to ignore the tension she felt creeping back into her shoulders. "Not since Christmas, when was it, five years ago?"

"Six," he corrected, "and that was only for two days on the way to somewhere else." He smiled at her raised eyebrows. "I suspect I can recall every time I have seen you, Elizabeth," he said in a low tone only she could hear. "But I certainly would never forget your presence in my own home." He leaned toward her and captured her gaze with his steady stare. "It is a relief to finally be able to admit that."

Darcy cleared his throat, looked around briefly, and then sat back in his chair.

"We have made many changes since you were here last," he said in a louder, more neutral tone. "The entire north wing is new, in fact. I would be delighted to take you on a tour, once you are feeling rested. Or I can just show you to your rooms for now, if you like."

Even the suggestion that he would take her to her room sent heat radiating up Elizabeth's neck and tingling through her scalp. She groaned inwardly at the inappropriate nature of her reaction to him, given her condition and her newfound concerns for the future. That and the presence of a room full of family members in close proximity, all with some practice in reading her expressions. Indeed, the baby kicked her hard just then, as if to underscore that she should not be thinking of such things. She shook her head at her whimsical thoughts; the baby was likely just reacting to her elevated heartbeat.

"Elizabeth?" Darcy inquired tentatively, clearly unsure of what the rapid play of such varying emotions across her countenance might mean.

"Excuse me," she said, with another blush. "I was just thinking that a tour would be lovely."

He smiled with relief. "Would you like to rest a bit more, or are you ready now?"

"I have been doing little other than rest for nearly three days," she responded. "I am ready."

"Would anyone else care to tour the house?" Darcy asked the group as they rose to their feet.

Mr. Bennet groaned. "Have pity on an old man - you are far too energetic, daughter. But the rest of you are by no means under any obligation to keep me and my rheumatism company."

"We could hardly desert you, after such a piteous statement, father," Mary commented mildly.

Mary and Mr. Bennet thus neatly ensured that Darcy would be alone with Elizabeth; if any among the assemblage thought that improper, they wisely kept it to themselves. Mr. Bennet did watch Lord Darcy's retreating form thoughtfully, however, and several others in the room took note of his gaze.

As they walked down the hallway, looking into one high-ceilinged, spacious room after another, Darcy told her of his childhood in this house. It had largely been a happy one; his father was a forceful but kind man who was respected and liked by his tenants. Though young Fitzwilliam had grown up much occupied with tutors in everything from the classics to horsemanship, his father had also taken the boy with him everywhere, whether it was routine affairs out on the estate or trips to London, which were rare back in those days.

"There is my mother," Darcy nodded at a large portrait in the gallery room. Mrs. Darcy was tall and very beautiful, but unsmiling in her gilt frame.

"What was she like?" Elizabeth asked, her voice nearly echoing in the cavernous room.

Darcy scrutinized his mother's portrait impassively.

"She died when I was ten, as you know," he began slowly, "giving birth to Georgiana." He paused again. "I suppose I revered her at the time," he reflected, "but I do not believe I really knew her. She was gracious and affectionate in her way, but quite reserved, unlike my father. I suspect she always felt she had an image to maintain, coming from a noble family." He looked at Elizabeth with a half-smile. "I suppose I inherited my pride from her."

"There were three sisters, as I recall," Elizabeth commented, "and the one brother - Richard's father."

"Yes," he agreed, walking her to another, smaller painting of Mrs. Darcy as a child with her siblings. "There is Lady Catherine," he pointed to the tallest of the three girls, imposing and cross-looking, even as a child. "This was Lady Adelaide," a child with black ringlets and dancing eyes stood in the middle of the cluster. "You likely have not heard much of her. She was the youngest, and by all accounts, quite a lively girl. Unfortunately, she died of a fever while she was still a young woman."

Richard's father was the oldest child and nearly a grown man in the portrait. He was dressed in a sumptuous blue velvet jacket and breeches, with gold embroidery along buttonholes and lace at the sleeves.

"I did not know him well," she commented, aware of Darcy's eyes on her as she examined her father-in-law's face, looking for some resemblance to her late husband or her son. "If you recall, he died shortly before Richard and I were married, but he was kind to me during our engagement."

Darcy nodded. "He was a good man - a great help to me after my own father died."

He turned away from the extensive collection of family portraits and led her to another part of the gallery. The first time Elizabeth had visited Pemberley, back when she and Richard were courting, she had certainly admired the beauty of the paintings and statuary, but she had lacked the education and experience to truly appreciate what she was seeing. The intervening years in London and on the continent had taught her much, though, and she was able to discuss the works fairly knowledgeably with her host.

"Now this one," he said, invigorated by her informed admiration for his collection, "is a recent addition." The life-sized statue showed a shapely young woman reclining on a couch, bending at the waist toward the seated figure of a man. She was completely nude, save for a drapery over her arm, which also wound discreetly across the man's lap. He was otherwise unclothed, as well, his lean, muscled figure chiseled in great detail. Elizabeth blushed at the overtly sensual tableau before her. "She is a Naiad," Darcy commented enthusiastically, "and this is the young demi-god pursuing her. It was done by an Italian sculptor, from the new realist movement - he is quite talented."

Darcy waited for her to comment. "It is..." she stammered, "quite realistic, indeed." Looking at her flushed face, he could not restrain what could only be described as a most ignoble smirk. "If that is your reaction to the Naiad," he stated blandly, "perhaps it would be best if we proceed to other parts of the house - the painting of Leda and the Swan might require smelling salts."

Elizabeth laughed, delighted at his teasing. "Fie, sir," she replied, swatting him on the arm. "If I did not know you for a gentleman, I would have to question your intentions in showing me such scenes of seduction."

"I believe I have made my intentions quite clear," he whispered, leaning close to her in the dim light of the hallway.

"How can you even suggest that," she groaned. "I am hardly soothing on the eyes in this state - a begowned pachyderm would be more appealing." She rubbed her hand across her midsection.

"You have never been more beautiful, Elizabeth," he said taking her hand in his own, no longer laughing as he pressed his lips to her fingertips.

She shivered, raising his hand to her own lips in turn, dropping it suddenly as she heard approaching footsteps. A young woman with carefully downcast eyes and a basket full of crisp, white linen dipped a hurried curtsy as she slipped past them and into a doorway down the hall.

Darcy cleared his throat. "That would be the dining room," he noted apologetically. "They must be staging it for dinner. Shall we see?"

"No, no," Elizabeth said hastily. "Best to leave them to their work; I will see it soon enough. Will you not show me the library?"

"I thought to save it for last," he said with a chuckle, "as I doubt I will be able to persuade you to go anywhere else once we are there, but the library it is, then."

Elizabeth was not at all surprised to find her father already there, seated in a comfortable chair by the fire with a blanket over his legs and several books on a table next to him. If Lord Darcy was disappointed to have their privacy interrupted by the presence of her father, he did not show it. Indeed, he greeted Mr. Bennet warmly, even as he kept a firm hold on Elizabeth's arm.

The three spent the afternoon pleasantly, discussing the organization, content, and even lighting of the library, which in warmer weather, was solely through the expansive northern-facing windows.

"It is," Mr. Bennet sighed drowsily, "a marvelous room. The very best room I believe I have ever seen. I am certain I told you that the last time you were kind enough to invite me here."

"I believe you may have made mention of it," Mr. Darcy said seriously, though his eyes danced with amusement.

"A marvelous room," Mr. Bennet repeated happily, before nodding off to sleep.

They soon had to rouse him for dinner, and by that time, Elizabeth herself was hardly able to keep her eyes open. This was certainly at odds with the liveliness of the party around the table. Even Kitty and her husband were laughing and telling stories; Jane said they had hardly uttered a word between them their entire first day at Pemberley. Elizabeth, self-consciously seated to the right of Lord Darcy, smiled at everyone and tried to listen attentively, as she unsuccessfully suppressed another yawn. Finally, Georgiana leaned across the table.

"Dear Elizabeth," she said kindly, "I fear my brother must have exhausted you in his eagerness to show you our home. Shall I take you to your room and perhaps have something sent up for you?"

Elizabeth smiled at her hostess. "Thank you, Georgiana. I do not wish to be impolite, but I confess that I believe I do need to retire. I tire somewhat easily these days." The room was filled with murmured encouragement, and Lord Darcy began to push back his chair. Georgiana, with a quick sidelong glance at Mr. Bennet, put a gently restraining hand on her brother's arm.

"Do stay, Fitzwilliam; the meat will soon be on the table and you must carve. I will see to our guest." An annoyed look flickered briefly across his features, quickly replaced by a gracious nod. "Of course," he said evenly. "I hope you will rest comfortably; if there is anything you need, you have only to ask," he said to Elizabeth. She thanked him and kissed her sisters before following Georgiana from the room.

"Are you well?" Georgiana asked her anxiously, once they were in the hall.

"I am well," Elizabeth reassured her. "Just a bit tired from the journey, I am afraid."

They walked for a moment in a somewhat strained silence.

"Is it alright then?" Georgiana finally asked cryptically.

Elizabeth looked at her in confusion. "Is what alright?"

"All of it," Georgiana said, waving her hand vaguely at the walls as they ascended a broad staircase. "Can you see yourself feeling at home here someday?"

Elizabeth actually laughed and then put her arm around her friend's waist to reassure her. "One step at a time, dear Georgiana. You are getting ahead of the story."

Georgiana put her head on Elizabeth's shoulder as they paused outside a door. "I am so sorry, Elizabeth," she whispered, and Elizabeth knew she meant she was sorry for more than their current exchange. "I hope you understand that I just want him to be happy, more than I want anything else. That has been the focus of my life for some years now, and I have cause to be worried..."

"There will be time to speak of it, Georgiana," Elizabeth interrupted gently, with undisguised weariness. "But rest assured, all is well for now. Is this to be my room?" she asked uneasily.

"Yes," Georgiana said, opening the door into a magnificent sitting room, with a bedroom visible through the door at the other side. "These are your rooms, Is there something the matter?"

Elizabeth paled as she looked at the grandeur of the place. "These are not... These were not..." she stammered.

"Oh, no," Georgiana said, suddenly comprehending Elizabeth's discomfort. "These were not Catherine's rooms. No. Fitzwilliam's rooms are in the other wing of the house."

Elizabeth sagged with relief, and Georgiana kissed her lightly on the cheek before moving to the door.

"Georgiana?" she called after her retreating figure.

"Yes?" she said, leaning back into the doorframe.

"Whose rooms were these?"

"They were my mother's," she said softly. "Sleep well, Elizabeth."

Unfortunately, she did not sleep well at all. Her usual nightmares of sun-scorched fields plagued her, only this time, a tall, dark woman watched her from a distant ridge, with all the foreboding of an approaching thunderstorm.

Dawn comes even after the darkest night, however, and so morning came, cold but quickly brightening to crystalline blue. Georgiana had arranged for all of the children to take a sleigh ride through the grounds that day, and Elizabeth, Jane, and Mary rode along.

"It is a beautiful place, is it not, Lizzy?," said Jane somewhat breathlessly. "I know you cannot see the formal gardens for all the snow, but they are quite lovely in the spring."

"Yes, I remember," Elizabeth said, "but I must say, I like this best," she waved a gloved hand at the woods sliding past. "So much of the park has been left to grow as it will, and I much prefer this wild, ungroomed landscape."

As if in response, they passed a trio of gardeners, who were pruning the skeletal trees and bushes.

"Ah, well, I suppose I prefer my landscape to be discreetly groomed and only tolerably wild."

Jane laughed and waved at the men, who waved good naturedly back.

The next day was Christmas, and the party traveled to a local church for Christmas services. The Darcys and Anne de Bourgh sat in the front pew, with Miss Darcy insisting that Mr. Bennet sit with them. The old man demurred loudly, but was clearly flattered by the consideration.

Elizabeth sat with the Bingleys and Mary, directly behind Darcy. That might have proven distracting for them both had they not been so ably and thoroughly occupied by the children. The four Bingley boys, in particular, appeared to have immense difficulty in sitting still, and Lydia's youngest child did whatever they did. Phebe loudly whispered questions throughout the service, most of which were answered by her solemn older sister, who otherwise followed the preacher's words with rapt attention. Thomas was stoic, relative to his cousins, and seemed to be watching Esther Darcy's every move.

After the service, Lord Darcy introduced his guests to the other parishioners, who were largely his tenants. He knew every name, all the details of their lives, and there was no mistaking the affection and regard they had for him, in turn. Elizabeth found herself speaking to an older couple, who expressed their sympathies about Richard. "He'm a good man," the farmer said, nodding his head. "He an' Lord Darcy all but grew up together. He'll be missed aroun' these parts." Elizabeth thanked them, inquiring politely after their own family. The woman beamed with pleasure as she talked about her son, who had gone to work in one of Lord Darcy's factories. "Learned his letters, he did," she said proudly.

The conversation was cut short, however, as the carriages arrived at the church door. The blue skies of the day before had given way to heavy clouds, and snow had begun to fall. The drive was short, but the party hurried back to the manor before the road could be covered over.

It was a cozy scene, later that day, as all of the families gathered in the sitting room. There was a gift for each child, and the Bennets gave Lord Darcy a book for his collection and Miss Darcy some new sheet music. Miss de Bourgh gave everyone chocolate, and was clearly pleased with the reaction.

"I have never shared Christmas with children," she said, as Thomas kissed her cheek sweetly. "Not since I was one myself."

"It suits you, Anne," Elizabeth said sincerely, for it was true. Miss de Bourgh looked happy and relaxed. In fact, with the light in her eyes and color in her cheeks, she bore a marked resemblance to her long lost Aunt Adelaide.

Later in the evening, after a marvelous Christmas feast, Elizabeth waited in her sitting room. There was a soft knock at the door, as she knew there would be, and she quickly opened it to admit Lord Darcy.

He smiled at her and kissed her gently, holding her lightly in his arms. "I have a gift for you, too, my love," he said, stroking her cheek.

"And I have one for you."

They moved to the settee, and he handed her a small box. Her breath caught and she opened it slowly, exhaling in delight. She had feared he would give her something extravagant that she could not wear without confirming her favors to any curious observers. Instead, it was a delicate but simple poesy ring, with tiny golden stars engraved on it.

"Many are the stars I see but in my eye no star like thee," she read from inside the band. "Oh, Fitzwilliam! It is beautiful!"

"It is a promise," he said, as he slipped it on her finger.

She nodded, her eyes glassy with emotion.

"Now, I believe you said you have something for me?"

"Oh, 'tis nothing," she said hurriedly, looking down. "I am afraid it does not compare..."

He held out his hand expectantly and she pressed a package into it. He opened it to find a miniature of Elizabeth. It was small enough to fit into his coat pocket.

"Why, it is wonderful," he breathed. "The likeness is amazing."

"I had it made in France..."

"For Richard," he finished softly.

"Yes," she answered. "For Richard. For him to carry with him on campaigns. It arrived shortly after he died." She placed a warm hand on his chin, and when he raised his conflicted eyes to hers, she knew she would have to find a way to live in his world. There was nothing for it; she would just have to.

"But it is yours now, Fitzwilliam. I am yours. If you will have me."

He had lived too long with his regrets to respond with anything other than the passion of a much younger man, violently in love. And yet he was no longer young, so he also savored the surety of the sensations and emotions that flowed between them. Neither title nor fortune can protect a man from the fragility of desire and mortality of love, something Fitzwilliam Darcy understood better than most.

The next morning, the four sisters had breakfast together. The oldest children were at their lessons with Esther's governess, and the younger were playing games under the supervision of several nurses. Miss de Bourgh was still abed, and Georgiana was off arranging the day's entertainment. Mr. Bennet was already in the library, and Lord Darcy was in his study, attending to some business. Charles Bingley had entered the dining room to see all four Bennet women there and hastily excused himself with a muttered excuse about checking on Darcy.

"You seem well rested this morning," Mary said to Elizabeth as they passed the food around.

"Yes," she replied with an easy smile at Mary. "I am feeling much more myself today."

"Excellent," Mary responded, "because we were all rather wondering who you were and what you had done with our sister."

"Mary!" Jane scolded, while Kitty giggled and Elizabeth scowled.

"Excuse me, Mrs. Fitzwilliam," the steward said, clearing his throat as he entered the room. "There is a letter for you, my lady." He held out a silver tray.

"Thank you, Mr. Parmentier," she said politely, taking the papers.

As her sisters continued their banter, Elizabeth opened the letter and began to read.

It was Jane who noticed her sister's shocked expression some minutes later. "Not bad news, I hope, Lizzy? Lizzy? Who is it it from, then?"

"From our brother," she said quietly. They all looked at her, stunned into a rare moment of silence.

"George Wickham," she clarified. "He is here, in Lambton, and wishes to see me. This afternoon at the Rose and Crown."