Chapter Thirty Six

Her brains were addled. That must be it. The fall had done it to her; her head wound was causing problems. Her head aching, Kitty closed her eyes and tried to breathe deeply. Yes, it was just her head wound thinking for her. This would all go away soon. Yet somehow, try as she might, Mr. Stone's deep voice still kept her quite awake and quite warm and quite comfortable and quite uncomfortable all at the same time. Oh, Lord.

Mr. Bingley was clearly rather worried.

The man had twice attempted to pull Mr. Darcy aside during the course of the afternoon to no avail, and now spent much of his time alternating between shooting anxious glances his way and letting himself enjoy the company of Miss Bennet.

Mr. Darcy noted his friend's distraction, but he could no more infer what the matter might entail than he could find a moment with the man for private conversation. He was himself constantly diverted – either by his sister's distraction (which he sought to ease by gentle smiles, to seeming no effect), or by some matter upon which Mrs. Bennet required his opinion, or by Elizabeth's fine eyes.

His newly established friendship with Elizabeth was simultaneously edifying and baffling. He had never been safe from Elizabeth's wit, nor had he been inclined to wish for such protection. He had always enjoyed her cleverness, even when it was directed at him, but he now saw that her wit softened with friendship. What he had perceived at Netherfield as flirtation he now realized was dislike, and he marvelled yet again at his own ignorance. Had he truly been so blind to her true feelings? He had thought that she had singled him out as a sign of regard and interest, only to now realize how false such an assumption was. Now that there was true friendship in her eyes, she seemed to soften – her witticisms were delivered with warm smiles in addition to the arch looks, and her eyes sparkled with the wit which she restrained. He had seen her restrain her wit for her sister and for Mr. Bingley, and he now realized that she had done so out of respect. She did that for him now, although he could not yet decide if this was a preferable circumstance. Although he had hardly taken time before to imagine her feelings (that idiotic phrase of his own mind he could not consider without revulsion), he now found himself doing nothing but imagining her feelings.

As for his sister, he attempted to communicate through his eyes his understanding and forgiveness of her earlier actions, but she refused to meet his eyes. It was immensely frustrating. He had Elizabeth's sympathy, however, and she saw his purpose easily and proved willing to assist. Unfortunately, the afternoon's events did not allow a moment for a private interview – indeed, Mr. Darcy found himself increasingly frustrated with the close quarters so unwillingly pressed upon them. Much as he appreciated the opportunity to spend a great deal more time in the company of Elizabeth, he despised the lack of a moment's peace – for not only did Mrs. Bennet's constant attentions infringe upon his privacy ("Oh, Mr. Darcy, what a beautiful knot in your cravat! Your valet must be very well-versed in the latest fashions!"), but there was also the incessant doe-eyed expressions of Mr. Bingley and Miss Bennet to contend with. There was no escape, not even in sleep!

He missed the wide, empty corridors of Pemberly immensely in that long hour before dinner, and he could not help but entertain in his mind the idea of being snowed in at Pemberly instead – with Georgiana, and Elizabeth, perhaps Mr. Bingley and Miss Bennet, maybe even Miss Mary to keep Georgiana company so that he could have some quiet time alone with Elizabeth. Yes, it was a much more pleasant scene! Georgiana and Miss Mary at the piano-forte, practicing duets and laughing quietly together while Mr. Bingley and Miss Bennet sat on the sofa blushing and speaking softly. He and Elizabeth would stand by the window, gazing out upon the vast blankets of snow which covered the extensive grounds with miles and miles of untouched whiteness, trading witticisms and warm smiles.

When the call to dinner came, Mr. Darcy was still reeling from the emotions resulting from such a vision and did not hesitate to claim Elizabeth's arm to escort her in to the dining room. The Bennets did not stand much upon formality, so his eagerness resulted in merely a few raised eyebrows and knowing looks rather than any true insult. Mr. Bennet escorted his wife, and Mr. Bingley escorted Jane, leaving the other Bennet daughters and Georgiana to fend for themselves.

Dinner that evening was a rather boring affair, in truth. After a full day and a half spent in each other's company, the party found themselves rather lacking in conversation. Derbyshire was discussed at length the night before, but the subject was rehashed once again. Mrs. Bennet asked a number of times if she could do anything to make their stay more comfortable, an offer which was kindly denied by all parties each time. Georgiana's education was once again discussed, a topic which was of great interest primarily to Mary. The French were discussed, including a brief discussion of France's climate as opposed to England's climate. It was discussed whether or not it was snowing over the entire country, or just in Hertfordshire, and whether or not London was also under siege from the terrible blizzard, and if Kitty was snowed in as well.

At last, running out of generic discussion topics, they turned their attention to how they might entertain themselves after dinner. Mr. Bingley suggested Charades, and Mary suggested Tableaux Vivants. Georgiana quite fancied the idea of Snap Dragon, insisting that it was a game well-suited to the time of year. It was agreed, at last, that Miss Darcy's request held precedence by virtue of her sex and her lack of residence in the household, and thus Mrs. Hill was informed that they would be in need of brandy and raisins or almonds after dinner. As the meal came to a close, the spirits of all the young people rose in expectation of the great event – not so much for the greatness of the game itself, but more for the interest of a new activity to break up the monotony of an otherwise uneventful evening.

"I hope," Mr. Bennet said as he stood to signal the end of the meal, the usual amount of dry humour in voice, "that you will forgive my absence during your marvellous game. From Miss Darcy's description, I gather it to be a young person's pleasure – I shall retire to my study, where you may certainly find me if you wish to engage in any sort of sensible activity. Mrs. Bennet, would you care to join me as I embargo these immature frivolities?"

Mrs. Bennet flushed with pleasure at being so singled out of the group. She hesitated, clearly finding the idea of the game very interesting and exciting. Being very fond of socializing and laughter, and being particularly fond of encouraging her daughters in their various romances, Mrs. Bennet struggled with the decision. Ultimately, however, her recently rediscovered romance with her own husband took precedence over her interest in a silly game, and Mrs. Bennet happily took his arm and separated from the rest of the company in the hall, heading towards the study whilst the young people headed towards the parlour. If Mr. Darcy's eyes happened to dart quickly and bashfully down the hall to where the door of the study was only just closing behind the Bennet parents, there were none to notice.

Mr. Darcy managed to pull Georgiana to the back of the crowd for a moment as Elizabeth, apparently still aware of his desire to speak to his sister, saw his intention, sent him a knowing look, and easily ushered the rest of the party into the parlour.

"Georgiana, I –"

"Oh, William, I'm so sorry!" she cried before he could finish his sentence. "I should not have interfered! It was so childish of me – only Mary and I were so certain!"

"Georgiana," Mr. Darcy said firmly. "Please. I am sorry. We are, I believe, equally at fault for our breach of propriety. If anything, the blame should rest more upon my shoulders as your guardian. I confess, my eagerness to hear what I wanted to hear quite overcame my judgment, and I well deserved the resulting chastisement."

"Brother!" Georgiana protested.

"No, I did deserve it," he insisted back again. "I have – I have not displayed myself to the best of my ability in Hertfordshire, and I believe, after some examination, my conduct has left much to be desired. Miss Elizabeth was quite right to reproach me, and she could have no reason to believe that I feel any sort of warm feelings towards her. I spoke with her earlier, however, and apologized – we have made amends, and I believe are well on our way towards a good friendship. Whatever else may come, we must endeavour to meet it with our best behaviour – which will, I trust, no longer include any eavesdropping."

Georgiana's blush at this reference to their misconduct faded quickly, her smile widening and brightening at his earlier words.

"Oh, William, do you really think she might -?"

"It is far too early to say such a thing," Mr. Darcy blushed through his confession. "But I will not deny that I hope so … very much."

"Oh, I cannot imagine anything more pleasant than to have such a sister!" Georgiana added her approbation to his hopes. "And to be part of such a nice, big, warm family – it has been such fun staying here. I had always wondered what it might be like to have sisters, and it is more delightful than anything!"

Mr. Darcy smiled fondly at his sister, tugging gently on one of her golden curls.

"I am glad, Georgie."

The opening of the servants' door interrupted their quiet moment, and the two hastened to join the party in the parlour. The others hadn't a moment to question their disappearance because Mrs. Hill entered the parlour only moments after them with Emma trailing behind her to carry the large, shallow bowl which was required for the game, as Mrs. Hill's hands were occupied with the tray carrying the raisins, almonds, and brandy.

The gentlemen rearranged the furniture so that the party could stand around the table with ease, the bowl was quickly positioned in the centre of the table, and Mr. Bingley did the honours of pouring the brandy into the bowl. Georgiana was given the privilege of scattering the raisins and almonds in the liquid, the entire party watching with excited fascination as each small morsel plunged deep into the bowl.

"Are you certain we shall not be burned?" Jane asked with concern. Her hand went to rest on her arm, which had only recently recovered from the burn she had received when her mother had upset the teapot during Mrs. Philips last visit. The skin on that arm had now returned to her normal colour and tone, but the memory of the pain still lingered.

"I am very certain," Georgiana assured her, unaware of any reason to be particularly concerned about the hazard.

"I can also add my assurance," Mr. Bingley offered Jane quietly. "I have played this game in many a London parlour, and I have seen no such injury. Not even my sister has – that is to say, it will be fine so long as no sleeves are allowed near enough to catch the flames, and you must remove your hand when you begin to really feel the heat." Seeing she was still unsure, Mr. Bingley hastened to add, "I shall stay right beside you – perhaps, Mrs. Hill, we might have a damp cloth? To make Miss Bennet more comfortable?"

Mrs. Hill curtseyed her acquiescence and departed to retrieve the cloth. Emma stood hesitantly to the side, waiting to light the fire for them. The men began to carefully unbutton and roll up their shirtsleeves to above their elbows in preparation for the game, the ladies blushing at the sight of their bare forearms. To distract the girls from the men's activities, Georgiana set about arranging each of them around the table and explaining the rules – to each take a turn to pull out a raisin or almond from the bowl as quickly as they could. If they could not retrieve one, the turn passed to the next player. This would continue quite quickly until all of the raisins and almonds had been retrieved, or until the brandy had burned out. Mr. Bingley emphasized the need for speed, not only to avoid burns but also to keep the game fast-paced and exciting. As soon as one person removed their hand from the bowl, the next should go in. The person with the most almonds or raisins at the end would win.

"Oh, but we haven't a prize!" Mary cried suddenly. "What shall the winner receive?"

"Perhaps one of Lizzy's paintings?" Jane suggested. Elizabeth cried her displeasure with the idea, blushing.

"Perhaps one Jane's beautiful handkerchiefs!" she countered obstinately.

"Perhaps they may choose someone to sing a song?"

"Or perhaps they may choose the next game?"

This being the universal favourite option, it was soon decided. Mr. Darcy, however, kept his peace, as his eyes were set on a different prize entirely.

Mrs. Hill returned promptly with the cloth, Emma obligingly brought a faggot from the parlour fire with which to light the brandy, and the game began.

It was, indeed, a fast paced game! As soon as the fire was lit and Emma had jumped back, Mr. Bingley (who had been elected to be the first to take a turn) plunged his hand into the flames and pulled it out again just as quickly, raisin grasped triumphantly in hand. Jane was next, her fingers jumping away from the flame in fear before she closed her eyes and plunged her hand into the bowl – she, also, emerged triumphant, her face pink and her smile disbelieving. She had no time to contemplate her own accomplishment, however, before Mary's hand was in the bowl and she, too, withdrew a raisin. Mr. Darcy calmly retrieved an almond, and Elizabeth's speedy snap of her hand retrieved another. Georgiana, the last, also managed a raisin.

Around and around it went, each time taking longer to find the almonds and raisins, their faces alight with excitement and laughter. It was on the third round that Mary became the first to withdraw her hand without any prize, wincing a bit. Mr. Darcy and Elizabeth each managed another, but Georgiana also withdrew an empty hand. From thence it was more difficult, and the young people began to take their time about it rather than rushing as they had done previously, squinting into the flames to find an object before attempting the feat. Elizabeth found herself, to her own surprise, laughing quite heartily at Mr. Darcy's comical expressions throughout the game – to see his face so lit with genuine enjoyment and laughter at the silly game was quite astonishing to one so accustomed to believing him solemn and stern. While she had seen that there was more to the man than pride, and in fact that he was quite a model of virtue and responsibility, to see this lighter side of the man's character was an unexpected and welcome revelation.

As the brandy began to burn out, the game once again picked up pace until at last the final raisin was claimed by Jane with a triumphant smile, which of course was bestowed in its entirety upon Mr. Bingley. That gentleman being the recipient of such a warm, genuine smile could hardly be blamed for his lack of interest in any other thing, whether that be his friends' knowing looks or his task of counting his raisins and almonds. If his hand found its way to Jane's waist once or twice, their friends kindly feigned ignorance and kept to their own tasks of counting raisins and almonds.

"Fifteen!" Georgiana declared at last. "Mary?"

Mary finished counting her last few morsels and shook her head, "Fourteen!"

"Twenty here," Elizabeth confessed, giving Georgiana a slightly apologetic look.

"Twenty, as well," Mr. Darcy piped up. Elizabeth shot him a disbelieving smile.

"Truly?"

"Do you doubt me to be a liar, Miss Elizabeth?" he asked wryly, good-natured humour tugging the corners of his lips upwards.

"Indeed, Mr. Darcy, I could never presume to doubt a single word from your lips," Elizabeth began to tease him, leading into a joke about his intimidating stature or perhaps his enormous wealth, but somehow the words died on her lips. She blushed. Whether this was due to her sudden realization that she had referenced his lips, which she now found quite inexplicably distracting, or due to her realization that she had no desire for her teasing words about his wealth or stature to give offense, none would ever know – perhaps, indeed, not even Elizabeth.

Luckily, Mr. Bingley and Jane at last remembered themselves and announced their own scores, which were eighteen and sixteen, respectively.

"A tie!" Georgiana cried happily, clapping her hands together. "They must split the prize! What shall be our next game, Elizabeth, William?"

The two winners were so astonished that they were quite bemused and unable to articulate an answer, which Jane quickly perceived.

"Perhaps we should give them a moment to make a decision," Jane suggested kindly. "Emma, would you be so good as to ring for Mrs. Hill? We must clean up our mess and then, perhaps, we should enjoy a cup of tea before our next game?"

Emma hurried to do her bidding, and the party quickly dispersed – Georgiana and Mary to the piano-forte to discuss the next duet they were working on, Jane and Bingley to the fire, and Elizabeth and Mr. Darcy to the window seat to discuss the next game which the group should play.

The frosted glass, rather than permit observance of the wintry evening scene of Longbourn's front lawn, reflected their faces back to them, Elizabeth's amused and Darcy's grave. Elizabeth's lips turned upwards at this typical occurrence, and she could not help allowing her tongue free rein for a moment.

"I must beg you, sir, to desist with such solemn expressions," Elizabeth teased him gently. "I'faith, they do not lend themselves well to the amusement of the evening! Indeed, looking upon your face, I'm afraid our friends may quite despair of us concocting any scheme which may be the least enjoyable!"

"What sort of expression would you recommend as an alternative, madam?" Mr. Darcy asked. His expression remained quite stern, but it seemed to Elizabeth that his eyes were lighter.

"Oh, it need not be jolly," Elizabeth assured him hastily, her own eyes sparkling at his willing rejoinder, "but perhaps a small upturn of the lips may help to soften the glare."

"And how is this, Miss Bennet?" He offered her a small smile, his eyes very warm indeed as they fixed upon her so steadily. She caught her breath and looked away from him, turned her gaze to the delicate frost splintering itself across the glass so gracefully.

"That will do very nicely," she conceded quickly, fearing the blush she was sure would rise momentarily. "Now we may certainly begin the business of fun!"

"And what manner of fun do you suggest, Miss Elizabeth?"

"I think the evening may be too well along for Tableaux Vivants, although I confess that is my favourite of the suggestions. I am sick to death of playing and singing. We have, perhaps, annoyed Mrs. Hill quite enough for one night with Snap Dragon, so I think perhaps we ought to avoid Bullet Pudding. I believe that leaves us with Charades or Spillikins."

"Spillikins?" Mr. Darcy raised his brow with evident censure, although his lips quirked upwards in a show of good humour.

"Surely the elegant Mr. Darcy is not so fashionable that he cannot deign to consider partaking in such a simple childhood game?" Elizabeth could not resist teasing, arching her brow at him in a clear challenge.

"I believe it has much less to do with fashion and much more to do with my own lack of practice," Mr. Darcy parried himself easily. "Surely you must allow me to protect my pride – I cannot recall the last time I played Spillikins, and I should embarrass myself abominably."

"Alas! You reveal a weakness, Mr. Darcy – do you not fear I shall put it to good use? For I am well practiced in the art of Spillikins thanks to my cousins' recent visit and would surely enjoy the opportunity to flatter my ego and wound yours with a few measly sticks!"

"Far be it from me to suspend any pleasure of yours," Mr. Darcy bowed his consent with a small smile. "I am sure you will prove as gracious a champion of Spillikins as you have of Snapdragon."

"Ah, there's the rub!" Elizabeth cried, laughing. "You have now caught me out! In order to prove myself a gracious champion of Snap Dragon, I must now bend my will to meet that of the even more gracious champion of Snap Dragon - else be subject to great censure! Mr. Darcy, you play a clever game. Charades it is! But I shall meet you o'er the sticks ere long, I promise you thusly, and we shall see who shall gain the upper hand!"

With a winning smile and sparkling eyes, Elizabeth turned to announce the game of choice to the waiting party, all of whom accepted their fate with enthusiasm. Although Mr. Darcy had won their small argument, he did not seem overly pleased with himself – rather, Elizabeth discerned contentment in his posture. Not delight, not pride, not competitiveness, but mere contentment.

If she paid rather more attention to Mr. Darcy and his posture than to the game at hand, she could only attribute such distraction to the desire to sketch anew the character of her recently acquired friend. He did seem truly content. While not one to smile overtly, his small smiles did much to render his face more amiable. They appeared whenever a particularly clever charade was guessed, or a witty joke made. They appeared whenever his sister smiled, or whenever Elizabeth spoke to him directly – usually with some new witticism. Such a smile appeared once, most peculiarly, when Jane and Mr. Bingley managed to thoroughly distract themselves and the rest of the party by entirely losing the train of thought in the fog of their misty-eyed romance.

In truth, Elizabeth could not recall ever seeing the man so at ease, and she wondered at such a change. Was it merely because she no longer looked to criticize? Was it she who had been the critical one all along? She had always thought he looked upon her to judge, but was it not she who looked upon all with an eye towards judgment? She called it "discernment" and claimed herself wise, but how did her judgment of others make her any better than, say, her Aunt Phillips? She could not wish herself as judgment-free as Jane, who saw less than she should, but she questioned whether she ought to rely so heavily upon her own faculties. Perhaps a little bit of Jane's understanding would go some way towards balancing her own critical perspective. Jane had not believed Darcy to be so bad from the beginning – how different would events have been if she had listened to her elder sister then?

How could things be different if she listened to Mary? She recalled Mary's quiet words in the hallway – "I think he admires you, Lizzy." The words had stricken her – not just with surprise, but with a thrum as if a cord within her had been plucked by a gentle hand, and the resonance of that sound had surprised her with its harmony. She denied, she avoided – and, truly, she had not seen evidence of such a thing. Now, however, she saw this evidence everywhere. Why should he smile so readily for her and no one else? She seemed to have gained his good opinion, for he desired her friendship and had sincerely apologized for his behaviour. And yet, she hesitated to trust her own judgment … could she trust Mary's? Since when did Mary notice such things anyways?

Such weighty considerations kept Elizabeth from participating in the game as much as she might otherwise have done. Luckily, Jane was the only one who would typically notice if Lizzy was quieter than usual, and she was so absorbed in Mr. Bingley that Elizabeth's distraction quite escaped her notice. By the time Charades wrapped up, all of their powers of discernment were entirely exhausted, including Elizabeth's, although hers had been active in a rather more interesting endeavour. Mr. and Mrs. Bennet had still not made an appearance in the parlour by the time they were all ready to retire – a fact which made Mr. Darcy blush when it was remarked upon, although Elizabeth couldn't begin to fathom why.

Georgiana took Elizabeth's arm on the way upstairs, much to Elizabeth's surprise.

"I wanted to thank you, Elizabeth, for earlier – and for speaking to my brother," she said confidentially, her voice low enough to escape the notice of Elizabeth's sisters.

"Oh!" Elizabeth said, stunned. How had she known? Had Mr. Darcy told her?

"Have no fear, I've no idea what you actually said to him," Georgiana hastened to add, seeing Elizabeth's discomposure. "My brother and I have agreed to share the blame, although he, as always, takes too much upon himself. I am very glad to have you as my friend, Lizzy – indeed, as a sister like I have never had and always wanted. Truly. Thank you."

Before Elizabeth had a moment to respond, Georgiana pressed a warm kiss to her cheek and then darted off down the hallway behind Mary. Elizabeth stood for a moment, staring after the girl with a fond but puzzled expression, before shaking her head and entering her own bedroom. Sixteen was such an interesting age to be!

As Elizabeth and Jane set about getting ready for bed, the eldest Bennet girls were rather quieter than usual, each preoccupied with their own thoughts. It was only once they were safely ensconced under the heavy coverlet and tucked in tightly, candles extinguished, that Jane finally spoke.

"Mr. Bingley was very worried about something tonight," she remarked softly, in that gentle, observing tone that she always adopted when something concerned her. "He would not tell me what it is, but I think it is something to do with the letters he received earlier. You do not suppose something has happened to his sisters, do you? I cannot think what else might be the matter, but I should hope that he would tell me if something were amiss with Caroline – for she is a friend, and I should like to be of service if I could."

It was the longest speech Elizabeth had heard from Jane in quite a while, and it startled her for a moment.

"We-ell," Elizabeth paused to consider, "I do think he would have said something if his sister were ill or some such thing. Perhaps it was an estate matter? Perhaps there is something the matter with Netherfield, or one of the servants, and it has him worried?"

"But why would he not speak of it, Lizzy? He has told me such concerns before, so I cannot think why he would not share them now."

"Perhaps he thinks there are more important things to worry about just now," Elizabeth teased. "Such as a particularly beautiful woman with golden hair and –"

"Lizzy!" Jane protested. "I'm perfectly serious! Do not tease! I am worried!"

"If you are worried, darling, why do you not ask him tomorrow? If he is at liberty to share his concerns, I am sure he will."

"Thank you, Lizzy."

"You're welcome, Jane."

Elizabeth rolled over onto her side, tucking her pillow between her elbow and her ear in her favourite place.

"Lizzy?"

"Hm?"

"What is going on with you and Mr. Darcy?"

Elizabeth stiffened.

"What do you mean, Jane?"

"I know you think that I am thinking only of Mr. Bingley, and I confess that he occupies a large portion of my attention, but I do not think anyone could have missed how much time you are spending with Mr. Darcy these past two days. Not just that, but you seem to be enjoying each other's company. He smiles so much more, now, than he used to do."

"Now here, surely, you are jesting! There is nothing 'going on' between us, Jane – we have only resolved our differences and agreed to be … friends. I suppose we are both making more of an effort to be friendly, but I assure there is nothing at all 'going on' between us! After all, how could I? When I have your and Mr. Bingley's dozen beautiful children to look forward to teaching embroidery?"

"Oh, Lizzy, there's no need to be so defensive. I did not mean to imply what was not there, although I should be happy to know that your dreams have moved on to something more important than becoming governess to my children. It is only that he is, I think, a very good man, and I am that you have learned to see it."

"I think there are a good many things I am learning to see, Jane."

Jane rolled over and wrapped an arm around Elizabeth's waist, giving her a warm squeeze and pressing her nose into her sister's shoulder.

"I am glad of it."

"…So am I."

As Darcy and Bingley set about getting ready for bed, the two gentlemen were rather quieter than usual, each preoccupied with their own thoughts. Darcy knew Bingley was worried, but it seemed a strange thing to discuss worries whilst one was undressing, and he had much rather muse with pleasure on the great progress he had made that day with Elizabeth. It was only once the valet was dismissed and they were safely ensconced under the heavy coverlet, candles extinguished, that Bingley finally spoke.

"I received a letter from Mrs. Nicholls today," he said quietly. "I have been trying to find a way to tell you all evening, but there is no way to tell you that is not utterly appalling. You shall have to take it as I give it now, for I'm afraid that if I wait for the right time it will never come."

Darcy felt a chill settle over his heart at his usually cheerful friend's solemn words. What could a letter from Mrs. Nicholls have to do with him? What was so utterly appalling? Georgiana was safely tucked away here at Longbourn, so nothing could be the matter with her. Any correspondence from relatives would have been redirected to Longbourn, not given to Bingley through a letter from his housekeeper. Darcy could not imagine anything worthy of his friend's gravity.

"Very well," he said at last, unable to conceive of any other response.

"Last night, your cousin's horse returned to Netherfield … alone."

"Richard?!"

"No, no! Your other cousin, Edward."

"Edward? But … he ought to have been half way to Kent by the time the storm began."

"Yes. He ought to have been."

"But then …"

"We don't know anything, Darcy," Bingley said firmly, his voice stronger than Darcy expected. He had clearly had more time to think on it. Darcy's head was still spinning with the possible explanations for such news. "There could be any number of explanations. Trust me, I have thought of them all. Nevertheless, there is nothing we can do at present – it would be murder to send men out to search in this weather. We shall have to wait until this storm subsides."

"You don't really think…?"

"I don't know what to think. I have been thinking of nothing else, and I still don't know what to think."

"…I don't think that's entirely true."

"What the devil do you mean by that, Darce?"

"Only that I rather imagined you to have a few other things on your mind today, perhaps a little bit more pleasant than my cousin's disappearance."

"Look, I'm sorry I didn't tell you sooner," Bingley apologized impatiently. "There wasn't a good opportunity, and I didn't think, in the end, that ruining your entire evening would do anyone any good. There's no need to go into all of that."

"I had the right to know as soon as you received that letter."

"Yes, well, you were rather busy moping about over whatever new way Miss Elizabeth has found to insult you!"

"Bingley-!"

"No, if you can make snarky comments about my preoccupation with Jane, then I can most certainly make snarky comments about your strange obsession with her sister!"

"Strange obsession!"

"Yes! For I know not what else to call it when you follow her with your eyes, study her every expression, and listen to her conversation like water to one dying of thirst!"

"You ought to know – you do the same to your Miss Bennet!"

"Yes, but at least she returns my feelings! At least I make my intentions obvious! We are courting, Darcy – you may have heard of such a thing. It's that state when two people form a mutual admiration for each other and spend time together with the intention to marry in the future. Surely you've heard of it."

"There's no need to be sarcastic, Bingley."

"I'd say there is! The difference between you and me, Darcy, is that I act on my thoughts and feelings while the iron is hot, while you deliberate over yours for so long that they eventually fade away or cease to become relevant. I would like to advise you that whatever Miss Elizabeth's feelings are, no woman will wait forever for a man to declare his intentions. So unless you are content to go back to London and later hear news of her engagement to some other man, likely through her correspondence with your own sister, I highly suggest you forego your typical hemming and hawing and get on with it. Good night."

Bingley rolled over to his side, putting his back to Darcy.

"…Good night."

In the distance, footsteps could be heard upon the stairs along with hushed whispers.

A sudden squeal shattered the silence of the evening.

"Lord, Mr. Bennet!"

A giggle.

A chuckle.

A door shut.

Mr. Darcy squeezed his eyes shut, blushing heavily.

Dear Lord.

Longest day of his life.

Ever.

AN: Please accept my deepest apologies for the serious delay in getting this next chapter to you! I was on a roll and then hit writer's block, which was compounded by a car accident and a number of issues involved with the business of moving to England! On that note, it is a little less than three weeks until that event, so I cannot promise regular updates. As I have said before, real-life priorities must take precedence, and right now my greatest priority is spending time with the amazing family and friends that I'll shortly be leaving behind! Not to mention wedding planning! But I promise, there is no hiatus or abandonment planned! I love this story and will finish. I promise. :)

Also, huge THANK YOU to BurgundyHope, because this last chapter would have been much longer in coming if it hadn't been for her encouragement! Thank you for keeping me on my toes! :) 3