Back again... I am indebted to Christopher Hibbert, who wrote a great book called Wellington: A Personal History. There's material in this passage drawn from his book, including some verbatim passages I'm attributing to Colonel Fitzroy. [I made some post facto edits about the Collins situation, based on the very helpful comments - many thanks!]

"No, no, no!" stormed Mary, soon after she arrived at Pemberley. "Absolutely not! I do not even wish to discuss it, and I certainly shall not allow Papa to hear of it." She glowered at her sister.

"I understand your feelings, Mary. Truly, I do, but..." Mary shook off the gentle hand Elizabeth had laid on her sleeve.

"I don't think you do," she hissed through gritted teeth. "We have worked very hard to bring Longbourn to its current prosperity. I will not have that vile little man living at my house."

Elizabeth gasped at Mary's words, and Mary herself blanched, reaching out to the settee to steady herself. There was a tense silence between them, which Elizabeth finally broke.

"I greatly admire what you have achieved, Mary. And believe me when I tell you that I understand it was all your doing. It has been some time since our father took a strong hand in managing the estate, if he ever did." She paused, but her sister would not look at her. "Mary, dear one, you well know it is not yours to keep, painful though that truth may be. Collins will have it eventually. If it might save Charlotte and her children from shame and deprivation, perhaps we should let him take possession sooner."

"Over my dead body," Mary growled. "Not a moment sooner than he is entitled," she spat before stomping back out of the room, Elizabeth in close pursuit.

Both sisters were sufficiently distracted by their disagreement that they had failed to notice they were not alone in the library. Comfortably ensconced in a large armchair facing the fire, with two canes resting against his knees, Mr. Bennet had heard every word. His expression, to the extent that the frozen muscles in his face allowed it, was thoughtful. He otherwise betrayed no outward sign of his opinion on the matter.

That evening, as the household sat in the parlor after dinner, several letters arrived with a rider. Jane had written, with separate letters for her father, Mary, and Elizabeth, and even a letter for the children from her boys, which the nurse promptly led them to a corner of the room to hear.

"Tis certainly convenient," Elizabeth thought to herself, not for the first time, "to have a nursemaid who is able to read." She watched the young woman, who had previously worked for the Bingleys, wondering again at her past. The nurse would offer little other than the fact that she had been raised in a charity school in Colchester.

Mrs. Gardiner had also written to Mr. Bennet, inquiring after his health and inviting him and Mary to London whenever he was able to travel.

"Most kind," Mr. Bennet slurred, "but it would take rather more than agreeable relations to tempt me away from Lord Darcy's library."

"What about London, Papa?" Elizabeth inquired. "It is much changed; there are many who call it the world's greatest city. Would you not like to see it?"

"I would not, no. I was never overfond of the place and now I have all I need right here," he patted the arm of his chair clumsily. "I intend to never leave, as long as Darcy will tolerate me."

Darcy smiled indulgently at the older man and murmured that he would then have to forsake all other places as he was always welcome. Then he frowned at the letter in his hand, stealing a glance at his wife, who, in turn, raised an eyebrow at him.

"It is from Colonel Fitzroy," he remarked, "and addressed to us both. Shall I read it aloud?"

"Oh yes, do please," Elizabeth responded.

He scanned the document for a moment, perhaps to quickly check if there were anything best kept private, then evidently decided to take his chances.

"To Lord and Lady Darcy, my dear friends... Wars have their occasional moments of calm, as the center of a storm, and I find that as I am presently in one, it is a good time to write. With my mind at such comparative ease, my thoughts quickly turned to you both and your family,"

"He speaks of Georgiana," Elizabeth confided in her father, as her sister nodded. Mary still would not meet her eyes, having not yet forgiven her for their earlier argument. "He has asked permission to court her, though she has not been clear with us as to her response."

Darcy gave her a mildly reproving look, which she returned with a sly smile. "Unless you have been holding out on me, Fitzwilliam?" she asked archly.

"Not at all. I am as ignorant of her response as are you, perhaps more so. May I continue?" he said pointedly.

Elizabeth waved imperiously at him. "As you will, your lordship," she intoned, to his chuckle. He had grown to enjoy and even look forward to her teasing.

"We have marched all through the Spanish countryside, to the very edge of the Pyrenees in pursuit of King Joseph. It is beautiful country, lush and fertile, covered with majestic oak and chestnut trees. Sadly, our enjoyment of the sights has been greatly hampered by heavy rains and floods. Our suffering is much eased, however, by your tents, Lord Darcy, which are proving far more watertight than any I have seen in all my years of campaigning. The breeches and blouses you have supplied also withstand the rigors of the march well, though I believe General Wellington much regrets the decision to lose the greatcoats, given the unexpectedly wet weather."

"Why did he dispense with the coats?" Mary asked, her curiosity surpassing her ill humor.

"I believe he sought to lighten the load on the men," Darcy explained, "so they would be able to move faster through the countryside. In general, he has attempted to reduce the size of the wagon train," he added, and Mary nodded, her eyes alight with interest. Darcy cleared his throat and returned to the letter.

"We finally caught up with Napoleon's brother in the capital of Alvara, a place called Vitoria, where a mighty battle was joined. King Joseph was there with more than 60,000 men at arms, we estimate. Our numbers were superior, amounting to some 80,000, though many were Portugese and Spanish militia, who can be difficult to count, let alone marshal for battle. Bonaparte had us outgunned, though about a quarter of our canon were far superior to anything he had, once again thanks to you, Lord Darcy. We were also blessed with a formidable captain of the artillery, thanks to you, Lady Darcy, and he brought a withering fire to bear, almost single-handedly opening the city for us."

"Wickham," Elizabeth grimaced. "He speaks of Wickham."

"He would surely have earned a field promotion for his valor," Darcy continued stonily, "if not for his shameful conduct once the siege was lifted, though he was hardly alone in this. Indeed, the ground all round the town was littered with broken wagons of all kinds, boxes, cases, trunks, and baggage, with papers, maps, account books, and letters lying trampled into the mud, thick as snow... The soldiers capered about in French generals' uniforms and dresses richly embroidered in silver and gold; I am afraid the camp followers for the French officers were much abused. Our soldiers carted away tapestries, church plates, watches, jewels, silver brandy cups... Men fought to the death over these trinkets. In short, more thorough and more scandalous plundering has never been known, and your brother was, I am afraid to say, right at the heart of it. Possibly the only thing that kept him from the gallows was the friendship of one Tomas Aquino Toby, a Portugese convert who is as honorable and brave a soldier as I have seen, although he is something of a guerilla fighter. Indeed, his men refer to him as il raposo da pais."

"The country fox," Elizabeth whispered to her father.

"Of the looting," Darcy continued, lip curling in disgust, "I know General Wellington was most indignant and angry, and I would have feared for the Lieutenant Colonel if the General did not have so many other targets for his wrath. Indeed," Darcy read, looking more intently at the page, "General Wellington has seemed most out of sorts lately. I fear it may be my fault. I confided in him my request to court a certain young lady. I also told him that while she did not accept my suit, nor did she wholly reject it. She admitted to a conflicted heart. He wished me well and encouraged me, agreeing that she is a superior woman, and that we are well matched. Unfortunately, our conversation seemed to mark the beginning of a period of foul temper for him. It was alleviated somewhat by our victory, of course, and by a very peculiar spoil of war, recovered his aide-de-camp, Colonel Worcester. Forgive me for my crassness, but it is a solid silver chamber pot taken directly from the departed royal court, which the men have taken to filling with champagne and toasting to King Joseph."

"I suspect the eye of the storm is about to pass, and so I shall end on that lively note. If God favors us, we shall be marching on France by the time you read these words. Please remember me to your dear sister, with great respect and fondness, Colonel Fitzroy Somerset."

"It is dated 24 June 1813," Darcy said quietly. "Four weeks ago."

"Have you had any news?" Mary asked eagerly. "Have they crossed into France?"

Darcy shook his head. "Not that I know of," he responded, "but then news from the front is unpredictable; sometimes it travels very fast, indeed, and sometimes quite slowly. My best indicator of their progress is often the place of resupply, and we have not yet been directed to any ports northward of the Spanish border."

"You are supplying much of their goods," Mr. Bennet stated.

"He is," Elizabeth confirmed. "Fitzwilliam has acquired and improved a number of factories and even farming interests to do it," she said, unable to hide her pride in her husband.

"Is there much profit in it?" Mr. Bennet inquired bluntly, at which his daughters blushed.

"Papa," Mary chided him.

"No, it is fine, Mary," Darcy said calmly. "There is very considerable profit in it," he allowed. "Though I find it hard to take much pleasure in lucre gained through such destruction," he added ruefully.

"Mama, mama!" Thomas iinterrupted, waving a piece of paper at her. "My cousins have written to me! And I can read some of the words! Henriette and Esther help me," he said, beaming at the older girls.

"I helped, too!" Phebe said, stamping her foot.

"I help!" little John insisted, as well.

"You did not, John," Phebe chided him. "You just drooled on the paper."

"But he listened," Thomas said peaceably, "and everyone needs a aud-i-ence," he stumbled a little over the word, and then patted his small cousin's shoulder. "Well met, little John."

The child shouted, waving his cubby fists in the air, and began to race around the room. Mary sighed and moved after him, scooping him up into her arms.

"Now that is quite enough, Master John," she chided the boy, though she had a smile on her face. "That is not proper behavior for the parlor, as you know very well. Come, children. You will have a little more time for play before it is time to sleep."

Phebe, Esther and Thomas kissed their parents and grandfather, though Henriette and her sister, Catherine, were still too shy do more than peer nervously at the adults. Mary swept from the room with the struggling toddler in her arms without a backward glance for the adults, though the nurse followed closely behind, eyes downcast.

A few days later, on a stiflingly hot afternoon, an unexpected visitor arrived at Pemberley: Miss Anne De Bourgh had decided to pay an unannounced call.

"Please do come in, Anne," Elizabeth said anxiously, for she was well aware that Miss De Bourgh still lacked the constitution for travel. "Are you quite well? May I fetch you something cool to drink?"

"I am well, quite well," Miss De Bourgh said distractedly, fanning her face with her hand. "I sincerely apologize for appearing like this, uninvited, but I just had to see you."

"Nonsense," Darcy said, entering the room, "you are always welcome at Pemberley. You need no invitation."

"Thank you, cousin."

"How long can you stay?" Elizabeth inquired, as a young man brought in a pitcher of lemonade.

Miss de Bourgh looked anxiously at the servant, clearing her throat. "Yes, well, just a short stay," she answered. "I actually have an important matter to discuss with you, Elizabeth." She paused, quietly accepting the glass of lemonade, turning it nervously in her hands and patting gently at her brow with a handkerchief.

"With me?" Elizabeth said in surprise. "Thank you," she murmured, dismissing the servant.

"What is amiss, Anne?" Darcy said gently.

"Oh, Elizabeth, I hope you are not too terribly angry with me. I know it is just not done, but I felt as though I had no choice," the words tumbled over each other in her haste to get them out.

"I am sure all will be well," Elizabeth reassured her, moving next to her on the settee and taking her hands. "Please, cousin, calm yourself." Miss de Bourgh closed her eyes and took a noisy breath in through her nose. "Why don't you start at the beginning, and tell us what has happened?"

"I, well, that is to say, it is Collins," she started nervously. Elizabeth encouraged her to go on.

"You see," Miss de Bourgh said, dabbing at her brow again, "they have all gone. That is it. What else am I to do?"

Darcy and Elizabeth looked at her in confusion.

"Who has gone, dear Anne?" Elizabeth asked.

"The people," she clarified. "The parishoners. No one will come to church anymore, you see. They either just stay at home, or they travel many miles to the next county."

Elizabeth just stared at her.

"It has been going on for some time," Anne sighed. "Reverend Collins was never, ah, fully appreciated, I fear, but that has shifted into outright dislike. I am afraid the tenants and even the gentlemen do not find him inspiring."

"Oh dear," Elizabeth said, while Darcy bit his lip to keep from laughing.

"They have been asking me for years," Miss de Bourgh said desperately, "to remedy the situation, and I have spoken to him many times about this. But he either fails to understand my meaning or he dismisses it. He has said many times that I cannot expect people of inferior character and breeding to easily reach such a keen spiritual understanding."

Miss de Bourgh shook her head. "There is not enough time in an eon. I am often as not the only person in the church on Sunday now, other than Mrs. Collins and her daughters, and even I am glad of an excuse to be elsewhere on a Sunday. My own staff have begged me not to make them go. It just cannot be borne, Elizabeth! I cannot have the entire parish risking damnation because he is a poor preacher!"

"No indeed," Elizabeth responded gently. "So, what did you decide?"

"I have spoken to the Bishop, and while he is loathe to force the issue - as I say, it is just not done - we agreed I could suggest to Collins that he might find another situation more suitable for his, ah, talents. The Bishop believes he will be able to find another parish, though not one so well favored, I am afraid. Collins, though, was quite insulted and told me that my mother would not have approved at all, and well," she looked at her fingers, tightly clasping the damp cloth. "I am afraid I lost my temper a bit," she confessed, in a whisper. "I told him that it was not for him to say, and that I was giving him an ultimatum, not an option."

"I would have taken it back, I swear to you," Miss de Bourgh cried, "but he left in anger, stating he did not wish to be where he was not wanted, and he has refused to allow me to discuss it further with him since. He is a very proud and foolish man, I am afraid. I beg your pardon, Elizabeth, to speak so of your cousin."

"He is a distant cousin," Elizabeth sighed, "and I cannot disagree with your assessment."

"What of Mrs. Collins?" Darcy asked, unable to suppress his curiosity.

"Oh, I quite like her," Miss de Bourgh said warmly. "She is most sensible and kind-hearted, and almost worth having to tolerate him. I would never do anything to harm her, but as I understand it, her husband will not allow her to even call on me."

"Well, I suppose it cannot be helped, my dear," Elizabeth said, patting her on the hand. "You must look out for your tenants, above all, and it does sound as though he has been detrimental to their wellbeing. I do not blame you in the slightest for your decision, though I am sorry for my childhood friend."

Anne de Bourgh looked at her curiously. "Is it true, what Collins told me, that your father's estate is entailed to him? He claimed I would regret my actions since he would soon be my equal in status."

"I am afraid it is so, though he could never be your equal, of course."

"I see. And is it also true that you intend to let him take possession?"

"That remains to be seen," Elizabeth noted wryly. "Mary has made it clear she will not stand for it, and I am loathe to bring it up with my father, given the state of his health."

Further conversation was forestalled, however, by the arrival of young Thomas.

"Auntie Anne!" he exclaimed, running to give his relation a kiss.

"And how is my favorite nephew?" Miss de Bourgh exclaimed, pulling the child onto her lap. "Goodness," she cried, "I shall not be able to lift you at all soon, you are grown so much! Now, tell me what you have learned today..."

Darcy excused himself to attend to estate business, while Elizabeth fondly watched as her son told his aunt about the Swiss Family Robinson and the treehouse they had built. There was no doubt the child brought out the best in Anne de Bourgh, whose eyes brightened and smile grew wide every time she saw him. They had a remarkable rapport. Elizabeth reflected, sparing a sad thought for poor Charlotte, that she was blessed to be surrounded with such a family.