Ch 50: Beginnings

Even for two people so in tune with each other and the music they shared, words remained necessary to express the intensity of their thoughts, to say nothing of the need to address the practical implications of her answer. Even though he knew he ought to speak, however, the Viscount found he could only stare at her dear face, afraid to make a single sound in case it should do away with this dream and replace it with a reality of honor-bound promises of his own making. His hands sought hers, unknowingly, and he could only shift his gaze to their intertwined fingers, as though his appendages were now foreign to him. Still, she waited, quietly, calmly; her patience in this moment, when all things should conclude, humbled him.

At last, he dared to speak, and even then only to repeat the word she had chosen. "Yes," and then again, as though to reassure himself, "Yes."

Mary's expression turned to one of bemusement as she began, "Lord Milton..."

Only to be interrupted as he said, "Reggie. Or Reginald if you must, though the latter is preferred by my mother and I would hate so to think of her scolding at a time like this."

Though she smiled, she did not yet acquiesce, "Will she be disappointed?"

"Disappointed?"

"That I am not...that the Bennet name is not..."

"No." He interrupted her again, "My dear Miss Bennet, I think you should know that she has longed for this day since...since meeting you at Rosings. Indeed, I daresay if she does not hear of this happy news within the week, she will come to Hertfordshire in person to demand an explanation of me. She has known of my intentions, perhaps even before I was aware of them, and approves. Or so Georgie has informed me. I am unsurprised; she has so wished for a new daughter and a 'proper' mother for Penny."

"Oh." Was her most eloquent response. And then, "Mary."

"Pardon?"

"My name."

"Mary" he echoed, and then repeated it again, "Mary," and a third time, "Mary Fitzwilliam, Lady Milton. I do believe I like the sound of that."

Never had she heard her name spoken with such reverence. His last words, however, pierced the haze of her happiness and reminded her of the consequences of their new understanding.

"Lady Milton," she parroted in wonder before a chuckle escaped her, "how Aunt Phillips will gloat! She was always so determined that I would only accept someone of title."

"Then we shall both have satisfied relations."

"Indeed." After a pause she dared to whisper, "though I do think that I would prefer to be simply Reggie's Mary."

The sound of his name falling from her lips, and in such a context as she had chosen, did away with all his composure. Such a simple word, such a simple act, and yet it caused him to release her hands and, heedless of her gasp of surprise, bring her into his embrace. Her ear pressed against his chest, she could hear the steady beat of his heart and deemed it a most wonderful tempo for new beginnings.

He let loose a sigh of contentment as he murmured, "My dear Mary."

They might have stayed thus but for her recovery of her sensibleness. Speaking into his waistcoat, she was nonetheless firm in her tone, "Reggie, we must not remain closeted in such a way. Our Penny must be told, and the rest of the family so that they might congratulate themselves on foreseeing such an outcome."

His great delight at her reference to his, no, their daughter did more to convince him of the reality of the situation than even the comfort of holding her in his arms at last. Releasing her, he nodded, "And I must speak with your father."

"And Tommy." She reminded him.

Wincing slightly, he noted, "Perhaps 'tis well I am wearing one of the Penny's handkerchiefs."

Though amused, she shook her head, "You shall have no need of such a talisman; they will give their consent easily, perhaps even readily. We have kept everyone waiting, I think, such that they will welcome this end to their suspense."

Her words proved prophetic. Mr. Bennet took one look at their joined hands, for the Viscount was reluctant to release her despite the impropriety of the action, and simply nodded. Tommy looked up from his Latin book and exclaimed a summary of the reactions from the rest of the family, "Finally!" Just as quickly, he then began to speak of a far more mundane matter, "Will you assist me with this passage, Lord Milton? Papa has finally run out of patience at having such a dim-witted pupil like me...I would bother Mr. Darcy, but you are conveniently available...and you did help me so with my Greek during the winter time!"

"Yes, and perhaps you may impart your wisdom to matters of logic and social economics as well? I do hope your association with those wizened gentlemen of Parliament has not dulled your expertise in these subjects? Though I can little blame you if you cannot claim to be an authority on them. I understand they are applied little enough in decisions affecting the fate of our nation."

Seeing that the Viscount was still somewhat in shock at the ease with which the approval was granted, Mary spoke for her betrothed, "I am certain Lord Milton would be delighted."

When he gave her an incredulous look at her easy acceptance at the lack of fuss over their engagement, she only smiled sweetly and, extricating her hand from his, said, "You are to stay for supper? I must have another place set at the table and speak to Cook."

He watched her depart, feeling strangely bereft as the study door closed behind her. And yet so content...surely this simple sort of domestic happiness was what he had sought in all this time. He was not Lord Milton to her, but simple Reggie. Mary's Reggie. How well that sounded! A cough from Mr. Bennet drew his attention and he turned to meet the older gentleman's obviously amused gaze. Flushing, he made his way to Tommy to examine the passage that troubled him so.

As the Viscount slipped into his daughter's room later that evening, he was glad to see that she lay in restful repose, Beary clutched loosely in one hand. The hour was late, though he had not noticed the falling darkness, so happy was he to stay at Mary's side and jointly entertain her father and brother with new duets on the pianoforte. Brushing Penny's hair off her forehead, the Viscount was startled when her eyes flew open and she sat up with an alacrity that quite revealed her alertness and determination to wait for his return. Her expectant gaze, incongruous as it was coming from one so young, left him in no doubt of the influence his mother had on his daughter.

Matching her graveness, he only said, "Do you think you can bear to change you manner of address for Miss Mary?"

A beautified smile spread across her still rounded cheeks, quite doing away with the glimpse into the fashionable young lady she would one day become, "Oh Papa!" Words were scarcely enough to indicate her approval and Beary soon found himself in danger of suffocating, pressed as he was between father and daughter.

"Penny, dearest, are you crying?"

"No, Papa," said she even as she drew away to wipe at her face, "I am so very happy!"

Ignoring her obvious falsehood in the matter of her tears, Lord Milton only pressed his handkerchief into her little hands, "I am glad, Penny dear."

"Oh, I am the most fortunate little girl in the world! To have you for a Papa and Miss Mary for a Mama! I am not dreaming?"

"No, dear one. Or if you are, it is one in which I share."

"Grandmama will be so very happy as well, particularly as her arrangements will not go to waste."

"Arrangements?"

She nodded, sending her curls, already mussed from sleep, into further disarray, "Oh yes! A court dress for Miss Mary, for her presentation next Season. The banns are written, waiting only your approval to be sent to the newspapers. She has been in correspondence with Lady Adelaide and meeting with Aunty Gardiner in the planning of a country wedding. She would have preferred Saint George's, but I quite convinced her that Miss Mary would wish to be wed from the same church as her sisters had been. She even helped me inform our housekeeper at Milton Hall to prepare the Mistress's chambers."

"Well!" was all he could find to say at her listing of preparations.

She glanced at him curiously but firmly, looking again so like his mother that he found it difficult to hide his laughter, "Really, Papa, Grandmama was not about to leave such matters to you. She said that you must focus on drawing the papers for the settlement and it would surely take weeks. If she did not handle the other matters, surely it would be even longer. As it was, she already enlisted Grandpapa's help in drafting a document that requires only your review and input as to the exact details. She is impatient for Milton Hall to be filled with children, I think."

"Children?"

"Oh Papa!" Penny said with a hint of exasperation, "Siblings for me of course!"

"Siblings?"

Penny frowned, "Are you well, Papa? Have I upset you? Miss Annesley did say a lady ought not be presumptuous or force her wishes upon others, but Grandmama was so determined!"

"Would you like siblings, Penny dear?"

Somewhat relieved that her father was capable of speech other than repetition, Penny nodded enthusiastically, "Oh yes! I know I should not ask God for more, since He has been so kind to me, but...Milton Hall is so very large...Emily cannot be with me, she has her own family and brothers...and Tommy has his sisters...and...I think, I think I would be less lonely if I had siblings of my own...Besides, Grandmama said you must not allow Uncle Richard to win."

That last sentiment more than any other drew a chuckle at last from the Viscount, "Well, my dear, I think your Grandmama would be happy to learn that I am just as desiring of expedience in the matter of marriage to Miss Mary."

"Oh she has such plans, Papa! Even the bridal tour...Grandpapa has arranged it all already. I shall go to Pemberley, so as to keep from being underfoot."

"Surely you know Miss Mary and I would be most happy to have you with us. Indeed, we had spoken of a need to reward your patience."

"I know, Papa. But you have had scarcely any time alone with her, with our family hovering as they do. Besides, I have a lifetime to enjoy such felicitations! I need no greater reward. But if you must...I have longed so to see Pemberley. Miss Annesley brought back such stories of its splendor. Though I doubt any place can be better than Milton Hall, particularly after Miss Mary can call it home as well!"

Smiling at her loyalty, the Viscount asked one last time, "I am to have no say, then?"

"Grandmama says that the least you can do for making her wait to welcome a daughter is to follow these simple instructions."

"Simple!" he exclaimed before shaking his head in a resigned manner, "We must share these plans with Miss Mary on the morrow. For now though, I do believe a certain young lady should return to the world of slumber."

A yawn escaped Penny despite her best efforts as her father tucked her into bed, "I suppose I am sleepy...and Miss Annesley will fuss so if I am overly tired for lessons tomorrow..."

"I shall speak with her and see if you can be excused in the morning for a visit to Longbourn."

"Thank you, Papa."

"Of course, dear one."

"Will you sing to me, Papa?"

The Viscount was happy to oblige and kept watch as little Penny's eyes closed again and her breathing relaxed. Standing quietly, he made for the door, almost missing her sleepy voice, "Do you think Miss Mary will sing to me should I ask?"

"I most certainly think she will." he whispered.

"She is quite wonderful."

"Indeed, the most wonderful."


Mrs. Philips stared in consternation at the placid expression of her niece. Even the offer of her favorite tea biscuit could not distract her from her aim, "Really, Mary, I did not come to call so early this morning simply to leave without my satisfaction."

Mary remained nonplussed, which only seemed to add to her aunt's agitation, "As I am certain you have observed, Aunt Phillips, Jane is no worse for her traveling."

"Yes, yes. But what of the reason she left at all?"

"Is it so wrong for Mr. Bingley to visit with his sister? Or for Charlie to meet his cousins?"

"Surely their leaving did not necessitate the Darcys' arrival? And in such a rushed manner!"

"Lizzie heard that Papa was ill."

As she had intended, such a comment started Mrs. Phillips on one of her favorite tirades, "Hmmph. One does not die from trifling colds...particularly not someone as ridiculously stubborn and non-obliging as your father! Do you know what he said when I asked why you did not finish the Season? That...that man said that he saw no reason you should be exposed to the dreadful air of London another day. Really! As though he cared nothing for your prospects! How can you hope to catch a husband remaining in Hertfordshire as you do? Oh your uncle's clerk is certainly good enough for Mrs. Long's niece, but for you? Certainly not! Not for someone who has won Lady Matlock's favor."

Mary calmly took a sip of her tea and made no response, for she knew her aunt truly did not expect one.

"And what of Tommy? Really, what reason has he to keep the child from attending school? And he calls himself a gentleman! Your brother will become just as peculiar as your father, you mark my words."

Though she cared not for the comments regarding herself, Mary could not sit idle at the insult regarding her father's care for her brother, "Papa is quite learned, Aunt Philips. And Tommy's education suffers no neglect, with all his brothers playing some part. And certainly none of them are simpletons."

Mrs. Phillips only waved aside her tone of mild reproach, "Oh surely your father is in possession of some intelligence. My sister, your poor Mama, was quite fond of reminding me of such a fact; though I little knew why, for she was never of a serious bent. And your sisters have done well in their choices of husbands, despite your father's lack of care. Mr. Bingley is such a welcomed addition to the neighborhood and of course I have known John Lucas since he was born. Mr. Darcy, for all that we see little enough of him, is such a generous man, though he can be called proud without Lizzie present to soften his manners. But he is wealthy enough to be excused such deficits, I suppose. And eccentric enough to choose Lizzie as his bride...oh you cannot imagine how often I begged your father to curtail your sister's most unladylike pursuits. Why to allow her such free reign over the running of Longbourn! Well! I was concerned even if he was not at her ability to find a man who could stand her ways. I am glad to see that marriage has tamed her wild manners; why for her to think of taking you to London with her! I am glad she has turned her attentions to matters more befitting a lady."

Mary's lips twitched imperceptibly as she thought on the spirited discussions in which the Darcy couple still delighted, particularly regarding the care of their estate. They could be called odd, she supposed, but they were also so genuinely happy, and surely not only because of their material comforts.

Unaware of her niece's inattentions, Mrs. Phillips continued, "And Miss Darcy! Such a dear! And so accomplished! Though as an Earl's niece, one could expect nothing other than near perfection. You must not be ashamed, Mary dear, that you cannot compare with her beauty. I do not expect you to marry as well as Miss Darcy, certainly, but one would think that you would gain some favor with Lady Matlock's sponsorship. Is she not a grand lady?"

"My mother certainly likes to think of herself as such, Mrs. Phillips."

At the sound of the obvious male voice, Mrs. Phillips flushed with mortification even as Mary looked up in relief. "Lord Milton! And Miss Fitzwilliam! What a wonderful surprise."

"I do hope you will excuse our ill-manners in calling so early in the morning." He bowed as little Penny curtsied shyly. Despite herself, she remained uncomfortable when in the presence of those outside her immediate family.

"Not at all," Mary gestured for them to sit. A casual observer would easily have discounted her smile for one of mere politeness but for the Viscount, who had grown used to the subtleties of her ways and acquired understanding of her thoughts, such an expression was more eloquent than the best phrased sonnet.

"Penny simply could not wait to tender her congratulations in person, Miss Bennet."

"Oh yes!" Her joy momentarily overshadowed her shyness and Penny exclaimed, "How happy I am! I think 'tis quite sinful how happy I am...though Miss Annesley says I should not say such blasphemous things. But I cannot seem to help it, I feel like the fountain in the garden, positively overflowing, Miss Mary!"

Mary returned the child's wide smile with one of her own, "Then I have your approval?"

"Certainly! And Miss Annesley is so very relieved as well and wished for me to share her congratulations. Papa has written to Grandmama and I expect she will be arriving quite soon."

"The Countess? In Hertfordshire?!" At such an abrupt reminder of the presence of another, Penny fell silent again and drew closer to her Miss Mary for comfort.

The Viscount only looked at Mrs. Philips with mild curiosity, "Why certainly. Should not my mother be present for my wedding?"

"Wedding?!"

"Indeed," answered he gravely, "Miss Bennet has done me the great honor of consenting to be my wife."

"Miss Bennet...you cannot mean Mary...surely not?!"

"I was not aware of any other Miss Bennet." said he, "and I understand I must thank you, Mrs. Philips, for insisting that she only accept someone with a title. Though I am but a Viscount currently, I do stand to inherit my father's title of Earl of Matlock. I do hope that will suffice?"

Such a reply caused a rare event indeed as Mrs. Philips found herself stunned into silence.

Mary, one arm still holding Penny close, felt alarmed that she might have need to call for the smelling salts and frowned slightly at remembering that Longbourn has not had those in supply since Mrs. Bennet's passing. "Aunt Philips?"

At the weight of her niece's hand on her arm, momentary though it was, Mrs. Philips seemed to rouse herself, "Yes Mary dear?" And then, seeing her closeness with the Viscount's daughter, brightened immediately, "Lady Milton! Oh how Mrs. Long will seethe! Her nieces certainly cannot hope to have such good fortunes. And Lady Lucas! Ha! She has been so smug since her Charlotte became Lady Ashbury. Now we shall see if she continues to put on such airs. Her Maria only married a tradesman whilst my nieces...well! Such news!" And then, in a moment of unexpected tenderness, she patted Mary's cheek, "How proud your Mama would have been, child! An Earl's son! And the elder one at that! No accounting for taste on his part, plain as you are, but...oh you shall have such jewels that it will matter not! Lady Milton!"

Mary flushed with embarrassment even after her Aunt's exclamation could no longer be heard as Mrs. Philips made fast to spread news of her niece's good fortunes. "I do apologize, for my aunt's...enthusiasm. But she is genuinely happy for me, I think."

"Perhaps I should not have baited her so," the Viscount admitted, "but I could not allow her to insult my betrothed."

She looked instead at the tea-set to avoid his gaze, "I think you shall be punished enough once the entire town is informed."

"I am not ashamed of you, Mary." said he with a slight frown.

She flashed a brief smile at his earnestness before turning to the third occupant in the room, "Though I am sorry, Penny dear, that you must withstand the attention again."

"Oh, I do not mind, Miss Mary! I only wish they would ask for my opinions, for then certainly I shall leave them in no doubt of my approval. And I must learn to be brave, like you. Grandmama says that a true Fitzwilliam never shows fear even if she feels it; she says I must learn from you."

"Lady Matlock is much too kind. My sister Lizzie or even Georgie are surely better models for behavior?"

"You are too modest, Mary." To forestall any further protestations on the part of his betrothed, Lord Milton turned to his daughter, "Will you not tell Miss Mary of Grandmama's plans?"

"Certainly, Papa!"

Mary listened with a sense of growing awe at the preparations already underway. She blanched a bit at the thought of a court gown, particularly in memory of Georgie's experience with hers, but could not find it within herself to be overly upset, knowing as she did of its necessity. She wondered briefly, as Penny enthusiastically continued her descriptions, if the little girl knew that such an event would surely be in her future as well, but quickly pushed away such a thought. Penny was young yet. Color returned to her cheeks as Penny spoke of siblings and she was grateful when the Viscount coughed slightly.

"I think Miss Mary might appreciate a rest to take in all these details, Penny."

"I do apologize, Miss Mary! Miss Annesley says I must learn to temper my enthusiasm when speaking of exciting topics. She says I have such a dreadful tendency to monopolize the conversation. Will you tell me of Pemberley, Miss Mary? For you stayed there with Cousin Georgie, did you not? She showed me some sketches and I think them quite wonderful, but 'tis not quite the same I think as seeing the estate with my own eyes."

"Pemberley is certainly a sight to behold. My sister thinks its parks to be unparalleled, and I am wont to trust Lizzie's opinions, as she has traversed most of the land either on foot or horseback."

"Do you enjoy riding, Miss Mary?"

"I do not know if I am proficient enough at it truly to enjoy it, Penny, having only learned during my stay at Pemberley."

Penny looked disappointed a moment before brightening significantly, "Oh! I am only just learning as well. Papa was so good to purchase Posie for me, though Grandmama did say such a name was not quite dignified for a horse belonging to a lady. But Posie is only a pony and I think it suits her quite well; she has such dappled marks that I simply could not call her anything else. Do say you will ride with me, Miss Mary? Milton Hall has such parks! And Papa looks so very fine on his stallion!"

The Viscount's pale complexion did little to hide his embarrassment at his daughter's words even as he spoke of his estate in an effort to hide it, "The house itself is rather grand, as it served as the family's seat before my father inherited Wentworth Woodhouse from his uncle, the second Lord Rockingham. Milton Hall thus became mostly a wintry hunting retreat before my father's duties to Parliament necessitated his present in London. Penny and I have little use for most of it, so many of the wings are rather neglected. But the grounds are kept up quite well and have some magnificent oak trees originating from the Tudor days. Not a few deer still make the park their home."

"I am certain I shall be delighted with my new home," Mary reassured him, earning her a soft smile of gratitude.

Content in the company of the two ladies most important to him, the Viscount was quite glad, for once, of his mother's zealous planning.


Of course, not all who heard of the engagement wished the couple joy. His Grace, the Duke of Sharpton studied the newspaper in his hand as was his wont since bringing his new bride to the seaside for a bridal tour made simply for the sake of showing he could indulge in such a fashionable venture and not for any particular fondness for the ocean. Glancing through the society pages quickly, he collected himself before saying out loud, "My dear, were you not acquainted with a Miss Mary Bennet of...oh yes, Hertfordshire?"

The former Lady Sarah Templeton, now Her Grace, the Duchess of Sharpton, hid her surprise at such a direct address from her husband by taking a sip of her coffee. Deciding that she must speak to the establishment regarding the inferiority of their cream, she thought on her answer. Marriage thus far had been as dull as she had expected. Her husband, while a polite man, could not be called warm. But perhaps he simply knew not what to say to a bride more than twenty years his younger. They both knew their marriage of one of convenience and neither suffered any illusions regarding their expectations of each other. She was to bear him an heir, now that he had finally determined he was in need of one, and he was to provide her with the lifestyle to which she had become accustomed. They would neither of them forsake their marriage vows, as many of their peers had done, for he had enough of such empty frivolities and she was too disapproving of others to consider such impropriety for herself. They kept separate rooms, as was proper, and, each night, he left her once he had conducted his business, as was expected. She was grateful that he was respectful of her sensibilities and did not demand his marital rights with more frequency. Why the horrid stories she had heard regarding the poor wives who were inopportuned in the middle of the day and in places not their beds! No, she was fortunate in her choice. The infernal sound of the waves crashing onto shore reminded her of a need to reply, "Yes, though not well, for all that she is Mrs. Darcy's sister and the recipient of Lady Matlock's sponsorship."

"Indeed," his voice was as measured as always, "then I suppose it is of little surprise that she is to wed Lord Milton."

"I beg your pardon?!" Something in the tone of her response must have alerted him to her displeasure.

Looking at her directly for the first time that morning, he frowned in disapproval of the openness of her emotions. She knew not what she murmured in response, but he must have been satisfied, for he soon returned to his papers and troubled her peace no longer. His only additional comment had been, "At least he had the sense to offer for a young lady of English origins; really, what could Lord Matlock have thought of agreeing to him choosing a foreigner for his first bride! For a family of Irish origins, no matter the land and wealth currently under their control, surely he would have realized the necessity of improving his bloodline."

Later, when she spoke of plans to return to the seashore to complete the painting of the scenery for her brother, he only expressed a wish that she would keep her hat to shield her complexion from the sun's rays before retiring to his correspondences.

Staring at the canvas before her, however, she found herself too restless to place the proper brushstrokes. She did not know why the thought of Miss Bennet and Lord Milton should bother her so...she certainly had no wish to marry a mere Viscount! And yet...it grated on her that Miss Bennet, a country nobody for all her sister's ability to entrap Mr. Darcy, should have succeeded where she had failed. What arts and allurements did she use to capture his attentions when she, a Duke's daughter, received only civility? He certainly had everyone fooled with his lack of preference for any young lady of his acquaintance. How glad she was that Stephen had not offered for Miss Darcy. Oh certainly her worth could not be denied. But now that both her brother and her cousin had shown madness in their choices of life partners, her own prospects must certainly be lowered. To think that Richard Fitzwilliam had married better than his brother, who was the heir!

Thoughts of Miss Darcy inevitably led to ponderings of those she called friends. The marriage of Miss Melinda Bainbridge and Mr. Henry Fitzhugh was not noted without suspicion. Why, she had heard that Lord Portland had stood up with his cousin...and wasn't that a sign that this union was made to cover up prospects of a scandal! Everyone knew that the cousins quite despised one another. She fully expected Mrs. Fitzhugh to deliver of a child sooner than expected. 'Tis well that the younger Miss Bainbridge was just as quickly married off, to some foreign business associate of her father's. Certainly she could have never shown her face in polite society with such a sister! Really, Miss Darcy must learn to be more discerning in her choice of companions. How Lady Matlock could have allowed...but then, the Countess had allowed her son to offer for Miss Bennet! A thought occurred to her then, perhaps that particular union was made for a similar reason as that of the elder Miss Bainbridge. But no, as quickly as it had form, this suspicion was discarded. Whatever may be said about the Bennet sisters' mercenary intents, Miss Mary Bennet had shown herself to be a proper and modest young lady. Her manners were without fault, for all her lowly origins. Madness indeed.

She must remind Stephen of his duty to the family; he cannot be allowed to pine after Miss Darcy.

Lord Waltham studied the letter in front of him with a scowl. He too had learned of the betrothal between Miss Mary Bennet and Lord Milton. Though he was initially as startled as his sister had been, the memory of the glimpses he had caught of Lord Milton accompanying his daughter and Miss Bennet in the park had convinced him that the match was one made for affection rather than duty. They were happy and will be happy, of such a truth he had no doubt, and he could find it within himself to be envious of their joy. They were a family, the three of them, so at ease and so content in each other's company. And even when the size of the family should grow, their love for one another will not diminish. He sighed wistfully but then shook himself and turned back to his sister's words.

His annoyance only grew at her less than kind words regarding the Bainbridges. How sanctimonious she sounded! As though their own uncle had not...well, Sarah would not know, would she? He had shielded his siblings from the truth. It was a secret he and his father shared, one that he wished he did not know. How could he bear to tell them of their mother's pain, of the horror she had experienced at the hands of their uncle? He still remembered the days of his youth, when she had sung lullabies to him. He remembered the parties that made their estate all ablaze with music, light, and laughter. His mother appeared as a fairy queen in all her splendor, glowing more brightly for one night. He did not think much of the presence of his uncle then, a constant shadow in the footsteps of his mother. He did not understand the disdainful glances or whispered tales of perverseness. Then, one day, she became suddenly subdued...dark colors replaced her bright gowns, wane smiles replacing her laughter. His father, usually such a gentle man, given to matching her joy with his own hearty chuckles, was stormy of visage. They went away for a while, but she was never the same. She startled easily and would shudder at the lightest touch, even when it was just James, so fascinated with the plants even as a toddler, bringing her a particularly beautiful blossom from the gardens. His uncle was never welcomed to the estate again.

He remembered arriving home after his first year at university and the unnatural stillness that seemed to pervade the house. His sister was away visiting a friend from school, and James, still too young to understand, had been sent with his nurse to the seaside in an effort to improve his constitution. Against his father's advice, he had forced his entry into his mother's chambers and was shocked to behold the thick veils over her face. She refused to show him her disfigurement, just as she refused to explain the cause. His father had drawn him aside afterwards, away from the sound of her sobs, and explained, as briefly as possible, what his uncle had done. He remembered his rage that summer, the endless rides he had taken on the family's estate, as though in exhausting his body he could begin to forget. But the fury burned strong in him, and when his father informed him of his uncle's addled mind, as much a product of the pox as the treatment for it, he felt only a sense of profound satisfaction. He had woken one morning, the beginning of that awful day, and found that the sadness and shame had at last killed his mother. Her maid had found her and had been almost hysterical with the shock at finding her body so very still. His father forbade her from speaking of the matter, indeed, forbade any of the servants from speaking the truth, and gave out word that the Duchess of Clearbourne had passed from illness. The Duke recalled his other children and arranged for her burial; he was a broken man after that event. He tried to carry on, to be a good father to his children, but never again did he laugh as freely. He smiled, how his eyes had shined when James presented him with the pineapple, and how they grew misty when Sarah married, but never again did he truly laugh.

And the Earl? Never did he shed a tear, for what good were tears? They changed nothing. He needed to be strong, for his father's sake. Soon enough, he learned to smile again, to take delight in frustrating his sister and indulging his brother. He grew to appreciate the closeness he shared with his father; bound through the common duty they had to protect his siblings from the dreadful secret. He never spoke during their yearly visits to the isolated estate where his uncle was kept. He could not bring himself to pity the...thing...he saw, did not understand how his father could remain so compassionate against the monster that had robbed him of his wife.

Forgiveness, the clergymen preached. Forgiveness, his father had whispered. Surely his uncle was paying for his crimes. But he could not. How often he wished that the fires of hell would consume his uncle! And they finally did, how pleased he had been! Surely his father would have been appalled at the darkness of his thoughts...Even then, he decried all the vices in which young men of his class delighted, as though in maintaining all manners of propriety, he could return honor to his family. He vowed to protect those he loved as much as he could.

And then he met her. Miss Georgiana Darcy. Such a bewildering but bewitching blend of calmness, of laughter, of wit, and of sweetness. She was a fairy princess, recalling to him the happiness of his youth. And he was lost. He could not control his actions, could not help but be drawn to her light. His father had smiled, a queer smile, as he observed Lord Waltham's obvious plight. "I am glad for you, my son," he had said, "she is a good woman; you are deserving of such a good woman." Perhaps the Duke saw in his son an echo of himself as he had been in his youth, besotted, enthralled, and happy.

But she had rejected him. And he could not blame her. Perhaps she sensed the darkness of his secret, the shame he did his best to hide. He knew not. He only knew that she was lost to him. As the days passed and time enabled some perspective, he realized that he never truly knew her. They had spent more time together than mere acquaintances, but in all that time, there was a distance between them. She was ever polite, ever obliging, but always guarded. As one who had made up his mind to appear cheerful and pleasant to others, for the sake of family, of society, and the expectations that came with both, he could recognize such behavior in others who did the same. He thought he had observed moments when she was more open, usually when she spoke with that foreign gentleman, Signor del Mastei. But her polite smile would return when he approached her and he would be too dazzled to think much of these rare occasions. He remembered the tear she had shed, even as she requested that he cease speaking. She cared for him, but only as a friend, though a 'treasured' one. He could not force her to reciprocate his feelings, feared enough of the darkness in his family to wish for such a thing. She may not have been cognizant of it, but he knew well that he had a competitor for her affections in the quiet, unassuming Signore. He suspected that they understood each other, knew each other's secrets, and when she finally saw the truth as well, he would be there to wish them joy.

"You are a good man, Lord Waltham." She had said. And oh how he strived to be! His father knew of his disappointment, had sympathized and offered his condolences. In turn, the Earl had shared his new understanding with the Duke and had to look away from the pride shining from his father's eyes.

Sighing, he turned back to his sister's letter. Sarah meant well, she did. She was not given to affection, not even as a child, and the proof of it was in her marriage. He hoped he she was content and, from her letter, she truly seemed to be. She was not without caring, he knew that well. The painting she had sent to James, filled with little details of the grasses that grew even in the sand, spoke well of her fondness for their younger brother, but neither did she truly require the depth of emotions that he did, that their father did. Even now, having experienced heartbreak, he could not say which way was superior.

My dear sister,

You cannot imagine my astonishment in receiving a letter from you. I know you to be a prolific correspondent, but I little expected to hear from you on your bridal tour! I hope His Grace is treating you well, though I have no doubt that you would not allow for anything else. You always did prize your autonomy, Sarah, though you never liked me to refer to it as such.

I must thank you for your concern and your reminder of my duty. I am blessed indeed to have my sister think of me even when she must be planning wondrous balls or social gatherings as befitting her new title. You and Father seem to be of similar mind in your efforts to help me begin anew, for he has informed me that he has accepted, for both of us, an invitation for a ball given by the Duke of Chesterton on behalf of his sister. You would no doubt find it peculiar that she is coming out only after the Season, and I must admit to some curiosity myself. Indeed, I had little idea the Duke had a sister. I do not suppose you would know anything of the matter? I would never dare to insinuate that you are a gossip, dear sister, but you are usually quite well-informed on such things.

As for the other matter mentioned in your letter, I would encourage you to refrain from insulting Lord Milton's choice of bride. You might not approve of her, but surely you can manage to be civil. Lord Milton has been most kind to introduce James to Signore del Mastei, who was been most patient in answering our brother's inquiries regarding the flora of Sicily. The good Signore was particularly knowledgeable about the grapes, being the owner of not a few vineyards, and readily offered to bring back certain cuttings and seeds for James after his trip back to his home country on a matter of business for his brother. I have never seen James so animated or so full of the bloom of health. London, despite its foul airs, seems to have agreed with him. He has expressed hopes of boarding one of those ships and visiting the exotic origins of the plants he loves so. And, for once, I believe he might actually manage it. Even Father is cautiously optimistic. I have no doubt James will tell you in length of his desires and the course he has already planned in detail.

I shall now leave you to your perusal of it.

Your affectionate brother,

Stephen

The ball was not quite what Lord Waltham or his father had expected. His Grace, the Duke of Chesterton was a gracious host despite his discomfiture still with his new station in life. His excitement at the Duke of Clearbourne's reminder of the alliance between the two families was perhaps more than was necessary. Lord Waltham could not fault him for such a small breach in conduct, however, not when his expression showed such relief when the Duke of Clearbourne offered his guidance. His wife, the Duchess of Chesterton, fared little better. Nonetheless, unused as she was to her current circumstances, she did quite well as hostess. She was quiet, much more so than most of her guests, and her smile was not yet practiced enough not to look forced, but she never faltered in greeting her guests or returning a greeting.

She had beamed briefly when she overheard someone speaking of the betrothal between Miss Bennet and Lord Milton, only to frown when she realized the insult meant to Miss Bennet. Tapping the unsuspecting young lady who had dared say such a thing on the shoulder, the Duchess declared in a carrying voice, "Well I for one am quite happy for Miss Bennet. I cannot imagine a young lady more worthy of such happiness. Perhaps if you had taken care to showcase more your character than your décolletage, you too might have drawn the eye of an honorable man like Lord Milton. Then again, perhaps not..."

The young lady, flushing at so public a set-down, fled at once to a far corner of the room, away from the Duchess's displeasure.

Though she nodded in satisfaction to herself, the Duchess appeared contrite when she returned to her conversation with Lord Waltham. "Do forgive me. I fear I am still unused to the power I now wield...but I simply could not allow such impudent remarks against my friend."

"I was not aware of your close association with Miss Bennet."

"Oh yes," the Duke of Chesterton had drawn close as a result of the scene his wife had caused, "Miss Bennet is a true Christian. She was truly kind to my Annabelle, when few others were sincere in their attentions. We are quite indebted to her for easing our first venture in London. As the son of a Duke, albeit a younger one, I had some exposure to the Ton, but I fear my wife has little experience outside the society of her father's parish. We have been blessed to call her friend."

"She had even written with good wishes for my first attempt at hosting such a large gathering; she made only brief mention of her betrothal, though I know her to be very happy. She is so very modest!"

"Quite an ideal young lady," the Duke of Clearbourne murmured, "you have full confidence that she will make a fine Lady Milton?"

"Oh yes!" Both of their hosts were adamant in their conviction.

"She is the one who is friends with Miss Georgiana Darcy, no?"

The Duchess nodded, "Indeed, I have hopes that our Arianna may make their acquaintance next season; they are worthy young ladies."

"High praise indeed."

"We cannot say enough of their goodness."

"And where is Lady Arianna?"

Said lady's brother smiled ruefully, "My sister is not yet used to such company, even less so than my wife. She has been in mourning for our father until recently. They were quite close, no doubt as close as Lord Milton is with his daughter, and his passing affected her greatly. She might well be in the gardens, for she takes much comfort in solitude."

"And you would allow her to miss her own ball?"

The Duchess chuckled, "Arianna has a mind of her own, and an uncanny ability to know the true façade of a person. She can be as stubborn as a mule and as affectionate as a new kitten. She knows her duty, but will go about it in her own way."

Lord Waltham was very much intrigued at such a description and hoped that he would have cause to meet the young lady. For the moment, however, he allowed the empty pleasantries of social dictates at such grand gatherings to wash over him. He danced with a few young ladies, answered questions regarding his sisters from their mothers, and chatted with a few acquaintances from school. The blight that was Henry Fitzhugh, who had somehow wrangled an invite, was studiously ignored; the new Mrs. Fitzhugh was conspicuous only in her absence. The music was lively, the wine flowed freely, and he was content to allow the jesting of his friends to bolster his own spirits. They had escaped to a veranda to allow the night air to cool their youthful spirits and indulge in a moment away from the complex web that preceded courtship and matrimony. When his companions made to return to the ball and their duties, however, the Earl demurred and ventured into the gardens instead. He had heard much regarding the Chesterton estates, particularly its eclectic collection of statues, and was seized with a sudden desire to explore it. Perhaps the moonlit garden reminded him of that evening, not so long ago, when Miss Darcy had spoken of her wish to be only friends; he really could not say, but the shrubbery was oddly enticing.

He paused suddenly in his perusal of a rather remarkable collection of statues of the nine muses as a resounding slap sounded quite close to him.

A lady's voice, over-brimming with anger, could be heard, "How dare you!"

To his displeasure, the answering voice was quite recognizable, and he scowled at hearing it, "Oh, do not protest so, my lady! Heaven knows your own mother would have been overjoyed to receive a gentleman who could compensate her so well."

Rounding the corner, Lord Waltham caught sight of the lady's hand, raised to strike the gentleman again. Fitzhugh, however, seemed to anticipate such a move and made a grab at the lady's slender wrist and dropped kisses upon it with a leer, "Come now, you and I both know that you mother was no better than your father's whore. You, my dear, are only fortunate that they married before your birth."

"Unhand me at once!" the lady insisted, too furious to show any fear.

"Oh, I think not...I think we shall have quite the pleasant dance together, you and I..."

The Earl could stand silent no longer; all the rage of that summer, so long ago, seemed to return to him in that moment. His voice was cold, despite the emotions burning within him, as he said through gritted teeth, "I would heed the lady's request, Fitzhugh."

The other gentleman turned with a sneer, "Ah, Lord Waltham...perhaps you shall join me? After all, you must learn simply to take that which you desire; 'tis quite unseemly for one of your position to fail at wooing a lady who is not even in possession of a title, no?"

"I would never dishonor a lady so."

"Ah, but she is no lady...her mother was, of all things, a common opera singer!"

"Nonetheless, I will not have you mishandle her in such a manner. She is a guest, and you do your hosts great dishonor should your harm her." His fists were clenched tightly at his side.

"No? And what will you do? Strike me? I cannot believe a gentleman of your reputation would stoop to such a common act."

Before Lord Waltham could respond, however, the lady raised one knee in such a manner that her captor was forced to release her. After smoothing her skirts delicately, she walked away from him bent body, a look of disgust on her face, "How I pity your wife!"

The Earl's lips twitched beside himself and with a parting smirk at Fitzhugh's crumpled and groaning figure in the clearing, offered his arm to the lady, "Perhaps you would like an escort back to the ball?"

The lady studied him carefully and, with a nod, threaded her arm through his.

They walked in silence for a moment, before the lady finally spoke, "I must thank you, sir, for coming to my aid."

"I do not believe you required it."

She shook her head, "Though I have been taught to protect myself, I do not think I could have overpowered him had you not been present to offer timely distraction."

"Then I am happy to have been of service."

"I fear my brother will be much displeased..." she said after yet another pause.

"At your actions?"

Stopping momentarily, she looked at him with an elegantly raised eyebrow, "My actions? Certainly not, though he does abhor violence, an effect of his prior occupation no doubt, my brother will only show his ire towards that sorry excuse of a man. He knows I would not have behaved so without just cause."

"Ah. And may I have the pleasure of meeting your brother so that I might corroborate your story?"

"And gain a formal introduction to myself?"

Lord Waltham fought another urge to smile, "Certainly. It would only be proper, no? I cannot have your reputation be besmirched now, so soon after I have rescued you."

She seemed to share none of his hesitancy and chuckled at such a reply even as she resumed their path through the gardens, "So now you are my rescuer?"

"Did you yourself not deem it so?"

"Very well; though I suspect you have already met my brother, as he is your host for the evening."

"You are Lady Arianna?" In his shock, he had stopped their progress again.

She curtsied gracefully, every ounce a Duke's daughter, "Indeed, and you are?"

Catching himself, he bowed, "Stephen Templeton, Earl of Waltham, at your service."

"And now that the introductions have been made, though in an unconventional manner, I must ask, Lord Waltham, regarding your distress when you came upon the sorry situation in which I found myself."

"My distress?"

"You seemed uncommonly angry, sir, such that I cannot but wonder if you had some personal dealings with that...man." Her last word was spoken with a vehemence that spoke well of her lingering scorn.

Remembering the Duchess's words regarding her sister-in-law, Lord Waltham paled slightly, "Not with Fitzhugh, no."

She gave him another one of her piercing looks but refrained from asking further questions of him.

Grateful for the reprieve, the Earl asked a question of his own, "Pardon my curiosity, but you are remarkably unperturbed."

She was surprisingly nonchalant in her answer, "You are surprised that I have made no efforts to defend my mother?"

He nodded.

"Why should I refute the truth? My mother was my father's mistress for many years before they married. I imagine it caused quite the scandal, especially as my grandmother, the spiteful woman, would not receive my mother at Chesterton Park. But Papa saw to it that Mama was cared for and even removed himself from Chesterton to the small estate where I was born. Grandmother saw to it, of course, that my existence was never much acknowledged, but we were happy enough." Her expression softened as she recalled memories from her childhood, "Papa called her his Euterpe, his muse in the flesh. And I was his Aria, the most beautiful song Mama ever made. The statues were commissioned for her, you know, once my grandmother passed and Papa could return to Chesterton. It became our place of refuge, a place to honor her memory, when she passed. And now, now that Papa is gone as well, it is my place for calm."

"You need not share such secrets with me," he said quietly.

She laughed, her momentary grief fleeing at the sound, "I hardly think they will remain secret for long! Now that I have come out, I expect my value as a potential bride will depend as much on my family name as on my heritage."

"But surely your father's legacy will overshadow your mother's humble origins?"

Her response was quick but decided, "I refuse to apologize for my parents' choices, particularly as they only brought them, and me, joy. I cannot help but be who and what I am. I see no reason to pretend to be anything else."

"You are a most singular young lady." He could not help but observe.

Again she laughed, "I received too much indulgence from my father, I think. And what of you, Lord Waltham? If my life has been touched by Euterpe, then yours has surely been inspired by Melpomene!"

"The muse of tragedy?"

"Is not unrequited love the greatest tragedy that can exist?"

He blushed, "I hope you will not give too much credit to Fitzhugh's words."

"Then you have not suffered in love?"

"Love?" he repeated, "I was fond of the lady, I think, but I do not know if I knew her well enough to call it love."

"Must you know someone to know you love them?"

"I...I do not know."

She sighed even as she stepped forward on the path, "I wish people would not be so frightened to call things what they truly are. If you loved her, then what is the harm in admitting it? What shame is there in not having your feelings returned? You could certainly not help what you feel. No more than she could help her lack of reciprocation. Love is so ephemeral a thing; not unlike the muses, you cannot control its comings and goings."

"Then what is your advice to someone who has loved unsuccessfully?"

"You must continue trying, of course, and hope you have better luck with the next object of your affections."

"Is it really so simple?"

"Must it be so complex?"

"I must repeat, Lady Arianna, that you are a most singular young lady."

They had arrived at the steps leading to the main house and he looked down at her, the glow of the lanterns reflected in her clear gaze. She only tilted her head in consideration before saying, "And you, Lord Waltham, you remain full of mysteries. I should be frightened, I think, but I find myself merely curious."

"No more curious than I remain about you."

She laughed again before placing her feet on the steps.

His next words, made impulsively, made her pause, "Do you sing, Lady Arianna?"

She turned to look at him with a quizzical expression, "You forget, Lord Waltham, that Euterpe was my mother; I am well versed in the musical arts. Besides, a proper young lady must be capable of song in order to call herself accomplished, no?"

"Then you must dance as well?"

"Need I remind you that Terpsichore is Euterpe's sister and not her daughter?"

"Then do you believe Euterpe's daughter would agree to a dance should I request one of her?"

"I daresay she will, Lord Waltham." So saying, she made her way towards the ballroom where her brother and sister waited to present her to the guests gathered in her honor.

Watching her go, Lord Waltham smiled to himself, he may well fail again, but certainly he could see no harm in attempting a new beginning.


Even Mary's joy at her engagement could not keep her from remembering her friend's heartbreak. And so, each day saw her faithful presence next to Georgiana as the two young ladies made the climb up Oakham Mount. They did not reach the summit each time, as Lady Matlock had many tasks that she delegated to the young ladies in preparation for the wedding, but still they went, and sat and talked.

On this particular day, they sat underneath the old tree, glancing around the surrounding countryside from their vantage point.

"Hertfordshire is so very beautiful," Georgiana said, "you must be quite sad to be leaving it."

Mary nodded, "I can scarcely believe that the time has come so quickly."

"Tomorrow, you will be wed," Georgiana's voice was oddly quiet, "and you shall then become at once my sister and my cousin."

In a determinedly cheerful tone, Mary noted, "A state of affairs that has confused Tommy greatly. Do you know, he asked me but this morning whether he must call Penny his niece?"

"And what was your reply?"

Encouraged at the soft smile, Mary replied with a hint of laughter in her own voice, "Why, I was given no opportunity to reply at all! Penny overheard and was rather cross with my brother." Indeed, young Miss Fitzwilliam had said most petulantly, "If you dare call me niece, Tommy Bennet, I shall never speak to you again!"

Mary continued, "He was made to wear the daisy chain she had woven for the rest of the day, as punishment, prompting Papa to initiate a short botany lesson."

With a laugh, Georgiana seemed to return to her old self, "I do not envy you or Cousin Reggie; Penny shall have more than her share of suitors once she makes her debut."

"Do not say such a thing!" Mary insisted, "Your cousin is quite adamant that Penny shall remain as she is for always."

"Then he is doomed for disappointment, for I little think time will heed his wishes. Lizzie is correct, as she usually is, that time waits for no one and listens only to its own counsel. Why, little Frances has already begun to smile when she sees a family member!"

"Fanny smiles at all and sundry, much as Charlie had done...Papa was quite honored that Kitty named her daughter for Mama; though he did suggest to Mr. Lucas that he set aside moneys for a ribbon fund even now."

"Kitty is happy to have a little girl and despite all the talk of wanting an heir, Mr. Lucas is quite besotted with his little miracle."

"They have little enough control over the sex of their child."

"No indeed," Her gaze lingered a moment in the direction of London, "so many things over which we have no control."

Subdued at the return of her friend's despondence, Mary nonetheless gathered her courage enough to ask, "Are you certain you will not read the letter?"

Georgiana sighed, "I dare not...I know I should not ignore Mattie in such a manner. But I cannot bring myself to see the words written; I am being foolish, I know it, but I cannot...if I do not see them, I can still pretend that...oh Mary, the success of my schemes bring me no joy, not this time! I would rather that Mattie think that the post was somehow lost, as some letters are, and never reached me. If I read it, I shall be obliged to reply...and how can I write my congratulations when I truly have none to offer? When in my heart, I wish..."

Mary spoke no words in reply but simply placed her arms around her grieving friend.

And so they sat until Georgiana shook herself, determined to shed the sadness that cloaked her, "Enough. I will not trouble you so on this day, not when tomorrow is one for such celebration!"

"Georgie, you must know that I would..."

"No," Georgiana shook her head, "you will not postpone you holiday for me. Not when you have waited so long. I will not let you. Besides, I shall not be alone. I shall have my brother, and Lizzie, and little Penny. And, I shall be home, at Pemberley. Do you know, I had not known how very much I loved Pemberley until I have been parted from it so long? But you, dear Mary, you will know such happiness!"

"Then you will write?"

"Certainly. And if you are not too preoccupied, you may reply." At the blush on Mary's cheeks, Georgiana giggled, a sparkle returning to her eyes, "Oh, I only meant that you shall be learning so much of the history of the family you shall join tomorrow! Uncle Matlock meant this trip to Yorkshire to be pleasurable as well as instructional. Cousin Reggie is to look in on the family's holdings there and you are to acquaint yourself with the Fitzwilliams' ancestry. You cannot learn it all from the books, after all, even though the Fitzwilliams were such accomplished journalists."

"Are you certain Penny will not be a bother?"

"Heavens no! I admit readily that I quite look forward to her presence at Pemberley. I must see if I can teach her to tease you and Cousin Reggie when you return!"

"Between you and Lizzie, I am certain you will manage it."

"And it shall be good practice, I think, for when my brother and Lizzie should have their own little one."

"Lizzie is certain then?"

"Not quite. She suspects, and Jane agrees, but she would wish for a while longer to be sure. She would hate so to disappoint Brother!"

"And he might not allow her to travel if he knew."

Georgiana nodded, "Even though it is perfectly safe, he would be perfectly overbearing with his protectiveness. And Lizzie knows he would love so to be back home."

"I am so glad, Georgie, that Milton Hall is not so far away from Pemberley."

"As am I, Mary. Oh how glad I am you shall be Lady Milton on the morrow!"


The wedding of the last Miss Bennet would be remembered as the most sumptuous event to occur in Hertfordshire even until young Miss Lucas was grown. Though the little church had seen many happy couples join in holy matrimony in recent years, none could hope to equal the celebration of the transformation of Miss Mary Bennet into Lady Milton. Even Lady Lucas would admit, though only years later, that Lady Ashbury's wedding was poor in comparison. The happy couple could not have cared less for their surroundings, so caught up were they in their own little world. Nonetheless, Lady Milton could be heard offering her thanks to each person who made the event such a success. The small details she added to her words of gratitude quite revealed her attentiveness. Miss Annesley, sitting quietly in the pews, felt her heart warm. The last remnant of any doubt was further eliminated when Mary clasped Miss Annesley's hands in her own and expressed her wishes for a safe and happy time at Pemberley. She would not allow Miss Annesley to address her by her new title and insisted on being called simply Mary, "For we are friends and joint caretakers for Penny; she loves you dearly and I will not have you debase yourself simply because I am now her mother." Miss Annesley had felt tears prickle at her eyes; how could she have believed that Mary would change now that she was Lady Milton! How happy the three of them looked together.

When Lord Milton and his Lady were at last announced to be man and wife, little Penny, heedless of propriety or convention, had rushed from her seat and embraced Mary with a loud cry of "Mama!" No one could find it in themselves to scold the child, however, so brightly did she smile. She sat between her parents during the wedding breakfast, the very picture of a content child. And even now, she clung tightly to her parents' hands as they made their way down the line of well-wishers to bid their goodbyes. The carriage stood at the end of the lane, a large obstacle that loomed at the end of her vision. Still, she smiled, though her grip tightened somewhat.

Mary received the well-wishes from her neighbors with soft smiles and curtsied steadily to Lord and Lady Matlock. She did not even lose her composure when her aunts and uncles offered their congratulations. Her smile began to fade, however, as she hugged each of her sisters and kissed her niece and nephew. Tears began to form when Tommy promised her to guard her pianoforte until she could visit next. And when she drew close to her father, standing so forlornly in the shadow of the carriage, she could not help but give a hiccup, "Oh Papa!"

Mr. Bennet embraced his last daughter and blinked to clear his own vision, "My dear child. How I shall miss your quiet presence and the sound of the pianoforte. I suppose Fanny is yet too young for me to insist that she learn?"

As he had intended, his daughter gave a watery smile at his jest.

Quietly, the Viscount handed his wife a handkerchief before turning to his father-in-law, "I promise, sir..."

"I know, my son," Mr. Bennet interrupted. "I will give one last piece of advice, however, a father's prerogative. My Mary is of a content nature such that even if she is uncomfortable, she will not make a fuss of it. I trust you to understand her."

"I will." Lord Milton again bowed solemnly.

"Very well. Then you had better escort your wife into the carriage; you cannot tarry longer if you are to reach your destination in time."

"Thank you, sir."

Mr. Bennet gave his slightly calmer daughter one last kiss on the forehead, "Remember Mary, Longbourn will always welcome you. Do remember to write to your old father; I may not respond in kind, but I do so welcome letters from my daughters."

"I will, Papa."

And so, with that last promise, Mary Fitzwilliam, with her husband's help, stepped into the carriage that would take her away to a new beginning.

She leaned out the window and waved the handkerchief until the road swallowed up her family and the sounds of the countryside drowned the multitude of voices she had just left. When she returned into the carriage, she was grateful when her husband drew her into his arms. Listening again to the sound of his steady heartbeat, she felt her tears fade. When she felt the vibration as he hummed a soothing tune, she felt her breath grow steady. "Waterlilies," she murmured.

"Indeed," he replied.

"Did you know then?"

"Not quite then, I do not think, though I think Cousin Anne gave me some not so subtle hints. And you, dear Mary?"

"I cannot say..." she sat up until she could look him in the eyes, "perhaps when I saw you with Penny." She smiled softly, "You presented quite the picture, surrounded by such strange guests and yet listening to your hostess so intently as though you were having tea with the Queen herself."

He returned her smile but raised his hand to brush away the last drops of tears that still clung to her eyelashes, "I am sorry, to have caused you to wait so long."

She shook her head, "It matters not...I did not think to admit it to myself until I had left London...when Miss Annesley mentioned that you had indicated to your mother that you were ready to seek a bride again, I..."

"And so the aster...I must admit, I did not dare hope, not until Georgie had given me an inkling of your thoughts..."

"And so the letter?"

He nodded.

"Then I can easily forgive Georgie her breach of confidentiality."

"And I must see to it that Miss Annesley receive an increase in her wages!"

"Thus also increasing her admiration of your generosity!"

He smiled again, "But her admiration for Lady Milton will certainly far exceed any she might feel for Lord Milton."

Mary blushed at the praise and made to hide her flushed face by leaning it against his shoulder.

He reached for her hand and clutched it in his, "Dear Mary."

They sat in silence, the rumble of the carriage a soothing background as it continued on its path.

"Mary?" his voice was tentative.

"Yes?"

"Did you...when Grenville..."

"Oh." She sat up again, "you know."

He nodded, "When Georgie...I felt so powerless, knowing that I could not yet reveal to you my intentions. And I do not think I could have borne it, if I lost you too...I cannot keep it from you now that you are my wife."

She sighed and pressed a finger to his lips, "'Tis all in the past now. You have not lost me."

He nodded but still felt compelled to ask, "Did you reject him because of...did you do it for me?"

"Does your vanity truly need so much bolstering?"

He smiled, "I only wished to be certain."

She shook her head at his silliness but then grew serious, "Reggie?"

Hearing the same hesitance in her tone, he straightened and braced himself for a difficult question.

"Do you...that is..." he squeezed her hand to give her strength. Looking away from his searching gaze, she said to their intertwined fingers, "I feel so guilty at times, as though I have stolen something that is not mine. I still remember your words to me, 'I am very fond of you,' you had said,' and I am grateful for your friendship, but my heart has long been given to one who has since departed this world...' Those words had tortured me, not then, not when you first spoke them, but later, when I finally admitted to myself what you had come to mean to me. And I asked myself, what right had I to claim you when..."

Now it was he who quieted her with a finger. "Dear Mary. Those words, they were spoken from a broken heart; a heart that you have since mended. I love you. Elena...she will always be a part of me, I think. I can little enough forget her, or our child. But she is my past. You are my future. You brought hope to me, you brought Penny into my life, you woke my heart so that it could love again. You saved me, Mary."

She looked at him them, and saw the sincerity in his eyes. "Kitty must be ecstatic," she murmured.

"Kitty?"

She smiled at the adorable expression of puzzlement on his face, "She always did consider it quite romantic if you should realize that you could not live without my support."

"And you, Mary?" He looked at her intently, expectantly.

She blushed but answered truthfully, "I am so very happy. As Penny had said, surely it is sinful to know such happiness! I only wish I had a pianoforte available to me in this moment, so that you may understand..."

"I think I do...may I show you my understanding?"

She froze for a moment, knowing well his intent, and then, remembering that he was now her husband, nodded. She heard as he shifted position, to draw closer to her, and felt his hands tilt her chin to him. She could see, though her eyes remained closed, his elegant fingers cupping her cheeks. When his lips at last caressed her own, she gave a sigh of contentment. He pulled away, to gauge her reaction, and seeing the love and wonder shining from her eyes, moaned her name and drew close again. In that moment, she was lost. It was a crescendo, growing louder, building towards the finale. Her heart pounded loudly, and her arms rose of their own accord and wrapped themselves around his neck. At the touch, he startled suddenly and pulled himself away.

Looking at her flushed face and panting a little, he seemed mortified that he should have lost his composure so, "Mary...I..."

She touched her tingling lips, still a little dazed, "Do not apologize."

"But I..." he looked away from her, "I...in my thoughts, I am not always a gentleman."

At the press of her fingers against his, he returned his gaze to meet hers, "Mary?"

"I am not uncomfortable." said she simply.

Recalling Mr. Bennet's words, he returned her smile and bent so that their foreheads touched. In such close proximity, their breath mingled and slowly but not tentatively, he made to capture her lips again. This kiss was gentle and spoke of such promises for the future. When he freed her, she rested her head on his shoulder again, content and, yes, most comfortable.


The Darcys' return to Pemberley was a great cause for celebration among its staff. Mr. Hendricks was well liked and respected, but he could not replace the Master. And surely the estate lost some of its laughter in their Mistress's absence. Mrs. Reynolds, motherly creature that she was, could be seen surreptitiously wiping away a few tears on her apron as she embraced each Darcy. Tough, if any servant had been brave enough to remark on it, not that any servant dared to utter a word, she would have denied it vehemently. The Darcys were each also too fond of her to place special note on her emotional welcome.

Mrs. Darcy only returned the hug and laughed, "I declare, Mrs. Reynolds, I shall never part from Pemberley again if I can help it! How I missed our woods while we were in London!"

"Ah, so 'tis you who has been trekking the mud onto my clean floors! Worse than the Master when he was young, you are!" Nonetheless, the housekeeper could only look upon her Mistress with fondness.

"And now you are telling tales!" Mr. Darcy exclaimed, "My dear Mrs. Reynolds, I had so hoped to maintain my reputation of being a consummate gentleman in front of my young cousin!"

When Mrs. Reynold's gaze fell upon little Penny Fitzwilliam, her smile only widened.

"Bless me! If she isn't Miss Darcy in the miniature!"

Penny curtsied and grinned shyly up at the housekeeper, still ill at ease with all the attention.

"Welcome to Pemberley, young miss!"

Georgiana laughed, "Am I in danger of having my place in your heart supplanted by my young cousin?"

"Certainly not, and well you know it, Miss Darcy."

Giving the housekeeper a soft kiss on the cheeks, Miss Darcy made to introduce the last of their group, "And this is Miss Marianne Annesley, though you may be familiar with her already? She was visiting with her Aunt, Mrs. Dancroft, during Yule I believe?"

Turning at once business-like, Mrs. Reynolds nodded, "Yes indeed. I always did think well of your aunt, Miss Annesley, and hope you will enjoy you stay at Pemberley."

Not minding the slightly colder reception she received and indeed heartened at the congenial manners of greeting between the Darcys and their servants, the governess curtsied politely, "Thank you, Mrs. Reynolds."

The older lady nodded in approval, "Now then, we had best enter the house, no sense standing outside as we are."

Penny tried not to be overwhelmed at her first look at Pemberley, but when her gaze fell upon its marble staircase, she could not help but gape.

Her Cousin Georgie smiled gently, "Your Mama had very much the same reaction."

Penny glanced up, "Did she?"

"Indeed," Georgiana nodded, "I do believe this staircase is the subject of much admiration, perhaps more so than the rest of the house."

"Does Mama have favorites?"

"Oh yes! The music room, of course. But also the morning room and the south terrace. She is quite fond of the herb garden as well."

"Will you take me to see them, Cousin Georgie?"

"Certainly, Penny, and more besides! But not today, I think we shall rest today, no? What say you to seeing your rooms?"

Penny acquiesced easily.

Life at Pemberley soon fell into a steady rhythm, as though the Darcys had never parted from it. Letters from the newlyweds disrupted the flow somewhat, but for the most part, the estate remained rather tranquil. Penny quite delighted in her surroundings and found her own favorite haunts in addition to the ones she had decided to adopt from her beloved Mama. And so the days passed, each filled with pleasant memories for the little girl.

As for Georgiana, she found that coming home was not quite the answer to her troubles. As she showed Penny the estate, she would find herself overwhelmed at certain locations. The old Wickham cottage, the portrait hall, even certain sitting rooms, all seemed to hold the ghost of him. Elizabeth watched her sister closely, though refrained from interrogating the younger lady as she wished. She was gladdened that Penny's presence seemed to do well for Miss Darcy. And so matters might have remained, but for a certain comment on the part of her husband.

They were preparing for sleep and he had dismissed Daisy, not unkindly, and reached for the hairbrush. Gently he ran it through his wife's curls, working it patiently through the knots that she had sustained during the day.

She smiled at the image of him in her mirror, at the look of concentration upon his face. When she began to braid it, he stayed her hand, "Do leave it, Elizabeth."

"Daisy will not thank you in the morning."

"Then I will help untangle the mess before she arrives."

Elizabeth smiled fondly at him, "Who would have thought, the great Fitzwilliam Darcy can do quite well as a lady's maid!"

Darcy pressed a kiss to her smirking lips but drew away.

Pausing, he adopted a serious expression that alerted Elizabeth to a pronouncement of some consequence.

Turning to him in their bed, she waited quietly. The few years of marriage had taught her patience when he should behave thus.

"The Signore has returned to England and is hoping to pay a visit to Pemberley. He is determined to seek my advice in settling upon the old Sullivan estate some thirty miles away. He also wished to speak with me on another matter..."

"Should we inform Georgiana?"

Darcy sighed, "My instincts tell me yes, but he has requested our silence. He wishes to meet with her and make his confession."

Elizabeth sighed, "You must inform him then, of Georgiana's belief that he had offered for the younger Miss Bainbridge."

"He is aware, I think. Reggie, no doubt at Mary's urgings, had written to him."

"Then he is rushing home to end her sorrows?"

"I believe so."

"My poor husband, you shall soon know my father's grief."

Darcy made no response but only passed a hand over his face, "And to think I had once told him that I held him in great esteem!"

Taking his hand gently in hers, she asked pointedly, "And do you think less of him now that he is to be your brother?"

"She has not accepted him." The yet was left unspoken, though both Darcys knew it should not have been.

"Do you doubt that she will?"

He gave her such a look that she could only chuckle, "Sweet William! How cross you look."

"Do not tease me so, Elizabeth."

She sighed, "No, I suppose I should not, not in this matter. How can I improve your mood?"

She pretended to think on it and brightened considerably, "Ah, I know!" Taking his hand, still held within her own, she placed it on her as gently rounded stomach, "Perhaps you shall mind losing you sister less if you can look forward to the existence of another Miss Darcy?"

He raised his head sharply, his mouth gaping in disbelief.

"Oh dear," said she, "and I thought for certain such news might do away with the thundercloud over your head."

"Elizabeth?! Are you...you are certain...?"

"And at last, he speaks! I would so hate for our child to have a mute for a father."

"Our child," he repeated, still dumbfounded, before he fairly attacked her with kisses. "My dearest, sweetest, most precious Elizabeth!"

She laughed when he finally withdrew, though his hands still remained on the part of her body where a swell would continue to grow, "A child!"

"Yes indeed, a daughter for you to spoil. The poor dear, she will never be allowed out if her poor Papa can manage it!"

"I do not know how you can be so certain that 'twill be a girl." Her husband said, his good humor most definitely returning.

"Need I remind you, husband mine, that I am one of four Bennet girls?"

"Ah, but such is the superiority of the Darcy blood; the firstborn has been a boy for at least the last seven generations!"

"Well, if you are so certain, then I trust you have already thought of a name?"

"Bennet."

"Bennet? The fact that your mother chose to name you for her family is no cause for me to do the same!"

"Ah, but I chose it for another reason, dear wife."

"Did you?"

"I think we are certainly blessed, are we not?"

His look of superiority simply begged for her to challenge him, and so she did. "That we are. Still, I must admit to a certain fondness for the name Owen."

"Our well-born young warrior?"

She nodded but said, with a wave of her hand, "It matters not, for neither name would suit for a girl."

"If you are so certain, shall we place a wager on it?"

"Gambling, Mr. Darcy? And I thought you a gentleman! How I have been deceived these many years!"

"Hmm...I think you shall enjoy this wager as well, Mrs. Darcy."

"Oh?"

At the arch of her eyebrow, he nodded, "A kiss."

"A kiss?"

"Indeed. And as I am certain to win, I think I might claim my prize this very moment."

She laughed at his bravado, "What are we to do? For I believe strongly that we shall welcome into the world a new Miss Darcy. No, no, we had best choose another...to the victor goes the honor of naming our child?"

He nodded his agreement. "Shall we seal it with a kiss?"

"You incorrigible man!" Nonetheless, she leaned into his embrace and allowed herself to be soundly, and most affectionately kissed. One kiss of course led to several more, not all of which were instigated by Mr. Darcy, and their wager was soon forgotten for the moment as they celebrated the new addition to their family.


Great was the joy that greeted the Master of Pemberley's announcement of the impending birth of a Darcy child. Toasts were drank to a new generation of worthy masters in the Tenants' Hall, well-wishes were called out when the Darcys visited Lambton, and Mr. Winthrope even tailored his sermon to a discussion of new life and new beginnings in recognition the news. Within Pemberley, the servants were often treated to the sight of a smiling Mr. Darcy and exasperated Mrs. Darcy as Miss Darcy's predictions of her brother's protective nature came to fruition.

"Do tell your brother, Georgie," huffed Elizabeth, "that I am perfectly safe to walk in the woods."

"And do tell your sister," her husband rejoined, "that I am only concerned that she might trip over a hidden root! The rains from yesterday have made the paths quite muddy, I am certain of it!"

Georgiana only rolled her eyes in mock frustration, "Really! Lizzie, why do you not walk on the garden paths with me this afternoon? Brother, surely you can trust me with her well-being?"

At the uncertain look on his face, she fought the urge to throw her breakfast roll at him, "Really Brother! Lizzie is no invalid."

"Oh very well! But only if you make certain she has her bonnet and her shawl, and ensure that she slows her pace. The paths, well paved though they are, may yet be damp and I think the breeze already hints at autumn!"

Georgiana sighed but nodded her assent. "Your guest must be special indeed, Brother, for you to leave Lizzie's side."

The elder two Darcys traded significant looks at such an innocuous remark. Mr. Darcy coughed lightly, "Ah, yes, important business. An investment of utmost sensitivity."

At his strained voice, his sister gave him a dubious look over the top of her cup.

"Have you heard, Georgiana, that Vineberry may see a new owner soon?"

Turning to Elizabeth, Miss Darcy shook her head, "I was not aware."

"Oh yes, a young gentleman wished to settle there with his new bride, I think." Despite the warning look from her husband, she continued, "And as your brother is touted as the expert in estate management in these parts, he was enlisted for his advice."

"How fortunate for the lady," Georgiana said, "Vineberry is quite lovely. The ivy that grows over its gates is so very beautiful, and turns such a lovely shade of scarlet in the fall. It is smaller than Pemberley, perhaps, but I suppose more manageable for a young couple starting their life together."

"I am glad you think well of it. The young gentleman has a particular interested in wine, I believe, and might seek to raise another kind of vine there."

"Then we must make certain to welcome our new neighbors once they are settled."

"Indeed, I have hope that we shall be quite close with them." Elizabeth said cryptically before turning to her own breakfast.

Georgiana thought no more of the conversation, for she was expected in the music room for Penny's lesson while Miss Annesley made visits in Lambton. That afternoon, however, as she strolled through the gardens with Elizabeth, she could not help but think that her sister was rather distracted.

At last, she could not hold her tongue any longer, "Lizzie?"

"Hmm?" Elizabeth picked at the threads of her shawl.

"Are you well?"

"Oh, certainly, Georgie! Why do you ask?"

"Well...I am not certain, only...you seem rather preoccupied."

"Do I? Hmm...I suppose I am only wondering at a name for your niece."

Georgiana chuckled, "You are so certain it shall be a girl?"

Elizabeth smiled, "You must keep my secret, Georgie, for I am not certain at all. Indeed, loath though I am to admit it, I think your brother may well be right."

"But it would not do to tell him so."

"Certainly not!"

"Then have you thought of an appropriate name to maintain the charade?"

"Hmm...what think you of Francesca? Kitty had already used Frances, for Mama, but I do so like its meaning."

"You are doing little enough to ensure a docile child with such a name."

"Francesca Anne, then, so that her spirit may be tempered by grace."

"Brother would like that, I think."

"Though I pray the child will have better fortunes than either of her grandmothers." Elizabeth sighed.

"Lizzie? You are not usually given to melancholy."

"No...Jane had warned me, when we last spoke, that I may find myself more weepy than usual. Such changes are of course of little consolation for your brother."

"He fears losing you. As happy as he is to become a father."

"I know." Elizabeth smiled wanly, "and so I do not truly mind his fussing. It brings him some comfort. Still, I am glad you remain with us, Georgie."

"I can little be anywhere else! Though perhaps, when Mary returns, I may pay a visit to Milton Hall."

"Perhaps." Elizabeth said shortly.

When the ladies returned to the house, Georgiana was startled when a footman coughed lightly, "Mr. Darcy requests your presence in the Portrait Gallery, Miss."

Georgiana nodded though looked somewhat bewildered. "Lizzie, have you any idea what Brother might want?"

Elizabeth fought against smiling, "I haven't the faintest idea...perhaps he only wishes to interrogate you as to my health. I do hope you will tell him that I did indeed keep my bonnet and my shawl on my person as instructed."

With a laugh, Georgiana nodded and made her way toward the aforementioned destination.

When she arrived, however, she saw that it was not her brother but another gentleman who waited her presence. Her face lost its smile and she paled as she turned to return the way she had come. His voice, however, stopped her.

"Miss Darcy."

She took a deep breath and, fixing a smile onto her face, turned around slowly, "Signore del Mastei! Forgive me, I was told my brother wished to speak with me."

She could not read his expression, though she thought she caught a slight frown before he hid it skillfully. She knew she was not being fair, presenting to him what Mary had called her 'London face,' but she could not help it. His presence was so unexpected, so unlooked for, that she knew not how to act without dissolving into a sorry mess of tears.

"Forgive me," he said, "for the deception."

She smiled and convinced herself that it was not bitter at all, "I seem to recall similar words the last time you returned to England."

"Miss Darcy," he said again, "Georgie."

She gasped at his chosen appellation for her, "Signore. You are my friend, but I think you quite forget yourself. Surely your wife..."

"My wife?" Yes, he was truly frowning now. "I fear you have been misinformed, I am not married."

"But," she felt faint, "But Mattie...you...you spoke with her father!"

The Baron looked truly contrite as he explained, "For my brother's sake. Roberto was training under Mr. Bainbridge and doing his best to learn for the sake of the new venture in transforming our grandfather's estate; he certainly did not expect to fall in love with his mentor's daughter. His stay in England was thus prolonged, for the sake of their courtship. Mr. Bainbridge felt uneasy to grant his permission, for Roberto is frightfully young in his eyes and, truly, had no fortune at the moment to offer. And so my help was enlisted. We came to a satisfactory arrangement, I think, and I can now happily call Miss Matilda sister. I must own that I did not foresee the events for the elder Miss Bainbridge, but...I am glad that I was able to bring Roberto's wish to fruition. She is happy, I can assure you. Or, if you would rather not trust my opinions, she wished for me to bring you an explanation as well, written in her own hand. She is afraid that her last message had been lost in the post."

Georgiana ignored the proffered letter, "You are not married?"

Putting the letter away, he dared to walk closer to her, his movements unhurried but deliberate, until he stood before her. "No, I am not."

"Oh." She looked up at him, and suddenly felt foolish indeed.

He felt relief sweep over him as her mask fell away and he caught sight of her true feelings. Kneeling before her, as he had longed to do when first he beheld her in the Portrait Gallery, he took one of her hand in his. "But...if you would have me, I have hope to be."

A single thought stood out from the myriad of others that flew though her mind, "You! You are the new owner of Vineberry!"

"Yes." He replied simply.

"I...why did you not tell me sooner?"

"I did not think I had cause to hope...when I returned, I admit, I had but one purpose, and that was you. I could not keep you from my thoughts. Your words, your smiles, they had helped me face each shadow that still existed in that mansion. They gave me courage. I did not think I would be separated from you so very long, but neither could I refuse Roberto when he wrote to me. And when I did return...it was clear that you were intended for another. Still, I could not keep myself from your side, even though it pained me to see you with him. I even became friends with him, to see if he was worthy of you. And, loathe though I was to admit it, I found him to be a good man. His care for his younger brother in particular even reminded me of myself. So I made up my mind to let you go. But, your cousin had written to me; scolded me, though those passages were written more in Miss Mary's hand. Well, I suppose Lady Milton now...I did not mind, for the only thought I had was that you had rejected Lord Waltham. And so I returned..."

"So you have."

Still he knelt before her, looking up at her imploringly, "And now you have heard my confession."

"And now you shall hear mine," she suddenly felt light, as though if he were not holding onto her hand, she would float away, "I love you."

"Then you will marry me?" His voice was full of wonder.

"Yes." She said as her smile became laughter, "Yes, a thousand times, yes!"

Later, there would be time for berating Lizzie and her brother for keeping such important information from her, time for her entire family and many other guests to descend upon Derbyshire for her wedding, time for her to stand in the front hall of Vineberry and breathe in the scent of her new home, with her new husband at her side. There would time to write to Mattie, to offer her most sincere congratulations. Time to celebrate the birth of little Bennet Owen Darcy, to sit with Mary as they knitted little socks and sewed little shirts for the heirs to Vineberry and Milton Hall while chatting of all the little Gardiners and Darcys and Bingleys and Lucases, time for Francesca Anne to become the new Miss Darcy of Pemberley. Sometime, further in the future, Penny would become Lady Penelope Fitzwilliam, Tommy would make his way to Pemberley before leaving for University, and the family would plot to bring these stubborn two together, and succeed, just as they had for Mary and Reggie. And someday, someday her dear Giovanni will walk their daughter down the aisle to a worthy gentleman, a certain Lord Waltham, son of the man who had been a onetime suitor for Miss Georgiana Darcy. But for now, now she was cognizant only of her dear Baron's arms around her as he picked her off the floor and twirled her in circles until they were both breathless, the laughing eyes of Lady Anne Darcy glancing down in approval. Now, there was only a feeling of joy, of love, and of new beginnings.


AN: Well, and that is that. The end...for now I think. I shall begin my revision of this story and sort out some inconsistencies and add a few scenes that my brain has envisioned. There may be a sequel, I do have some loose ideas floating around in my mind, but I think I will focus on revising this story first...possibly for publishing eventually, once it's all polished? Thank you so much, dear readers, for sticking with me for this long! I truly cannot begin to express my gratitude for your patience and support.