A/N: A few reviewers have very kindly asked about my future plans after our company sale. I have another year of work, building v2 of one of our products while bringing a bigger engineering team up to speed. They will be building much more software on our platform, so it will expand and thrive within Elekta. If you're burning with curiosity, you can see our flagship product at PalabraApps DOT com. To see our second product, Google Elekta SmartClinic and follow the first or second link.
I'll retire in exactly 1 year, and then, we'll see. At the moment, my wife and I plan to publish most of what I've written and see what happens. Of course, there will be a lot more of it by then.
I will no doubt continue to write, and I have some bigger writerly ambitions that may or may not happen. Amalia's brother owns a production company in Spain, and I may try to write a screenplay that's been stuck in my head for 3 years. We'll see after the retirement.
As to the story, the response continues to astound me. I have learned that my ability to predict reactions to my work is abysmally bad. I'm about as blind as Lizzy, which is… err… good? My most popular stories are Shall We Dance, and Letters from Cheapside, both of which I expected to be middling popular at best. Shows what I know! I thought the math would turn off people after a few chapters, but you guys keep asking for more. This chapter doesn't have much math. I had a small sequence about set theory, but it didn't really fit in the end.
This chapter has way more Jane-Speak than I generally use or recommend – I mean a lot more by a factor of at least 10 from my previous most prolific bout of plagiarism. It's very rare for more than a sentence or two to really fit the story, but in this case, it actually works… I think. You tell me.
Lastly, the axe analogies in the previous chapter were from personal experience, not book learning. I grew up in a sawmill and spent years making little boards out of big trees. Fair warning, I also spent some time in a rock crushing plant making little rocks out of big rocks (or more technically, gravel out of a mountain), so expect some rock analogies sooner or later. With the male characters I have to work with, it almost seems too easy.
I know you're all waiting for the chapter, along with the attendant rainbows or fireworks. It will be next.
Wade
Elizabeth was walking in the park the next day, thinking furiously about her discussion with Mary of the previous evening. She had worked her way around to the solid conclusion that he was an entirely vexing and confusing man, but somewhere between interesting and fascinating; when she heard steps behind her.
Unable to decide if she was looking forward to verbally sparring with her nemesis one last time or not, she turned, but was surprised to find Colonel Fitzwilliam bearing down on her, with his typical vacuous smile.
She pasted on a similarly insocient expression, and said, "I did not know before that you ever walked this way."
"I have been making the tour of the park," he replied, "as I generally do every year, and intend to close it with a call at the Parsonage. Are you going much farther?"
"No, I should have turned in a moment."
And accordingly, she did turn, and they walked towards the Parsonage together.
"Do you certainly leave Kent on Saturday?" said she.
"Yes–if Darcy does not put it off again. But I am at his disposal. He arranges the business just as he pleases."
"And if not able to please himself in the arrangement, he has at least pleasure in the great power of choice. I do not know anybody who seems more to enjoy the power of doing what he likes than Mr. Darcy."
The Colonel chuckled, but then Elizabeth, belatedly thought that she both sounded uncharitable, and what she said was probably untrue.
She amended, "Of course, while I have complete faith in Lady Catherine, I do believe she relies on your cousin for a great number of things. It is equally likely he has other duties that were unanticipated, so perhaps we should not be so hard on him."
The Colonel mostly ignored her annex, which annoyed her to no end.
"He likes to have his own way very well," replied Colonel Fitzwilliam. "But so we all do. It is only that he has better means of having it than many others, because he is rich, and many others are poor. I speak feelingly. A younger son, you know, must be inured to self-denial and dependence."
Elizabeth was feeling more and more peeved by the stupidity of the assertion, especially with the way she had been staring true genteel poverty in the face a few months prior. Perhaps the soldier was trying to be humorous, but his reading of his audience was terribly tone‑deaf. She responded more sharply than was probably polite.
"In my opinion, the younger son of an earl can know very little of either. Now seriously, what have you ever known of self-denial and dependence? When have you been prevented by want of money from going wherever you chose, or procuring anything you had a fancy for?"
"These are home questions–and perhaps I cannot say that I have experienced many hardships of that nature. But in matters of greater weight, I may suffer from want of money. Younger sons cannot marry where they like."
"Unless where they like women of fortune, which I think they very often do."
"Our habits of expense make us too dependent, and there are not many in my rank of life who can afford to marry without some attention to money."
At that point, Elizabeth had endured just about all of the Colonel she cared for. She was once again reminded of Mary's yipping dog analogy and thought she should check her ankles for bite marks. Not quite willing to forego manners entirely though, she at length replied.
"And pray, what is the usual price of an earl's younger son? Unless the elder brother is very sickly, I suppose you would not ask above fifty thousand pounds."
The Colonel made a reply that Elizabeth mostly ignored. They carried on for a few minutes, talking of subjects that the lady would hardly be bothered to recall later. They spoke of Mr. Darcy's sister, who apparently had both the Colonel and Mr. Darcy as guardians, which frankly sounded like a terrible idea. She desperately hoped there was a woman – some woman – any woman – somewhere in the mix, else the poor girl was likely to be completely unacquainted with how to live in the world. However, Miss Darcy's fate was no more her concern than Mr. Darcy's was, so she let the subject drop.
The Colonel blathered on for a few more minutes while Elizabeth's thoughts went more and more to his cousin, who at least was interesting, if not vexing. When the Colonel swept a fallen branch from the path, she, quite without thinking said, "Thank you, Mr. Bingley."
No sooner had the words escaped her mouth, when she gasped, and said, "My apologies, Colonel. Something occasionally fails betwixt my brain and my mouth."
The Colonel just laughed humorously, and said, "Well, at least you did not call me Darcy. A man without his handsomeness or status does not like to be reminded of it, but Bingley I can live with. We are similar enough that the confusion is understandable."
Curious, Elizabeth asked, "You know the Bingleys?"
"I know them a little. Their brother is a pleasant gentlemanlike man–he is a great friend of Darcy's."
"Oh! yes," said Elizabeth drily; "Mr. Darcy is uncommonly kind to Mr. Bingley, and takes a prodigious deal of care of him."
"Care of him! Yes, I really believe Darcy does take care of him in those points where he most wants care. From something that he told me in our journey hither, I have reason to think Bingley very much indebted to him. But I ought to beg his pardon, for I have no right to suppose that Bingley was the person meant. It was all conjecture."
Not liking the sound of this particular bit of gossip in the least, but unable to contain her curiosity, Elizabeth timidly asked, "What is it you mean?"
"It is a circumstance which Darcy could not wish to be generally known, because if it were to get round to the lady's family, it would be an unpleasant thing."
With a sinking feeling, Elizabeth replied cautiously, "You may depend upon my not mentioning it."
"And remember that I have not much reason for supposing it to be Bingley. What he told me was merely this: that he congratulated himself on having lately saved a friend from the inconveniences of a most imprudent marriage, but without mentioning names or any other particulars, and I only suspected it to be Bingley from believing him the kind of young man to get into a scrape of that sort, and from knowing them to have been together the whole of last summer."
Elizabeth's heart felt like it nearly came to a halt at the inference. How many men could Mr. Darcy possibly be prying away from imprudent marriages? If he interfered with Mr. Bingley that would be bad enough, and if he did it often, it would be even worse. Based on the maximum threshold principle, Elizabeth thought that she would judge the action to be 'bad enough or worse'.
Curious to get more details, or at lest confirmation, she asked, "Did Mr. Darcy give you reasons for this interference?"
"I understood that there were some very strong objections against the lady."
Elizabeth thought it would be just like the man to object to the lady's family but blame it on the lady herself. Nobody could possibly object to Jane, but as to the rest of the Bennet family, with emphasis on Mr. and Mrs. Bennet, well, anybody objecting to them would only be showing good sense. Jane herself had made the case, and if Mr. Darcy's arts in separating the couple amounted to repeating what Jane herself said a week later, Elizabeth could not necessarily fault him with it. She could not fault him, but it could still make her frightfully angry.
Curious for more details, she asked, "And what arts did he use to separate them?"
"He did not talk to me of his own arts," said Fitzwilliam, smiling. "He only told me what I have now told you."
Elizabeth made no answer, and walked on, her heart swelling with indignation. After watching her a little, Fitzwilliam asked her why she was so thoughtful.
"I am thinking of what you have been telling me," said she. "Your cousin's conduct does not suit my feelings. Why was he to be the judge?"
"You are rather disposed to call his interference officious?"
Trying to calm herself enough to answer, Elizabeth slowed slightly in her walk.
"I do not see what right Mr. Darcy had to decide on the propriety of his friend's inclination, or why, upon his own judgement alone, he was to determine and direct in what manner his friend was to be happy. But," she continued, recollecting herself, "as we know none of the particulars, it is not fair to condemn him. It is not to be supposed that there was much affection in the case."
"That is not an unnatural surmise," said Fitzwilliam, "but it is a lessening of the honour of my cousin's triumph very sadly."
There was the phrase that told her all she needed to know. 'My cousin's triumph.' Was that how Mr. Darcy saw it or was that just how the Colonel, clearly not the cleverest of men, embellished the story? The man beside her did not even properly know any of that sad play's actors, nor any details, so he must be making some up to fill them in… but that phrase… that phrase smacked of condescension, and Elizabeth was having none of it.
She stopped abruptly, fuming in anger, and stood staring down at her right boot, which was peeking out from under her dress. To tell the truth, she was staring at her foot, because it was the only way she could come up with to keep herself from using that selfsame boot to kick him in the shins as hard as she could.
The Colonel similarly stopped and stared at her, but she was not looking at his face.
He cautiously asked, "Miss Bennet, are you well?"
Feeling her anger starting to boil over, Elizabeth realized that angry people are not always wise, and then remembered Mary's advice. Her sister advised her to do some arithmetic… any arithmetic, so she occupied herself with calculating the first dozen entries of the Fibonacci Sequence, just to calm herself down. That almost did the trick well enough, so she added a list of the first dozen or so prime numbers to get her ire down to a manageable level.
Finally, she said, "I apologize Colonel. I am not enjoying this conversation very much. My sister Mary, gave me some much-needed advice about how to refrain from reacting angrily, and it takes some time and effort, so please forgive the delay."
Finally working out that he was not doing well in the least, the Colonel said, "Does my disclosures about my cousin anger you, Miss Bennet? If so, I apologize for bringing up such a subject."
Elizabeth lost her thin hold on her temper, and snapped, "I see, Colonel. You have no objection go gossip… you just object to getting caught at it."
Looking confused, he said simply, "I do not understand."
Still seething, Elizabeth said, "Colonel, I am using all of my thin reserves of patience to keep myself from kicking you in the shins, so explaining it to you might prove painful."
Looking more and more contrite, he said, "Well, Miss Bennet… if that would make you feel better, I would suggest you let fly. I can see I have earned your displeasure. Now that I think on it, that is not a story I should have told, to you or anyone. You are correct. Such things are best left unsaid or unheard. However, your anger seems… err… disproportionate to the offense."
"Meaning?"
"Meaning, my understanding of the proportionality of the offense and the reaction does not compute. The equations are not balanced. From this, I must conclude that I do not possess all of the information that you have."
"No, Sir! You do not."
Sounding even more contrite, he said, "Tell me how to restore as much of your equilibrium as I might, Miss Bennet. It sounds like I am due a kick or two, so feel free. It will be no less than I deserve. If a scolding is more to your liking, I will listen. If you prefer, I will walk away and never mention it again. I am at your service and your direction. Just tell me how you would like me to proceed."
Somewhat calmed by his obvious contrition, Elizabeth said, "Is that the younger son's training I am witnessing, Colonel?"
He chuckled just a bit, and said, "Yes, when the heir is an insufferable vindictive lout, groveling is a skill best mastered early and practiced often. Then there is the highly educational experience of being shot at a few dozen times. Basic infantry principles say that when you have blundered into hostile fire, at the very least duck, and then do your best to either dig in or take yourself elsewhere."
Elizabeth allowed a bit of humor to seep through, and found herself calm enough to think rationally, and even return the ferocious frown on her face to neutral.
"I do hope that occasionally the idea occurs to you to shoot back."
Feeling a big of a reprieve, the Colonel chuckled lightly.
Elizabeth continued, "I apologize for my bad humor, Colonel. You caught me unawares."
"How so?"
"Look around, Colonel! Spring has arrived! The gardens are beautiful. The sun is shining. I feel I was lulled into a sense of complacency, and was not entirely prepared for you to tell me that either my sister, my family, or perhaps even myself were considered so unsuitable, that it was necessary for Mr. Bingley to dance the opening and supper sets with my eldest sister, at a dance that would appear to any outside observer to be in her honor, after assiduously courting her for six weeks; and then leave the county without a word never to return a mere six hours later."
The Colonel stared at her in stupefaction, and stormed, "He did what?"
Calming down somewhat, he continued, "I would ask you to repeat that, Miss Bennet, but I fear it would be even worse on a second hearing. I… I… well… that is in every way horrible."
"Yes, Colonel, it is. Are you still inclined to boast about it?"
The man at least had the grace to look chagrinned, and said, "Does Darcy know that he left without a word?"
"He left the same day, within hours. I would assume so. He danced the fourth with me, and then I never saw him again until the day you called at the parsonage."
The Colonel let out a big breath of frustration, and said, "It is not my place, Miss Bennet, but I should like to have strong words or fists with both of those lunkheads. This is unconscionable, and they should be called on the carpet for such ungentlemanlike behavior… not that I can boast of anything better."
Feeling like the Colonel was using strong words and supposed self-condemnation as a crutch to avoid the truly unpleasant feelings, Elizabeth dug in a bit more.
"And yet, you were perfectly fine boasting about it to a virtual stranger, before you knew any of the particulars. Do you assume that any woman abandoned deserves her fate? I hope that is not the attitude you are instilling in your cousin. The poor girl does not stand a chance."
Looking more confused than contrite or angry, the Colonel shot back, "No, ma'am... You make a good point. Do you suppose I could introduce you to her? She could use your flavor of good sense. God knows she gets little enough of it from us."
Elizabeth nearly shouted, "Are you mad?", then somewhat more calmly, "You most certainly may not! I doubt I will ever see you or your cousin again, and I can see no need to introduce Miss Darcy to such 'unsuitable' company."
Feeling a bit tired of the abuse, the Colonel said stridently, "You make my case, Miss Elizabeth! If Georgiana has nothing better than my cousin's and my common sense to guide her, she is doomed. You would be a very good influence on her."
Quite deflated, Elizabeth said, "Well, it makes little difference, Colonel. Our circles do not overlap, nor do they need to. Wish Miss Darcy well on my behalf, but it shall not be me she gets guidance from. If she needs wisdom, bring her to Rosings and she can partake of sensible conversation with my sister. She is as clever as I am and learning to deal with Lady Catherine would do your charge no harm if she intends to enter society."
The Colonel nodded, feeling defeated, and said, "May I at least take my cousin to task over this debacle."
"No, Colonel, you may not! My objective is to have less damaging gossip, not more. You sound like a man who would put out a fire with lamp oil."
The Colonel just nodded, and said, "It shall be as you say, Miss Bennet, but I would like to knock some sense into him."
"Well, if you want to do that, feel free Colonel… just do not do it on my behalf, or mention my sister."
They had managed to make it to the parsonage, and feeling an oncoming headache, Elizabeth curtsied, and did her best to send the Colonel on his way with at least basic civility. With any luck, she would never meet him again.
Mary and William were out on parsonage business. They were doing chores that did not strictly require both of them, but it was hard to pry them apart, so they usually went together. Things were exactly as they should be for a loving couple married but four months.
Elizabeth entered the house and went to her room to splash water on her face, thinking about what she had learned… or more likely seething about what she had learned. She had no idea why it upset her so much to find Mr. Darcy in the middle of the yipping mutt's antics, but she had to sheepishly admit to herself that it did. She thought that someday, in a more rational stage of mind, she might recognize the emotion as disappointment! However, at that particular time and that place, all she could feel was anger at being the subject of malicious gossip. She wondered if this was how all her mother's victims felt, and that sent her down yet another rabbit hole of bad feelings.
The agitation and tears which the subject occasioned, brought on a headache; and it grew so much worse towards the evening, that, added to her unwillingness to see Mr. Darcy or his cousin, it determined her not to attend the Collins to Rosings, where they were engaged to drink tea.
Mary asked, "Lizzy, what is wrong. Did you meet Mr. Darcy again? Has he said something that upsets you? I am not averse to some strong words with him."
Elizabeth was happy to see her little lion trying to protect her, but said, "No, I did not meet him today."
She did not want Mary to spend the evening fretting about her, so she ate into the small budget of little lies she was willing to spend on Mary. The two had been as honest as it was possible to be since Elizabeth's first awkward conversation, but both occasionally fudged if they thought it was to the other's benefit.
"No, Mary, perhaps I walked too far, or perhaps the calendar is against me."
Mary nodded, as the timing for that particular event was about due, and far be it from her to object to someone using that as an excuse.
"Well, Lizzy… I will tell Lady Catherine you had a headache. If she objects, I will send William to her library to copy out the definitions for 'Invitation' and 'Obligation'."
Elizabeth laughed more than the jest called for and reflected on just how much she loved her sister.
Mary gave her a small kiss on the cheek, and said, "I will insist you not stay in this room all night, Lizzy. It is comfortable enough to sleep in, but a dismal place to spend all evening. Come down to the parlor, and I will ask Hannah to make you a light supper and some tea. It will help settle you."
Elizabeth promised compliance, so Mary left to attend a few items in her own room. A knock on her bedroom door surprised her, as did the voice through the door.
"Dear Cousin, I understand you are feeling unwell. Is there anything, anything at all, within my meagre capabilities, that can be done to restore your comfort?"
Feeling much better, Elizabeth glanced in the mirror to make certain she did not look a fright, then opened the door, and boldly kissed her cousin on the cheek.
"Your sentiment alone is the tonic I needed, William. You may take the very best care of your wife you can, and I shall be well."
With a huge smile, William looked at Mary Collins, then they walked downstairs to the front, put on their wraps and gloves, then left to walk the half-mile to Rosings.
Elizabeth reflected that she was almost certainly done with both of the gentlemen of the house. They would of course call to take their leave in the morning, and then Elizabeth doubted she would ever see either of them again.
She made no attempt to decide whether she was happy or sad about that state of affairs.
