My latest guilty pleasure is reading Harry Potter FanFiction (even though I only made it through a couple of the books I watched the movies with my kids), specifically the pairing of Snape and Hermoine where Snape survives the Nagini's bite. Interestingly enough, I've even found some P&P references in some of those stories, the analogy being that Snape, like Darcy, is similarly misunderstood.

Chapter 20: Mr. Darcy's POV: I never expected the stag party to end with Bingley's drunken confession.

Although our stag party was more a spontaneous event than anything else (I had issued invitations only that morning which was by far the least amount of notice I had ever given for an event, it was gauche, but Elizabeth was certain my guests would excuse the rudeness of inviting them on such short notice), I felt I had more than enough spirits to ensure it went well.

Gardiner was waiting with me, as of course he was staying in my house, but as for my guests coming from elsewhere, Mr. Collins arrived first. He bowed quite low, and then told me, "Good evening Mr. Darcy. I apologize for being perhaps a bit early but Mrs. Collins was anxious to get me out of the vicarage before her guests arrived and the coachman seemed unhappy to have me remain in the coach overly long."

"Think nothing of it," I told Mr. Collins, anxious to avoid an excessive apology from him. "You are on time and undoubtedly the others will arrive soon."

He most graciously told me, "I thank you for your kind condescension in allowing me, your humble vicar, to attend your party. It was certainly preferable to have someplace so pleasant to go, to be invited to Pemberley, the jewel of Derbyshire, rather than to have to temporarily find a place with our livestock." I was not sure if he was making a joke at then end, but then he smiled.

I responded, "Surely Mrs. Collins could never be so mean."

"You are right, I am sure I could have remained in my office for the night, but being here is a far better thing." Mr. Collins paused, his lips closed for a moment and then opened his mouth as if he was going to say more. I waited, expecting to be bored with more flattery from him. However, he closed his mouth and with a start, I realized he was done.

I was then able to respond, "I am glad you are come." I noted that he was no longer wearing tight breeches and then recalled to myself that I had not seen him in any for a while. For something to say to fill the awkward silence I said, "You look more comfortable in looser breeches." Then I felt awkward, to be noticing and commenting on what another man wore upon the lower half of his body, well that implied I was looking where I ought not.

Fortunately Mr. Collins took no offense only saying, "How kind of you to notice. I never appreciated how truly ghastly fashionable breeches are to wear and then to endure repeatedly struggling to tuck myself into them, all for the sake of sparing my wife from having another child for a while and to have it not even work, why I am well glad to be rid of them! I have no wish to ever be fashionable again."

The idea of Mr. Collins ever being fashionable was a laughable one. Mr. Collins with his tight breeches and the rest of his clothes loose (he had lost a bit of weight but apparently busy with their growing brood, Mrs. Collins had never thought to have new clothing made for him, or to take his existing clothing in, or perhaps she had but he had declined, feeling that as a man of the cloth he should not be that concerned about his clothing), had seemed to me to resemble a dark goose with his large body dwarfed by his skinny legs.

When I shared this fancy with Elizabeth in a private moment, perhaps a year ago, she laughed merrily and suggested, "Or perhaps a turkey, he often favors brown. Yes, definitely like a turkey, a fowl with no grace. It is well that Charlotte has come to bear affection for her husband, she says she loves him but I can hardly comprehend it, he is such a buffoon.

"When I think of how awful it was to dance with him at the Netherfield ball, always moving wrong, and how the next day he proposed to me, ridiculously refusing to believe I was earnest in my rejection of him . . . why even now I can recall what he said!" She adjusted how she held her body, gave a low bow, and in the guise of imitating Mr. Collins said in a deeper voice, "It is usual with young ladies to reject the addresses of the man whom they secretly mean to accept, when he first applies for their favor; and sometimes the refusal is repeated a second or even a third time. I am therefore by no means discouraged by what you have just said, and shall hope to lead you to the alter ere long." She extended her hand to me as if I were Miss Elizabeth being proposed to by Mr. Collins.

Was it wrong that I found her play acting alluring? that I bantering back: "Why yes, I shall gladly marry you, Miss Elizabeth!"

Elizabeth dropped out of character to give me a curtsy and a slightly naughty grin. But apparently she was not done talking about Mr. Collins as she added, "Even when I told Mr. Collins that I was perfectly serious in my refusal, he kept obstinately continuing to doubt me, nay to even believe the opposite, no matter how plain I was. I can only conclude that once he moved on from me to Charlotte, that he must have continued to pursue her until she finally consented. He is not all that appealing to behold, but understanding him better, and seeing how he has made Charlotte happy and is a good father to her children makes me think not so ill of him as I once did. Furthermore, I think he has become both less servile and less proud. I hardly mind his company at all, now."

As my opinion of Mr. Collins had gradually changed as the years passed, and moreover he had earned my gratitude with his intervention regarding my breeches and we had both thereby profited from his advice, I defended him. "He can hardly be faulted in having the most excellent discernment as to single you out as a desirable partner in life and Mrs. Collins, too, was a fine choice though of course my Lizzy is much finer." I lifted up her hand and pressed a kiss to the back of her hand while gazing over her knuckles into her lovely dark eyes, which had an expression which was half amusement and (dare I think it?) half desire.

Before I could get too distracted, I released her hand and continued, "I would count Mr. Collins as a friend. He is definitely a more pleasant man than he used to be and is a dedicated vicar, faithfully executing his duties. The parish has benefited far more than I could have ever foreseen and he and his wife provide much succor to the poor (largely with my funds, of course). I can only conclude that his past over-blown servility with me must have been based in awe of my station and what he thought anyone of consequence would desire from one such as him."

Mrs. Darcy beckoned me closer and we shared a quick kiss. She then suggested, "Fitz, it seems to me that it might be a fine time for a nap in our chambers."

Of course I told her, "I quite agree!"

We had such a lovely time and, afterward, we had well earned our nap. I ended up leaving her sleeping, dressing quietly and then kissing her forehead and giving a light pat to the curved flesh that might contain my son. Having no pressing business, I then went to see our Janey in the nursery and spent a happy afternoon with my sweet daughter, taking her for a long walk in the garden (although naturally enough, much of the time I was carrying her).

It was lovely to dwell in the memory of that afternoon, but I knew I needed to focus on being a good host. I examined more closely the Mr. Collins before me now. He no longer appeared like a goose or turkey. Instead he appeared to be an unremarkable, ordinary man; this was a vast improvement.

Mr. Collins turned to Gardiner and told him, "Mr. Gardiner, I did not mean to leave your out of the prior conversation. I am pleased to be able to see you again and how fine that you were able to stay to see my most kind first patroness married, and to your own brother by his first marriage. I cannot but imagine that it is bitter-sweet to see him with another, but let me assure you that Lady Catherine is the finest woman he could ever marry and he does no dishonor to the memory of the late Mrs. Bennet, God rest her soul, by wedding Lady Catherine."

I could tell the moment when Mr. Collins understood the faux pax he committed in speaking thusly to the dead woman's brother, as he reddened with embarrassed and fell silent once again. Fortunately, before Gardiner could formulate a response, Mr. Bennet arrived, oddly enough by himself and not with Bingley. The timing of his arrival was fortuitous as I knew that earlier in the day Gardiner's emotions were running high and it was better if he did not have to speak just then.

Gardiner shared earlier in the day when it was he and his wife, and me and mine, in a thick tone, that was unlike his usual manner of speaking, "It is not that I begrudge Bennet happiness with another. I know he cared for Fanny and he certainly did mourn her for a long time. It is just that Lady Catherine is a very different sort of woman and I cannot help but think that he and my sister might have been happier if they were a better match." Gardiner then clenched his jaw, his eyes bright with unshed tears as he held in whatever else he had to say on the subject that might be unseemly and fought to keep his composure.

Mrs. Gardiner gave him a warm and understanding smile, gently stroking his arm. She said, "I think Mr. Gardiner cannot help but remember the times when Mr. Bennet would find amusement at Mrs. Bennet's expense. She always acted as if she did not notice or understand it, and perhaps she did not, or perhaps she simply could not conceive that the husband she loved would intentionally be mean to her. Their temperaments and intellects were not a good match, but she was probably happier with him than he was with her. After all, their marriage raised her consequence greatly."

Elizabeth curled into my side and grabbed my hand and gave it a squeeze. We exchanged a look that said, How fortunate we are to have each other.

In remembering my sweet wife, I felt a longing to be spending time with her now. It was with effort that I reminded myself that she was having a lively time elsewhere and my responsibilities as host had only just begun. I resolved to keep my attention focused on my guests and the greetings I was exchanging with Bennet.

I asked Bennet, "Pray tell, is Bingley not attending?"

"I hardly know," Bennet told me. "He told me he planned to come, but then was absent the rest of the day.

Perhaps half an hour later, Bingley arrived, but not alone. With him were his steward, Mr. Cobb, and two of his tenants, Mr. Grubber and Mr. Sams. I had met them before; he found them convivial company. Evidently Bingley invited these three himself and as a gracious host I could hardly exclude men who immediately praised my generosity upon their arrival.

But that did not stop me from halting Bingley's progress right inside the door by moving in front of him (after the other men had moved past me), and giving him a sharp look. He returned my gaze with an innocent look that said, I have done nothing to deserve your ire, and then mumbled, only half apologetically, "They are my friends, Darcy, and we already had plans before your invitation arrived. The more, the merrier, right?"

I said nothing in reply and he walked around me. That is my way most of the time. I am patient and patient until I can be patient no more.

We began the festivities by eating some little tarts, biscuits and rolls with cured pork or current jam. And there were spirits, an endless supplies of spirits, and cigars. I was entertaining in the most manly room I could, my grandfather's trophy room with the mounted heads of many animals expertly stuffed: bears, deer, a wild boar and some kind of exotic cat. They stared down at us with their dark glass eyes as we sat in oversized chairs around a fine round walnut table.

We started with some toasts to Bennet's and Lady Catherine's good health. I sipped cautiously, but Gardiner, Bingley and Bingley's steward and tenants were not so restrained. Bingley and his friends along with Gardiner were clustered nearer to each other around one half of the table while Bennet was next to me on the other side with Collins just beyond him.

Bennet told me, "I cannot let myself become disguised. Lady Catherine would be disgusted with me if I appeared tomorrow not looking my best."

I responded, "Elizabeth will expect me to be at my best tomorrow at the wedding and at the wedding breakfast we are hosting afterwards, and as the host this evening also, I must not let anything get out of hand."

Mr. Collins added, "Given as I am conducting the wedding, I must be careful, too. I would never disrespect Lady Catherine with less than the best service possible."

Bennet looked at both Mr. Collins and me and commented, "Those are very convincing excuses, but I do not think it in either of your natures to willingly become drunk."

"That is true," I admitted. "Only once did I overindulge. One time was more than enough."

"Will you share what happened?" Bennet asked. He and Mr. Collins gave me their undivided and as it was no great secret, I decided to explain.

"I was fourteen and home for the summer along with George Wickham. He had stolen a fine bottle of scotch from my father but I did not know that was what he had done at the time. It seemed a great adventure to try it out. George poured me a wine glass full. At first I was cautious, only sipping a bit, but George took a large swig out of his wine glass and teased me for being so timid. Being at that age when one is eager to prove himself, I let him goad me into having more than I ought."

"Very understandable," said Bennet.

"Once I became accustomed to the taste I began to find it lovely and George encouraged me to drain my glass. He claimed he had not meant to pour me so much, but there was no way to return it to the bottle and, naturally, I was uncomfortable with the idea of wasting it."

Mr. Collins nodded and opened his mouth as if on the verge of giving one of his speeches, but then silenced himself, clicking his jaw closed, so I continued.

"Later in my chambers I spent almost the entire night stuck over my chamber pot. It was awful. Every time I had to open the lid, the smell of my own sick ensured I expelled the remaining contents of my stomach even when nothing but bile remained.

"The next morning, when my valet found me, I was passed out upon the floor next to said chamber pot, spittle dripping down my chin and globs of sick next to me. He was none too kind in rousing me, fussing about my condition (he cleaned me up and turned me out of my clothes, helping me don a nightshirt while complaining about what the maids would face later, but given that he was sending me to bed he took the chamber pot out himself). Now settled in my bed, and free from the worst of my own noxious odors, I drifted into a half awake-half dream state.

"My father stomped into my room, pulled the curtains open and then bellowed, 'How could you take my best scotch and let a servant see you this way?' His boots, voice and the blinding light set my head to aching twice as hard, its throbbing pulsing with his every word and stomp.

"What did you do?" asked Mr. Collins.

"Why, I apologized. I never dreamed of getting George in trouble. My father was merciful and let me stay abed; I did not receive my punishment that day. When I had recovered and reflected upon what had happened, I promised myself that I would never overindulge again, and I never have. Looking back, this was just one of many episodes that should have made me more cautious about being friends with George than I was, but it was easy to overlook his bad side, because he knew how to have a good time and it was more lively when he was around."

Bennet nodded and we were silent for a time. I imagined that Bennet was thinking about what George had cost his family. But then the moment passed and Bennet turned to Collins and said, "Son, I imagine that I know why you are never in your cups." A look passed between them as Bennet placed his hand on Mr. Collins's shoulder.

"I am sure you do," Mr. Collins responded, with a touch of anger, "but thanks to you I still had to suffer through how he was."

I was confused. I had no notion of who Mr. Collins might be referring to, and then it came to me that I knew far less about Mr. Collins's background prior to his gaining the living from Lady Catherine, compared with what he likely knew about me.

However, Mr. Collins's next words provided clarity. "Why did you leave me with my drunkard of a father who starved and beat me? Why did you not take me with you?" Strong emotion was etched in every tense line of Mr. Collin's face, hurt and accusation, pain and bitterness.

"I did what I could; I made sure you received your education," Bennet defended. However his argument was not made with the force and layered reasoning I was accustomed to hearing from him.

Mr. Collins crossed his arms and stared, glared at Mr. Bennet. I had never seen such courage, such opposition, to one he considered above him. Finally he declared emphatically, "It was not enough."

Bennet seemed to be contemplating the matter and then after a while nodded while looking embarrassed. "I was selfish. I have no true excuse. I knew your father was a miserly and illiterate man, and suspected he was a drunkard and overly harsh in his discipline of you. I knew I was wrong then to leave you when he offered you to me, but I valued my convenience, the harmony in my home more than you. Fanny would have resented you at first and given me grief, but I had the power to force the issue. Knowing her, how loving she was, in time she would have accepted it and been like a mother to you. I am sorry. I should have been a better man."

Mr. Collins pondered for a while. As he did so, I saw a change overcome his face as his anger and bitterness faded away. When the emotion left his face, he seemed tired, worn.

Finally Mr. Collins spoke, "I have been angry and resentful for years, but I will accept your apology and try to overcome it. After all, none are perfect but our Lord and his Son. It was my own father who failed me first. You were just one of many who did less than I needed."

I considered what it might have been like for Mr. Collins and the Bennet sisters if they had been raised with him. It was an amusing picture to be sure.

Mr. Collins's thoughts must have run in a similar path as he said, "My life would surely have been far different if you took me with you."

"I doubt you would have proposed to my daughter had you been raised with her," Bennet commented. "Perhaps you might have still married Miss Lucas or perhaps Mrs. Bennet would have dissuaded you as Mrs. Lucas was both her close friend and her rival."

Warming to the new topic I added, "If you had been raised as the heir to Longbourn, I doubt you would have ever been ordained or gained a living from Lady Catherine." Then I began thinking about how this change would have affected my life. Doubtless I would have still met Elizabeth when I came to Netherfield with Bingley, but without having her visiting the Collinses when I was in Kent, I likely never would have so much as voiced my admiration for her. If our only interaction after I left Hertfordshire was her touring Pemberley, nothing would have come of that. Lydia would have been left to her ruin and Elizabeth and all her sisters would have suffered the scorn of being her sister.

I could not help but exclaim, "It it likely selfish of me, Mr. Collins, but while your life might have been easier, I doubt I would have ever married Mrs. Darcy for much of our courtship took place in Kent when she was visiting you, and without her I cannot imagine being half as happy as I am."

"Perhaps all occurred as it should have, then." Mr. Collins replied in an even tone. "I would not trade my present happiness for an easier childhood."

We had no time to contemplate the matter further as Bingley (who had been talking with his steward, tenants and Gardiner while they all drank more and more), stood up and loudly cried out, "We must have more toasts!"

I was worried about what toasts he might give now as if I was not mistaken Bingley was already foxed. Bingley swayed slightly as he raised his goblet and declared, "Mr. Bennet, may you fill Lady Catherine up with your poker and may she be delivered of a bonny son!" Then he laughed at his own joke before sloshing most of his drink in his mouth although little rivulets escaped down the corners of his mouth and dripped down his shirt. He dried his face with a swipe of his sleeve (he and the others were mostly down to shirttails by then).

I was embarrassed and thought that likely Bennet was too, but I feared any comment I made would just encourage him (as that is what I had learned from my past interactions with Bingley when he is intoxicated, he talks far too much).

Bingley's steward, Mr. Cobb, replied, "It's been many years since her husband died, right? Likely she had nothing but cobwebs inside."

Bennet did not look pleased. "Mr. Cobb, take care now. You are talking about my soon to be wife."

"Would you prefer if she had another man's leavings there?" Mr. Cobb asked much too loudly, apparently having no sense of when to guard his tongue, such skill having vanished as the liquor grew low.

"Dust away" hiccup, hiccup, "Dust 'way," Mr. Grubber contributed. "Get rid" hiccup, "rid" hiccup, "of de cobwebs" hiccup, hiccup, hiccup, "so she be clean" hiccup, "for you."

"She had a lotta children, did she not?" Mr. Sams asked rhetorically. He was a shifty looking, grubby sort of man with threadbare, mud stained clothes and I had previously wondered why Bingley had anything much to do with him.

"Yes," said Collins soberly, apparently not understanding that Mr. Sams was mostly thinking aloud, "but they all died, they and her husband."

"Bad luck," hiccup, "bad luck," Mr. Grubber responded.

"So she is large down there?"

Mr. Bennet's face now bore a large frown. "I have been warning you!"

"Ah, well, perhaps you do not know," Bingley responded. "I s'pose Lady Cat has not let you have a ride yet."

Bennet was clearly angry now, his mouth a tight white line, his fists clenched as if he wished to fight. It was well that he was sober and let me put myself between him and the other men.

Mr. Cobb responded. "I wager her firebox will not be filled even with the largest yule log!" and then gave a braying laugh at his own joke.

By this time I had more than enough. Summoning a footman I declared, "I believe it is time for Mr. Bingley, Mr. Cobb, Mr. Grubber and Mr. Sams to go home; please see to it that their carriage is readied."

The drunk men did not seem to even notice my request at the time. When more footmen arrived to escort them out, Mr. Cobb, Mr. Grubber and Mr. Sams were compliant enough. "Isa fine party you had," declared Mr. Sams, who insisted on shaking my hand with his own which was sticky with spilled spirits. "Thank ye for 'aving us."

"Yes, I most kindly thank you," Mr. Cobb added.

Mr. Grubber hiccuped and added, "Your hospitality," hiccup, "so gen-" hiccup, "so gen-" hiccup, "gen'rous. Might I" hiccup, hiccup, " 'ave a flask," hiccup, "to keep" hiccup, hiccup, "to keep" hiccup, hiccup, "me warm" hiccup, "in Bing" hiccup, hiccup, "Bing-Bing's" hiccup "carriage?"

"Do you not think you are warm enough?" I asked.

Mr. Grubber attempted to keep his eyes focused on me and solemnly declared, "I got" hiccup, "naught" hiccup, hiccup, "but rot gut" hiccup, hiccup, hiccup "at home." As I was anxious to get them to gone, I sent him away with a small flask. He, Mr. Cobb and Mr. Sams went out with the footmen, but Bingley did not.

Bingley declared, "It is not time to go home yet! The night is yet young. Please, Darcy, let me stay!" By now he was grabbing at my shirt, looking up at pleadingly.

"Can you mind your manners?" I asked. "Can you refrain from talking about Lady Catherine."

He grabbed me with his other hand to steady himself. "Yes, Darcy, yes. Do not make me go!" His tone was wheedling, whining.

I relented, "All right." I then directed the remaining footman, "Instruct Bingley's coachman to take the others home and then return here."

Bingley grinned and then sat himself back down at the table and proceeded to drink straight from a bottle.

Mr. Bennet stood up and said, "I think it is time that I went back to the Bingley home. I should try to be rested for the morrow."

I nodded. "I am truly sorry for how things deteriorated at the end."

"It was a pleasant enough time," he told me, "and it is good that Collins and I were able to sort some things out."

Mr. Collins nodded and extended a hand to Mr. Bennet. They shook hands.

After Mr. Bennet left, Mr. Collins said, "I am afraid you are still stuck with me, assuming the ladies have not returned here yet." I had a footman check and soon received word that, indeed, they had not turned even though it was less than an hour until midnight.

The two of us sat back down at the table and then Bingley, who was well disguised by now, began to cry. It began as little sobs and sniffles but all too soon it was a steady stream of tears and snot was dripping down his face. I handed him a handkerchief and Mr. Collins did, too. Bingley ineffectively swiped at his nose, spreading the snot upon his cheek.

Finally, I took one of the handkerchiefs from him (I noted it must have been Mr. Collins's as it had his initials, a "W" and an "A" on either side of a larger "C") and wiped his face with it myself, as if he were Janey. He continued to cry, but it had lessened a bit.

"What is troubling you, Bingley?" I asked.

I was not certain if it was anything at all; perhaps it was just a result of all of the drinks he had. But, still, I did not want to ignore him if it was something other than that.

Bingley looked over at Mr. Collins with an unfocused gaze. I felt he was asking whether he could talk in front of Mr. Collins.

"You are among friends," Mr. Collins added. "I will keep anything you say to myself."

"It is not fair!" Bingley exclaimed. "You both have wives who love you."

"So do you," I told him. It was as I thought, the drink had made him cry even though nothing was truly wrong. He was talking nonsense.

"No she does not," he declared emphatically, then adding more quietly, "I ought to know."

When I would have reassured him again, Mr. Collins raised a hand to silence me. I nodded in acknowledgment, curious as to what Mr. Collins's approach would be. Mr. Collins asked in a gentle, reassuring tone, likely the tone he used with most parishioners come to ask advice, "Why do you think Mrs. Bingley does not love you?"

Bingley answered, "Her smile is all wrong when directed toward me, it never reaches her eyes and is nothing like what she gives our children. She does not want to be alone with me and even a gentle embrace makes her stiffen. Our marital duties are an imposition to her. She endures me, tolerates me, and nothing more."

I was struck dumb with his revelation. I thought back to all the times I had seen Bingley with Mrs. Bingley recently, reviewed how things were. At the picnic to celebrate Janey's birthday, she had not sat anywhere near Bingley. I recalled that Mrs. Bingley sat between my wife and Mrs. Gardiner while I was next to Elizabeth and Gardiner was beside his wife.

I tried to recall when I had seen them close to each other. The only occasion on which I could recall it, Mrs. Bingley had their younger child on her lap, and he came up and sat next to her. But when the child got down, Mrs. Bingley got up and sat beside Mr. Bennet, engaging her father in conversation.

I felt a tightness in my chest. Had it been like this the whole time? I cast my mind back earlier, to when the two of us were both engaged to the sisters and awaiting our joint wedding. Bingley and Miss Bennet seemed to be in love then, but Miss Bennet was far more restrained in her affections toward him than Elizabeth was toward me, or so it seemed. But of course Elizabeth and Jane were very different sorts of women from each other, with Jane being the far more restrained of the two. Elizabeth herself told me after we became engaged, "I think I am even happier than Jane; she only smiles, I laugh."

When Elizabeth refused me in Kent, she told me that I had ruined her beloved sister's happiness by dividing her from Bingley, thereby disappointing her hopes and making them both miserable. But as I thought of Lizzy's words, I recalled what she had not said. Elizabeth never said her sister loved Bingley.

When I wrote to Elizabeth to apologize, I told her that in observing her sister, after Sir William Lucas intimated that there was a general expectation that Bingley and Miss Bennet would wed, I saw no "symptoms of particular regard." However, then I acknowledged I was likely in error given Elizabeth's better knowledge of her sister.

Could it be that I was been right all along and Elizabeth was wrong? Or had my interference in separating them had caused a rift, changed the dynamic of what could have been? If the latter, had Miss Bennet then bowed to general expectations and her mother's desires, and decided to accept his addresses anyway?

By now Bingley's head was buried in his hands, his blond hair sticking out between his fingers, and I could see nothing of his face. He was no longer crying, instead he moaned as if he was determined to continue showing his distress. He sounds were pitiful and seemed more like those of a young child, determined to continue to be miserable, than those of a heart-broken man.

I had to know, "Did she love you when you married?"

Bingley pulled his head up, rubbed at his reddened eyes and said, "Jane said she did, I thought she did, but maybe I just wanted to believe that we would be happy, that her affection equaled my own. I told Jane everything, had no secrets from her, bared my soul to her, but the more I shared the more she pulled away. Slowly a distance grew but she never would talk to me about what was wrong. I am not a thinker, it took me a long time to see it, but I should have kept silent about certain things. Certainly I should never have told her about what I did in London after you and my sisters convinced me that she did not care for me." His tears were gone now and crusty remnants of them remained on his face. He looked embarrassed. "I should not have listened to anyone's counsel . . ."

I was ready to once again apologize for my interference when Bingley added, " . . . certainly not Hurst's."

"Hurst's? What advice did he give you?"

"Do you truly not recall?"

I tried to remember that time in London. I had only a vague recollection of what I was actually doing in those days. It was mostly me trying to fill time and ignoring my traitorous heart which bid me return to Hertfordshire to see a woman of almost no consequence who had lovely dark eyes and a lively wit. I spent a good deal of my days at the Hurst home with Bingley, his sisters and Mr. Hurst, or with them at my home.

Mr. Hurst was not my idea of good company, but as Bingley lived in his home, I could hardly fail to invite him to my own. But most of the time Mr. Hurst largely ignored me even as he was enjoying the fine things my money (and his) bought. Mr. Hurst was an indolent man who was too focused on fine food and spirits, and enjoying his naps to offer any advice. During the obligatory separation of the sexes he was a bit more lively as he liked to smoke cigars and talk about his past conquests. I recalled a time or two he had bemoaned the fact that he had not the funds to keep a mistress saying, "A man needs to escape from his wife sometimes, to have someone else who is devoted to his pleasures, will satisfy his every whim, and who will not give him the clap. It is hard to find a woman who is guaranteed to be clean on Drury Lane without spending more than one ought."

I remember wondering if Mr. Hurst was all talk or if it was his way of proving he was superior to Bingley and me (as he could not compete with my consequence and noble relations or Bingley's large inheritance and friendly nature which gained him many friends). I had never known Bingley to pay him any mind, save for to remind him, "Do not dishonor my sister."

But then a memory flashed in my mind. We had attended a play, but though it was a comedy Bingley hardly smiled. During the intermission Miss Bingley told us, "I see a woman who was a year behind me in at seminary, Miss Rose Byrd, and that man with her must be her brother."

I scanned the crowd, trying to make them out, for I knew the family, and soon enough my eyes alighted on Mr. John Byrd and his fair companion.

Miss Bingley continued, "Miss Byrd is just the sort you favor, Charles, with blonde hair and blue eyes. She is most eligible and comes from a very fine family. Her father is a baron and they have a pretty country estate but always come to town for the season. She would make a very fine sister. Charles, you must certainly meet her."

Bingley responded morosely (his petulant tone reminding me of my own foul mood at the Meryton Assembly), "I have no wish to venture out of our box to fawn over some insipid woman to satisfy you."

"The Byrds are a fine family, Bingley," I tried to encourage him. "I know her brother."

"Then I certainly should not meet then now, when I might be rude toward them, " Bingley countered.

Miss Bingley shook her head while momentarily closing her eyes, gave a sigh and then turned toward me and said, "Darcy, will you not escort me to meet them?"

I considered and having no strong objections was about to consent when she frowned, apparently performing some mental calculations about the risk that I might consider Miss Byrd marriageable for myself and rescinded her invitation, "Perhaps it is better if I leave you to try to cheer Charles. In any event, I shall go greet Miss Byrd and perhaps gain an introduction to her brother. Come along Louisa."

When it was just Bingley, Mr. Hurst and me, Hurst took a swig from a silver pocket flask and said, "Bingley, you need to do something about your feelings for Miss Bennet."

I half thought Mr. Hurst was going to suggest that Bingley ignore his sister's and my counsel, act a man and return to Netherfield to claim the woman of his desires, but his next words overthrew that notion. "I understand your temptation to wed and bed her, but there is another solution. You simply need to find another woman like her, indulge yourself and then find a more worthy marital prospect."

I did not remember Bingley making any particular response to Mr. Hurst's unsolicited advice and it never occurred to me that I needed to say anything to counter it as Bingley never seemed to give much credence to anything Mr. Hurst said. But desperate people often make poor choices.

In the present I looked at Bingley and asked, "You listened to him? But why?"

"I kept thinking about what Hurst said and talked to him more about it later. He seemed so certain that it would work, but it did not. It just made my value the object of my affections all the more. Every other woman was just a pale imitation of Jane and any momentary relief I gained was soon countered by guilt. But I had no hope until you confessed your mistake."