Yes, I know it has been a super long time since I posted a chapter. I have been working on this chapter on and off for what feels like months and it kept growing and changing. I know it isn't perfect, but it is past time for it to be born.

Georgiana got her wish although George and Lydia did her best to hijack Georgiana's chapter. If you want to recall what Georgiana shared before, her previous chapter was Chapter 10. Sensitive readers please note that in Georgiana's past remembrances of George Wickham, she recalls his non-consensual conduct he engaged in with her.

Near the end of this chapter, we see Georgiana being a voyeur to something that happened back in Chapter 17.

Miss Georgiana Darcy's POV: Adult Interactions

It has been a while since I realized that I exist in a space between a child and an adult. Yes, I am full grown and am "out" and, therefore, may consider single men as potential husbands, but I am not treated as a full adult. While I thought something might alter when I reached my majority, very little did. Although officially the joint guardianship of my brother and cousin ended, they still treat me much the same.

I have concluded that while a man may be fully an adult at one and twenty, a woman is not seen as one if she still be unmarried. Yet, when she marries, her husband will rule over her so she never has the independence a man does. The only option for true independence for a woman is to be a respectable widow like Lady Catherine, but she happily traded in that state for becoming a married woman again, to someone much lower than her in rank and consequence, so marriage must still be superior at least when love is around.

As not quite an adult, I am still cherished and loved by many. When Fitz married I gained first one, then two beloved sisters. It is not an unpleasant state to have such love. But it chaffs to me that so much is still deemed inappropriate for me to know of or hear about because I am a maiden.

The nature of my status was easier to ignore when my brother and his wife were the only couple at Pemberley and yet had no children. Although I longed to become an aunt and Janey was likely almost as much desired by me as her parents, there was much I could not share with Elizabeth of this process. This was never more evident than when she was taken to the birthing bed with her sister and friend to help and I was excluded.

Although I was happy for Lady Catherine and Mr. Bennet as an affection between them grew, I suppose I felt a bit sorry for myself that persons who had already had a spouse, were getting a second chance. Still, I did not truly wish to be married myself, only to not be left out.

I did my best not to let my disappointment show when I was not invited to the hen party and instead tasked with entertaining the Gardiner girls. They were sweet to be sure, but I felt the strain of being too old to share their same concerns, yet still not admitted into the world of womanhood.

At different times in my life I have received glimpses of the intimacies of life as a wife. Some of these glimpses have been tantalizing and others abhorrent. Because I am not yet a true woman, I cannot truly be blamed for trying to overhear what I may. Having grown up at Pemberley and having played sardines many times, and other hiding games, I am well familiar with all the best locations to overhear without being seen. Certainly, it is a childish habit, but I cannot repine trying to get little glimpses of what married life might be like even if sometimes I might wish something heard unheard. I suppose it goes back to trying to determine whether at least some men may be better than George.

My interactions with George Wickham at Ramsgate included both extremes of delight and horror. On the day when he was entreating me to marry him, the kisses we exchanged and his fervent pleading made me feel that married life would certainly be most pleasant, but his actions on the following day, when I consented to elope and become George Wickham's wife, made me feel as if I were in the Devil's own scrape.

George called me to sit upon his lap and pulled me from my perch upon his knees tight to his body. As he kissed me, forcing his tongue between my lips (something he had not done the previous day), he pulled my skirts up. I pushed him away, lept up and fled across the room. He pursued, laughing merrily at my desperation (as if it were some game, while I was deadly serious in trying to escape) as he cut me off from reaching the door, forcing me back into a corner, hemmed in by two walls. In that moment, I had no doubt that I was not ready to be a wife, certainly not to George, but my choices had narrowed and it seemed likely he would make me be one, one way or another.

I felt like a frightened rabbit who holds still to hide from a pursuing dog, wishing to flee but also fearing to run straight into its jaws. But unlike the pursuing dog, George had no doubt as to where I was and his eyes held me pinned in place, piercing me. Even though I was standing still, my breath came fast, though I tried to limit the sound. He put his hands on the wall on either side of me and pushed his hot body against mine. I felt that part of him again, which while I was on his lap had pressed into my thigh, but now it poked against my middle. George flexed his hips and through the material I felt it rubbing against me. I closed my eyes, willing myself to be somewhere, anywhere else.

George grabbed my hand, twisted it awkwardly and brought it against him. Where I expected to feel cloth, instead I felt skin under my palm. In surprise my eyelids flickered open for a moment and I saw that his hand (with mine underneath) was skimming inside his fall, which was partially unbuttoned. I blinked my eyes shut hard then and tried to pretend that none of this was happening.

I should have resisted, but instead my hand felt limp, as if it were not even a part of me. He moved my hand in his faster, faster, until his rod jerked and I felt something wet and sticky hit my hand. A moment later he pulled my hand out and then began wiping my palm against my skirt until it was mostly dry. Then he released my hand.

"Thank you, my dear," George told me. "That will do until tomorrow." I opened my eyes, saw him smirk and then watched as he tucked his shirt into his breeches and buttoned them up. I felt relief; it seemed that it was over. However, his next words scared me. "Be ready to depart at first light. You tempt me greatly. I think, perhaps, I shall have Mrs. Younge ride with your maid. There are many delights we could have on our journey. Go now; I shall show myself out." I obeyed before he could change his mind.

I was still sitting upon my bed in that self-help stained dress, pondering all that had occurred and whether I might persuade Mrs. Younge to arrange for us to go away that evening, to leave for London where my uncle the Earl was presently in residence, when there was a timid knocking upon my door. Rationally I knew that knock was not George's, but still I was too frightened to respond just in case I was wrong. After a second set of knocks I heard my maid say, "Miss Darcy, your brother is here."

I bolted up from my bed and pulled the door open. When I met Fitz in the parlor, I confessed the plans for the elopement, hoping dearly that he might put an end to them, while also feeling quite certain that he would leave me to my shame. In my desperation I even went so far as to tell him, "George took certain liberties with me and told me we should marry."

Fitz's face took on a scrunched up appearance with a deep red hue suffusing it. He asked in a very deep voice while his hands were tightly clenched into fists, "Where . . . is . . . he?"

Once I explained where George was lodging, Fitz left. I took advantage of his absence to have my dress changed, but was then uncertain what to do with it. There was no time to send it to be laundered, and if I did either here or at our home, would everyone know? The stain was more or less hidden in a clear of my skirt, but I felt marked, dirty. Not knowing what else to do, I had my maid pack the dress away.

When my brother returned mid-day, I noticed he had a more rumpled appearance and there were drops of dark red against his shirt and coat; I suspected the blood belonged to George as I saw no injures on my brother, but for swollen, reddened knuckles. He told me, "You shall never marry that man; I forbid it; I do not care what he has done."

Although I was pleased that we would not marry, I also felt deeply ashamed. I told Fitz, "He said that he loves me."

"George only loves himself and money, " he replied. Even though the shadows were already lengthing, he declared, "We will leave for Pemberley at once."

While we talked during the trip, George's name was never mentioned by either of us. Several times I caught Fitz staring at me, while his brow scrunched up, but he said not so much as a single unkind word to me.

Five days after we returned to Pemberley, Mrs. Annesley was engaged as my companion. Within an hour of our acquaintance she moved on from pleasantries to a conversation that mortified me greatly. "Mr. Darcy wishes to know if anything permanently damaging happened between you and the man who shall remain nameless. I need not know particulars, but simply answer me yes or no, did he ever . . . " I could tell she was struggling as to how to phrase the matter, "engage in those acts that are to be solely between man and wife."

What could I tell her? I was yet an ignorant child. No one had yet told me what the marital act entailed, not even obliquely as perhaps my mother would have, had she lived. I looked at my feet as I told her, "I am worried; I do not know."

Hesitantly, Mrs. Annesley asked, "Do you understand how children come to be?"

"They are the fruit of marriage," I told her, now staring at the wall, half turned away from her.

"Do you understand the act that results in that fruit being obtained?" She persisted.

I shook my head "no."

Mrs. Annesley hesitantly explained, while looking away from me, "A child can result if a man's 'sword' was placed within a woman's 'sheath.'"

I had to be certain, so I asked, "Where is this 'sheath'?"

When she explained that it was between my legs, I blew out a deep breath. I told her, "He did not do that."

"That is well," Mrs. Annesley told me. "I shall inform Mr. Darcy." But then she did not leave just then, instead she told me, "It appears, Miss Darcy, that you have had a narrow escape." Although I barely knew her, I found myself crying while held gently in her arms.

We never spoke of the matter again, but I noticed that if there were ever any male guests visiting, that she was always within sight of me.

While I might have been a true woman for several years now if I had married George, I would rather remain a child. Still, I had a deep curiosity about the Mrs. Wickham who took my place and wondered if I would ever meet her.

Around the time that my sister and brother were all but convinced that they would have no children, Mrs. Wickham visited Pemberley with her three children and stayed for three weeks when even a sennight would have been far too long. We were only rid her when George sought to join her and was not admitted to the house. His wife and children departed Pemberley to stay with the Bingleys, trusting in their hospitality.

When Mrs. Wickham arrived that first time, my brother, sister and I met her in the parlor. I am not sure what I was expecting from George's bride. I knew she had eloped with him, but I had nearly done likewise so I did not judge her for it and I suppose I expected that she had grown in wisdom in the intervening years as I had and that in being a wife and mother she would be more mature and steady than me. But it was quickly evident that though accorded the status of wife and mother, she was still very young and careless of how others perceived her actions.

She did not act like any mother I had met before. Her day dress, in a shocking shiny blue-green had her chest prominently on display and was evidently brand new, while her children's clothes (all but her eldest) were well worn and had been evidently handed down from the eldest with no attempt to make them over to fit.

Mrs. Wickham had done no more than said, "Hello Elizabeth," before she clumped over to the closest sofa and collapsed on it with a loud sigh, flopping down lengthwise, even placing her feet upon the wooden arm, causing her skirts to slide up to almost her knees. Her children stood next to her and stared at us with big eyes, apparently uncertain as to what they should do, all but the little one who was attempting to climb onto the sofa with no success.

With one hand Mrs. Wickham hauled him up by his near arm (to my mind it seemed that picking him up in such a way might hurt him, but he made no complaint) and he sat upon her lap and worked on trying to loosen his shoes. She paid him no mind, even when his shoes fell one after the other upon the floor. I noticed his stockings were stiff with dirt and well worn and one of his big toes, which was black with dirt, poked out a hole.

"Lord, I am so tired," Mrs. Wickham complained. "The journey on the mail coach was awful. I was never pestered more by the children anytime in my life. If only my maid of all trade had not left our employment. It came in my mind then that I should certainly bring them to Pemberley for a long visit. It shall be wonderful to enjoy myself without the burden of nappies and needing to see to their food."

Elizabeth graciously responded, "You remember Mr. Darcy; this is his sister, Miss Darcy." I inclined my head but said not a word. I received no acknowledgment, but Mrs. Wickham shortly thereafter deigned to present her children.

"Lizzy, see how well I have blessed George with three handsome and clever sons. I knew it would be so. Here are George II, Lyle and Matthew." She had barely said their names before exclaiming, "Now they must be taken to the nursery at once, for I am famished and need a rest with blessed quiet and sweet wine." Of course it could not be done as quick as she wished. A servant had to be fetched to see Mrs. Reynolds about who was to serve as nurse.

Mrs. Wickham lifted her head a bit and continued, "I dare say, Lizzy, that I might be able to sort out while you are childless. I expect part of your problem is that you do not enjoy it." To this shocking speech, none of us made reply. I remember wishing that Lady Catherine was there to put my sister's sister in her place. I did notice, however, that Elizabeth blushed and her eyes widened.

Mrs. Wickham did not seem to care, adding, "That is perhaps not surprising when you have such a dull and unpleasant man for a husband," she glared at my brother. Such an action seemed both unfair and most unwise indeed considering he was her host. Mrs. Wickham missed the glare my brother gave her in response or truly did not care.

Then she looked around a bit and added, "Lizzy, you certainly gained a fine home but I am not sure it was worth it to have to live with such a man who ruined my husband's hopes. Imagine, I could have been practically a lady!"

"I have been very blessed," was the only response my sister gave. Elizabeth then walked closer to the children and greeted them, asking the oldest what there names were. When he made no reply, Elizabeth said, "Let us play a game. I will try to guess." She pointed to the youngest, "That fine young man must be the oldest, George."

This got the true eldest to declare, "No ma'am, I am George two and this be Lyle." George II was a well formed child, who was approaching his seventh birthday, had a strong resemblance to George but for his blond hair, but I had heard many children's hair grew darker with time.

Elizabeth continued her game, guessing that the second son was nine and ninety. He giggled and said, "No, I . . . " he paused to count his fingers, "twee." Lyle, looked like Mrs. Wickham and Elizabeth, with curly brown hair with the shape of his mouth a match for both of them.

Lydia interjected loudly, "My second eldest has always looked like me, so of course I decided that he needed a name to match me. George had wanted to call him Henry, so I had to fuss and carry on until he was sick of it and let me have my way. The name Lyle is the closest to Lydia that I could find."

Her youngest had a mop of raven hair that hung far too long to not be tied back and dark eyes. He did not bear much resemblance to Mrs. Wickham, and I could see nothing of George in him. Regarding him, she only said, "Matthew is named for a dear friend." She continued on, "Yes, I certainly need a rest today and then I expect you will prepare many fine entertainments for me. You must host a ball in my honor and organize dinners and other schemes. I wish to dance and laugh and make merry. Surely you will wish to have gowns made up for me and present me with all the presents my distance has made inconvenient. Certainly some presents must be made for my fine sons as it is not as if you have your own sons to indulge."

As Mrs. Wickham droned on and on, I thought about whether it would be worth trying to cultivate a friendship with Mrs. Wickham. I had no doubt from her earlier conversation that she would not let something as insignificant to her as propriety prevent her from telling me anything about the unknown world of marriage. Still, did I really wish to think about what George did with her? I considered the matter off and on, but in the end gave her no encouragement and attempted to mostly stay away from her.

During their visit, Elizabeth did indeed do many nice things for Lydia, but more so for the children. I remember overhearing her discuss with my brother on the very evening of Mrs. Wickham's arrival, "I am so sorry for Lydia's conduct. I had hoped that being married and having children might improve her, but her manners are far more uncouth now than even what my mother would have allowed."

"Darling, you have nothing to repine," my brother told her in a sweet tone that I had learned was reserved for her alone and only when they were in private. "You are not responsible for her actions. Still, I hope this visit shall not be overly long." I heard some shuffling and imagined he had reached her side.

Then I heard Elizabeth pacing. "I am worried about those children; many times Lydia has written me to tell me she needs funds for them, but I am convinced that very little of what I have sent makes it to them."

"Lizzy . . . we cannot be responsible for them; it would bring us into greater intercourse with their parents and that I cannot have. Wickham will use anything we give them for his own benefit. It is not in his nature to care for anyone but himself."

"I understand." Her voice pitched oddly. "I will at least make sure they are dressed well for a while."

"I never thought you would do less and I shall give you any funds you require."

"It is unfair," Elizabeth said in a slightly petulant tone. "Why is it that she, she who had to be rescued from her own idiocy, who is a ninnyhammer, a sapskull, who has not a mother's care, has three children. Not just one or two, but three! I would be so happy if I could but give you one child."

There was silence then and I imagined my brother embracing Elizabeth, perhaps wiping away her tears. "I would not trade your for all the children in the world. But do not give up hope now; they may still come in due time."

Elizabeth and I spent much time in the nursery with the children. We seldom saw Mrs. Wickham there. She enjoyed sleeping late, going out and about in the carriage, charging things to my brother than she did not need (until he put a stop to it).

Elizabeth and I both spent a good deal of time with the Wickham children. Although I think it was difficult for her at times, as it placed before the fact of her own barrenness, she never showed less than a bright face to the children. While Elizabeth was adept at handling them from the first, I was more hesitant. Yet even on that first visit, how could I resist when Lyle walked up to me, tugged on my skirt and said "Ana, Ana, pay, pay!" (We were both Ana, which I believe was his way of saying "aunt"). By the time two weeks had passed, I was so comfortable in their presence that I frequently visited even when my sister was otherwise occupied.

Perhaps because we were of a similar age and she knew from George something of our shared history, on one occasion Mrs. Wickham sought me out, cornering me in the nursery. Paying no mind to the nursery maid or the nurse, Mrs. Wickham said, "I am sure you must regret turning George away from you, but I assure you, Miss Darcy, that aside from losing your dowry, he has no cause to repine that I am his wife. Indeed, we had not been in our hired carriage more than a few minutes before he lost all restraint. That was how much he desired me," she bragged, thrusting out her chest in an exaggerated manner.

I felt myself blush and for a moment was at sixes and sevens. But though I may not be a full woman, I was a scared girl no longer. So with my cheeks still a-flaming I rejoined, "So he got under your skirts before you were married? I doubt that all the Pemberley servants knew that before, but doubtless it will spread before nightfall."

Unfortunately I had forgotten myself, for George junior asked in the piping high voice of a still-young child, "Daddy got between your skirts, Mama? I thought it was only Mr. Matthews that did that. Remember? You said you were playing a game.

Mrs. Wickham blushed (I would not think she could still have modesty to blush about) and said, "Hush now George."

Mrs. Mitchell, the children's temporary nurse shook her head in negation, her eyebrows lifted skyward, but then quietly added, "Those that have served long at Pemberley know that George Wickham grew up to become quite wild, but we had hoped him getting married might have settled him. But it seems that wild met wild."

And then to me, "No one here would say a word of evil against you miss or even against a sister of the missus, even if she might well deserve it."

"My George is a real man!" Mrs. Wickham exclaimed. "A real man takes what he wants, consequences be damned."

I wanted to lash out at her, to ask, "So was Mr. Matthews, who I am guessing got you with your third child also a real man?" but I had already been quite rude, said things a child ought not to hear. My ideas about what constituted a real man was apparently very different from hers. I hoped for a man who understood about restrain and decorum, who would seek to win my affection rather than try to force me. I stilled my tongue from issuing an insult and restrained myself, only saying as evenly as I knew how in that moment, "Well then, I am happy for you."

Just then, my sister Elizabeth burst in, the nursery maid at her elbow. Mrs. Mitchell pulled Elizabeth aside and had a quick whispered conference with her. I could see my sister get angrier and angrier. She glanced in my direction and said, "Georgiana, I need some time with my sister; perhaps now is a good time for you to practice at the harp. Mrs. Mitchell, could you and Amy take the children for a walk through the gardens?"

I obediently walked away, but as soon as I was sure the children were gone, I went through a servant's door and traced a path through to the servant's door that led into the nursery. It was clear it was the correct door because there was shouting a plenty. To make it out better, I placed my ear against the door, eager to hear the conversation that Elizabeth wanted to keep from me.

Elizabeth shouted, "Do you not understand, Mrs. Wickham, the efforts we have made to keep you respectable after you willfully ran away with Mr. Wickham? I did not wish to ever tell you but Mr. Darcy paid, paid an exorbitant amount (I am not even sure how large, perhaps fifteen or twenty thousand pounds) to make him marry you, to salvage something of your reputation, to keep your child from being fatherless."

"Well if he did so, it was only what he owed to George, what he cheated him out of!" Mrs. Wickham, declared in a strident tone.

"Owed? Owed? Nothing was owed to Mr. Wickham. Do not tell me that even now you do not know that your husband was paid his inheritance and the value of the living conditionally recommended for him. I cannot believe you would be so foolish as to believe his lies. The only reason Darcy paid him to take you was for me, not you. Such a great sum of money, but I imagine it ran through his fingers like water, judging by the rags your younger children were wearing when they arrived here. And now you are living well in our house, coddled and indulged as you demanded. While you should be grateful for our largess, you have hardly uttered a 'thank you' and instead today attempted to shame my sister Georgiana because she was wiser than you, did not give her maidenhead away upon a dusty road like a common harlot. If it were not for your children, I would eject you now from the house and leave it to you to make your way back to him as well as you could. If, indeed, your third son is the result of another man, I would not blame your husband for leaving you. As it is, I will let you stay here for another week or two if you shut your trap and never speak to Miss Darcy again."

Mrs. Wickham attempted to argue, "Mama would want you to care for me, we are family. If your husband indeed paid, I see now that he bought you."

"Stop!" Elizabeth shouted. "For you to try to befoul a kind act, which I was never to know of, is shameful. My husband is worth one hundred of the lazy, money-grubbing man you wed. If you persist in denigrating me and mine, I will make you leave anyway."

This seemed to be enough to silence Mrs. Wickham, or if it did not, after that they talked in softer tones that I could not hear.

Some years later, after Lady Catherine and Mr. Bennet had progressed to informal courting, I spied upon them in the library, hoping to see them kiss, to be the first one to know (for surely a kiss would seal such an arrangement), that they would wed. Many a time I hid behind one of the last bookcases that was longer and thus not lined up exactly with the rest, hiding behind this longer end, peering through a narrow space between two dusty volumes on the bottom shelf, too delicate to be read, my face well hidden by the shadows the volumes cast. Obviously I should not have been doing this but I was too curious and Elizabeth was too occupied with her first born, her long awaited Janey. Many a time I saw my aunt and my sister's husband exchange a heated gaze, but nothing ever seemed to come of it.

As luck would have it (or wouldn't have it), I did not get to see their first kiss, to learn of their betrothal before the rest. However, that made me even more determined to see any intimacies they might engage in, when inevitably at some point they would be left alone. I received my chance hiding in that same spot (a spot my brother had caught me hiding in only two days earlier, when it was he and Elizabeth in the library and he was checking carefully to see if they in fact were truly alone), when those in the library changed from a trio (my sister, and the two of them) to a duo (when Elizabeth was fetched to tend to her babe).

I watched with anticipation after Mr. Bennet lept up and closed the door. What would he do? What was his plan for himself and Lady Catherine? Was Mrs. Wickham correct in her opinion that "A real man takes what he wants, consequences be damned"? They would be wed in days, so the chances of anything bad happening from a fumble in the dark (something I had once heard a footman propose to an upstairs maid who promptly fled from his gaze) were slim. Indeed, to my knowledge, Lady Catherine was likely past the age in which a woman can become with child, so what really was there to prevent things from going far indeed?

I felt my breath get faster, heard the puffs of air between my lips, as Mr. Bennet pulled my aunt against him. To my surprise, I learned that perhaps Mrs. Wickham should have really said that "A woman can be just as quick as a man to take what she wants." Could, perhaps, Mrs. Wickham been just as eager to leap upon George in their hired carriage as Lady Catherine seemed to be to possess and be possessed by Mr. Bennet? For people of their advanced age, he seemed remarkably spry and she quite limber.

They embraced, they kissed, they touched each other through their clothes, they even moaned when a particular touch was delightful. It was like nothing I had ever imagined, and nothing like I remembered from my time with George. I stared, afraid to blink, wishing to see more, more. I kept anticipating that at some point perhaps Lady Catherine would turn away, beg for restraint, but that never happened. I saw not the least look of trepidation or fear on her face, only a hooded gaze that seem to anticipate, desire before she closed her eyes.

Things were progressing rapidly and I wondered if I would indeed see Mr. Bennet get under Lady Catherine's skirts. I was considering if things seemed to be getting to that point, when I should look away. However, before I had even determined where that point should be, I heard the door swing open when they did not, spotted my brother approaching with a sort of snarl on his face before any member of the couple noticed he was there.

I recall that Mr. Bennet was running his hands along the curve of Lady Catherine's breasts, and she was tipping her head back, mouth open in a sigh, and thrusting her chest in his direction, when Fitz pulled Mr. Bennet off of her. I was too far away to hear what my brother snarled, but I could tell that it appeared directed at Mr. Bennet and not Lady Catherine, even though it was evident to me that if Mr. Bennet was the instigator, Lady Catherine was his willing and eager accomplice. Why, then, was my brother ignoring her role?

Interestingly enough, Mr. Bennet seemed flumoxed, said nothing back as far as I could tell. Instead I heard Lady Catherine's strident tone, telling my brother that he had no business trying to defend her honor given their imminent marriage.

What happened next surprised and shocked me. I heard my brother imploring my aunt to think of me and what effect her wantonness would have on the whole household. I wondered then if he suspected that I was spying on them at that very moment. It would not take much of an effort for him to approach the bookcase and look around it. However, whether he suspected on not, his focus remained on the couple.

I could see immediately that Lady Catherine would not be cowed, but before she could say more, Mr. Bennet sought to pacify her and Fitz, announcing that he would take himself away to go stay with the Bingleys. Mr. Bennet left after he bowed and kissed her hand and much to my relief, my brother departed with him.

Lady Catherine slumped in her fleur-de-lis chair. Her unhappiness radiated off her. As for me, I was stuck in my hiding place for nearly two hours until she finally left.

The time in which I had to remain in the library in silence gave me much time to think. Clearly, I had never been meant to marry George. A woman in love would not fear her fiance's touch, would long for him as he longed for her. I knew that at fifteen I had not been in love, had not been ready for marriage. But now, now I could imagine feeling that passion for someone, but I did not want passion alone, I wanted someone who was also my dear friend, as Mr. Bennet had become to Lady Catherine over the years, as Elizabeth was with Fitz.

I knew then that I had remained in the twilight between girl and woman too long. As pleasant as my existence had been as Miss Darcy, I wanted more, and that more could only come once I found the one for me. I had no particular desire to have a season in London, but neither did I know anyone possessing an estate near Pemberley who was someone that I could imagine coming to love. While I was not in a particular hurry, I knew for certain that I did not want to become a spinster, become an ape leader aunt.