Mrs. Rachel Jones received her husband's letter with a scowl the third day after it had been sent. It was scrawled, hastily written, she deduced, and there was a tone that broached absolutely no argument in it. Her stubborn husband had often used such a tone with her, only to have her do as she pleased in the end. If it had not been for the fact that she loved him, they might not be married at all. He had refused to marry her. I am not in a place to take a wife, he had told her. He had at the time been in the process of gaining his daughter's love and protection, and divorcing the woman who had hid his daughters from him for so long.

But she had persisted, had stayed by his side all the while, being friend before wife. Indeed, she had known that she was the only woman who would put up with his temper and bullheadedness. She smiled as she remembered that once one could work past her husband's rough exterior, he was as gentle as a lamb, as giving as a saint. And he loved his wife.

It was now two weeks after the letter had been sent, and Mrs. Jones was growing weary of her arduous journey to reach her husband's side. She also grew weary of the unexpected passengers who had gained passage on Mr. Darcy's private ship. The lady called herself Miss. Caroline Bingley. The gentleman went by the name of Mr. Bennet. He often paced the ship from stern to bow, a ferocious scowl between his brows. He muttered while he paced, stormed actually, and Mrs. Jones would often watch him, wondering what had happened to so enrage the man. These musing came, of course, in between the curious imaginings as to what could have caused her husband to send his friend's ship to bring her to him from Bath.

The woman… Miss. Caroline Bingley… was not just amusing. No, she was altogether an annoyance. Her fits of seasickness, fright, and ravings had been what delayed their journey for over a week now. The captain had not known what he was getting into when a tall young lady acquainted him with her acquaintance with his master Mr. Darcy. "We are particularly close friends," she related to him. As she had promised, she paid him well for board for her and her traveling companion, an aging gentleman who proved to be no relation to her whatsoever. Indeed, for all the respect she showed him, she knew him not at all except as a beggar from the street. Mrs. Jones contemplated this relationship as well. Why did they travel together? It did not make sense. Yet…nothing made sense since her husband's letter.

Staring out at the rolling gray ocean, trying valiantly to ignore the matching violent clouds that swirled overhead, a small smile graced her lips as a blonde lock of hair was torn from the bun at the nape of her neck. A small sliver of fog-enveloped land arose in the distance.

He paced in his study. It had been over two weeks, two weeks! And needless to say, Darcy was more than restless. His plan had somehow gone horribly wrong, and now not only was he kept from his Elizabeth longer than he had expected, but Mr. Jones grew more worried by the day that his wife had come to some sort of ill. If she had, Darcy would never be able to forgive himself. It seemed that Darcy's presence had not been good for his friend. First the young boy, who was growing stronger by the day, breaks his arm, and then his wife goes missing, and now the two older daughters seemed ready to kill each other.

That last one was really Elizabeth's fault. She had brought the young man, Mr. Richards, into the house. Well, he had… but it had been upon Elizabeth's request, and at the moment he had seen nothing wrong with it. Oh how he saw the action's follies now. The young Mr. Richards was a studious worker, a talented writer, and gentleman of wonderful manners. He was a total dunce at all other things however. For instance, the lad seemed never to notice the way two very different yet very alike young ladies stared at him.

Darcy plopped himself down into a chair and decided to quite quit thinking of the situation. It did not work, for the situation simply came to him.

"I cannot see that he shows any unusual interest in her Elizabeth. I do not see why you tell me to keep my distance. I have as much right to Mr. Richard's time and attention as does she!"

"The only one who has true right on the young man's time is Mr. Darcy. Mr. Richards is after all his employee. And you flirt shamelessly Rene. It is not becoming."

The young girl did not seem to understand, or care for that matter. "Do you know that he looks her way more than he looks mine? Can you conceive such a notion? It is absurd. My mother always said that Elaina is the brain, and I am the beauty. Everyone knows that I am prettier than she."

"Do not say such things Rene. Do you know how shallow you sound? Both you and your sister are both beautiful and smart. But have a regard for your sister's feelings. He is her friend from long ago. You know this. Do you not see how she feels for him?"

"Yes, I do," Rene replied with a laugh, "But I do not see that he feels for her back. Oh, I grant you that there is affection, but it being stronger than usual is not very apparent. He cares for her as no more than a friend… I am quite sure."

Darcy heard a single set of footsteps take off purposefully up the stairs. He dared not peek his head out from behind his study door. That was until he heard the loud sigh and the thump. Curiosity got the better of him. Opening the door a crack, he looked to the left of the doorframe. Elizabeth leaned against the wall, her eyes closed, her hand massaging the base of her neck.

"Is all alright Miss. Bennet?" spoke Darcy rather haltingly, using her last name in the likelihood that some servant should pass by. Elizabeth's eyes flew open and her hand flew to her chest as a small gasp escaped from between her lips.

"Oh! Mr. Darcy, it is you. You gave me a fright."

"I am truly sorry. I… I overheard your conversation with the younger Miss. Jones. It seems she is proving a hindrance to your love schemes?"

Elizabeth frowned. "It is not a love scheme. I am simply helping a starving artist and a lonely young girl."

"Yes, but if your ultimate intention includes marriage between those two, then I should have to categorize it as a love scheme." He smiled at her, and might have taken her hand in his to graze a kiss upon her knuckles, had a short butler with a rather hawkish nose not interrupted them.

"Mr. Darcy, sir, I have just received a message from town. Your ship arrived at port last night. The man you had waiting set out on horseback as soon as it touched dock and arrived here only just now. Mrs. Jones is safe and ready to see her family sir, or so she told your man."

Darcy's eyebrows shot up and he did his best to smother the grin that threatened to pop up uncharacteristically onto his lips. "Give the man a fresh horse and send him back to the village. Mrs. Jones is not to leave. We will meet her by this time tomorrow at the Green Hill Inn. She is invited to a wedding." At this, he did smile, and he did take Elizabeth's hand in his own as the butler vanished down the hallway. "Elizabeth, can you be ready in two hours time? Wait, what time is it?"

"Noon, I believe, but aren't we being a bit hasty? What if Mrs. Jones has already set out for here?" asked Elizabeth somewhat hesitantly.

"She won't have. I told the captain my plans. He was to send word when they arrived so that I could prepare everyone to ride into town for the wedding."

"Well you might have told me of the plan Mr. Darcy! I've known nothing but that I'll marry you when Mr. Jones' wife arrives," replied Elizabeth with a somewhat indignant tone to her voice.

Darcy sensed that he might have done something wrong, but knew not what to say. Had she changed her mind then? Had something happened to make her feel less for him? Perhaps he had been mistaken in the first place? He stepped back into his office and beckoned Elizabeth to follow him. When she had passed through the doorway, he closed the door behind her and ushered her to a seat beside the fire.

She sat, and watched him pace for a while, wondering why that horrific scowl marred his face. She tried to catch a glimpse of his eyes, for he always opened his very soul to her there (indeed he could not shut her out there), but was unable to lock a single glance. She would wait for him.

After about five full laps of serious pacing, Darcy came to stand directly in front of her, his hands clasped business like behind his back. "Have your feelings changed? Do you no longer wish to marry me? Have you come to realize that you no longer love me?" He had held her eyes with his own fierce ones until this last question. Then he could do not but turn stiffly toward the fire, afraid of her answers.

He shouldn't be afraid, the silly man, thought Elizabeth. She might have burst out in laughter had his countenance and voice not appeared so serious. She wished to tease him mercilessly, but knew that he needed solid reassurance. To think that she had once thought this man had more confidence and pride than any had a right to! And here he was, his very breath hanging on what words might fall from her lips. Now the threatening laughter turned to outright joy. She was truly blessed.

"Mr. Darcy," she started, standing from the chair and forcing his gaze onto her. "Do you think me that fickle? No, my feelings have not changed. And no matter how many times I become angry at you, or frustrated, or displeased, I will always love you." She smiled warmly up at her soon to be husband and marveled that he was smiling back. It was one of those knee weakening, sense crushing, teeth baring smiles that made her long for one thing only: him. "Two hours you say William? I believe I can be ready in one." She tossed a flirtatious grin back at him as she left the room. The door clicked quietly behind her and… she couldn't be sure… but she could have sworn she heard a "WHOOOOO HOOOOOO!" as she made her way down the sunlit hallway.

Three men escorted a large carriage along the well-shaped road in the middle of a dark quiet night. They were all tall and dark and handsome, though of varying ages, and had differing looks upon their faces, revealed only by the silver moonlight that bathed the scene.

The man closest to the carriage was the eldest of the three, with silver shots of gray through his short dark brown hair. He stayed close to the carriage and looked in on its occupants often, reprimanding one in a stern tone or laughing with another in a deep hearty guffaw. He had told them often to sleep, yet it seemed that sleep was something that none of the carriage's occupants could bring themselves to do.

One man, the youngest, walked close to the horses, talking to no one, and keeping a steady pace. He had a thoughtful look on his face. His eyes were distant, his brows pulled slightly together, and his mouth was set in a soft line.

The man who led this midnight excursion rode ahead of the rest, but not out of site of the carriage. There was an impatience in his eyes, an energy in his body that made it seem as if he could bolt his horse into a run at any moment. There was also determination. The man would every so often look back at the carriage, checking to see that all was in accordance with his wishes. When he did so this time, his gaze fell upon the youngest man traveling close to the horses pulling the carriage. He wondered what it was the young man was so intent in.

"Mr. Richards," called out the rich and deep voice of Mr. Darcy. "Come ride with me."

Mr. Richards broke his horse into a slight gallop, and matched his horses pace to his employer's when he pulled up beside him. "Is there something you need Mr. Darcy?"

"A conversation, actually."

Mr. Richards was taken aback. Why would the great Mr. Darcy wish to speak like friends with his employee? He had noticed that the man was kind to his servants, but he had thought that he would keep a class-conscious distance as well. "Well, sir, I do not know what we would speak of. Anything you like of course." Mr. Richards realized that he had said sir. He was not supposed to say sir to Mr. Darcy, Mr. Darcy had asked him not to. He swallowed a lump of nervousness in his throat and hoped his employer would overlook his folly.

"I would like to know about you, Mr. Richards. What sort of things do you write about? What sort of life have you lived? What do you wish for the future? It is still a long ride that lies before us and I find I need the companionship of a male comrade of some sort. Indeed, I was to have my best friend stand up with me at my wedding, but now I find that my newly acquired spontaneity leaves me without him. And, if I should ask you to stand up with me, as Mr. Jones should probably give Miss. Bennet away, I find I should know something of you."

Mr. Richards was somewhat dumbfounded to so suddenly be thrown onto such an intimate level with his employer. But why not? He was a personable man, and he found that Mr. Darcy was probably very friendly as well, a good man to have as a friend and mentor. "Yes, perhaps you should. But… I hardly know where to start."

"Well, where are you from?" asked Darcy inquisitively.

"My father is Italian, and my mother is half English, half Sioux Indian. So, I'm a bit of a mix. But… I'm not poor sir, well, not if I took what my parents would have me take. My father is part of the aristocracy in Italy. And my mother's English hails from a very wealthy English line. And my Indian ancestors are the noblest of people."

"You get a bit defensive about your background don't you?"

Mr. Richards blushed, but luckily, it was hid by the dark of night. "Yes. There are those in London, in Paris, who accept me for my exoticness, and then there are those who have shunned me, who have refused to read a word of my writing because of my ancestry."

"Is that why you've fallen on hard times, why you've accepted a secretarial job in lieu of your passion?"

"Yes, that and something that happened to me a while back." He waited for a comment from the man beside him, but all that me him was silence, an indicator that the boy should go on with his story. "I had fallen in good with a very beautiful, very rich patroness. She was married, and was looking for something more than a young writer to dote upon and sponsor. She wanted a lover. I couldn't do this, I wouldn't. I was raised very close to the Christian church, and at one time entertained ideas of the priesthood, but found as I grew older that I had a desire for a family, for the love of a good woman. I would not taint this desire of mine with something as impure and ignoble as an affaire."

Darcy nodded agreement to the young man's statement. The boy had spirit, and fortitude, and good character, and Darcy heartily approved.

"She continued to sponsor my writing however," continued Richards. "She thought of me as a challenge, as a young idealistic god who would one day be hers. I let her think this, though now I realize it was wrong of me, and continued to live on the money she provided me. But I was to pay for my folly. The horses that were pulling the cart I rode in one day were spooked by something in the busy London streets. They reared and rushed into a sprint. I was thrown from the cart and landed hard on the ground. I do not remember anything after that." He finished in silence.

"Were you rendered unable to write after that? Physically? Mentally?" asked a now intrigued Darcy.

"No. Matter of fact, I wrote some of my best work after the accident. But my sponsor realized that I was mortal after all, that I was not a god. She could be bothered with nothing less, so she abandoned me. I am thankful for it now however, for I'd rather have more honest work. You, Mr. Darcy, have provided me that chance. And your kind fiancée. Though," he added with a hint of confusion. "I'm not quite clear on how you can to find out about me. How was it you came to ask for my services? I do not wish to ask things that you do not wish to answer sir, but it has been a matter of confusion to me since I received Miss. Bennet's note." Richards had his suspicions, his ideas as to what, or rather who might have brought notice to his name and person, but he wished verification, if he could get it.

Darcy was elated at the direction this conversation suddenly took, for it had been the direction he had intended all along. "Truthfully, since I have no reason to hide the truth, Miss. Bennet was informed of your situation by your friend, the elder Miss. Jones. The young girl did not know much about you, only that you had suffered an accident and had fallen on hard times. It was enough for Miss. Bennet. She has a giving nature," and a tendency toward scheming, thought Darcy, "that leads her to do as much for her fellow man as possible… and woman."

"So… it was Elaina…" Richards' voice tapered off into the night.

Darcy took his opening, hoping that the boy trusted him enough to give it to him. "Yes, Elaina… Mr. Richards, I have a question to ask you. It is of a rather personal nature, and I wish to let you know that you are not required to answer it. Had anyone asked me about Miss. Bennet when I first formed an affection for her, I would have scowled at them and uttered some lie. Matter of fact…" he said thoughtfully, "I believe I often did," thinking of Caroline's hurtful jabs about Elizabeth's mother, and his own horrible insults to Elizabeth's beauty. Darcy did not give the younger man a chance to think, he simply charged ahead. "Mr. Richards, do you have any attentions towards Miss. Rene Jones?"

"Rene!? Rene? Rene?" he asked for the third time, as if unable to understand the simple name.

"Yes, Mr. Richards, Rene," replied Darcy gruffly, trying to act in all seriousness with this delicate matter.

"Rene," Mr. Richards was beginning to sound like a parrot thought Darcy. "No," Richards almost laughed, "I've never thought of the younger Miss. Jones as… as… as anything really! She is too brazen for me, to colorful and loud. She is a beautiful and smart girl, she is witty and would be popular in the circles of high society I believe…but she is not for me. Why do you ask?"

"Are you blind man? She has followed you doggedly around the house since you have been there," stated Darcy bluntly.

Mr. Richards blinked, then blinked again, as if assimilating this information for the first time. "Has she? I… I'm afraid my mind has been elsewhere," he admitted with a blush, which was also blessedly covered by the night.

"On the elder Miss. Jones…" offered Darcy.

"What!" exclaimed Richards. Truly, this conversation with his employer was more revealing and deep than he had ever thought it would be. Why would Mr. Darcy bate him so? "Elaina… Elaina and I are just friends. We… we've always been so."

"You do not say that with affirmation, or with happiness. You do not sound content."

"These are my personal matters sir, and I am not obligated to reveal them to you."

"No, no you are not. But I might have some advice for you."

Richards could not help his curiosity. "And that is?"

"Women are never as they appear. Either they are hiding something because they are afraid of you, or they are hiding something because they are afraid of society, or you're just a complete idiot and read them all wrong!" Darcy chuckled, remembering when Elizabeth had told him that she hated him. And after he had kidnapped her from her wedding no less. He had pictured her looking adoringly into his eyes and thanking him with loving kisses, and had received harsh words and plans concerning governesses. He chuckled again, causing Mr. Richards to look on silently, perplexed, waiting for more words of wisdom from his employer.

"I thought Miss. Bennet in love with me when I first… proposed to her," spoke Darcy in confidence, relying on the word proposed rather than telling the young man that he had kidnapped his bride to be from her first wedding. "But she told me she hated me. And because I loved her, I pursued her until she loved me back. And I have learned something raising my sister Georgiana, and living in a house with three very headstrong girls this past two weeks."

"What is that?" asked Mr. Richards. He was surprised that Darcy had confided that story to him, that the man was taking a parental role almost.

Darcy laughed once more. "Assume nothing. Always ask if you are unsure, and… they like pirates."

"What?!"

"Nothing. Just… do not, like some bloody martyr, refuse to approach the girl of your heart because you are afraid she does not love you back. Chase her. Runaway with her… or at least threaten to." He ended with a chuckle.

Richards was quite confused. Mr. Darcy was being quite enigmatic, silly even. He might have asked a question to follow up his employer's absurd remarks, but they were interrupted by a pretty head thrust out the carriage window.

"What is it you laugh about?" questioned Mr. Jones' youngest daughter. "I am not tired, and would like to share the joke."

The two men rode up to the carriage window, one on each side. Darcy slowed his horse and lowered his head to look into the carriage. Seeing his curious stare, Elizabeth turned toward him and smiled a sleepy smile. Young Hinton was asleep in her lap; his head limp against her shoulder. Darcy was jolted with the sudden idea that one day it would be their child she cradled so. The two Miss. Joneses sat opposite his fiancée and her little ward, smiling into the opposite window at Mr. Richards. Rene's smile was planned and beguiling, Elaina's was sweet and tentative… and sad.

"We were joking of nothing ladies," informed Mr. Richards. "We were just talking business, as men do."

Elizabeth looked curiously at her future husband, cocking her head to one side. He gave her a slight smile as if to say, later my love, and said instead, "We shall be at the Green Hill Inn by sunrise. That should be in about two hours, I think. Then we marry."

"But Mr. Darcy," interrupted Rene, "What about her wedding dress, and her family? Are they not to be here? Shouldn't the bride have some say in the matter?"

"None whatsoever," answered Elizabeth instead of Darcy, "For you see, I have agreed to marry a pirate, and knew from the beginning what I was getting into," she said quite seriously."

"Indeed you did," he replied gravely before riding to the front once more. "Indeed you did." Only Elizabeth noticed the sudden moonlight glinting on a mischievous gleam in her pirate fiancé's eye.

"A pirate… whatever do you mean Elizabeth?" asked Elaina, taking her attention away from her friend and the sister who flirted with him.

"Mr. Darcy is a self proclaimed Pirate girls, Mr. Richards, and," she ended with a smile, "I'm his captive!"