Author's Note: Thanks to everyone who has given this story a quick read, and unfortunately, this chapter will probably be the quickest. I've written so much more in this journal I keep but I haven't had any time to sit down at a computer and type it all up because of how hectic things are with my schedule right now. I know that's pretty lame, for lack of a better explanation, but I should have something more up soon.

And no, Mr. Darcy is not having an affair. Rest assured, I will not be the scarlet author who breaks up the most divinely suited couple in literature. I'm just playing with his past. :-)


Chapter 4

Daylight had returned, and so had Lady Drake's carefully restored composure. She woke with the sunrise and dressed herself in one of the least dour black gowns in her possession, only covering half her face with her veil.

Today, she traveled to London to close her late husband's bank accounts, which were registered to the stock company his grandfather founded generations ago. After her late husband's death, she sold the company to none other than her once leading competition. All that was left was her signature on a simply drawn contract that released her from any obligation to the company that may have been required of her.

She had asked only what the company was worth at the time of her husband's orchestration of it, and now looked forward to her escape from England without suffering any further remnants of her past, be it there in London or Pemberley Hall. However, as she descended the stairs from her quarters, her hopes fell miserably as the innkeeper handed her a letter with an all too familiar family crest sealing the folds.

"Lady Drake—

I am aware of your arrival in London sometime this evening and must compel your presence at my home for a few hours of your time. My husband will not speak his mind, but I would know it for myself, as his wife. I will be waiting at 143 Leicester Square at 6:00. Please find me there.

Sincerely,

Mrs. E. Darcy

Pemberley Hall of Reading

Lady Drake folded the letter and placed it in her pocket securely. She had expected a letter of this sort, however abrupt, but her heart still beat rapidly against her chest in anxiousness. Clenching her slightly trembling fingers, she called for a chaise and leaned against the wall. She had a long road ahead of her and an even longer story to explain.

Elizabeth fidgeted in her chair and took a sip of her tea. Lady Drake would arrive at the Darcy townhouse any moment; she had to control her nerves. Mrs. Darcy had considered writing down her questions, but instead committed them all to memory. As guilty as she felt for lying to her husband, this far outweighed the consequences. The look on her husband's face when Lady Drake arrived at Pemberley was more horrified, more dejected, more hateful than any glance she'd seen directed towards Wickham. She would not lose her husband to a painful past he refused to bring to light.

A servant entered the parlor, and bowed. "A lady Charlotte Dr—"

"Yes, yes, let her in," Elizabeth breathed hastily, and the servant bowed away. Before she had time to take another fortifying sip of her tea, a tall, darkly clad woman whose stately air was far from diminished by her somber mourning apparel glided into view. Elizabeth rose gracefully.

"Lady Drake." She said, with a small curtsey.

"Mrs. Darcy," the guest responded, her voice soft but clear like a whispered dirge. "I understand you have something to say to me."

Elizabeth attempted at a smile and offered the lady a chair, which she took with more gratitude than she let on. Her hostess sighed after a servant prepared them both fresh cups of breakfast tea. "Lady Drake, I cannot put into eloquence the reasons for my insistence upon your coming here because I myself have been shut out of my husband's confidence." Her voice shook, but she calmed it immediately. "I will not lose my husband to his pride." Or fear, the voice in the back of her mind added.

Lady Drake bowed her head and set down the porcelain cup onto its saucer. "You deserve more than I can possibly provide you, Mrs. Darcy. I do not deny it, mine is a very complicated history into which your husband has been woven inextricably. I only wish that the sins of my past would be my burden alone to carry, and leave you unharmed." The butterflies in her stomach swarmed to her chest and throat as she folded her gloved hands resolutely. "Where shall I start?"

Elizabeth met the woman's eyes with an even gaze and smiled mirthlessly. "At the beginning, of course."