I hope you don't mind that I'm posting just a little earlier than usual! It'll be a busy weekend here and I wanted to get this out to you. Have a terrific weekend!

Bingley paced rapidly across the carpet of the small room he and Darcy currently occupied, a private room at the club they both frequented, set aside for wealthy gentlemen who wished to smoke and gamble in a more private setting than the general meeting room. "I tell you, Darcy, this will not do! It will not do at all."

"I wish I could see my way to do differently."

Bingley stopped his agitated movements to look at his friend. "What is wrong with you, Darcy? Why do you not simply speak to her and find out what she is thinking?"

"Because I already know what she is thinking! She is willing to do anything to find and save her family, even if it means endangering a man she does not even know!"

"That is not fair, Darcy. She does not know that the man is you."

"He is not just me. The Fleur is greater than any one person. He is me, and you, and her uncle and my cousin and so many others who work together! To endanger one of us endangers us all, especially with Wickham in town, nosing about."

"You know she cannot abide Wickham."

"It is too much of a chance to take. Why else would he have come here, of all places? After we are able to extract her uncle and his family, then I will tell Elizabeth the whole truth! Not until then."

Bingley dropped into the nearest chair, his expression grave. "Has Gardiner's wound not closed yet?"

"The last I knew of it was festering. As soon as he can be moved I will go and bring him back to London myself. I will need you to stay here and look after Elizabeth and Jane when that time comes. That should be any day now."

"What! I will not have the privilege of rescuing my wife's uncle from the jaws of death?"

"You are a married man now, Bingley. You have responsibilities here."

"And you do not?"

Darcy gave him a dark look. "My cousin will accompany me this time. We only wait for the signal in order to start." There was a knock at the door of the little room, two quick knocks, a pause, and then two slow knocks. "Speaking of my cousin, that is him now." At Darcy's nod, Bingley leapt to his feet and crossed the room to the door. He unlocked it and the colonel swept in, the bright red of his uniform seeming to light the room.

"What news, Richard?" Darcy asked. "I thought you and I were going to see each other tonight."

"There has been an event, Darcy, and not a good one. I thought you should know as soon as possible."

Three days after Mrs. Simpkin's ball Elizabeth sat pensively at her writing desk, a stack of letters and invitations in front of her. The invitation currently in her hand was to the Queen Charlotte's ball, one of the largest events of the year. In different circumstances she would have been delighted to attend such an event but at the moment it held no charm. She rested her chin on her hand as she stared absently out the window at the gray street below. The dreary, clouded weather outside matched her mood.

What had gone wrong between her and Darcy? Was it only a few days ago that she had looked forward to their first public appearance together? She had harbored such excitement for Mrs. Simpkin's ball but it had turned into such disappointment!

There was still a restraint between her and her husband. His attitude now reminded her of the earliest days of their acquaintance, when they first met at the ball in Paris. On that night months ago he had been silent and disapproving, just as he had been at the ball. But in Paris he apologized for his behavior. And in the months since then he had proven to be gentle and considerate, yet daring, a man she could admire and depend on.

Now things were different. Not only had Darcy been disapproving and unpleasant, he had been high handed when speaking to her. And he had refused her one small request! His manner towards her now was of a stiffly polite stranger. His burning passion had turned into something tepid and unappealing. Yet she would have sworn by everything she held sacred that he loved and cherished her.

Was she making too much of this one incident? Was there something troubling her husband, something he could not share with her for some reason? Did all newlyweds go through this as they adjusted to married life? If only she could ask her aunt for advice! She could not ask Jane, who seemed deeply content in her marriage, and of course her own mother was out of the question. Happy ever afters, she decided, were much easier in works of fiction than in real life.

Darcy's butler, Benson, entered the room and coughed discreetly. Elizabeth sighed, putting down the invitation. "Yes? What is it?"

"You have a caller, madam."

"Who is she?"

"It is a gentleman, madam, not a lady, and he refused to give his name. Very mysterious he was." The butler gave a little sniff of disapproval.

"Are you sure he does not want my husband?" Elizabeth frowned.

"He was quite particular that he wanted to see you, madam, not the master. He refused to give any details. Will you see him?"

Elizabeth hesitated. She could not imagine what strange gentleman might wish to see her in this city without first giving his identity. But then a suspicion crossed her mind. "Is he by any chance French?"

"He might be, madam. From the cut of his clothes I would say that is a distinct possibility."

Elizabeth put her pen down in sudden hope. The man might be a messenger from her uncle; the long and anxious wait might finally be over. "Tell him I will be there directly."

When she entered the parlor the visitor was standing with his back to her, looking out a window. Yet even from behind there was a familiar look. Her suspicion was confirmed when the gentleman heard her entrance and turned to face her. "Mr. Wickham!"

"My dear Elizabeth." Wickham gave her a fulsome smile. "What a pleasure to see you here."

Wickham looked nearly the same as when she had last seen him. He still sported the fine clothing she had noticed before, with a tailored jacket, an immaculate waistcoat, and fine leather boots. The only difference she noted was the addition of several gold rings on his fingers. Whatever the people of France might be suffering, it had not touched Wickham.

Elizabeth drew in her breath. "I am Mrs. Darcy now."

"So I heard." He took a moment to look her up and down as he had before. "The change suits you, even if the name does not. I much preferred you as Miss Bennet."

Elizabeth drew herself up to her full height. She was Darcy's wife, in London, not an unmarried young woman in Paris. She had no obligation to tolerate Wickham's forwardness now. "What are you doing here?"

"Merely checking in on an old friend."

"We are not friends!"

"My, my, such hostility. Whatever happened to the Miss Elizabeth I used to know? The one who flirted with me shamelessly and sought my attention on every possible occasion."

"That is not true. You know it is not."

"I fear she has disappeared forever."

"She disappeared when she heard the truth of your lies against my husband, and what you tried to do to Georgiana. Not to mention turning in the Lucas family and forcing them to flee for their lives!"

Wickham suddenly became very serious. "I may not have told you everything that happened with Darcy, but I did not denounce the Lucases. That is the truth."

"Be that as it may, you and I have nothing to say to each other, and I am very busy. Good day to you."

Elizabeth turned and began to walk out of the room, but she stopped when Wickham said, to her departing back. "I may be able to help you find your uncle."

She stopped in her steps, then slowly turned to face Wickham again. "What did you say?"

"I said I may be able to help you find your uncle."

"What makes you believe that my uncle is missing?"

"Come, Elizabeth, let us be frank with each other. No more secrets. I know the date of your marriage to Darcy, and I know that your sister and Bingley wed at the same time. I know how you escaped Paris. I know that the Gardiners did not come with you, and that it had something to do with that street brat they took in. I know it all. And I may know where to look for your uncle and his family now. The question is, why should I? If I help you find them, what will you give me in return?"

"Me, give you something?" Elizabeth echoed, confused. "What could I possibly have that you want?"

"You are Mrs. Darcy now. You are the wife of one of the most illustrious gentlemen in the land. Every door in London society is open to you. You will hear every secret that may be whispered in dark corners and out of the way places. This is the middle of the social season. I want to know what you hear."

She had never despised Wickham more than she did at this moment. "You mean you want me to spy. Never!"

Wickham smiled. "Tell me, Elizabeth, do you have any idea of what your uncle's business in Paris really was?"

"My uncle's business?" Elizabeth repeated blankly. She had not expected this question. "He is, or was, in silk production."

"Yes, yes, I know that is what he told you." Wickham said patiently, as if speaking to a small child. "But what was he really about?"

"I have not the slightest idea what you could mean."

"Your uncle acted in a most suspicious manner at times, you must admit. Servants of all sorts in and out of the house, warehouses all over the city. Strange meetings at odd hours and in odd, out of the way locations. Why, if one didn't know better, one might think he was involved with activities against the revolution."

"I saw no signs of any such political activities! You are entirely mistaken." But even as she said the words, a horrified recognition came to her. Her uncle had employed a confusing array of servants who entered and left his service with surprising rapidity; she had seen that for herself. Could there be a kernel of truth in Wickham's words? No. It was not possible. "My uncle would never have put our family in such danger," she said firmly. "He is a businessman whose trade requires the use of warehouses. Naturally he would attend meetings all over the city."

"All of which could be used as a believable cover for more nefarious activities." Wickham watched her closely.

"You have an overactive imagination, Mr. Wickham. I advise you to look to novels for intrigues of the sort you describe, not to innocent businessmen trying to make a living."

"Perhaps. But that is not what certain people in France would say if they were to become aware of his activities."

"You are trying to blackmail me!"

"Call it what you will, think whatever you want." Wickham's voice was now angry, commanding. "But this is the bargain I am offering to you: give me the information I want, and I will give you the information you want. Refuse and it may not go so well."

"You are despicable. I reject your so-called bargain! And I must ask you to leave now. You will not be admitted to this house again."

"That is no loss to me. You will be at the Queen Charlotte ball next week, yes?"

"How did you know that?"

"I will find you there, and you will tell me what I want to hear. Do not disappoint me." He put his hat on his head and swept her an elaborate bow. "And you will not say a word of this to that husband of yours, not if you value your uncle's life. Good day to you, Mrs. Darcy."

You knew Wickham would raise his devious head again, didn't you? What will happen next? Will Elizabeth tell Darcy about Wickham's visit, or will she try to face this alone? Thank you for taking the time to read, and please let me know what you think! I treasure every bit of feedback. See you here again in three weeks! -Elaine