Author's Note: Lovely to see you again! I have been amazed by the number of visitors this little fic has had. Thank you to all who take the time to add this story to your lists and a cup of excellent punch to all who review!

This chapter will bring us different perspectives, which I will endeavor to separate with, erm, separators.

Welcome back to Mayfair in London, as we begin.


Chapter Seven

Colonel Richard Fitzwilliam had two surprises the morning after Darcy had shocked him about finding his soulmate. First, his father and mother arrived just after breakfast. With their staff. Which meant there was an influx of personnel and heightened activity throughout Matlock House that would last well into the afternoon.

The second surprise came later in the morning with an express rider. Of course the butler, Radcliffe, handled the business of it, but Richard was nevertheless astonished.

"Colonel," Radcliffe intoned with a brief bow, a missive on the silver salver. "This is addressed to our guest, Mr. Darcy."

Richard accepted the sealed missive, seeing that it was from Meryton, and recalled that was where Darcy had been. Netherfield Hall? Park? As if lightning had struck in his memory, Richard recalled the mysterious soulmate was from that county.

"Thank you, Radcliffe. I'll take it up, seeing as it was sent express."

"The rider said he had taken it to Darcy House already, sir, but was redirected here."

"I hope you recompensed him for the extra effort."

Radcliffe wrinkled his long nose. "Of course, sir."

Richard suppressed a smile. "Of course. Thank you, Radcliffe."

In short order, he had bypassed any and all doorkeepers to his cousin's rooms. "Darcy!"

His cousin all but leapt to his feet from where he had been working at the writing desk next to the tall, narrow window. "What in blazes are you about?" Still in his morning suit, sans the coat, Darcy couldn't help but look distinguished even when interrupted. It was expected.

He presented the sealed letter. "An express from Hertfordshire. Perhaps your soulmate is not going to go unacknowledged forever?"

As he had devoutly hoped, the jest brought color to Darcy's face. "Give it to me, or I'll demote you."

"You can do better than that, Cousin," Richard declared, handing the letter over.

"Well, it's from Netherfield Park, but it's got Georgiana's handwriting."

"You know, I hadn't noticed," Richard said, sobering immediately. "Well, open it. We are her guardians."

Darcy shot him an inscrutable look before breaking the dark red wax seal with Georgiana's intertwined GD on it. Richard was relieved to see that there weren't pages of delicate script; it wasn't likely, then, that there was a problem.

After scanning the sheet in front of him, Darcy smiled and Richard did as well.

Dear Brother, (Darcy read aloud)

Be not alarmed that this note contains aught to alarm you. It does not.

Instead, it is remarkable news. There is to be a ball at Netherfield Park! I know I am not yet out, but I would like to attend and perhaps have supper with you or with my cousin the illustrious colonel if he's in Town.

Mr. Bingley says I am allowed to invite guests as well, so I'd like to invite my Uncle and Aunt Matlock. Do not you think Miss Bingley would be in alt over such noble guests at her ball?

Please say you'll come, Fitzwilliam. It will be on Friday next. Do not worry; I will not spend my entire allowance on a new gown.

Your sister,

Georgiana

The colonel clapped his hands together loudly. "So! We are to go to a ball! I will meet your soulmate, peek in on Georgiana, and endeavor to keep you from making a fool of yourself in public."

"Richard!" Darcy pushed out a loud breath. "I am not that bad."

"Oh, you are, Darce. It's just that no one tells you to your face." He winked. "Well, let's tell the earl and countess, shall we? They'll want to meet your soulmate as well."

Darcy dragged a hand over his rumpled hair and groaned. "Must we?"

"We have been summoned," Richard said, doing his best to sound like Radcliffe.

"So we have. I'll alert my staff. Again."


Elizabeth had endeavored to pretend she had not met the man whose Soulmark matched hers. She would forget that her skin—and presumably his—had burned at first contact. She would be relieved that the man himself was not in Hertfordshire two days before the Netherfield Ball.

She would, truly.

It was instead her sisters, Jane and Mary, who would be at the center of attention. Which was as it should be: Jane was being publicly pursued by the newest young man in possession of a good fortune who had to be in want of a wife and Mary was going to perform beautifully in public to a wider audience than was her usual.

Elizabeth would not repine that Mr. Darcy had not returned to Hertfordshire. She would not. On the night of the Netherfield Ball, the maid that did the duty for all three Bennet sisters arrived in Elizabeth's room after Lizzy herself was already dressed and had merely to decide what sort of adornment—if any—to add to her hair.

She was sitting in front of the mirror when the maid arrived. "That sorry I am, Miss Elizabeth! Mrs. Bennet gave strict orders to see to Miss Bennet and Miss Mary first, this evening. My, but you look lovely in that peach sarcenet, miss. Blond lace is quite the thing, I've heard! So what is it you have there? Ribbon? Oh, that's fine, Miss Elizabeth. Let me just wind it around your braid, shall I?"

Elizabeth did not get one word in as her loquacious maid went on about the way the ribbon brightened her eyes or some such. At length, it was time to go.

Her heart was heavy, try as she did to refrain from thinking about Mr. Darcy. Not that burning sensation, of course, just the man. Just the way he took the time to look her in the eye when they spoke, Just the way he spent time talking to her dear father.

And of course the way in which he had demonstrated a profound respect for her wish not to mention what they had in common.

And he's handsome, as well, which a young man ought to be if he possibly can, she mused with a smile as she followed her sisters from the Bennet carriage as they reached the front steps to Netherfield Park.

Her father came up from behind her, to draw her arm through his. "Ah, my dear. I daresay Mr. Darcy might even be waiting for us. There he is, returned at last."

Elizabeth's steps faltered; she staggered against her father before regaining her balance as she met Mr. Darcy's piercing blue gaze inches over the heads of nearly every other person in the receiving line. He was not in said line, for that honor was done by Mr. Bingley, Miss Bingley, and another couple that Elizabeth did not know.

He was waiting for her; she knew it in the moment their eyes met. He was waiting for her.

As her heart jumped and ran—which was ridiculous, for hearts were not supposed to behave like that, no matter what gossipy females related—he broke the line of focus between them and tapped the gentleman standing next to him.

The rest of the world intruded on her notice at that point with the small tug of her father's hand on her arm. "Lizzy?"

Heat flew to her cheeks. "Sorry, Papa."

They moved forward in the line and Elizabeth was gratified to find that no matter how bright Mr. Bingley's eyes were as they greeted them, his delight was obvious only in the smile he offered to Jane.

"Miss Bennet, allow me to present my sister and her husband to you. Mr. and Mrs. Hurst, of Scarborough."

Jane reciprocated and said what was proper, eyes down but smile still like a sunbeam in the reception line. Mary bypassed the line entirely in order to find Miss Darcy, but Elizabeth did the duty of her family by making sure to greet even the newcomers.

"Mr. Bennet. Mrs. Bennet. Miss Elizabeth Bennet, my sister Louisa Hurst and her husband Mr. Hurst, of Scarborough."

Curtsies and bows were exchanged and when her father would have led her and Jane into the ballroom—indeed, they were on the verge of entering—Mr. Darcy intercepted them.

"Mr. and Mrs. Bennet. Miss Elizabeth."

Her father sighed, but it wasn't a sound of annoyance as much as it was humored resignation. Elizabeth was quite familiar with each of her father's sighs. "Mr. Darcy, good evening."

"Oh, Mr. Darcy, so very good to see you. We were beginning to think you'd left your charming sister to languish here in Hertfordshire!" Elizabeth cringed inwardly at her mother's gushing tone. "And you brought a guest with you. Sir," Mrs. Bennet continued, leaning forward in a way that had her husband taking her arm in his free one. "Welcome to Hertfordshire! I am sure you will not fine a finer country in England."

Elizabeth was at last able to interrupt. "Mama, he will think it entirely populated by popinjays."

Mr. Darcy coughed and the man with him manfully suppressed a chuckle as well. Elizabeth wanted to melt into the floor, sure she had lowered herself immeasurably, but Mr. Darcy rescued the moment.

"Miss Elizabeth, I am sure my cousin will think no such thing, having met all of your family. Please allow me the honor of introducing Colonel Richard Fitzwilliam of His Majesty's Fifth Dragoon Guards, recently returned from the Peninsula."

Elizabeth felt her eyes go wide; she had read the news that had been printed about Wellington's victory in Portugal. Her father extended a hand. "A brave campaign, sir. I trust you are well?"

"Indeed, Mr. Bennet," the colonel responded with a brief bow. His voice was deep and polite, but told very little. Elizabeth suspected he did not wish to talk of the war. Men never did, with women. "A pleasure to make your acquaintance, Mrs. Bennet." He paused and offered Elizabeth a deeper bow, with a slanted smile. "Miss Bennet. I have heard much of you."

"Indeed?" Elizabeth was dismayed at the way her voice rose in a display of agitation. What had Mr. Darcy said? Far too much, clearly. Still, she offered her hand even while she darted a glare at Mr. Darcy. "He has not, however, done me the courtesy of reciprocating, so I fear I shall have to quiz you for a fortnight."

"Lizzy!" her mother hissed. "Do not go on so here in the way you are suffered to do at home!"

"Mrs. Bennet, let us take a turn about the room. Mr. Darcy, I trust you will bring my daughter to me in short order?"

Surprised, Mr. Darcy nodded. "Of course, sir. It will be my pleasure. Miss Elizabeth?"

When he offered her his arm, Elizabeth could do naught but accept and she entered the Netherfield ballroom on the arm of the man she knew to be one of the more eligible bachelors in all of England. His cousin walked on her other side and, while Mr. Darcy seemed unable to speak, filled in the relative silence.

"I have also heard of your sisters, Miss Elizabeth. I understand introductions are in order." His smile was visible as they moved around the room. "We have some to make as well."

Just then, the tall, turbaned figure of Miss Bingley whisked by the three of them. "An earl! Just like Charles not to say a word!"


Caroline was mortified. That was the only word that served. The Lord knew Charles should be mortified as well, but he was so enraptured by Miss Bennet that he had entirely forgotten to mention that the Earl and Countess of Matlock were now guests at Netherfield!

One of their guests—that dreadful local magistrate—had dropped the name when he'd mentioned seeing their son.

The Viscount Hastings was not at her ball, as it happened, but a second son. A colonel, but still, a second son. She must not make any of the family think ill of hers or she would be ruined when Charles finally returned to London and she was able to have another Season.

"An earl. Just like Charles not to say a word," she huffed as she pushed by an officer in a red coat. Just like Charles to invite nobodies to the ball. He saw anyone and everyone.

She was almost within hailing distance of the exalted pair of peers when she heard her name and was compelled by duty and good manners to stop. She was, after all, acting as her brother's hostess. With as gracious a smile as she could muster, she turned to find who had called her, only to see Mr. Darcy.

With a sudden relaxation, she felt her smile become more natural. "Mr. Darcy. I had heard you'd returned to us here at Netherfield. Your man informed my housekeeper. I heard you brought a guest as well?"

She discounted Miss Elizabeth entirely as Mr. Darcy introduced his companion—that same second son she had been thinking of moments before. "Colonel Fitzwilliam, a pleasure." She offered him her hand, only then remembering she had not replaced her evening gloves after a mishap with a punch bowl that had occurred just as their first guests were arriving.

The colonel, also barehanded, took her fingertips and was just bending to kiss the air over her hand when she felt it.

Heat. Shocking and intense, the heat spread from her Soulmark and seemed to ignite all the nerves of her body for one wild moment.

Unnerved, she froze and could only stare at the colonel. Had it just been her? Was something wrong? Had she imagined . . .?

"Miss Bingley," the man whispered, coming to his full height and staring at her in wonder. "A very great pleasure to meet you. Come, let me introduce you to my parents, Lord and Lady Matlock."

The heat under her skin lingered but lessened as she allowed the man to escort her to her elevated guests.


"Well," Darcy managed to say as his cousin and Miss Bingley all but glided away, "I did not see that coming."

Miss Elizabeth, on his arm, tugged lightly. "Mr. Darcy, if it's not presumptuous, may I ask a question about your cousin?"

He cleared his throat a bit nervously and got his feet moving once again to slowly move toward the pianoforte that had been established opposite from the orchestra Bingley had hired for the night. "You may. I cannot, though, reveal any confidences."

"Well, as he said he had heard so much about me . . ." she said, her voice light but still with an edge to it that he had no doubt put there.

"A fair point," he allowed. "What did you wish to know?"

She surprised him by moving to stand before him, though her gloved hand was yet on his arm. "Does your cousin have a Soulmark?"

Her whisper hung in the air between them. Darcy remembered they had never yet spoken of their own Soulmarks and he wondered if that had been an error on his part. He decided to answer her question first, out of respect. "Yes."

Miss Elizabeth blinked and dropped her hand. "Oh. Did you know Miss Bingley had one? Is that why you brought him?"

"Not at all," he assured her, focusing on her as the ballroom filled with chattering guests and the musicians began a final tuning of their instruments. "I brought him, Miss Elizabeth, to meet you."

Her dark eyes flashed with what he thought was angry disappointment. "Me? But you. We. I thought. Well."

It went against good breeding and proper manners, but he reached for her hand with a little bit of force, shaking it slightly so that she understood what he would say was a matter of urgency. "Miss Bennet. We have not yet spoken of it, and here is hardly the place, of course."

"Of course." Did she almost roll her eyes at him?

The mere notion had him smiling. She was a delight to his heart and mind. "Of course," he repeated. "But I will say that even had we nothing of which to speak on that subject, I would still want to tell you how ardently I have come to admire you."


"Miss Bennet, shall we?" Charles had done his duty as host, greeting all who came to his ball as they arrived, but when the musicians played the "gather" chords, he crossed the entire ballroom to reach Jane's side.

Miss Bennet. Of course. But he hoped to be able to claim her Christian name before the night was over. The whispers that skated about the ballroom were to be expected, but Miss Bennet's cheeks warmed with a natural blush that made him feel protective of her. When they reached the top of the dance floor, he bowed even though it was not yet time to do so. The others in their set took their places beneath them and the music seemed to take a breath before the violins began their first notes of the The Haunted Well.

"I have been looking forward to this dance all week," he told his beautiful partner as they came together to dance between the lines of men and women.

She smiled at him, but did not miss one graceful step as she answered, "So have I, Mr. Bingley. I quite enjoy dancing."

"So do I!" After a slightly embarrassed pause, he added, "I believe, though, that was common knowledge within a week of my arrival at Netherfield."

With a light laugh, she allowed that it was so and, as they held hands to exchange places, he squeezed her fingers lightly through their gloves.

She returned the pressure, looking at him all the while, and his heart leapt within him.

"You will honor me during the supper dance, will you not?" he inquired when they had moved up and the next couple had begun their steps.

"It would be my pleasure," Jane said. "I enjoy conversing with you."

"Good. Good."

"Your sister," she ventured when next they were able to speak, "seems to have met an officer. Cavalry, if I am not mistaken."

"Oh, yes! Darcy's cousin. Have you met him?"

"I have not." With a twinkle in her sky-hued eyes, she added, "I am not sure your sister will allow for any introductions. Have they met before? I have not heard her mention him."

Discomfort clashed with amusement as Charles sought Caroline's familiar form amongst the other dancers. "I believe he is a colonel, and the son of Lord Matlock."

As if she understood a joke, Miss Bennet nodded with a smile. "I see. She has mentioned before her wish to return to Town, but perhaps Society has found her here."

Charles stepped along, moving slowly as the dance indicated, up the line. He watched his sister as she spoke in a remarkably familiar tête-a-tête not too far from the musicians. It did indeed seem as if she had known the fellow for years, which was impossible. Had she not said she would only wish to find the man Merlin had chosen for her? The one whose Soulmark matched her own?

She had, he was sure of it.

Then why . . .?

"Mr Bingley?" Charles had to catch his breath and didn't quite answer Miss Bennet quickly enough, for she softly called, "Charles?"

That brought his attention entirely back to his lovely, calm, wonderful partner. "Miss Bennet. I am sorry. I am afraid I need to speak with Caroline immediately."

"One more pair to go, and then we'll be free to do so. Sisters can be quite a handful."

"You can certainly appreciate that, can you not?"

"I can indeed. My own sisters can be quite spirited and take a lot of watching." She laughed a little, though, so he knew she was not unhappy in her family.

"I believe Miss Mary will be playing for us this evening?"

"During supper, I believe, yes. And Elizabeth is dancing with Mr. Darcy, just there."

He watched them as the music slowed. "They appear to be quite adamant about something."

Jane pressed her lips tightly together. "Lizzy can be that way."

"So can Darcy! But come, please join me and be introduced to Colonel Fitzwilliam, Darcy's cousin." At her assent, he drew her arm through his and felt his chest fill with pride.

Let them whisper. He would silence them all.


John Bennet was at the end of his prodigiously long tether, so he was. "Mrs. Bennet, you will hold your tongue or I will have both coachmen escort you home to Longbourn! Indeed, I am sure Lady Lucas will agree with me."

His lady snapped her fan, irritation in every vibrating motion of her arm. "I will not. Our daughters may very well have dowries—as you've said, though you've shown me none of it, Mr. Bennet—but they will have no home when you've gone to your reward. And where will we be? It is right that we should find them husbands! Jane is doing her duty!"

"Come along, my dear. I believe the excitement is overwhelming you. Perhaps some punch?" He smiled, though it was almost painful, and drew her arm through his. Lady Lucas actually offered him a wink—she had to be relieved, he was certain—and shooed him off with her own fan.

Mrs. Bennet chattered on, pointing out Miss Bingley's gown and the fact that those London guests were dressed very fine. "The lace! Mr. Bennet, I should have lace like that when our Jane marries dear Bingley."

"May I remind you, madam," Mr. Bennet said, steering her to the punch bowl, taking a cup from a footman, and then leading her out of the ballroom entirely, "Mr. Bingley has as yet not asked our daughter for her hand."

"Oh, but he will! I am sure of it! She cannot be so beautiful for nothing!"

A subtle gesture had another footman step toward them and, while his wife drank her punch, he whispered, "Mrs. Bennet will be leaving early. Please send someone round for our carriage."

"Of course, sir," the tall young man said in an equally quiet voice.

Fanny hiccoughed. "And Mary! Well, of course, she is so talented! And on such good terms with Miss Darcy! Now, granted, she is not a beauty like her sister Jane, but she is dedicated and serious and Mr. Darcy seems to be a dedicated and serious young man."

Mr. Bennet had been content to let her speak as she liked, since they were away from all the others, but she paused and as he did not want her returning to the ballroom, he felt it behooved him to say something. Especially as he knew something about Mr. Darcy that his wife definitely did not. "Yes, yes, Mary is talented and dedicated and serious. And yes, Mr. Darcy is a dedicated and serious young man. But allow me to assert, Mrs. Bennet, that I am on better terms with the young man than you are and am privy to details of which I cannot tell you. Do not anticipate a match between your daughter Mary and Mr. Darcy."

Mrs. Bennet's face reddened and she turned as if to confront him, but just then, the footman made a discreet gesture and nodded toward the door. John Bennet nodded his understanding and took his wife by the arm.

"Come now, enough plotting and scheming. The ball has worn you out, my dear, and you would do well to retire. I will remain to chaperone our daughters for the rest of the evening. Look, here are our coachmen to see you safely home. Come, men, Mrs. Bennet will benefit from a rapid trip and a cup of soothing tea. Ask Mrs. Hill for her aid, will you?"

The younger of the men—a groom, really, more than a driver—bowed quickly. Mrs. Bennet's reputation amongst the staff was backed up by experience. "Yes, sir, Mr. Bennet. One of us will be back as soon as we've taken Mrs. Bennet home."

With a wry smile, Mr. Bennet turned to regard the footman. "Thank you. Your discretion is appreciated."

Staring at some spot on a wall, the fellow nodded shortly. "Of course, sir."

The young men surrounded his wife just as she began to understand what he was doing but they had her out the door before he heard more than, "Mr. Bennet! Tell these men—!"

And then there was a blessed silence.

Mr. Bennet drew in a huge breath, held it, and pushed it back out. He had three single daughters in the ballroom and he owed them his presence.

"Mr. Bennet?"

Hearing his name once he had returned to the music-filled room was a surprise, but John Bennet made himself look as pleasant as possible as he greeted the enigmatic Sir Merwin Hawkins. "Sir Merwin, good evening. Are you enjoying the entertainment?"

Piercing dark eyes met his own. "Not as much as one could wish, but at my age, that is not a surprise, eh?" Regret seemed to pass over the older man's face as he glanced down at something for a moment. "Your daughters are well?"

The oddest idea entered Mr. Bennet's mind: Is Sir Merwin looking for a young wife?

As if that question had been writ large for his viewing, Sir Merwin actually laughed. It was a quiet, rusty sort of sound, but its sincerity could not be denied. And, as the music died down, others heard it as well. "Banish that thought, John Bartholomew Bennet. Far, far away. No. I am not. But. I am always interested in the, well, continuation of good family lines. The Realm is built on the lives of her people, don't you agree?"

A suspicion had surfaced and it was all Mr. Bennet could do not to make it obvious. He could only nod. "Of course, Sir Merwin. I assure you my attention is on the lives of those in my care. If you will excuse me?"

With a sharp smile—that displayed remarkably fine teeth—Sir Merwin nodded and backed away.

As Mr. Bennet wended his way between dispersing couples who were then going in to supper, he could only ask himself, Was that really him? Really?

Then, he was met by none other than his eldest daughter and was made to focus on something far more pleasant.


"Aren't we to go to supper, Mr. Bingley?"

Charles nodded, but his heart was pounding like a racing horse's hooves. "Of course, of course, but there is someone I must talk to immediately." He started on his way, barely noticing the greetings and remarks about how he had already had two dances with the lovely Miss Bennet and wasn't it a wonderful ball and so on.

He had a goal and he was going to reach for it with all he had.

"Mr. Bingley! Mightn't you slow down, just a little?"

Caught up short and embarrassed, Charles felt himself blush as he paused to look into Jane Bennet's beautiful—and amused—eyes. "Only a very little and only if I might keep you with me as I do so."

"Of course," she answered softly.

Had she guessed? Perhaps, but he could not have cared less, for he wanted the world to know. He felt her hurry beside him as he wove between his guests until he reached Mr. Bennet's side. Mrs. Bennet was no longer with him, but Charles didn't give her much thought; it was Jane's father's permission he required, not her mother's.

"Mr. Bennet!"

The older gentlemen appeared preoccupied but smiled even so. "Jane, my dear. Mr. Bingley." He seemed to study his daughter for a long moment before his lips twitched.

Watching for his moment, Charles felt he had it. "Sir. It is my great wish to seek your blessing." Miss Bennet gasped but didn't pull away. Her father nodded, smiling fully. Charles reviewed what he had planned to say and did his best. "I have come to know and adore your eldest daughter, sir, and wish to ask her to marry me. I know I should wait and speak privately—I do know this, sir—but I just . . . cannot wait another moment."

Inwardly, he cringed, especially when he started seeing how many of his guests were whispering and talking about his delay in going to supper.

Mr. Bennet, though, said nothing for what seemed to be half of eternity. The older man seemed to be having a silent conversation with his daughter, who held out her hand to her father and Charles felt his stomach drop in the fear that he had misunderstood everything he thought he knew about the beauteous Miss Bennet.

But then, he was reassured. "Indeed, Mr. Bingley. You may. If you cannot wait another moment," he went on in his laconic manner, "you may do so with an audience."

"Jane!" Charles said, her name exploding from his lips.

She laughed; his angel laughed and all was well. He took both her hands in his, seeing the movement of every single one of his guests along the edges of his vision, but focusing only on her in that moment.

"I love you." The soft laughter and sighs told him he'd been rather too loud. But Jane only beamed at him, and he knew he'd never seen her look so lovely. "With the blessing of your father, I ask you here, in front of half of Hertfordshire, to do me the greatest honor of consenting to be my wife."

There was utter silence. Complete and total silence in the ballroom. Jane's gaze, though, never left his face. He felt like the other half of that eternity had passed, though, before she nodded. "Yes, Charles. I will."

All he wanted was to embrace her, but they were, in fact, surrounded by everyone they knew, it seemed, so instead he just drew her close to him and dared to kiss the top of her golden hair. "Thank you," he murmured.

Applause and laughter filled the room, then, and it was only halted when a very loud whistle erupted from somewhere just behind him and his sister's voice followed.

"I am sure we all congratulate my brother and Miss Jane Bennet. Let us all celebrate and toast them over supper!"

"That was well done," a man said immediately thereafter.

"Charles, before you go in, do you remember Colonel Fitzwilliam?"

Mind still spinning in rapture, Charles nodded at the army officer. "Of course. Son of Lord and Lady Matlock?"

"Indeed," the man said, bowing. "I look forward to furthering our acquaintance, Mr. Bingley."

Charles looked to his sister, who was—shockingly enough—nearly smiling. "Caroline?"

"He's my soulmate, Charles."

"Congratulations!" Jane declared, moving to shake their hands. "Shall we toast you, as well?"

Charles could only marvel at his wonderful fiancée as she led the way to the supper room. Mr. Bennet, still right there as he had been, cleared his throat. "You will find, Mr. Bingley, that Jane is quite the manager. She's had to be."

"She's wonderful and I look forward to learning everything there is to know about her."

"Well, it should be a good life, then."


"You know," Elizabeth said as she watched her elder sister step away from them all as if she were already mistress of Netherfield, "I really do think they'll do quite well." She glanced up at Mr. Darcy as they moved slowly toward supper. He had claimed the supper dance and that made two dances for the evening, meaning they would not have another.

Which made her feel a bit unhappy, if anyone were to inquire. Of course they would not, but that didn't change how she felt. The feeling was offset, however, but the joy shining in Jane's eyes and that made life just a little more beautiful.

Jane could choose. She didn't have a Soulmark.

Elizabeth did, however. As did her soulmate, Mr. Darcy. She had not yet seen his Soulmark, but did not doubt for a moment that it matched her own, even if they hadn't either of them presented evidence of their being. They had burned; it was evidence enough for Merlin himself, she was sure.

And Mr. Darcy said he "ardently admired" her.

"Mr. Darcy," she murmured as he found them seats at a table for only two in the supper hall. He sat removed his gloves as she removed hers. Seeing his bare skin made her mouth dry, and she had no idea why. Did she really long to touch him again?

"Miss Elizabeth?" She blinked, only to find him regarding her with a gentle warmth and humor. Her focus dropped to his slight smile and she saw it widen. She blushed. He tried again. "Miss Elizabeth? Is aught amiss?"

"Nothing at all, no, but I was curious about what you said earlier before . . . the dancing and proposals and so on." Not sure if she had managed to make it sound light and airy, she tried to smile.

"What I said."

"Yes."

She waited, only to find a hired footman—his name was Jacob Peach, and he clerked for her Uncle Phillips, but she was sure he could use the extra funds sure to be had by serving at the ball—approaching to serve her and Mr. Darcy. It was called a supper dance, but it really was more of a tea, where the cups were pre-arranged as well as light sweetmeats and pastries, delivered carefully on small plates to each guest. Jacob brought only the tea and she smiled at him before he left to serve others.

Mr. Darcy waited. As did she. They both sipped at their tea and were eventually served small tarts with berries and honey.

Somehow, as they had their silent, staring interlude, Elizabeth had an epiphany. The moment was so profound that, even as her sister Mary began to play her first song before such an exalted audience, she could do nothing but feel the strength of her realization.

It brought a tear to her eye, which she wiped away with the tips of her fingers.

Their playfully tense staring match ended when Mr. Darcy took her hand in his over their small table. His eyes were dark with concern as he leaned forward. "Are you quite all right, Elizabeth?"

Her name sounded wonderful in his voice and she nodded, her throat tight. "I am," she managed to say. "I just realized that, that you are my soulmate. And even if there were no Soulmarks, I would feel just the same."

His smile gladdened her, it was so broad, so proud, so pleased, so full of his regard for her. She could almost feel it through her skin.


Sir Merwin Hawkins nodded, but he kept that pesky footman from again interrupting the couple at the small table. Quite a time he'd had, indeed, seeing to it that they took that particular table. It promoted conversation and the two of them truly needed to have one of those.

They had done, oddly, precious little talking, but they seemed to be making headway at last, and Sir Merwin congratulated himself as Fitzwilliam Darcy took both of Elizabeth Bennet's hands in his own and declared himself. Oh, he was quiet and private enough, and there was a great brouhaha at the largest table, where the Matlocks presided, as that whelp Richard claimed Caroline there in front of half the room.

Which was as well, but their timing had not been what Sir Merwin would have chosen himself. Still. Richard and Caroline would one day be Lord and Lady Matlock—not for a long while, but they would—and their future was assured.

Charles, alas, was determinedly in love and, well, he would be happy. Somewhere, the woman who would have been his wife would have to be matched, but that was for another day.

Sir Merwin took a sip of his tea and watched Fitzwilliam kiss each of Elizabeth's hands. With a nod, he glanced toward John Bartholomew Bennet who saw the newest betrothal as well. It will be well, John, Sir Merwin thought silently to the man. All will be well.

He found an ancient snuff box in a pocket, took a pinch for himself, and left the room. His work here was done. For the time being. Perhaps he could allow himself a brief respite; he was really quite exhausted. Being immortal was not for the faint of heart.


E/N: Anyone surprised?

Do let me know if you had deduced Sir Merwin's true identity before this chapter! :) Some of you have, already, and he is quite impressed with your perspicacity. And yes, I know Richard is the second son. He will be the earl one day because his brother has had no heir and, alas, shall meet an untimely end. That is not in this story.

There will be a tiny epilogue posting this afternoon, so keep an eye open for it! The general guidelines for the Paranormal Challenge were to go for 15K-25K words, so I kept this in bounds (author's notes notwithstanding).

See you in a few . . . hours! - LJ