A/N: Wow, the reviews are just wild. This is quite a ride. Keep it up. I thought about clarifying some confusing things, but I think I'll wait until the end. I will mention that a lot of you ask open-ended questions in the reviews, but I cannot answer them if you are a guest reviewer unless I leave some sort of long author's note. I do that occasionally, but don't plan to do so here, so you'll have to depend on other reviewers answering the question for you. That's more fun anyway ;)

Wade


RED

"Mrs. Longman, if I eat one more biscuit, your husband will have to make two trips to the stables. One to get a wheelbarrow, and the other to haul me to my horse."

Both Longmans laughed at the admittedly weak jest, and Longman added, "Do not pick on the young master just because he is skinny as a beanpole."

After laughing, Darcy said, "I do appreciate the meal, Mrs. Longman."

Both Longmans had known Darcy since he was in swaddling clothes. The young Fitzwilliam Darcy had been a bit of and gangly, awkward boy, especially when compared, as he inevitably was, with his much bolder and more outgoing cousin, Richard Fitzwilliam; or worse yet, with the steward's boy, George Wickham. When the boys were young, they were all rascally and mischievous as most boys were, but the heir to the estate always seemed to be just a step behind the others, always just a bit more cautious, a bit more reticent, as if he was born with the knowledge of his duty and responsibility. Mrs. Longman had chased all three out of her kitchen with a large wooden spoon more than once, although she never quite seemed to get there in time to prevent the pilferage of whatever pie or biscuits were cooling on the table at the time.

On the day that Mrs. Darcy was birthing her last child, when the young Fitzwilliam Darcy was but twelve years old, the process was not going well at all. The adult men in the house could not be much bothered with the young heir to the estate, but whether that was because they thought it was women's business, they did not think it important, or because they did not know how, was anybody's guess. It was the Longmans who had taken him aside, and Mrs. Longman who had the painful conversation about what was happening upstairs and what the likely outcomes were, thinking forewarned was forearmed.

The latest conversation was happening as Darcy was having breakfast at the groom's cottage, two days after getting the news from Bartlet that his wife was not only gone, but flush with enough money to do just about anything she wanted. He had spent the days sorting the enormous number of things awaiting his action into things that he had to do immediately or face material consequences, things that he could decide later, and the much larger pile of things he just did not want to bother with. He also had to urgently write to his poor neglected sister and his uncle Matlock with some sharp words. Lady Catherine would get her own sharp words in person, and sooner than she might like.

In between bouts of working until his eyes crossed and fingers cramped, Darcy had spent two melancholy days wandering around Pemberley in between his tasks, because in some ways, it felt like a tomb. Everywhere he went, he saw things that made him envision a ghost of Elizabeth, even though she had left so little behind it felt more like a dream than anything else. His memories of her were a bit fragmented, so he could not picture her in the room exactly, but he could picture an idea of her.

He found a lost handkerchief in the hidden stairs that connected the master and mistress' suites to the library and wondered if that would be the only keepsake he had of her time at Pemberley until he found her – if he ever did. There was a chair in the library closer to the fire than the place it had sat for so long a depression was worn in the floor from the chair legs. There were half a dozen books that had been moved, but he had to admit that she put them where they belonged, instead of where she found them. He found the seventeen law books, and looked through all them, thinking she might have left a note of some kind, probably around the marriage law or contracts sections. He spent an hour or two in the room that Georgiana had decorated, wondering if Elizabeth would have found it comfortable, or if she only disliked the décor instead of hating it.

He rode Omega out to the field where Longman said Elizabeth had made her first jump and found the log that she 'jumped' over was all of half a foot high – hardly more than a tree branch. He wondered how good of a rider Elizabeth was when she arrived, and how good she was when Longman finished with her. She was gently born, on an estate with plenty of horseflesh, and a woman was expected to have the skill. The eldest Miss Bennet – and he had to struggle a moment to come up with 'Jane' – obviously knew how to ride, but her knowledge of when to ride seemed suspect. However, if you looked at riding to Netherfield in the rain as a marital stratagem, he could easily see one or both of the Bennet parents forcing the issue. Whether the eldest Miss Bennet was willing accomplice or reluctant victim was a question he thought it best to put aside.

He finished his ride by going to the wide spot in the drive between Pemberley and Lambton, then urging Omega into a full out run, while trying to imagine how she felt leaving the Matlocks in her dust. He had to admit that just the idea of doing that gave him a thrill, so it seemed likely it would have done the same for his wife, but who could know? For all he knew, she was terrified the entire time and did it just to prove she could, and because she was too much of a lady to say what she really thought.

It all hit him the hardest when he was trying to fall asleep at the end of both of his first days in Pemberley without his wife, and he found himself crying like a baby into his pillow for the first time since his mother died at twelve years old. He would tell nobody about this episode, just as he had told nobody about the previous one, Oh, how it hurt! Since time immemorial, father had handed down to son the maxim, 'men do not cry', and he had adhered to it until it struck him just how badly he had ruined two people's lives.

He wondered when it had started. When had he became so arrogant? When had he decided his worth was better than others? Had she heard him say she was not handsome enough to dance with? He had originally believed she had not, but in France, with a lot of time to think, he had worked out that she probably had. He had seen her laughing with Miss Lucas while looking at him, but was that because his arrogance amused her, or because being slighted hurt and that was her only remedy?

Had Wickham poisoned her, and if so, did she still believe his lies. What had Darcy done himself to convince her otherwise? Not a damned thing, that was what! Not one damned thing!

The morning found himself entirely disgusted with the display, and ready to start doing something. He needed to do something even if it was wrong, so the obvious place to start was Mrs. Longman's table. If she could not fatten him up, nobody could.

Mrs. Longman joined the men, seeing the young master staring at the table in introspection. "I should have helped your wife more."

Darcy looked at her in consternation, but she continued undaunted. "Whatever thought just came to your mind, put it aside. I know it was not my place, and I always felt I would do more harm than good, but …" then she stared a moment, and finally added, "… I did not even try. I had my reasons, and they were good ones, but it might have turned out better if I had."

Darcy took a big breath. "Is there any point in trying to talk you out of such feelings?"

"No, sir. It is just one of those things. Sometimes you wish you had acted differently, even though what you did was essentially correct. We will never know. She could just as well have hated the interference as welcomed it. It could just as easily have made her leave sooner than later. My husband knew she was likely to leave, and perhaps we could have intervened, but she is a grown woman, and the mistress of this estate. I know such interference would have likely been unwelcome. I certainly would not have put up with it at her age."

Both felt there was no need to beat the point to death, and Longman intervened, saying, "With the kind of funds she has, she could be anywhere."

Darcy sighed. "Yes – she could be staying in a cottage on Pemberley land, or take rooms in Kympton, and we would never know. Not likely of course, as I think her more likely to be on a ship to Boston or Rome."

Both Longmans shrugged, aware that there was really no way to know.

Looking slightly uncomfortable but resolute, Mrs. Longman asked, "How did you let it get so bad?"

Darcy sighed, coming back to the question he had asked himself over and over dozens to thousands of times since he woke up in France, a victim of his own hubris and short-sighted thinking.

"Do you want the reason or the whiney excuse?" he asked grimly.

Mrs. Longman sighed. "Those two things are rarely as clear cut as you might think. Tell me, what led you to treat your wife that way? What led you to believe her guilty?"

Darcy sighed. "I had no justifiable reason. If I had suspicions, I could well have answered them by talking to her for an hour. As for the excuses …"

He thought for a while, and finally said, "… Sometimes, I just get tired. I have had twelve credible compromise attempts against me in just the last two years, and another ten or so half-hearted attempts. Bates found the middle daughter of the Earl of Sommerford in my bed without a stitch of clothing about two months before I went to Hertfordshire. I was so fed up that I put it about that I would not be compromised into marriage, regardless of the supposed provocation, but that sort of thing would not make it to a town like Meryton."

"Go on," Mrs. Longman said gently.

"It became easy to think of it as a competition, where I had to be on my guard all the time. I was the fox and they were the hounds, and oh, woe is me! I did in fact have to keep on my guard, but I did not have to take it to the level of pig-headed-stubbornness that I finally exhibited."

He thought back to what he could remember about the ball that had so abruptly changed his life.

"I asked her to dance," and he sighed. "which I had not intended to do, but …"

The couple waited patiently for him to pull the memory back to life.

"… but she was just so enticing standing there. She is so beautiful, to me anyway, so very beautiful. She is intelligent, challenging to me and frightening to someone of lesser mettle. She is strong, she withstood assault after assault from Miss Bingley, and then I find they get along famously now. She was …"

He sighed. "… She was enticing, so I asked her to dance. I knew it would cause rumors, but I am the master of an estate, not a monk. I thought it would be harmless."

"What happened?"

"She got under my skin. She challenged me on George Wickham of all people, and in a way that I feel she knew would bother me. She, being roughly as naïve and innocent as Georgiana in some ways bought his story, and she challenged me to explain it."

Longman said, "Sounds like just your sort of woman. She did not seem to like you, but she stood up to you anyway."

"Yes, well after that …" and he thought back through the sequence. "… I was angry. First there was Wickham's actions in Ramsgate last summer, then all that preceded that, and here was a woman who knew nothing challenging my honor – challenging my duty – challenging my integrity."

He paused a moment, thinking it very important that he sort out his true motivations from the chaos and disorder that followed those moments.

With a great sigh, he said, "Ordinarily, I would not care so much what someone thinks, but her – her …" then he felt like he was near to tears again, and continued, "… her – It was important that she of all people understand me. I was angry, and angry men are not wise, so I took her arm and led her to a corner where we could not be heard."

Mrs. Longman said, "That does not sound like you."

"It was not like me, but it was important. She came along willingly enough. I am not a complete beast, and I did not drag her there. I have thought about it a great deal, and I am convinced she was not afraid of me."

Longman snorted, and "You or anyone else, as far as I can tell."

Darcy laughed. "Yes! I believed at the time, and still believe, that she was curious. She wanted to know what I would say, even if for no reason than to throw it back in my face. She wanted to hear my side of the story, so she went along reluctantly but willingly. I was holding her wrist, but otherwise at a perfectly proper distance when her mother started screaming. I am afraid I panicked. There is no other way to put it. I panicked. I was an inch from screaming like a frightened child. To be so careful, for so many years, and be trapped with such a simple trick."

He thought silently for a while, staring at the floor, and finally said, "I believe I actually harmed her – bruised her wrist. I of course did not do so deliberately, but that hardly signifies when I outweigh her by five or more stone. Her mother's voice hit me like cannon fire. It is loud and screechy at best, but she let it out loud enough to call the hounds from three estates away. She wanted a show."

He paused a moment, fiddling with his teacup, and thought back to that encounter, trying to pull every reluctant detail from his admittedly fragmented memory. He wondered if his memory had always been spotty, or if part of the encounter never came back from his fever.

"Mrs. Bennet was like a gambler, who is down to their last shilling, and willing to throw that shilling and everything they own into one roll of the dice. I have no idea if she thought through what would go wrong if I just left, and stayed away, like I did for a week, but she did know the entire debacle was nothing short of an attack on both myself and her daughter."

Longman leaned back. "In that situation, I suppose you panicked, and I would allow that any man might have done so, but …"

"… You need not say it. I had a month to make things right. I had the ride from Meryton to Hatfield to make things right. I had all the time in the world to make things right. I could have listened to her when she tried to tell me. I am aware of just how badly I ruined this, but all the same, I would like to fix it if I can."

Longman said, "Some things cannot be fixed, but …" then he thought about it for a time, and continued, "… As far as I can tell, nearly all marriages nearly come to blows from time to time. There was more than one instance in my early marriage where I thanked the fates that I am a groom and not a woodcutter," with a smile to his wife who chuckled along with him.

Then he looked back at Darcy. "You are married, sir. You said the vows. Your wife also said the vows. 'Til death do us part', was meant for just exactly this situation. You owe it to yourself. You owe it to her, to try to make this right."

"I fully intend to, with my last breath if necessary, but I will not drag her back against her will. I will either convince her of my worth or set her free. I just want to talk to her, even if for only a few minutes."

Mrs. Longman was happy enough that the young man had come to his senses, that he was taking responsibility, and his heart seemed to eventually be in the right place, so she was satisfied. She reached over and squeezed his arm. "I suppose you will need to go to London and see if you can find someone to try to locate her. There are men who do that sort of thing."

"Yes, eventually," Darcy sighed. "I will try to find a good investigator, and of course there are the Bow Street Runners, but …" and then he sighed again. "… but first I visit Meryton. I hope against hope she is there. I remember she was very close to her sisters, especially the eldest. The family probably will not admit to it, even if they do know where she is, but I am hoping one of them will be willing to send her a note. It is my only real hope at the moment."

Longman said, "She never mentioned sisters, or anything about her family for that matter, but I never read too much into it. She had other things to talk about and talking about her family to a groom would be unusual."

"Jennings says she never received any letters – told the postmaster to not even bother sending anything from Hertfordshire," Darcy added glumly. "I wonder if that was because she felt she could not afford the postage, or because she had some sort of falling out with her family. She would certainly have been angry with her mother, if nobody else. Lack of funds for postage would explain cutting the post down to an absolute minimum, while a break in the family would be more likely to explain cutting it down to nothing."

Longman just shrugged his shoulders, no closer to understanding than his friend was. Darcy did not expect a warm welcome at Longbourn, but it had to be done.

Mrs. Longman asked, "When do the two of you leave?"

Darcy did not bother arguing with the assumption. Longman was as good a companion as he could ask for. He was Stable Master for all Darcy properties, so traveling to London, or on trips to sell, purchase or lease horses was commonplace. There were places where Richard or Bingley was better because they could get into the drawing rooms and parlors of houses, but other places where Longman was better because he could dig into the servant's classes. For that moment, Richard was occupied, and Bingley was probably tearing his hair out, so Darcy decided it would be just the two of them until they learned more.

"If we leave before lunch, we could be to Meryton the day after tomorrow."

Longman got up from the table and gave his wife an affectionate kiss on the cheek.

Mrs. Longman said, "I will make you something to stave off hunger. If you do not mind my saying so, you need to build your strength back. You seem about half‑recovered at best."

Darcy chuckled. "Yes, ma'am. I will not pretend I am up for two days on horseback, much as I would like to be. We will take the carriage and our horses, and I will try to ride two hours at a time until I get back up to scratch."

Mrs. Longman nodded, and bustled off to the kitchen to prepare the men a basket. She knew that they could buy anything they wanted along the way, except, no amount of money would buy them one of her meat pies or pastries, which were obviously superior."

As per plan, both men were in the carriage an hour later. Omega and Hercules trailed behind.

They spent the first several hours strategizing, followed by stretches of riding for an hour or two. Darcy felt like he had been trampled every time he came off a two-hour ride, but he knew it was the only way he would ever get back into some semblance of condition.

He found that at least with the riding, at the end of the day, first at a nondescript inn halfway to Meryton, and second in Hatfield, that he could fall into bed exhausted, which was something of an improvement over crying.