A/N: Apologies in advance for any errors in this chapter. I'm uploading in the middle of a vacation, so my focus isn't as close as usual. Enjoy.

Disclaimer: I am not Jane Austen, and seriously, no one is surprised about that.

Chapter Fourteen

Lizzy was still staring down at the bloody mass that was the back of Reg's head when she felt two strong arms wrap around her tightly and an urgent kiss pressed to her temple. "Elizabeth, are you all right?"

She wanted to turn her face toward the voice that even in this moment made her feel a little warmer, a little safer, but she could not tear her eyes from the lifeless body before her. She pressed some words out through her chattering teeth as she rubbed her shoulder, made sore again by the strength of her swing. "Have… have I killed him?"

Colonel Fitzwilliam came forward, setting down the candelabra he had held on the stairs for the last several minutes and kneeling beside Reg. He reached under the man's neck, and after a moment, the tension in his face relaxed. "His heart is still beating. He is only unconscious."

Lizzy sagged against Mr. Darcy, his solid presence the only thing keeping her standing. "God be praised."

"Elizabeth," Mr. Darcy said, half-carrying her down a few steps and helping her to sit, "are you well? Did they harm you?"

"No, no," she assured him as she shook. "I am perfectly fine. Just… just frightened, I think."

"And no doubt overwrought. And exhausted." He sat beside her and pulled her against him, just as he had done during that long day in Lord Smythe's carriage. He leaned back just enough to remove his coat and wrap it around her, taking extra care around her shoulder and muttering imprecations the entire time regarding Reg and Smythe and the whole adventure.

Something about his discontented murmuring calmed her, allowing her to smile up at him weakly. "You came for me."

"Of course I came for you," he replied gruffly, glaring back over his shoulder at whatever was occurring behind them. "Although from what I can see, you hardly needed rescuing. What is that weapon you used?"

"One of the posts from the bed in that chamber. It was quite rotten, thank goodness."

He laughed in surprise, although his merriment did not last long. "You are a wonder, Elizabeth. You just saved a man's life."

"Yes," said a voice from behind them. Lizzy and Darcy both turned. It was Mr. Talmadge, still kneeling beside Reg's body with one hand pressing a handkerchief to the side of his forehead. He gazed down at Reg's back, his expression bemused. "You saved the life of the man who abducted you in the first place."

"You do not intend to kill him, do you?" Lizzy asked urgently. "I know you are angry, but I beg you, sir…"

"No, my dear Miss Bennet," he answered gravely. "I could kill him, and not a man here would blame me once he knew the truth, but… I have never been a violent man. I have no wish to be a murderer. And besides, I believe that Reg's debt to me for all this will be paid much more effectively by the years of misery he will suffer knowing that I am somewhere out of his reach, happy with my wife."

"What did you mean just now, sir," Lizzy asked, frowning, "regarding my debt to you being paid? What could I possibly have owed you?"

Talmadge chuckled, then winced as the movement caused more pain in his head. "Only that I consider your saving of my life as more than sufficient repayment for saving you and Mr. Darcy from yourselves."

Lizzy and Mr. Darcy both stared at him, unimpressed.

"What? You did not think I actually intended to ransom you when I removed the both of you from Mr. Collins' house, did you? I am, as Reg kept pointing out, a man of honor."

"Then why?" Lizzy asked.

"I had been standing outside Mr. Collins's parlor for some minutes before either of you realized I was there. I overheard Mr. Darcy's proposal, as well as your vitriolic response. Honestly, I do not believe I have ever heard a worse proposal in my entire life," Mr. Talmadge added, giving Mr. Darcy a fatherly, disapproving sort of look that made Mr. Darcy blush slightly in spite of himself. "But there was something in his situation with which I identified. My own first application for Mrs. Talmadge's hand was nearly as bad, full of assumptions and misunderstandings, so I sympathized with his injury, with the sentiments that had brought him to lay himself so open to a girl who was, in society's eyes, significantly beneath him and whose opinion of him he had not understood. Everything that came after was done on a whim—I had not even realized my intention to threaten an abduction until I had spoken it, but the idea was so delicious that I could not resist."

"I still do not understand," Mr. Darcy frowned, glaring at Mr. Talmadge.

"He hoped that by placing the two of you in danger together," Colonel Fitzwilliam supplied, a smile dancing about his lips, "you would be able to move past your pride, misunderstandings, and prejudice, and fall well-and-truly in love."

"Just so," Talmadge agreed with a tired grin. "And I believe that portion of the plan could not have worked out more perfectly. By the time you escaped to London, I believe Miss Bennet was as much in love with you as she had despised you only two days before."

Lizzy blushed, dismayed to realize how transparent she had been, how easily this man had manipulated her, regardless of how much she appreciated the outcome. Truly, she could not have hated Mr. Darcy so completely if it had required only two days for her opinion to change so dramatically. Would she ever understand her own heart?

"I am sorry, however, for the trouble you endured afterward," Mr. Talmadge continued. "I am glad that it has all come to a happy end."

"Reg's ending is not happy," Lizzy replied, staring at the man who still lay unmoving on the ground, one of the men she did not recognize leaning over Reg and attempting to form a bandage to tie around the wound. "Do you believe he will seek his revenge upon us?"

"I doubt it," Talmadge said grimly, gingerly raising himself to his feet. "I believe all of his efforts will be bent either toward reestablishing a business here or chasing me to the Continent, set on vengeance."

Talmadge stared down at his old friend, his face a mask. He had retrieved his sword, and he gripped it tightly, the blade steady as it hung in the air above Reg. "I really ought to kill him, you know, despite my qualms. He has betrayed me in the worst way, and his conscience will not prevent him from causing me no end of trouble. And yet, I find I have no wish to do so. I am a fool." He shook his head, finally managing to tear his gaze from the body at his feet. "'Tis a good thing, I think, that I never told anyone, not even Reg, of my intentions once Mrs. Talmadge and I reach France."

The mention of his wife seemed to surprise him. "Tildy! I must get to her. She may have already reached Amersham by now."

"If so," Lizzy said, "she intended to borrow her brother-in-law's phaeton and make her way to… to a cousin, I think, in High Wycombe."

Mr. Talmadge started down the stairs and reached for her hand, raising it to his lips. "And now, I am even more in your debt, Miss Bennet. Bless you."

"Take care of her, sir!" Lizzy called after him as he made his way down with some difficulty, leaning against the railing to keep his balance. "Be kind!"

He turned back, and something about the shadows around him, the lantern light barely lighting his countenance and the wound above his brow, gave him a roguish, dangerous sort of handsomeness that gave Lizzy hope in his ability to win his wife's favor. "She will never have cause to doubt me again—that I swear! Farewell!"

He disappeared out the front door.

"Nice of him to leave us with an unconscious, bleeding man and a house full of bound miscreants," Colonel Fitzwilliam said, sitting down heavily on Lizzy's other side.

She reached out on a whim and grasped his hand. He looked exhausted, more than exhausted, and it had all been for her sake. At her touch he looked up in surprise. Then he offered her a boyish grin and squeezed her hand in return.

"Thank you, Colonel, for everything," Lizzy said. "You have proven yourself a true and loyal friend."

"You may as well know now, my dear Miss Bennet, that I am never one to pass up an adventure."

She looked behind her again at the other three men. "And thanks to all of you. I cannot express…" She drew in a sharp breath. "Mr. Bingley?"

Mr. Bingley was supporting one of the unknown men and wearing a sheepish smile. He looked a little disheveled but remarkably like himself, besides his dark, non-descript coat. "Good morning, Miss Bennet. I am vastly pleased to see you looking so well."

"And I, you, sir."

Mr. Darcy chuckled beside her and gestured to the other two men. "Elizabeth, these are two of my footmen from Darcy House, John and Matthew. I only wish there were more illustrious positions available in my household, for I can assure you, I would promote both of them without a moment's hesitation."

The large one, Matthew, looked embarrassed. "Just doing my duty, sir."

John, the one leaning on Mr. Bingley, smiled, although his face was pale. "Thank you, sir. Just knowing you've said it will please my mother to no end. I shall get a month of her best pies and tarts out of this, if not a year."

Mr. Darcy laughed. "Good point. I suppose all of Darcy House will benefit from Mrs. Luden's motherly pride."

"I especially enjoy her gooseberry jam," Fitzwilliam added hopefully. "You will mention that to her, will you not?"

They all laughed then, and Lizzy leaned against Mr. Darcy, whose arms moved fully around her once again.

"I shall go down and have a talk with Wellington, one of Smythe's men," Colonel Fitzwilliam said, rising with a sigh. "Or is it Talmadge? Wellington seems to disapprove of Reg, and I think he will help us by waiting a few minutes to untie all the other men after we have gone."

"I doubt any of them would pursue us," Mr. Bingley said cheerfully, fingering the hilt of his sword, which rested in his scabbard. "I believe they have all learned a valuable lesson today."

"Let us hope so," the colonel agreed. "I shall have him send for a doctor for Reg before they disappear. Do you think Talmadge intends to return to the house after he retrieves his wife?"

"I do not think so," Lizzy said slowly. "I believe he wishes to be as far away as possible before Reg is able to pursue him."

"Good. Allow me to speak to Wellington. Matthew, go prepare one of the stable's horses for Miss Bennet."

"There is no need," Mr. Darcy said. "She will ride with me until Chalfont St. Peters. I believe we can secure a carriage there, hopefully before dawn, as it would be better for her not to be observed."

Colonel Fitzwilliam nodded and entered a room at the bottom of the stairs.

"Matthew, Bingley, would you very carefully move Reg into one of the rooms and tie him to the bedstead? The doctor who comes can release him, should he see fit to do so."

Matthew nodded, raising Reg up over his shoulder with surprisingly little effort, and after lowering John to the ground gently, Bingley followed him in, tugging a length of rope from Matthew's pocket before they moved into the nearest chamber.

"Oh, Elizabeth," Mr. Darcy said, heaving a heavy sigh and leaning his head against Lizzy's.

"It is all over now, is it not?" she asked hopefully.

"Yes, all but the ending. I wish I could take you back to Darcy House this morning, where I could be assured you could rest and recover in peace for the next week, but all of this would be for naught if we did not return you to Kent in time for those around Rosings, especially Lady Catherine's servants and tenants, to see you leave for London with Miss Lucas."

"You are perfectly right," she responded, matching his sigh, "although a week of sleep and pampering sounds far more appealing than three more days of traveling and then having to pretend to one and all that I have spent the past two weeks taking quiet walks around Rosings and finishing my sampler."

"Will you tell your family of our adventures?"

"I will tell my father, certainly, but I believe I shall wait to do it until after I am home safe in Hertfordshire, where he can see that I am well. I shall certainly never tell my mother and younger sisters, for once they knew it, the entire county would know also. But Jane and Aunt Gardiner? I do not know. I do not think I will be able to hide it all from them, but they will be so overwhelmed by it that I admit I would rather they never knew. Will you tell anyone?"

"The only people I would ever consider trusting with such an outrageous story already know it—Fitzwilliam and Bingley. I will certainly never tell Georgiana—she would never leave the house again."

Lizzy laughed sadly. "It is somewhat unfortunate to have survived such troubles yet never be able to speak about them. Think how gratifying the gasps of all those society matrons would be!"

Mr. Darcy laughed, too, although he seemed to wince and favor his side at the movement. "I believe it is you who enjoys the eyes of society upon you. I feel no such temptation."

Lizzy turned to face him, their knees knocking together. She pressed her hand slightly against the side of his waistcoat and frowned as he winced again. "You are injured! Why did you not say anything?"

"'Tis only a few bruised ribs," he answered, removing her hand by clasping it with his own. "I allowed my attention to be distracted for a moment while we were subduing the large man and Scar Hand at the back door, so I brought it on myself."

She frowned at him disapprovingly. "Riding a horse will be a misery."

"An unavoidable inconvenience," he sighed, raising her hand to his lips. "We will ride very slowly and avoid divots in the road with all care."

She nodded, relaxing a little. "That would be quite sensible."

He reached up and touched her cheek gently, reverently. "I know not how I shall ever let you out of my sight again. These last hours have been the most harrowing of my life."

She leaned into his touch, closing her eyes. "I knew you would be worried. I longed to reach out somehow, wherever you were, and comfort you."

"Are you truly all right?"

"Perfectly well. Only tired."

He pressed his forehead against hers. "Can you ever forgive me for all of these difficulties you have suffered?"

She pulled back far enough to look into his eyes sternly. "If you speak a single other word regarding your carrying any blame at all for these past few days, I will…"

"'Twas only your connection to me that caused Smythe—Talmadge—to abduct you in the…"

Lizzy leaned forward and pressed her lips against his forcefully for a moment before pulling back.

He stared at her. "Was that your version of wishing me luck again?"

"Yes. I will do whatever I must to avoid listening to such foolishness, and you will need all the luck in the world to escape my wrath if you continue blaming yourself needlessly for anything in connection to our dramatic misadventure."

His eyes seemed darker than before as he allowed a smirk to appear at the corner of his lips. "Generally speaking, I believe it is wise to be certain one's method of expressing displeasure is unpleasant to the receiver. Your version of a threat only encourages my behavior."

Lizzy stomach swooped low inside her at his words, then twisted into knots as she felt his arms tighten around her. "Perhaps… I shall…" she stuttered, "I will need… to rethink my methods."

"Please do not."

His mouth met hers again, and her thoughts fluttered away, everything irrelevant but the sensations she was suddenly experiencing. Both kisses she had given him had been short and sharp, but this kiss was neither. His lips began sliding across hers, jolting her like a bolt of lightning. She stiffened then turned into a rag doll, entirely boneless and at his mercy.

So this was a real kiss.

He pulled back quite suddenly, his expression regretful. He loosened his hold and straightened, although his hands both remained in contact with her, as if he could not quite manage to let go. He cursed under his breath. "I should not have… Elizabeth, I am so… I have worked so hard to respect you, to treat you as a lady no matter our circumstances and no matter the temptation. I should never have given into my impulses in such a way, for now it will be so much more difficult to maintain my distance."

"I do not wish for distance," Lizzy argued, her heart suddenly so swollen with love for him that she almost could not speak. "Perhaps if our courtship had been normal, if we had truly come to know one another in stuffy parlors and on chaperoned garden rambles, I might have expected such behaviors. But sir, I have learned to appreciate you in the most unique of circumstances, while facing danger and riding for miles behind you and lying beside you in the dark. I have no use for distance. I want to be near you always."

"Have I a chance then?" he asked, his face splitting into a wide grin. "After Hunsford, I told myself you could never accept me, yet I could not quench the hope that your feelings had begun to change. I am still the same man I was, Elizabeth, the man you despised so very recently."

"In essentials, you are that man, one I would have admired from the first moment had I seen him as clearly then as I do now. But you have also seen your errors, and I know you have been making attempts to temper your pride, as I am working harder not to judge so immediately, to accept justified reproof. We are neither of us perfect," she said, reaching up to touch his face, "but if you can love me for all my strengths and weaknesses, I find myself quite equal to the task of accepting yours."

He kissed her fiercely, quickly. "Marry me, I beg of you."

"Nothing on earth could bring me greater happiness."

Their next kiss was joyful, and it did not end quickly, not until a creaking of one of the floorboards on the floor below returned them to the present.

"Wellington has agreed," the colonel said from the bottom of the stairs, causing them to jump apart, although not very far. He smiled smugly at them as he continued, "He even sends the two of you his compliments. Apparently Darcy bought him a new jacket? I believe we can trust him."

"Reg is on his stomach on the bed, tied to all four posts," Mr. Bingley said from above them. Lizzy turned sharply, and the amused expressions on his, Matthew's, and John's faces told her that they had been standing there longer than she might prefer. She blushed violently as he continued, "He'll not be going anywhere soon, even if he awakens with all his senses intact."

Mr. Darcy stood with a huff and helped her to her feet. At the bottom of the stairs, he murmured to his cousin, "It is only the ties of blood that are keeping me from calling you out right now for that interruption."

The colonel chuckled quietly. "Would not want to use up all of your mutual delight in only a few moments, now would we?"

As they passed through the front door into the lightening pre-dawn, Mr. Bingley cleared his throat just behind Lizzy. "Miss Bennet, might I speak to you for a moment?"

Lizzy glanced at Mr. Darcy, who, after a look between Lizzy and Mr. Bingley, nodded and said, "I shall retrieve our horses."

Lizzy's eyes lingered on his handsomely bedraggled form until Mr. Bingley cleared his throat again and began, "Miss Bennet, I must return to London this morning while you make your way to Kent, but I wanted to ask you something before we part ways."

"Anything, sir."

"Darcy confessed to me yesterday regarding his keeping your sister's presence in London a secret from me." His eyes fastened on Mr. Darcy's back in disgruntlement for a moment before he shook his head as if to clear it. "I was quite angry, but he explained himself and apologized. I have always found it difficult to hold a grudge."

"You are a good man, Mr. Bingley."

"No. That is, I fear perhaps I am not. Certainly, Caroline and Darcy deceived me, but I… well, it was my own choice that took me from Hertfordshire, away from Jane… er, Miss Bennet."

He paused, looking hopeful.

"What exactly are you asking me, sir?"

"Oh. Well, I wonder whether you, as her sister, believe it might be possible for her to forgive me. I… I should like to visit her in London as soon as may be. Would she… receive me, do you think?"

Lizzy shifted uncertainly, rubbing her arms as the cold of the new morning began to penetrate the thin sleeves of her gown. Jane's feelings were certainly not Lizzy's to share, but she did feel she owed Mr. Bingley some gratitude. "I can make no guarantee, sir. I know she was disappointed at your abandonment in November, and I know she has been somewhat depressed in spirit ever since, but I have not seen her or spoken with her of such things since just after Christmas."

Mr. Bingley appeared somewhat downcast himself. "Ah. Do you think her feelings may have changed then? Would it be best not to intrude upon her again?" He looked alarmed suddenly. "Has she spoken of… anyone else, any other gentleman? In her letters, I mean?"

"No, sir," Lizzy answered. "She has spoken of no one else. But as to whether you should seek her out again, I believe that is a question only you can answer. You must do what your heart directs, regardless of anyone else's opinion."

He straightened then, an almost-fierce light appearing in his eyes. "You are right. I shall visit her then and see for myself whether or not I am welcome. First thing tomorrow."

"Tomorrow is Sunday, I believe, sir," Lizzy offered gently, trying not to show her amusement. She noticed Mr. Darcy and the others approaching, leading several mounts.

"Ah. Monday then."

"If I may make one small suggestion, I think perhaps you ought to wait until after I am present with her. Jane and I are of much comfort to each other, and I have no doubt that, regardless of her current feelings towards you, your appearance will disconcert her. My presence will lend her confidence, and afterward I will help her sort through her feelings."

"Of course," he replied, squaring his shoulders again. "You are an admirably thoughtful sister, Miss Elizabeth. You will return to London on Monday afternoon?"

Lizzy felt Mr. Darcy move beside her, and she automatically reached out, wrapping her arm through his. "Yes, sir."

"Then I shall call upon you all Tuesday morning." He smiled, cheerful again.

"I will be wishing you the best of luck, sir."

"Thank you."

He accepted his reins from Darcy, who reached out to take his hand. "My gratitude for your help this day knows no bound, Bingley. You are an excellent fellow, and the best of friends."

Mr. Bingley returned Darcy's handshake heartily, smiling. "I would not have missed it for the world, old man. Call on me when you return to London."

Mr. Bingley suddenly looked back at Lizzy, appearing concerned. "Miss Bennet, might I also ask that if you choose to tell your sister of all this, you not mention my part in it? I would not wish any gratitude she might feel to encourage her to accept my friendship beyond her natural inclination."

Lizzy pursed her lips, but after a moment, she nodded. "I understand. She will not hear of your involvement from me—at least not for some time."

"Thank you."

They watched Mr. Bingley mount, along with Matthew and, with some assistance from the colonel, John. Lizzy noticed that John's injured leg was bound tightly, but once he was astride, he did not appear to be in too much pain. "John and Matthew are returning to London as well."

"Thank you both again!" Lizzy called to them, raising her hand. "Good journey!"

They both nodded to her, doffing their caps before turning to follow Mr. Bingley out through the main gate onto the road.

Mr. Darcy led Lizzy toward a horse, and she sighed at the sight of the great beast standing before her.

Mr. Darcy chuckled, hugging her against his side. "Only for a few minutes," he assured her. "Just remember to relax, and the ride will not be at all unpleasant."

"I suppose not." She watched thoughtfully as he mounted. "After all, I think my opinion of you underwent its most monumental shift on the back of a horse."

He stared down at her. "When?"

"When you told me I was not pretty."

Lizzy felt something warm and soft wrap around her from behind, and she looked down to see a lovely cloak in a vibrant shade of dark green and lined with ermine. She looked over her shoulder into the colonel's laughing eyes. "He really said that?"

"I was only speaking the truth," Mr. Darcy defended, winking at her.

Lizzy laughed. "It was the nicest compliment I have ever received."

The colonel shook his head, muttering something about lovebirds.

"Is this Mrs. Talmadge's?" Lizzy asked, gesturing to the cloak.

He nodded. "Since they are not to return, I assume she shall no longer be in need of it."

"Thank you, Colonel." She met his eyes, willing him to understand the depth of her words.

"You shall be my cousin soon enough," he replied gently, glancing up at Mr. Darcy. "We Fitzwilliams always take care of our own."

She smiled shyly then turned back to the horse, reaching up to take Mr. Darcy's hand while the colonel boosted her onto the back of the saddle. She settled against Mr. Darcy, this time burrowing as close to him as she could manage without aggravating his injured side.

They started down the road at the gentle pace he had promised.

"Mr. Darcy?"

"Yes, Elizabeth?"

"I missed you, too."

"I am very glad to hear it."

When their carriage pulled into the yard at Hunsford parsonage just before dark Sunday evening, Fitzwilliam found himself surprisingly well rested. He had only just awakened after dozing off and on for most of the last several hours, really the last two days, and he had to shake Darcy and Miss Bennet awake as well.

They had made a valiant attempt to observe the proprieties, despite Miss Bennet being alone in a carriage with two unrelated gentlemen, but the two of them had quite naturally gravitated toward each other in sleep. They both seemed quite abashed to find that he had been sleeping leaned against the wall with his legs stretched out on the seat and Miss Bennet wrapped in his arms, her legs between his and her head on his chest.

It had been fascinating, during the times of the long journey when he had been awake, to watch the two of them together. On the journey from Dover to Islington, they had displayed a strange level of awkward comfort with one another: their speech was quite cautious and appropriate, but their need for regular physical contact often overpowered their sensibilities. But now all awkwardness was gone. They sat as close to one another as they could manage at all times, their hands wrapped together and their faces near each other's for every conversation.

That closeness, that complete absorption in one another, was what he found so arresting. He had spent time with his share of engaged couples, his brother and sister-in-law included, but he had never observed in them such an intense physical connection. That was also true for the newlyweds he had known. Even in quiet moments, when he had observed Andrew and Sophia alone together, there was always a sort of proprietous distance between them no matter how closely they sat. Society demanded a certain formality between husband and wife that he had never seen breached.

But Darcy and Miss Bennet had smashed through that separation as if it had never existed. At the beginning of the trip, they had tried to sit across the carriage from each other, but still they had constantly discovered their hands tangled together. He shook his head again now, watching as they sat up and righted one another's apparel with the familiarity and casualness of an old, married couple.

"You two do remember that in polite society, it is not considered appropriate for a single gentleman to assist an unmarried lady in re-pinning her hair, do you not?"

Darcy shot him a sour look before focusing on opening the tiny hairpin he held between his inexperienced fingers. "Would it be preferable for her to emerge from the carriage she was sharing with two single gentlemen looking disheveled?"

"Polite society is all well and good, Colonel," Miss Bennet added, sitting as still as she could and making a valiant attempt not to wince at Darcy's fumbling, "but if this trip has taught us nothing else, we have learned that what ought to happen is not always what must happen. We all should learn to be a little more… understanding."

We, she had said, as if the two of them were a single entity. Fitzwilliam shook his head again. How they would reenter normal society, he could not imagine.

A few moments later, Miss Bennet declared herself ready to emerge. Darcy stepped out first and handed her down, leaving Fitzwilliam to exit just as the parsonage's kitchen door was thrown open and a figure he had both dreaded and dreamed of seeing dashed out into the twilight.

"My dearest Lizzy!"

"Oh, Charlotte!" Miss Bennet rushed toward her, and the two women flung their arms around one another, laughing and crying in that strange mixture that only women could manage. "I am so very glad to see you!"

"You are back, you are back," Mrs. Collins repeated, trying to dry her eyes while keeping Lizzy close. "I have been so worried. I am so sorry—so sorry for all of this."

"Of all the people who could claim some responsibility for all that occurred, you are the least culpable," Miss Bennet laughingly declared. "And as you can see, all is well now. I am safe and whole, and Mr. Darcy is safe and whole, and thanks to you and Lady Catherine, the colonel tells us, the story of our misadventure will never be known."

"Oh, yes," Mrs. Collins hiccupped, "you can be assured that Lady Catherine will not be spreading this particular story about town. Even the servants who work at Rosings know only a little of what has occurred, and they have all received pay increases in order to keep their tongues from wagging."

"Lady Catherine authorized a pay increase?" Darcy asked with astonishment. "Forgive me—it is very good to see you, Mrs. Collins, but I am quite surprised."

"We are quite glad to see you, too, Mr. Darcy. And yes, even your aunt could see that it was far too important to keep the story of Anne's excesses and their consequences from reaching the ears of society to leave it only to loyalty. According to Mr. Nelson, she is finally willing, after all of this trouble, to reassess the estate's situation and consider reasonable methods of economizing and increasing productivity. Her eagerness to do so would be almost humorous if it were not for the misery so obvious in her every word and expression."

"I could not believe it when Fitzwilliam told me about Anne," Darcy said gravely. "How could we have all been so deceived? Poor Lady Catherine."

"Though not as poor as she might have been," Fitzwilliam reminded them. He had crossed the yard as they spoke and now stepped into their circle.

"And we are told that we have you to thank for that, as well, Mrs. Collins," Darcy said, bowing deeply to her. "You have our entire family's humble, unending gratitude."

"Indeed," Fitzwilliam agreed. He bowed to Mrs. Collins, who curtsied to him but would not meet his gaze. "I hope you have recovered from your own adventures, Mrs. Collins, undertaken on our behalves."

"Welcome back to Kent, Colonel," she replied. It was growing dark, but he thought there might be a slight blush on her cheeks. "I am perfectly well recovered, thank you."

"I am glad to hear it. And your sister? Is she well enough to travel back to London tomorrow?"

"Maria? Oh, yes, she is quite well. Her head still aches sometimes, and she still sleeps for much of each day—she retired almost an hour ago—but she has improved enough that she is eager again to visit London. She will be overjoyed knowing that Lizzy has returned and all is well."

"And she will keep this little secret?" Darcy asked.

"Yes, sir. She may be flighty and thoughtless sometimes, but she is a good girl, and she adores Lizzy. She would never say anything that might harm her."

"I am glad," he replied, looking relieved.

"My dear Mrs. Collins!" called a most unwelcome voice from the kitchen door. "Why did you not tell me we have guests? Why I am… Mr. Darcy! Cousin Elizabeth! You are returned."

The ridiculous man stood framed by the light from the kitchen, making his hesitation and hand-wringing quite obvious. Fitzwilliam had wondered how he would respond to his cousin's return, how he would face Darcy after all the trouble he had caused.

"Yes, Mr. Collins," Miss Bennet replied quite cheerfully, walking arm-in-arm with Mrs. Collins toward the door. "We are quite well. Thank you for asking."

Fitzwilliam chortled quietly at her subtle barb, drawing an eye roll from Darcy.

"Excellent. That is… excellent. Will you not all enter and take some refreshment? We must… that is, we ought to celebrate your safe arrival. Did not Mrs. Locken make some of her marmalade tarts this evening, my dear?"

"She did," Mrs. Collins replied as they entered. She made some effort to smile in her husband's general direction, and he beamed back at her, as if she had offered him the world.

For the first time through all of this, and most reluctantly, Fitzwilliam found himself feeling sorry for Mr. Collins. To be a man of such unfortunate aspect with obsequious manners was pathetic enough, but to know that through one's own efforts, one had lost the good opinion of one's adored spouse? Mr. Collins was a pitiable figure for certain.

Not that pitying him prevented Fitzwilliam from also despising him. He did not deserve his wife in any way, and yet, because she was so good, she would remain his for the rest of his life. As he half-listened to the little man prattling while leading them through the kitchen into the parlor, he felt all the misery of their particular situation.

He was in love with a woman who was married to a man not good enough for her. He was struck suddenly with the similarity of his situation to Reg's, as Miss Bennet had explained it yesterday. It was only his own honor, or even more so, Mrs. Collins's, that would prevent him from attempting to do as Reg had done, to seduce her or abduct her or employ any other nefarious scheme he could concoct to make her his. In the end he might win her, but how many vows, how many hearts, how many lives would be broken along the way?

"Colonel?"

He blinked, returning with a thud to the present. He looked around, realizing that they were standing in the parlor and everyone was staring at him expectantly, Darcy hiding a smirk.

"I beg your pardon—I was lost in my thoughts. What did you ask, Mrs. Collins?"

"I asked whether you would like to be seated." She motioned toward the chair near which he stood, and he realized that everyone but himself and Mrs. Collins had taken a seat.

"Of course. Thank you." He sat.

"I suppose you all have an interesting story to share with us," Mr. Collins said, breaking the awkward silence in the room. "Having never been spirited away myself, I am certain I am little able to imagine how miserable and torturous the entire experience has been, but as a clergyman and one of Miss Bennet's nearest relations, I feel it is my duty to attempt to sympathize with your woes."

"Actually," Miss Bennet broke in before he could continue, "it was all quite unremarkable. We were bound and carried somewhere, kept captive for several days, then released once Miss de Bourgh's debt was repaid."

"That is all?" Mr. Collins asked. "But you must have been frightened, my young cousin."

"Certainly, at first," she agreed. "But I was quite alone, quite unthreatened, and after some unknown amount of time, I was simply bored. It was a relief to be released and rejoin Mr. Darcy. Colonel Fitzwilliam found us soon afterward—somewhere in Sussex, was it not, sir?"

"Yes," Fitzwilliam affirmed seriously. "In Sussex."

"And was your experience similar, Mr. Darcy?" Mr. Collins asked, his eyes wide.

"Exactly the same," Darcy confirmed, not bothering to temper his distaste for the man.

"Well. Well, well, that is… excellent news, I suppose. Yes, yes, excellent news. And now you are returned to us."

"Yes, Mr. Collins," Mrs. Collins said slowly. Fitzwilliam thought he could see her gritting her teeth, but it was not entirely obvious. The parlor door opened, and the maidservant Molly carried in a tray. "Oh, Molly! Thank you."

At the sight of Darcy and Miss Bennet, little Molly froze in the middle of the room, the tray sliding from her hands in a great clatter of cutlery and dishes. "Oh, sir! Miss! You are back! Oh, I'm that glad! I've been so worried—I'm so sorry, sorry for the part I played. 'Twas my father, sir—he tried his hand at betting on the horses, sir, and his debt weren't so big, but we couldn't pay it all the same, and Lord Smythe told him that he would forgive the debt if I were to help him, and…"

"Molly!" Mr. Collins began, his face red. "What have you done?"

Miss Bennet jumped to her feet and crossed the room, braving the sea of broken crockery to take the sobbing Molly in her arms. "Hush, dear girl. We are not angry with you. Your family was in a terrible situation, none of which was your fault. You were only doing your best to help."

"I didna know anyone would be taken or harmed!"

"We are perfectly fine, you see?" She stepped back and flung out her arms, smiling widely. "And Mr. Darcy is very well, too." Her smiled deepened as she looked at him, perched awkwardly on the settee. She leaned down and whispered very loudly to Molly. "I even think the captivity might have been good for Mr. Darcy. He seems to me far more handsome than he was before, now that sitting in a locked room alone for several days has chased away his habitual scowl."

Miss Bennet seemed to be correct, for instead of glowering at her and rising to gaze out the window as if disgusted, which is what he would have done only a fortnight before, he remained seated and leaned over his knees with a teasing smile. "I am not, however, certain that captivity has been equally beneficial for Miss Bennet. Days of solitude and silence have only made her cheekier."

"For shame, Mr. Darcy!" Miss Bennet laughed, her eyes twinkling. She spun back to Molly, who was watching them both with uncertain hopefulness. "As you can see, my dear, we are both entirely well. You have no need to feel guilty."

"Thank you, Miss." Molly finally seemed to realize the mess she had made with the tray, and her face crumpled. "Oh, Mrs. Collins, I am so very sorry."

Mr. Collins began to speak, his face still similar in shade to a spoonful of strawberry jam, but Mrs. Collins placed a restraining hand on his arm.

"Your apology is accepted, Molly," Mrs. Collins replied with an appropriate mixture of warmth and censure. "But we must not allow our emotions to get the better of us, must we?"

"No, ma'am. I shall do better next time, I promise. I'll go for the broom. Excuse me."

Mrs. Collins sighed at the mess before turning back to face them all. "I am sorry about your refreshments, but under the circumstances…"

"We should not have bothered you anyway at such a late hour," Fitzwilliam apologized. "We must make our way to Rosings, and you certainly wish to speak privately with your friend."

"Thank you, Colonel."

Everyone stood, but no one seemed prepared for the required leave-taking. There was so much between the four of them, so much they each wished to say to one another, but with Mr. Collins present, none of it could be spoken.

"I should be pleased to offer my carriage to you tomorrow, Miss Bennet," Darcy said hopefully, "for your and Miss Lucas's trip to London. We are returning there ourselves tomorrow, and we will be more than happy to accompany you."

Miss Bennet nodded instantly then frowned. "I suppose we need a chaperone, do we not, Charlotte?"

"I cannot spare anyone, but perhaps one of the Rosings servants could accompany you."

"I will arrange it myself," Darcy assured her.

Miss Bennet's face cleared. "Thank you for your generous offer, Mr. Darcy." She curtsied quite formally.

"It is my pleasure, Miss Bennet."

Fitzwilliam and Darcy stood for a few more seconds before either of them could manage to move toward the door. They had made it only three or four steps before Darcy spun back around, his expression stiff. "Mr. Collins, as her temporary guardian, might I beg a moment to have a private interview with Miss Bennet before my cousin and I depart?"

"Well, I… I do not know, sir…" Mr. Collins blustered. "It is terribly late, and considering that you and she were closeted in this parlor together for some time before all of this trouble began, I think perhaps it would be unwise to leave the two of you…"

Darcy made a sound of desperate frustration and strode past Mr. Collins to stand straight in front of Miss Bennet, taking her hands. "I warned you I would find it difficult to leave your side again."

She gazed up at him, her cheeks pink. "You did."

Darcy opened his mouth to speak but seemed lost for words, his gaze troubled.

Miss Bennet smiled sympathetically. "I am perfectly safe now."

"I know that. In theory."

She stood on her tiptoes and kissed him. She began to move back, but Darcy grabbed for her, and she let him pull her closer.

Fitzwilliam turned away, rolling his eyes at a surprised-but-pleased Mrs. Collins. She, in turn, spun her husband around, who was staring at the lovers with a fish-mouth.

"You were right," Mrs. Collins told Fitzwilliam.

He nodded. "And I have paid for it. Trapped in a carriage with this particular couple for two long days! I have never seen so much hand-holding and love-struck gazing in all my life."

"It is a far better end than I could possibly have foreseen when all this began."

"Should we not put a stop to this… this display?" Mr. Collins whispered loudly. "If Lady Catherine were here, she would…"

"But she is not here," Mrs. Collins replied, her words clipped and as sharp as knives. "If you feel you must protest, as a clergyman or Lizzy's relation, then go do so in your study."

Mr. Collins huffed, hunching as if injured, but his wife did not rescind her comment, and he slunk from the room like a scolded child.

Suddenly, Fitzwilliam found himself wishing Mr. Collins were still present. The noise of the amorous couple behind them made quite an uncomfortable accompaniment to the jangling of his own emotions.

"Mrs. Collins," Fitzwilliam said in a low voice, "I know that I will see you tomorrow before we depart, but I believe it would be best for me to use this moment to officially take my leave of you."

He made the mistake of looking up into her face and was arrested by the absolute attention of those pale blue eyes on his face. How he hated Darcy in that moment! How he hated any man who could kiss the woman he loved with impunity!

"I am not good with words, madam. I am a soldier, not a diplomat or businessman. I only wish to say…" He struggled even for the plainest of phrases. "You are an incredible woman. Despite my attempts to prevent you, you have proven yourself to be far more intelligent, resourceful, and self-sacrificing than I could ever have imagined. I admire you more than I can say. I only hope that, even if I never have the opportunity to tell you so again, you remember how much I… how very deeply I…" He held his breath for a moment then blew it out, feeling like a fool under her owlish, watchful gaze. "I wish the very best for you, Mrs. Collins."

I love you, he said in his head. I adore you, and I can hardly bear the thought of the rest of my life without you.

"Colonel Fitzwilliam," Mrs. Collins said quietly, her voice tight, "I am most grateful for your help for my friend, but I am even more grateful for your… your good opinion. It means much to be… thought well of by a man I… respect and admire so very, very much. I, too, wish you all the best in your future endeavors."

She loves me, too, he realized. The sentiment was not in her words, but it was there in her eyes, in the way she gripped his hand as he raised her fingers to his mouth. She loves me.

His lips brushed lightly over her knuckles, and he watched her eyes close as a tremor moved through her. He knew in that moment, with a knowledge so certain it filled every inch of him, that if he pulled her into his arms right then, she would kiss him back as enthusiastically as Miss Bennet was kissing Darcy. He could see the passion in her face, the mixture of affection and desire that was already making it nearly impossible for them to remain apart.

He knew that the next time they met, their weakness for each other would only have increased. And what would happen then, when he gave into his impulses and attempted to seduce her? His body thrummed with hope for her acquiescence, and his heart yearned for the closeness, the companionship he could find with her, but his mind… his mind cried out at the possibility that she would prove strong enough to spurn him, that she would learn to despise him for his faithlessness.

She pulled her hand away at a sound from the hallway, her eyes downcast and her cheeks rosy.

Fitzwilliam spun toward Darcy and Miss Bennet, discovering them speaking in whispers, both still wrapped around each other with their faces only inches apart. The sight annoyed him deeply.

"Come, Darcy, you have accosted Miss Bennet enough for one night. Allow her to retire. You will see her tomorrow."

"And every day thereafter," Miss Bennet assured Darcy, gazing warmly up into his eyes.

He kissed her forehead, drawing in one more deep breath. "Sleep well, my love."

"Of course I shall not!" she cried, pretending offense. "Am I not supposed to lie awake all night now imagining our future?"

Darcy grinned at her, even as Fitzwilliam dragged him toward the door. "I would rather you sleep peacefully so that tomorrow we may discuss the future together as long as we wish."

"Stop!" Fitzwilliam cried. "I cannot bear anymore of this! You make me feel as if I have eaten an entire tray full of those marmalade tarts! Adieu, Miss Bennet. Goodnight, Mrs. Collins."

"Good evening, Colonel," Miss Bennet laughed, curtsying prettily. "Good evening, Mr. Darcy."

Mrs. Collins curtsied primly, her eyes still on the floor.

Fitzwilliam did not give Darcy time to offer his own farewell before dragging him protesting right out of the house. It took all the way until they had reached the carriage steps before Darcy awakened enough from his love-induced stupor to shove Fitzwilliam's hands from his sleeve and climb the carriage steps himself, grumbling.

"Stop fussing," Fitzwilliam griped as they driver pulled back out of the yard. "You will see your beloved tomorrow. Absence will only endear her to you."

"The last time we were parted, she was abducted."

"Darcy, stop being ridiculous. The danger is past. You cannot live your life always at her side."

"I can try," he mumbled.

Fitzwilliam groaned and leaned over, rubbing his face in his hands. Only a half-hour ago, he had felt refreshed, but already, he was exhausted again. He remained in that position for several minutes before Darcy finally spoke.

"I am being insufferable."

"Yes," Fitzwilliam replied through his hands. He hesitated for some time before adding, "But I suppose you have some right to it. I am truly happy for you, Darcy."

"Thank you. I shall need your support in dealing with our family. Their responses to Elizabeth's situation may require a great deal of patience."

"And liquor," Fitzwilliam quipped.

Darcy chuckled grimly. "Very possibly."

"I would not worry too much, old man," Fitzwilliam offered. "Andrew will moan and fuss, but he will support you. The moment he sees you and your bride-to-be together, he will be too shocked and impressed by the changes she has wrought in you to quibble about her lack of status. As for father…"

Darcy smirked. "The earl's bluster will be noisy but quite harmless. It is your mother whose response I can least predict and whose snub Elizabeth will feel most acutely if she decides against us."

"Yes," Fitzwilliam mused, "she is certainly unpredictable. I will do my best for you, but I make no promises."

"For a man who declared himself quite vehemently against our union only a few days ago, I am surprised that you have grown so accepting. I am grateful for your support, but I do not understand it."

"No more so do I," Fitzwilliam sighed. "Perhaps I am more of a romantic than I realized."

"You? A romantic?" Darcy laughed. "There are many appellations one could apply to you, Fitz, but I have never considered 'romantic' as one of them."

"Nor I, Darcy," Fitzwilliam answered, attempting to smile.

As they entered the front door at Rosings some minutes later, Evans was the first to greet them. Although Fitzwilliam suspected no one had offered the Rosings staff any explanations of the events of the previous ten days, it came as no surprise that Evans was quite relieved at seeing Darcy walk through the door. As Mrs. Collins had mentioned, they could not have been entirely blind.

Upon learning that Lady Catherine was in the drawing room, the two gentlemen shared an unenthusiastic glance and made their way into the overheated room. Their aunt had always insisted that the shared rooms at Rosings be kept overly warm for Anne's sake, and Fitzwilliam supposed it was now simply a habit for the staff despite there no longer being a need.

"Lady Catherine," Darcy began, cutting a respectful bow upon entering, "we are returned."

There was no answer from the shadowed form in Lady Catherine's customary chair.

"Lady Catherine?" Fitzwilliam repeated as he stepped closer, attempting to see her despite the fact that the only light in the room came from the fireplace behind her.

"I heard him," replied a gravelly voice. It was Lady Catherine's, but it sounded disused, as if she had not spoken for some time. "I simply wondered what he wished me to say in response."

"Aunt," Fitzwilliam scoffed, "you may not recall, but Darcy and Miss Bennet were abducted Thursday last. I would have thought that you, of all people, would be pleased to see he is returned."

"Why should his return matter to me? He is an ungrateful boy who has only ever tolerated me."

"Lady Catherine," Darcy began, moving forward as well and looking concerned, "while I have not always…"

"Do not pester me with platitudes and claims of affection you do not feel," she interrupted, leaning forward enough for them to see her face and infusing some strength into her voice. "My eyes have been opened to much these past days, not the least of which is that the people nearest me, those to whom I have shown the greatest generosity, all despise me."

"Anne's feelings regarding you should not be taken as indicative of everyone's," Fitzwilliam said quickly, before she could interrupt him.

"My daughter hates me," she said stiffly, as if she had been practicing saying the words without any emotion. "But she made it clear that although her feelings were the strongest, I am universally scorned and privately derided. Tell me she was wrong. Tell me that you love and honor me, that you do not roll your eyes behind my back and ignore my advice and advise my steward and staff to do so as well."

Neither gentleman could refute her claims, much to their shame.

"You are my nephews, but it is only because we are tied by blood that you tolerate me." Her energies seemed to wane then, and she leaned back into chair, her face disappearing into the shadows. "And, as my daughter so carefully pointed out, that is entirely my fault and no one else's."

"Lady Catherine," Darcy started, but his voice trailed away.

They were silent for several moments, but just as Fitzwilliam was about to make another attempt to offer comfort, a strange, contained mewling sound came from the shadowed chair.

"Anne… Anne… How could you leave me this way? Anne… Anne…"

Fitzwilliam and Darcy were both frozen in horror. The touch of a hand on each one's arm startled them.

"You gentlemen had best retire," Evans said, guiding them quietly from the room and closing the door to the parlor.

"But our aunt…"

"She has done this every night since Miss Anne went away," he explained, his pitying gaze on the closed doors. "No one can comfort her, and if she is not left alone, the grieving only winds higher and louder, flashing from self-recriminations to anger and back again in only a few moments. She will spend her sorrow in an hour or two, and then her maid will come and lead her to bed like a child."

"How horrid," Darcy said, his eyes haunted.

"We are for London tomorrow," Fitzwilliam said. "I will tell my father what has happened. Perhaps he can comfort her."

"She has always spoken of her brother with affection," Evans said, looking hopeful. "Thank you, sir. I have had a small supper sent to your rooms, as you requested."

The gentlemen thanked him and began making their way down the hallway, but their steps paused as the whimpering from the parlor shifted into a high, keening wail. Darcy swallowed deeply, his eyes wide. Fitzwilliam felt a chill run up his spine.

Had Lady Catherine brought this misery on herself? Probably. But for the first time in his life, Fitzwilliam realized that being responsible for one's own sorrows and deserving them might not be entirely the same thing. Could any human soul truly deserve such desolating misery?

By the time they reached their neighboring quarters in the guest wing, they could no longer hear anything but their own footsteps. They both stopped outside of their rooms.

"There is nothing we can do to help her," Darcy said blankly.

Fitzwilliam nodded. "She will always suffer this, but perhaps in time, that suffering will help her be the good person she always believed herself to be."

"Terrible pain can inspire change for the better," Darcy replied knowingly.

"Just so."

They bade one another goodnight, and Fitzwilliam breathed a sigh of relief as he entered his room, moving straight toward the steaming tray on the small side table. He felt guilty for it, but he could not help feeling even more relieved now than before that they would be away on the morrow too early to have to face Lady Catherine again.

As he collapsed into his bed a few minutes later, he found himself playing the past several days over and over again in his head. The story he had most feared would end unhappily had found the cleanest resolution of all. Darcy and Miss Bennet, despite their societal inequality and dangerous adventures, would be disgustingly happy together.

But all the other stories were bent. Smythe-Talmadge had most probably found his wife, but theirs would not be an easy forgiving on either side. Reg would live, but he had lost his love, his child, and his business. Lady Catherine remained financially solvent, but she had lost the only person she had ever truly loved, however poorly. Anne and her beloved were on their way to freedom and a new start, but she was a selfish, thoughtless child and he was at best incautious and unethical.

And what was the ending of his own story? He had successfully rescued Darcy and salvaged Miss Bennet's reputation, and he had done it all without sustaining any personal injury or financial setback. He had even finally, unbelievably, fallen in love. But no matter which way he turned, that love could destroy him. If he pursued Mrs. Collins, he had little doubt he would eventually have success, but what sort of man would that make him, and what sort of woman would that make her? And if he did not, to what might his loneliness drive him?

His story was the most bent of all, he realized as he drifted into sleep. He was the only one yet to make his choice, to choose his own ending, yet he was already miserable. How much worse would it be once he had decided?