A/N: Oh dear readers, I am sorry to have kept you waiting so long. I have no specific excuse. My house was just as crazy as usual, my kids got up to mischief, my husband didn't stop them and many dinners and loads of clean washing have been ruined.

Mostly this chapter was just more difficult to write. But I hope the length compensates for the delay. I have to credit the wonderful chat girls over at AHA for helping me with the details in this chapter, and a special chat chick (you know who you are) who helped me get rid of some of the more sneaky mistakes. Once again Lenniee, my amazing Beta, I could not do it without your tireless work!

If I have not said so already, then I'd to take this opportunity to state that although this work (Reluctantly Mrs. Darcy) is inspired by the timeless Jane Austen classic, the rights to this specific work are reserved to the author, and that any unauthorised reproduction or publishing of any part of content is prohibited.

Please don't forget to review, your support kept me going when my characters just refused to do what they were told and the scenes refused to let themselves be written.

Enjoy

…..

Dearest Cassandra,

The thought that I must henceforth refer to you as 'Your Grace' in public makes me laugh. It is absurd, and yet I am happy for you, and even more delighted in your luck in securing a match of affection for the dismal life I find in a marriage of duty. But you must also promise me again that you will not let your greater consequence alter you, just as I will not let my strained circumstances impinge upon my spirit.

I eagerly await your return to town. In the unfortunate position I find myself in, I need as many allies as I can garner.

Surprisingly I made one friend, perhaps two, this week.

The friendship I find myself sure of is that of my new sister, Miss Georgiana Darcy. She is as fair as her brother is dark, and shy where he is all haughtiness. But once you crack that self-conscious shell, she is a dear sweet girl with a gentle intelligence and underlying eagerness to please. Music is her true passion. For this alone you will like her, I am sure: the pair of you will spend hours discussing the best fingering methods for difficult concertos until I am so bored I could cry!

She also enjoys reading immensely, though her reading tastes have been rather tame up to this point; I shall remedy that. Yes, I can see us rubbing along very well while she is with us and I equally foresee myself mourning her loss greatly when she marries and naturally aways to her new home.

Georgiana, accompanied by the venerable Lady Matlock, were my first visitors to Darcy house. I was surprised to see them, since my husband had decreed we were to have no company until the third week of our honeymoon came to a close. Yes, he decreed, he did not consult or enquire, but laid down the law, as he is prone to do.

But I digress. Now back to Lady Matlock, she is not the second friend I speak of. Although the Countess liked me well enough, I suspect her impressive dignity would never invite a close friendship with one such as I. She has offered me her wary approval, but I remain sure it is on sufferance. I can surmise that she will closely watch my behaviour at the upcoming family dinner, for which I am to act as hostess, and at the various social engagements we have scheduled in the next weeks. Lady Matlock will determine whether I am asset or liability to the family, groom me accordingly, and whatever her personal opinions, will still push me to act to the benefit of all. Do you think me cynical, my dear friend? You would not if you had met her: she is formidable; she will use me, but I do not anticipate any gratuitous unkindness from her.

The same cannot be said of my husband's other aunt, Lady Catherine De Bourgh. She is a spectacular termagant who descended upon us this morning to make her sentiments on our marriage known.

How to describe the lady?... She has all the taste in dress of my mother, and now that I think on it, I imagine she is just as my mother would be, if a lack of breeding and financial resources had not forced Mama to be cunning, for Lady Catherine was all brash malice, expressed suddenly and loudly. My husband rushed to my rescue, carting the shrew off to the study. I could scarcely imagine Mr. Darcy as a knight-errant, but he carried out his commission admirably and promptly. I may even admit he looked quite dashing in his temper. See now… I do have a nice thing to say about him… once in a while.

Now who is this mysterious 'perhaps friend'? I hear you ask. I am also sure you are silently cursing my circuitous writing style. Well, I put great effort into making my letters entertaining, not like your drab dumps of information.

Anyway, back to the second friend… Lady Catherine had brought her daughter with her, Miss Anne De Bourgh. I found her to be a very pleasant person and detected a shimmering bubble of mischief under her prim demeanour that promised she had the potential of becoming a delightful companion, but here is where the plot thickened…

It turned out there had been a longstanding hope of an alliance betwixt herself and my own Mr. Darcy. On the one side I felt terrible for stealing her beau, and equally terrible that I had to marry him at all. On the other end of the scale, I was tempted to tell her not to mourn him, for living with Mr. Darcy three weeks has cemented in my mind that he is no prize (my what a bitter turn my letter has taken!) and that she ought to be grateful that I took the bullet intended for her.

Before I could even voice any apologies she cut me off sweetly, saying that although she liked her cousin Darcy, she never had any desire to marry him, not that he had ever deigned to ask. The purported engagement was a scheme of her mother's, aimed at getting Miss De Bourgh away to Pemberley as Mrs. Darcy, thus allowing Lady Catherine to continue to rule her Kent fiefdom known as 'Rosings' unchallenged.

Do you remember that affliction Peonie Prewett from school suffered? –Well, the other affliction beside that awful name of hers, that is –the wheezes?

Well, Miss De Bourgh has battled a similar condition since her late childhood. With her weakened state, she oft times found it easier to simply go along with her mother's delusions rather than muster the energy to contradict her. She is now under the treatment of a retired army surgeon who has done her ten times more good than all the fashionable physicians from town ever could. How did a sheltered country Lady procure the services of a grizzled surgeon fresh from the continent, I hear you ask? Well as they say, curiosity killed the cat, so I will satisfy yours…

Another Fitzwilliam cousin. The younger son of the Earl of Matlock is in service to her Majesty and is known to one and all as Colonel Fitzwilliam. We can assume that the many horrors he's seen on the continent have endowed him with sufficient grit to stand up to the redoubtable Lady Catherine, a feat he duly accomplished. Dismissing Anne's latest in a long line of quacks, he installed the surgeon –for want of a better term, as I daresay he is more knowledgeable than most garden variety doctors— in an estate cottage. The surgeon, a Mr. Peters, has since developed a thriving business, pushing the rather barbaric local doctor out of the village, and Miss De Bourgh is thriving equally.

I look forward to meeting the CoIonel, and likewise would have liked to pump my new cousin for more information on my new family at large, but alas it was not to be. My husband's tête-à-tête with his Aunt ended sooner and with less fanfare than I had anticipated. Lady Catherine left in high dudgeon dragging her reluctant but amused daughter with her. I doubt we shall see her again for some time, as I was given to understand Lady Catherine is not welcome in our home or presence until she renders an apology to me. I think she'd rather eat worms.

Hence I do not anticipate seeing Miss De Bourgh again for some time, as I cannot imagine her domineering mother would sanction a friendship between us. A pity, I sensed in her a kindred spirit. Thus ends the petty gossip section of this missive; I hope you enjoyed it.

Speaking of kindred spirits, the term could not be applied any more erroneously than to a couple such as my husband and I. And yet, at the end of his aunt's rather momentous visit, for a brief spell we were in accord.

I tell you Cassandra, it is truly a crime for such a handsome face to be allied to such an unpleasant man. But when he smiled yesterday, I found myself to be in much more charity with him. He had taken quite a significant stand against his aunt, and though I know it served the dual purpose of protecting the Darcy name, the fact cannot be denied that he defended me strenuously against his own flesh and blood.

Our surprising truce lasted through both the afternoon and our evening meal. He agreed with my request for Georgiana to return earlier than initially planned. She will now accompany the Fitzwilliams to Dinner but remain with us from Christmas eve. My relief at this allowance is immense.

A brief discussion of Georgiana carried us through the meal and yet, don't they say all good things must come to an end?

When we settled in the music room, the setting of many past uncomfortable silences, the conversation dried up like a bucket of water poured upon desert sand. I may have exerted myself to revive our former camaraderie, but my dear Husband has his own idea of how to spend an evening. He said, and I quote, "Perhaps you could take up the piano tonight so that I can assess your skill… You will find an extensive range of music in the gilded bookcase to the left; I believe the sheets from Georgiana's earlier years of learning can be found in the drawers at the bottom."

No 'please', no 'would you oblige me with a song?' Just a cold, emotionless demand that I perform for his scrutiny with an insult thrown in.

When my mouth opened in predictable outrage, he hastened to add, "Do not worry, you will have ample time and opportunity to practice once we relocate to Pemberley. I have ordered a small instrument to be placed in your private chambers. But this season at least, we will have to contrive a plausible excuse for you to demur."

What thoughtful contempt! I held my temper by the barest thread. I did not yell, but also did not correct him, for if I were to open my mouth for anything, it could have spewed forth a tirade worthy of his Aunt. After sitting for some minutes shivering with rage, I finally found sufficient composure to get up and leave. His parting shot was a puzzled enquiry of "Do you not play?" To which I replied, "I'd rather retire for the night."

That was nearly two hours ago. If the clock and my husband's past inclinations are anything to go by, I can sit secure in the knowledge that he will not come to me tonight. A wise decision, as I could not vouch for the safety of his person, particularly any dangly bits, if he dared venture into my company tonight.

Sitting at my desk I give a deep sigh every few minutes. Writing to you like this is nothing short of cathartic. Inside I am still the impertinent Miss you know and love, but I do get so exhausted walking on eggshells in this miserable house.

And yet you will never read this letter, all my disclosures most delicate will have to wait until I see you in person. You will get a bland boring missive that you would not credit to be mine were it not in my handwriting, while this true confession of my situation and feelings will be fed to the fire….

Elizabeth stood and slowly made her way over to the fireplace as if in a trance. Her deft ink stained fingers made a sizeable ball of the freshly written sheets before tossing them into the fire. She watched the crimson flames greedily devour the mutinous missive, a small scowl marring her features.

If White considered it odd that she was burning a letter she had laboured on for over an hour, she did not voice any scorn, a singular but welcome occurrence. Perhaps the maid merely sensed Elizabeth's dangerous mood, because this evening she was a tightly coiled spring, filled with tension ready to snap forth and lash out at anyone who threatened her composure.

Elizabeth's aunt had suggested she meet her husband halfway, but her only successes were in restraining her temper and sometimes she could not even manage that much. She spent so much time biting down on angry retorts, Elizabeth feared she would one day actually bite her tongue through and make herself a permanent mute, not just a selective one.

Returning to her escritoire, Elizabeth sealed the letter that would actually be dispatched to her friend, and began a list of tasks to accomplish in preparation for Christmas eve. It would be the first time she would entertain as hostess and her first event as Mrs. Darcy. She was suitably apprehensive but this was offset by her great determination. She was not a provincial simpleton and she would prove that in a manner more valid than mere words.

….

He looked up at the familiar façade of Darcy House, lit by six torches abutting the wide steps with another set of glowing lanterns placed on either side of the imposing ruby red front door. The framing plasterwork depicting various woodland creatures peeking through a forest of scalloped leaves was soothing in the shadows thrown by the flickering flames, unlike the rather poorly proportioned lions adorning his family's townhouse, which looked ridiculous by day and decidedly sinister by night. Though the interior of his cousin's house would generally be regarded as too 'grandiose' to inspire familiarity, it had always felt like a second home to him, behind Pemberley, and long behind his father's own London townhouse and even beneath the Matlock seat in Derbyshire.

Colonel Fitzwilliam had no real complaints with regards to his upbringing. His parents had fed, clothed and educated him, they had visited the nursery tolerably often and been generous in their praise of his accomplishments as they arose. He did receive a few thorough canings from his father, but they were well earned and he got away with a great deal more than he had been caught and punished for.

It was better than many children of his class received but less than others. One of the others who had garnered more from his parents was his own brother, James Theodore Fitzwilliam, or Lord Carbeck.

James had always been the apple of the Earl's eye and likewise first in his mother's affection. His preferment had extended to the pecuniary, being the older brother he was heir to the Earl's title and fortune, thus perfectly secure in his future. The young Lord also happened to possess a golden handsomeness, was polite, adept academically and equally proficient in sport pursuits. In short, everything one would hope for in the first son of the house. Where did his brother's position in life end and his personality begin? It was a question Richard Fitzwilliam had never been able to answer in his youth.

The resentment he had felt for his brother was a subtle thing, always lurking at the edges of their interactions but never explicitly expressed. There really hadn't been anything in the golden boy to hate, he was never unkind and the future dispensation of the estate was hardly his doing. But he had found his older sibling to be just too perfect, too secure, too well liked. It rankled the young cheeky boy, who though very smart, was perhaps intelligent in a more unconventional manner.

If they'd had it out one day, a physical altercation or a good shouting match, they would have undoubtedly had a better relationship. But although James never intentionally rebuffed his younger brother's friendship, Richard had been both wary of upsetting and of trusting him, hence he remained neither confident enough nor willing to bridge the gap.

Another barrier to a closer relationship with his blood brother had been his rather exclusionary friendship with the brother of his heart. He knew not how or when it had exactly happened, but as long as he could remember, Darcy had always been his best friend.

Whether it was a beneficial relationship was a matter of some debate. Young Darcy had a frightful temper and was not as experienced in controlling it as his older cousin. In the early years both boys were soundly rebuked when dissension deteriorated into tussles.

Likewise, Darcy stoically had taken his portion of the punishment –sometimes corporal— without complaint or recriminations when the pranks Richard had cajoled him into went wrong, or even worse when they went entirely right and the boys were discovered after the fact.

They were inseparable. Taking turns, they divided their time between Pemberley and Matlock, allowing only brief spells of separation, coming together again in town, where the precious duo insisted that the families' respective townhouses were too far apart. For a span their complaints would fall on deaf ears, but the pair devised to be so devilishly naughty and disruptive, their parents had eventually been forced to relent.

For the most part in both summers and winters it was Richard who was integrated into the Darcy household. In his mind it was another instance of the Earl's and Countess's parental indifference. Little did he know that a potential brother lost near to term and a subsequent early miscarriage had caused the doctors to declare his mother barren. A diagnosis that laid her exceedingly low for some time, but ever the aristocrats, the Matlocks had concealed their struggles, even from their own children.

At the lost possibility of future offspring, most would anticipate a greater cherishing of the existing progeny. By the time young Captain Richard Fitzwilliam learnt of his parents' reproductive woes he had sufficient experience with the aftermath of war to know that depression and logic were not close acquaintances. As a child, the perceived rejection had smarted and made him cleave to Darcy even more tightly.

His Aunt Darcy was ever the affectionate sort, lavishing the boys with hugs and kisses long after the age where they were appreciated. She had not been able to conceal her struggles from either of the boys under her care, and though in the earlier years the source of her bouts of frailty followed by periods of melancholy were unfathomable to both boys, they had brought her gifts, devised entertainments and just stayed close by. In being infinitely more frail and human than his own mother, he found it easier to love and treasure his aunt, and the feeling of actually being able to act to remedy her sadness supported a burgeoning self-confidence untarnished by his infallible brother.

Furthermore, this attitude was promoted by Uncle Darcy in frequent man-to-man talks he initiated with the impressionable boys. Uncle Darcy had frequently extolled the importance of respect and care in a marriage. "From respect grows love; a very different beast to infatuation. Infatuation is often a cruel mistress, harsher than indifference, but it can also be as a caterpillar, and with respect and affection it can unfurl into the butterfly of love," he would say. A heavy message to impart to boys years away from puberty, but like many things said by his Uncle Darcy, the message simmered in his maturing mind until he could understand it better and slot it in with the restrictions he would labour under with respect to finding a bride, as a poor second son.

But butterflies have such a short life span, and when Richard was sixteen and his cousin not yet fifteen Lady Anne Darcy slipped away. She left a precious bundle in the form of the angelic Georgiana Darcy but it was not enough. When she departed she took her husband with her, in spirit if not in body. After drifting listlessly along for seven more years Uncle Darcy followed his wife into the hereafter and surprisingly, in his will named Richard, on the cusp of a Captaincy, as co-guardian of the young Darcy girl. It was one of the proudest moments of his life.

His cousin Darcy and he had shared in life's joys but more importantly had been united in life's sorrows. The joint responsibility for Georgiana –a rather daunting task for two young bachelors— and their deep sorrow over the passing of Darcy's parents brought the pair even closer together, if such a thing was possible.

And now the brother of his heart, his closest confidante had gone and married, seemingly out of the blue. Even though Darcy had known he was bound in England –courtesy of his barely healed injury— no letter had arrived, or invitation to the wedding, and he also suspected Darcy had actively avoided him when he must have come to town to arrange the marriage settlement.

But Colonel Fitzwilliam had never been the hot headed one, he would hear his cousin out and not castigate him until he knew –even if he did not understand—the motives behind his subterfuge. He owed him that much trust at least, even if all evidence pointed towards him being accorded none.

Whatever the case, there was a new Mrs. Darcy now and things would never be the same, but if Darcy had found his true love, he would outwardly support him, if only to prove that the bridegroom's uncharacteristic reticence was completely unwarranted.

Swallowing his disappointment, again, as well as a ball of trepidation, he followed his immediate family through the door, handing his outerwear to Soames automatically while his eyes searched the foyer for the new addition to his treasured extended family.

The elaborate hairstyles and outfits of the ladies accompanying and preceding him concealed the view of the hostess that he knew would be standing next to his cousin. He surmised she was tiny, considering that he could see Darcy's head and upper torso, but nothing of her. He moved to the left, where the men of his party stood next to the ladies, nearly circling the newlyweds. Between the legs of his father and brother he glimpsed a tiny pair of feet clad in melon coloured slippers, remarkable only for their colour, as they exhibited no other adornment. A turn in positions, his brother shifting slightly sideways, allowed him to spy the sage green skirt of a gown. What he could see was just as simple and elegant as the slippers, denuded of the usual plethora of lace and bows. His eyes travelled up the dress, noting that the sheen of the gown was accented by a print in a stylised pattern of… flowers perhaps? The motif was variegated, switching between a shade of melon parallel to the slippers and a gently shimmering rose gold.

As Darcy made the introduction to Lady Carbeck –or Lady Cynthia as was— she turned. The pattern continued on the back of the dress, but although the depictions were uniform in shape and size, their disbursement seemed random and yet perfectly appropriate. His mind registered that they had the haphazard perfection of things of nature. And thinking of the sublime beauty of nature, the feminine curves the dress and pattern encased, they were light and pleasing enough to make a man's mouth go dry. A small hand, much smaller than young Georgiana's or even his mother's, reached out to touch Georgiana's arm in a rather familiar manner and then the lady's head, piled high with rich ebony curls, began to turn, as he saw his cousin gesture to Lord Matlock and then James.

The face that he could now observe was as far from what he expected as was possible. Was she beautiful? That answer would probably be in the eye of the beholder.

Her face was perhaps a touch too wide, her tiny pointed nose had a few partially faded freckles, the flash of teeth he saw were tolerable, he supposed, but the lips that closed to hide them were full and pouty; overall the daintiness of her bone structure and the harmonious combination of her features rendered her handsome enough.

That was until you reached those arresting dark eyes: large, widely spaced and dancing with amusement, they were the loveliest feature of her face. The magnificent eyes were framed by eyebrows that strangely flicked at the ends… She arched one such brow, cocked her head slightly and let the mischievous smile that had been hereto confined to her eyes, spread across her entire countenance…

Ah yes, when she smiled she was beautiful, exceptionally beautiful, but not in the fashionable way, and she certainly was in no way the pattern card of a bold seductress.

Quick thinking and cautious suspicion had formed a large part of his career for years, thus Colonel Fitzwilliam was excellent at reading people rapidly. Admittedly he was better with men than women, but even so he would eat his hat if the new Mrs. Darcy turned out to be the type to entrap a man through arts and allurements. Her countenance radiated light-hearted mischief, but not seduction or practised deceit.

He realised he had been staring and that it was long his turn to be introduced. The laughter in her eyes was like a mirror for his foibles. After a self-conscious cough he made a passable leg and stepped forward to take her hand.

Darcy, he noted, edged closer to place a hand upon her shoulder, two fingers on the neckline of her dress, the other two resting on bare flesh. Was his cousin jealous of this small act of gallantry or had marriage just made him a rather amorous fellow? The new Mrs. Darcy winced lightly at his touch, and as for Darcy himself, his face was unreadable. Something was off there…

Mrs. Darcy's warm voice broke into his reverie, inviting him into the drawing room. Before he could strike up much of a conversation with the new addition to his family, she was commandeered by his demanding sister-in-law who claimed to be in desperate need of Mrs. Darcy's opinion on some inanity or other. A ruse, judging by how much Lady Carbeck talked and how little she actually solicited her hostess's thoughts. As the young bride's face became unnaturally still, a subtle shift in her shoulders betrayed her growing irritation with his nattering in-law. The Colonel moved to defuse the situation. They would no doubt quarrel, he knew no-one who could get along with Lady Carbeck for any length of time unless they were a complete sycophant, but she apparently did not need rescuing. Extricating herself efficiently, she set a course for Lord Matlock, offering him a refill, and once said refill was dispensed, engaging him in conversation. The same cute little arching of the eyebrow flashed before she uttered some statement to his father coupled with a smirk. The Earl gave a large guffaw, quite an unrestrained response for his habitually stately father. And this time it was Darcy who winced and fixed his bride with a dark stare from his position on the loveseat beside Georgiana and opposite his mother.

He felt a presence beside him, and then a glass of brandy was shoved into his hand by his brother, Lord Carbeck, formerly the golden child, now the barely reformed rake. "A bit heavy before the evening has even started in earnest, don't you think?" quipped the Colonel, his glass in mild consternation.

"I would say that you are the one who is not thinking. Keep your eyes on your drink, and stop ogling our new cousin. Lest Darcy throw you out on your ear."

The Colonel's eyes narrowed, but he shrugged; he had unconsciously switched his gaze back to the girl. It was not lecherous –well not entirely. She was quite unaffectedly engaging, she drew attention without intention or discernible vanity, but he was also intrigued by the puzzle of the situation. Darcy was ill at ease but he didn't strike him as jealous. He did watch his bride closely, and the Colonel often caught Darcy's speculative eyes trying to burn a hole through him, but the bridegroom's searching gaze also crept over the older members of the party and even Georgiana. Surely an older married man, a matron and a girl fresh from the school room could have no sinister designs on Mrs. Darcy. His cousin even flicked Lady Cynthia –technically Lady Carbeck but he hated to grant her that family title even in his private thoughts— with frequent wary glances.

"What is your opinion of the girl?" queried the Colonel forcing his eyes away from the social tableau, considering instead a rather ugly painting over the mantelpiece with undue diligence.

"My opinion… of a woman I have just met and exchanged five perhaps six words with… is not yet formed," drawled Lord Carbeck, flicking an imaginary piece of lint from his sleeve, "But fortunately I have had a ready opinion supplied to me by our dear mother in advance. We are to like Mrs. Darcy, not too much of course, but accord the couple our support in public… or she will have our guts for garters."

"Those were her exact words? I can hardly credit Mother being so coarse."

"Not with you naturally; now that I have disappointed the family so greatly, I am treated to her rather uncouth idioms. As if I do not have enough of that from Lady Carbeck," his brother finished bitterly.

Colonel Fitzwilliam pressed his lips together to avoid a cat-like grin. Lady Carbeck was a harpy – or a dozen other words not fit for polite company. He was sorry to have met the woman, let alone bearing the cross of having her as a family member. But since the rather disastrous marriage, his brother had become a new and infinitely more likeable personage. Colonel Fitzwilliam conceded that he might be alone in that opinion, his parents certainly mourned James' former graceful tractability. The new Lord Carbeck was bitter to be sure, but his bitterness had sparked a caustic wit that the Colonel quite enjoyed. He also found his hereto 'perfect' brother engaging in vices he had formerly been aghast at made him more… approachable? In thirty years as brothers they had only become friends in the last five. It was a peculiar but welcome change.

"She is comely, but not what I would have expected Darce to go for," continued his brother breaking the thread of his thoughts.

"You know he hates that moniker."

A quick grin was his only reply.

"I thought he'd marry someone like the Winnsfield chit: tall, blonde, well bred… vacuous but beautiful, completely fashionable and completely boring."

The Colonel narrowed his eyes, his tone low. "You seem to know a great deal about Miss Winnsfield, despite the fact she did not come out until the second year of your marriage."

"Oh settle down brother, I encountered her a few times when I was hunting a very different quarry… her much older sister, truth be told. And before you start lecturing me, I will stipulate that the affair with the widowed Mrs. Brackton was passionate but short lived. It's been over for years. Please, do not quarrel with me over past mistakes, I get more than my quota of that from Mother. I am trying to set a standard of respectability for the sake of the children. Many of the rumours of late are pure fabrication, they only flourish because of my past indiscretions. I have been chaste for some time and will continue on this path for a while longer."

"You know it will do no good if you do not also force your wife into a higher standard of behaviour," replied the Colonel pragmatically.

"Noted. Why do you think she is here tonight? I have forbidden her access to certain unsavoury friends and curtailed her allowance, making payment dependant on continued good behaviour."

"Can you even do that?"

Lord Carbeck rubbed his hands over his eyes letting out a weary sigh, "I should not be able to, but I have an agreement with her younger brother, who is becoming increasingly embarrassed by her antics. She will not be permitted sanctuary there. He is not blind to what she is, but unlike his father, he does not make excuses for her moral shortcomings. I do not mean to be cruel or overbearing, but she cannot be allowed to continue to make those around her miserable. I care not for myself so much, but for the boys. I'll keep her in the country for the next twenty years if that's what it takes for her to behave, though I have little hope of true reform."

"Well, in answer to your earlier enquiry, Darcy has always placed a lot more stock on the compatibility of a potential bride than fashion, connections or beauty."

"What tripe!" retorted his brother, but did not elaborate further, as at that moment they were called into to dinner.

Colonel Fitzwilliam again had little opportunity to engage the new Mrs. Darcy in any light-hearted conversation. Though his placement towards her right, separated from the hostess by only one place, should have made some intercourse natural, Lord Carbeck was dominating her attention in a lightly flirtatious manner that had the host and the rest of the company fuming. Except perhaps Georgiana, who shifted on her seat in an agitated fashion, more fitting for a girl of five than fifteen.

It was not until halfway through the first remove that Mrs. Darcy escaped the pointed attentions, prettily insisting that he try a dish that was a firm favourite of hers. The willy vixen waited until Lord Carbeck was unavoidably occupied masticating the excessively chewy dish to rotate her head and ask Lord Matlock a question that progressed naturally to a light discussion that encompassed half the guests.

How old was the girl? He could scarcely imagine Darcy robbing a school room for a bride, but then again, neither could he have fathomed Darcy would choose for his wife a country Miss with naught but her charms to recommend her.

As to the host himself, Darcy said nothing beyond the very least of civilities. Instead, his eyes –and he dared venture his mind— were fixated on the happenings at the other end of the table. The observance was clearly not of the lovesick persuasion; rather, Darcy's eyes seemed to narrow each time she happened to laugh, and his expressions suggested the man measured and weighed each utterance from his wife. Was he mentally castigating her from Lord Carbeck's mischief? He hoped not. Had he been seated next to Darcy he may have given him a nudge, but the table had of course been arranged by precedence rather than ease of conversation.

By the time the third remove had been laid, it was plain to see Georgiana was flagging despite all the Christmas treats the table contained. Mrs. Darcy eyed the girl kindly, letting the conversation lapse into a lower frequency to accommodate a more prompt finish to the meal.

"So Darcy, when were you planning to share the details of this manufacturing venture I keep hearing about?" volleyed Lord Carbeck loudly into the tapering hush. Mrs. Darcy quickly concealed a scowl behind a look of genteel interest.

"There are not yet any concrete details to share. I have an idea of creating a model of small scale industry in the community, to keep the young men from following the siren's call to the factory towns. How to make such a venture, profitable or even viable, I can barely tell, but I do have some formative ideas," replied the host.

"Well do share, Darcy! Unless you would be giving away your trade secrets, that is."

Mrs. Darcy looked sharply at his Lord Carbeck, who for all the world looked like the cat who got the cream.

"Obviously transport of goods may be somewhat of a challenge. Not being convenient to a port, excessively large items will not be feasible, neither for bringing in the raw materials or transporting the completed goods." Here Darcy paused, and the pinched look that had marred his countenance thus far seemed to relax. "Ethical working conditions will be paramount to the operation: decent hours, decent wages and above all safety."

"I do think this conversation is a more appropriate accompaniment for brandy and cigars, wouldn't you agree ladies?" said Lady Carbeck, her voice heavily laden with fashionable ennui, though a satisfied smirk lifted the right corner of her mouth as she regarded the hostess of the evening, with a glint in her eye.

Only Richard heard the sharp hiss emitted by his father in answer to the inherent insult, or saw neat little teeth briefly latch onto Mrs. Darcy's full lower lip, her concerned eyes darting to Georgiana once more before she schooled her expression. Though her face was self-possessed again, she could not dim the burn of curiosity in her eyes. Georgiana smiled shyly at her sister, giving a silent assent, and Elizabeth's lips turned up at the corners slightly.

"Lady Matlock, what say you? Should we take part in this weighty discussion or make our way to the music room to wait for our menfolk?" asked Elizabeth deferentially.

By leaning forward very slightly the Countess directed a small nod of approval at Mrs. Darcy, but pursed her lips at encountering Lady Carbeck's petulant stare. "As ladies of rank, we have a responsibility to our tenants and the occupants of villages that came under our protection; we cannot discharge the responsibility if we cling to ignorance."

Lady Carbeck shrugged, but her tight jaw belied any attempt at insouciance.

Brushing aside the emotional undertones of her guests, Mrs. Darcy engaged in the topic with every appearance of eagerness. "The improved working conditions, though admirable, will surely affect your ability to turn a profit, will they not? Wouldn't it be rather easy for any competition to undercut you in order to put you out of operation before you become an established nuisance?" she asked, looking to her husband.

Colonel Fitzwilliam watched Darcy's eyes widen in surprise. "I thought as much myself. The solution may lie in producing something that requires a certain level of skill and artistry, that way we might be able to entice artisans with a better quality of life."

"But wouldn't that defeat the purpose? I thought you wished to support working class locals in staying in the area, not draw skilled others into the neighbourhood."

Darcy's reply to the challenge was prompt and measured. "I envisaged them training and supervising those deemed promising for the advanced tasks, but you must also appreciate that there are an equal or greater number of ancillary labourers required to allow the experts to dedicate themselves to their work. Packaging, preparing materials, keeping the workshop clean and maintaining equipment, for instance."

Rather than raising his ire, to all appearances the debate was soothing Darcy's prevalent agitation. Loosening his shoulders as he talked, Darcy drew one of the elaborate platters of cheeses closer, serving himself more than he had in the previous courses.

"Skilfully produced goods are often expensive goods, do you not worry about security when transporting them overland? With threats coming from either genuine brigands or disguised competition wanting to undercut you?" said the Colonel, moving from passive observer to participant.

"There are no guarantees when you move goods over water either. River barges are just as susceptible to illegal mischief, and in the ocean even the best ship can be sunk by nature's or man's fury." Lord Matlock confidently entered the conversation.

Lifting her chin in the air, Lady Carbeck huffed, "When have our duties toward the land ever entailed setting up dirty workshops?"

"The relationship between lords and serfs, land owners and tenants, has been evolving since its inception," declared Lady Matlock harshly before anyone else could gather the wit to interject.

"I agree," seconded Lord Matlock.

"Change is coming, or rather it is already here. There will come a time when our land will not be enough to sustain us. Pretending otherwise has the potential to render our class extinct," was Darcy's rather ominous reply.

All of those seated at the table seemed to think over Darcy's words with an uncharacteristic solemnity, except Lady Carbeck who narrowed her eyes. "And changing won't?"

"Pardon?" Darcy said, but Colonel Fitzwilliam had no doubt they were all thinking along similar lines.

"Will not radical change, like you suggest, make our class extinct as well?" Lady Carbeck visibly bristled. Richard thought it would behove his cousin not to forget that the Lady was nearly as elitist as she was mercenary. He caught his elder brother's expression and winced even before the Viscount began talking.

"I'm sure you would not care if your jewellery was paid for out of rents of business profits so long as it was sufficiently extravagant," he said with a feral smile, adding under his breath but loudly enough to be heard by all, "And suitably vulgar."

The Colonel's sister-in-law spluttered and turned red in the face. After snaring her matrimonial quarry, Lady Cynthia's trademark maidenly blushes were no more, but Lady Carbeck could certainly infuse some colour into her porcelain complexion if her temper were inflamed. A quick glance at his mother, quietly attending to the food on her plate, indicated her apparent disinterest in extinguishing the rapidly heating situation. As for the presiding hostess of the evening, she was watching the bubbling volcano with a politely curious expression, but the twinkle in her eyes suggested she was more amused than distressed by the turn the discourse had taken.

"I believe that if we continue to hold the best interests of our people at heart, no, our class and status will not be diminished," Darcy clarified.

The Colonel watched a sly smile overspread Mrs. Darcy's features and unaccountably felt his stomach drop.

"So people who are engaged in trade today are beneath you, and yet should you dabble in the same activities a year or five years from now, it does not diminish your status? I consider the point Lady Carbeck made to be valid: by current societal rules you could be leaving behind your class. And should they all adopt such diversification agendas, the class distinction is indeed threatened."

"You care to preserve our status so much?" said Darcy, his inflection scathing.

"Not particularly, no, but I abhor hypocrisy. If you actively engage in trade to make a profit, you are in trade, ergo not a true gentleman," Mrs. Darcy replied, her eyes deadlocked with those of her husband.

"But what if I do it for a higher purpose, for the betterment of the people in my community?"

"Do you suppose all tradesmen to be heartless money grubbing mercenaries? I know at least half a dozen who have altruistic goals or give generously to charity and I am sure there are more. It is also not unreasonable to surmise that most of them gather wealth for the purpose of supplying their children with a better life. Is that not a higher goal, the love of one's family? You associate with Mr. Bingley, a young man on the cusp of becoming a landed gentleman from just such an endeavour."

Darcy was gnashing his teeth… never a good sign, the Colonel knew.

"You seem to know a lot about how those in trade live, Mrs. Darcy. Pray do remind me, what was your maiden name again?" drawled Lady Carbeck.

'Well, according to my dear husband, they are the future." An arch smile accompanied Mrs. Darcy's statement, directed first at Lady Carbeck but lingering on Darcy.

To Colonel Fitzwilliam it seemed the crisis was averted till Lord Carbeck quickly spoke. "Come now, things were just getting interesting. Darcy do you truly think you can dabble in such things without having your judgement polluted?"

Colonel Fitzwilliam could recognise the blatant attempt to keep the argument going easily, for it did want for finesse. Yet Darcy, ever the hot headed fool, rose to the bait.

"If you had seen the revolting conditions these men, women and children work, presided over by foremen who are worse than beasts, all so that they can take home a wage of barely enough to fill their bellies, you would not speak so dismissively. If you had even a tenth of an idea of the suffering afoot you would not be so cavalier about my humble efforts."

Before the situation could escalate any further, Colonel Fitzwilliam quickly spoke over the beginning of his brother's no doubt incendiary retort. "Perhaps a compromise? If you give the profits to charity, Darcy, surely that would allow you to retain your current status, and publicly gifting said donations can bring attention to your project." Surprisingly for a man of war, he found himself quite deft at the art of peacekeeping, within his family at least. Mrs. Darcy appeared willing enough to give up the fight, if her wan smile was anything to go by.

"I will gladly give the proceeds to charity, or invest them into improving the infrastructure of the community, but I still assert my intention to diversify my holdings in the future. As a landed gentleman from a long line of landed gentry, I do not concede that making prudent financial decisions to meet a changing marketplace demeans me in any way." Darcy delivered his little speech calmly but the steel in his voice communicated his implacable determination on the issue.

"Just as I assert that to claim an association with those who currently earn their bread through trade does not demean me… Ladies, may I invite you to take some tea with me in the music room?" said Mrs. Darcy, her voice as sweet as spun sugar.

"Tea would be just the thing," replied Lord Carbeck to the invitation that had not been extended to him. He stood up and slapped his thighs before adding, "Mrs. Darcy, you will have to tell me all about your great friends in trade."

"Oh but Sir, I am no name dropper. You must learn to like or loathe me completely on my own merits."

Lord Carbeck threaded Mrs. Darcy's slim arm through his own. "Who could dislike a sweet little thing like you?"

"You'd be surprised." This was the last the Colonel heard as the linked pair and the rest of the ladies exited the room.

As Darcy made himself busy procuring drinks, Lord Matlock spoke up gruffly, "I think I better keep an eye on Lady Carbeck. She has been… difficult. I also must apologise for the behaviour of my son…"

But Darcy waved him off, and gracelessly tipped the drink he had prepared for his uncle into his own already generously filled roemer glass. Darcy also dismissed the waiting footmen, saying they could return to clean up later.

Colonel Fitzwilliam raised an eyebrow at his single of brandy.

"When you are married you can have triples, but until then, my need for strong liquor far eclipses yours," Darcy mumbled, moving along to sit opposite.

"Trouble in paradise already?" asked the Colonel in a light-hearted tone he did not feel.

"Sorry."

"I said, 'trouble in–"

"I heard you… I am sorry I didn't write," said Darcy, hanging his head and refusing to meet his eyes. "I tried to, I wanted to, but as the time neared I found I couldn't lie."

Seeing the shattered man before him twisted something deep in Colonel Fitzwilliam's chest, he strode around the table to haul his curiously boneless cousin to his feet and conveyed him to the study.

Darcy's rump had not even settled into the seat cushion before he began to expel the poison in a disjointed collection of words. The Colonel's earlier observations had aroused his suspicions, but nothing could have prepared him for the flood of his cousin's disclosures…

"All my care over the years, and snap goes the dragon," Darcy said bitterly. "Richard, it was so well planned! I had just ducked outdoors to escape Bingley's sister. Weeks in the house with that barnacle of a woman and I needed to get away from that ballroom in the same way I needed my next breath. I thought that no-one had seen me. I am still not sure how they did, but when I returned from my solitary walk in the windy dark gardens…. I can scarcely comprehend it… I had just reached for the handles of the French doors to return to the warmth and the ball. A little figure barrelled into me with incredible force. We went down in a tangle of fabric and limbs.

"Just through the doors, undoubtedly by design, were the chit's mother and aunt. The west parlour that I anticipated to be deserted, instead contained two of the worst gossips in the neighbourhood! But it gets better, oh curse me, it gets better." Darcy snickered as he shook his head. "I had landed upon the mystery girl, and in my haste to disentangle myself my cuff got caught in the sheer fabric of her bodice, and as I pulled away the damned thing tore right down the middle. Panicking beyond the use of reason, I grabbed the sections of her dress and tried to hold them together to prevent her bosoms from falling out. Then the vulgar mother starts wailing like I was murdering the girl. In rolls the cavalry: the local ranking gentleman, his gossiping wife and a various assortment of ladies and gentlemen tittering and hissing, though not a single one of them offered us any help. Then the girl chooses that moment to moan loudly. The sea of faces turn utterly aghast, because not only are both my hands clutching her breasts, but I'm settled lewdly between her legs."

Handing over his barely touched drink, the Colonel watched his beloved cousin knock it back in one swallow. Almost dropping the empty glass down onto the small table between them, before he continued his tale, in his eerie trance like state.

"They all start squawking, and I look down at her legs. In the position we're in, her skirts had ridden up, nearly to her knees. In that moment, with blinding clarity, I knew that I was done for."

Darcy then went eerily silent, one hand resting limply on his knee while the other rubbed circles on his chest as if he were suffering heartburn. The Colonel went and silently poured his cousin another drink, then shrugged. Tucking the half full bottle under his arm, he also snagged a second glass before shuffling back to the armchairs arrayed before the fire.

The Colonel nudged Darcy's foot with his own, leaving a scuff mark on the Spanish leather of his cousin's perfectly polished house pumps, earning a scowl but also his attention.

"I can see that it got beyond the point where you could plausibly claim an innocent accident, but I am surprised you followed it through to matrimony. If you thought the girl was a scheming mercenary, why not just let her stew in her own ruination? Your reputation could have taken the strain, even if word had spread to London. Things would have been back to business as usual next year or by the end of the season, even."

"She has four unmarried sisters, no brothers and a father who has made no provision for their futures. I will admit I considered leaving the whole damn lot of them to their fate, but I could not risk Georgiana."

"Georgiana?... What does this have to do with her?"

Darcy jerked and shifted in his seat, regarding his cousin with increasingly bleary eyes. "You cannot be that obtuse. Yes, my reputation might survive a little slap and tickle, but once it gets around that I spent my winter fondling country gentlewomen, you know the vultures would start digging. What if they track my movements back to Ramsgate? Or, heaven forbid, interview the staff there?

"I was taken in, but I did not fight the harness for the very best of reasons. I convinced the family to write it off as a passionate courtship gone too far. Naturally the mother was thrilled to lie, bald faced, to all her neighbours about me meeting Miss Elizabeth Bennet while she was in London, where we began courting, and that the little wench came running home to Hertfordshire to bring me up to scratch. I have never been more grateful for the general stupidity of the populace around Meryton. The fickle fools ate it up like Christmas goose."

Darcy sighed heavily, all the weariness of his situation expressed in a single exhalation. Colonel Fitzwilliam reached across the gap between chairs, nearly falling out of his own seat, to squeeze his cousin's arm in sympathy.

The Colonel spoke very slowly and carefully. "Having met the new Mrs. Darcy, she does not strike me as the cutthroat type. Are you sure it was not just an unfortunate accident?"

Without warning Darcy shook off his hand and violently hurled his glass into the fire. "Is this where you try to convince me that she is a paragon of virtue? That things have turned out for the best? Spare me your useless platitudes, Richard. At least with you let me drop the bedevilled disguise and tell you truly how much I despise my situation." Darcy snatched the nearly empty glass from the Colonel's hands and filled it nearly to the brim with the nearby bottle before settling back into his seat.

"Then what are you going to do? Romp around London like my esteemed brother? Throw away your family fortune at the gambling tables? Lock the girl in the country like a shameful dormouse because of a youthful mistake?" prompted the Colonel insistently.

"Do not presume to judge me," Darcy said darkly.

"She is comely enough, tempting even. Can you not find it in your heart to be grateful enough for that?"

A sharp hiss was emitted by Darcy and then the glass joined its brother in the flames, the thrown alcohol making them jump up and dance brightly. Darcy got to his feet and began pacing angrily.

"Tempting? Have you lost your mind? Even if she were as beautiful as Helen of Troy –which she is not— I would not throw over all my family and personal expectations for a pretty face. You know, she brings nothing to this match, a pathetic £50 a year during her father's life. The skinflints did not even provide her with wedding clothes! She comes from a family that is barely gentrified. Her mother's family is from trade, but more than that, the lot of them are utterly uncouth. And of the lady herself?... She is as cheeky as a street urchin and will make me the laughing stock of the Town. Comely, Ha!"

"And you, my cousin, are drunk. I suggest you retire to sleep it off. I will come and talk to you about this tomorrow when you are thinking more clearly," said the Colonel, in a calm and measured tone.

Darcy went to follow him to the door, but the colonel shook his head. "I'll make your excuses, blaming it on Lord Carbeck if I have to."

He stepped into the hallway to find Mrs. Darcy hastily backing away from the door. The Colonel quickly pulled the door shut before advancing toward the girl. For a brief moment she looked as though she would pick up her skirts and run, but she squared her petite shoulders and lifted her chin to him. Even in the dim light of the hallway he could see the tears shimmering in her large dark eyes.

"Georgiana was fading fast, so I wanted to ask if it would be permissible for her to retire before the company left, I know it is de rigueur, generally, but she is not even out yet… I just wanted to…" The girl was babbling. He wondered how much she had heard, certainly enough by the looks of things: she was trembling all over. He knew Darcy felt things keenly, but he could be such an arse!

She stumbled back when he took a step closer. "I must apologise…. For my brother's behaviour, for my cousin's as…"

She laughed unconvincingly, one perfect tear spilling forth and making a track down her cheek. "Whatever for? Isn't a good family quarrel as regular a Christmas tradition as pudding and presents? Or maybe that is only in the common uncouth families; the aristocracy must have higher standards."

If the tears were still flowing he would have offered her a handkerchief, but her tone had turned brittle, and he suspected that any further discussion at this junction would be futile. Still he could not help himself. "He is hurting, and did not mean it, I am sure. Give him time, Cousin. He can be a little rough around the edges, but he is a good man. The very best."

"Let me show you the way back to the music room Colonel, I believe Lady Carbeck said she would grace us with a song tonight," She said, cheerfully disregarding his comment. He allowed her retreat to formality and did not mention that he was no doubt more familiar with the passages of the house than she was herself.

Returning to the company, Colonel Fitzwilliam told Georgiana that Darcy had said it was fine for her to retire early. Lady Carbeck's warbling aria was received with more polite applause than it deserved, and Mrs. Darcy fended off Lord Carbeck's increasingly outrageous flirtation with a poise and grace beyond her years. Yet her eyes looked glassy.

Colonel Fitzwilliam once again considered the façade of Darcy house while the rest of his family members bundled their forms, bulky with winter outer wear, into the generous Matlock carriage. He would not have thought it possible but upon departure he felt even more melancholy than he had when he arrived.