Another month, another chapter.

My yard is now secure so I have the option of kicking the kids out to play when I want to get housework and writing done. Mmmmmmm writing.

Of course, now that we have felled the ugly and one dangerous tree in there, I also have to start searching the web for plantings. I see wonderful gardens around and think, "I want that!" but I really dislike gardening, so it will be mostly natives for me and a few hardy fruit varieties. Anyone who has a mature Lilly Pilly in the Sunshine Coast area that they want taken away please let me know.

Copyright © 2017 Felice B. This story, the author notes and comments are copyright protected and all rights are retained by the author. Any form of plagiarism or copyright infringement, for profit or otherwise, will be actioned.

This chapter goes out to a very special reader who has been with me since the early days, you know who you are. Please stay as positive as you can through treatment, I am thinking of you.

I know this author note is getting very long but my Beta love goes out to Lenniee, Skydreamer, Pimprenelle, Dr. Breifs Cat, and the ever stylish Miss Phryne Fisher.

Now, read, read, read. And review, review, review… Please…

"Dare we decline such an invitation?" Elizabeth asked. She tried to keep her irritation from seeping into her voice, but judging by the rigid set of her husband's shoulders, she was rightfully unconvinced of her success.

"You need not write the reply, I shall attend to it," her husband stated, and yet he put his pen down. The quill bore his intense scrutiny for a moment or two before he pushed to his feet, vacating his desk, and made his way over to the window.

Elizabeth reached across the expanse of mahogany, lifting up the missive he had summarised rather than read like the others.

An elegant feminine script met her eyes. At first glance the contents were all very commonplace; the details of a ball, a gracious request for their presence. Commonplace that is, except for a small postscript, written in an obviously different hand and cramped into the small space at the bottom.

She glanced at her husband's back before squinting at the close lines.

Darcy, we were friends once and could be so again if you would but allow bygones be bygones. I would apologise for the long ago incident but that would be accepting a level of responsibility at odds with the events. I shall say I regret what happened, that I would wish for your society and I urge you to accept our invitation. My sister is long married and in the final stages of her confinement, so you need not fear her presence at the ball. Please come. –A F Osbourne

Elizabeth bit her cheek. Moving slowly, she slipped the piece of paper back into its former position—or as near enough as she could approximate—then brushed her hands off on her skirts.

She could feel a blush forming as he turned from the window, but he did not seem to note anything amiss when he returned to his seat.

She watched him take a deep breath. He had his hands clasped firmly in front of him and he seemed to be bracing himself, as if she would forcibly extract a tooth were he to dare open his mouth. In light of the postscript, it would be a confidence rather than a tooth that would be torn from him, but nevertheless most unwillingly.

"The-Dixons-have-invited-us-to-dine-that-evening," she said in a rush, then frowned.

A smirk twitched at the corner of his mouth. "Loath as I am to deflate your enthusiasm, I would rather not accept the Dixons' invitation to dine." His eyes were no longer focused on her but clearly turned inward as he continued, "I do not object to the Dixons themselves, but it is almost certain some members of the Harris family will be in attendance, and with them I will not pretend a cordiality or even basic civility so opposed to my true antipathy."

She was expecting a haughty face to accompany this pronouncement but mostly her husband appeared sad, hurt even.

Elizabeth searched for something to say. Her stomach fluttered as she groped for words. The silence stretched as did her reality. Mr. Darcy, as the wounded party? The letter hinted as much with regards to the Osbournes, and his overall demeanour obliquely indicated something along a similar vein with the Harris family.

The villain become victim, but even within the walls of her own mind she knew she was being unfair. Mr. Darcy had been a near constant attendant throughout the Matlock ball and all events following. He had been genial with her friends when they came to call. He had expressed some trepidation about said company, but she could not fault his intent, even though his degree of concern for Georgiana would be deemed 'overprotective' by most.

In recent days the only fresh charge he had incurred was his rather insensitive statements regarding her reading material and that oafish comment he made about her book being restricted to the library.

But then, weighed against the whole sum of their short marriage… no, she could not find it within herself to feel sorry for him.

"What kind of girl is Mr. Osbourne's sister and what is the nature of your relationship with her?"

Her abrupt statement moved him to wide eyed shock but, surprisingly, not anger. Or perhaps that was not accurate. His jaw was working and his features had become flushed; he might not have reacted in anger, but he was battling with some strong emotion, she was sure.

When he spoke it was in a tone that was indisputably controlled but likewise not truly hostile. "I once counted Arthur Osbourne among my closest friends, that is until his sister set her sights on becoming mistress of Pemberley. She did not see morals—or even modesty at its most basic—to be an impediment to her goals."

Elizabeth's eyes narrowed, his conceit had put her back on familiar ground. "Did she gift you too many compliments? Or was it a matter of her incessant hovering driving away other prospective lovers?"

Her husband dragged a hand down his face wearily. "Miss Osbourne saw fit to breach my private chambers while I was a guest in her brother's house…. I feel compelled to add that I offered her no encouragement—explicit or implied—that could excuse such an action."

Elizabeth looked away, and swallowed around a lump in her throat.

"I would not cut a friend for the conduct of an adult sibling. But in this situation, when confronted with the scandalous behaviour of his sister, Mr. Osbourne was more incredulous at my unwillingness to oblige him in taking either of his unmarried sisters off his hands than at Miss Osbourne's gross invasion of my privacy."

"And the Harrises?"

"A less salacious, but more persistent matter." He sighed. "Apparently the Harris family deemed two dances with their daughter—even spaced a month apart—and one visit to the family box at the opera sufficient to signal an impending proposal, and attempted to impugn my honour when no such offer was forthcoming."

She nodded, not so much in agreement but to acknowledge that she was listening.

"Were the ladies so objectionable?"

Finally her husband emitted a growl that made her jump. "That is not the point! They sought to take away my autonomy in what was arguably one of the most important decisions of my life. I could forgive a man for trying to cut my purse a dozen times easier. There is always more money to be had, but a wife… a wife is the only one you shall have."

She had no notion of what to say, or if there was anything to be said. A number of stinging retorts crowded to the tip of her tongue. She suspected he had had women before, matrimonial status notwithstanding. And did he have no concept of the lack of autonomy women faced? Was it so very terrible to have independence in all other things but be imposed upon in the matter of a life partner? Her heart was racing and her mind was whirling apace.

For the second time in as many minutes she jumped when he spoke. "If you wish to pursue a closer acquaintance with the younger Mr. and Mrs. Dixon, might I suggest you invite them to share our box at the theatre? I am happy to extend the invitation to the elder Dixons, though I daresay only Mrs. Dixon will accept, and I am amenable to Miss Cochraine being a member of the party too and her parents to round things out. Should the Harrises make a fuss about not being included in the invitation, in light of the intimate party and limited seating, I cannot see anyone judging us poorly for it."

"Why go to so much trouble? Are the Dixons so influential?" she tested.

He gave a rueful laugh. "I noticed that you have always got on very well with Mrs. Dixon when she has come to call. And of the little contact I have had with Mr. Rupert Dixon, I have always found him to be a pleasant and interesting enough fellow."

This made Elizabeth blush. "I think a night at the theatre with the Dixons would be most pleasant, thank you."

His responding nod was perfunctory. Taking a fresh sheet of paper he scratched out a few lines with his quill, then dipped the pen again before signing with a flourish. His lips had curled again into a mildly satisfied smirk and the way his eyes glittered made her suspect there was some maliciousness contained in the missive.

Placing it to the side to dry, he then reached for another small stack of open letters. "We have a number of options for the 17th. My preference is to attend the musicale hosted by Lord and Lady Calvern, though I would not be adverse to Mrs. Whitechester's invitation to dine."

He slid the small hoard over to her and she began rifling through the invitations. A rather ostentatious sheet caught her eye.

"You will not consider the Murbers' at home? I would think, if you are so adverse to a real party we ought to retreat to the country and be done with it."

The pithy words were out of her mouth and beyond her ability to retract. She curled her fists, digging her fingernails into her palms. He might have some sort of sordid history with the Murbers, how was she to know? He had just confided in her, even if it had begun unwillingly, and she had rewarded him with insolence.

When she finally dared look at him she found an eyebrow raised, but the most eye-catching feature on his face was a sly smile.

"I cannot deny that Pemberley is my favourite place, but even I could come to hate it if I were confined there year in year out without reprieve. I do not object to extended stays in town, nor to socialising. But I do object to at homes. Their definition of success is to create a terrible crush where one can neither obtain refreshment nor escape the clutches of those they would hope to avoid. I liken the experience to wading through spoiled molasses."

He shook his head and a frown overtook his features. "And furthermore, Lord Murber is a complete rake, who likes the company of rakes, who in turn prefer the company of loose women. I would rather not rub up against Lord Murber's guests nor put you into such confined contact with them either."

Elizabeth felt suitably chastised, and was quiet through the remainder of their meeting. She did not dare dispute any of his choices, just bobbing her head minutely to indicate assent. She scrutinised her hands, the section of desk in front of her and the odd invitation her husband handed her. She did not look at him.

When she heard him get up she hoped it might finally be time to make her escape, but a peek through her lashes showed he was just retrieving more letters. His feet did not lead him back to his former seat though, instead he came to stand in front of her.

Feeling nearly as silly for her continued avoidance as she had for her verbal transgressions, she straightened her spine and brought her head up slowly, taking in his boots, lean legs and his relaxed poise propped against the desk. His face, however, was not so relaxed, but neither was it angry. If she were, on pain of death, forced to guess the emotion written on his countenance she would define it as primarily anxious with a dash of hopefulness.

Leaning forward, his hip lost contact with the desk as he handed her two sealed letters. All the invitations that had come before had already been opened, she thought, setting her teeth on her bottom lip. She ran her eyes over the direction of each, and occupied by her bewilderment seemed to miss all but snippets of what he was saying.

"...Business… hoped…sometime... remain here… would oblige..."

"Am I not permitted to read my correspondence in privacy? You cannot mean to insert yourself into all of my affairs, you must have more pressing matters to attend to," she said sharply.

His brows came down and his lips flattened. She quivered a little when she saw that telltale muscle in his jaw begin to twitch again.

"You deliberately misunderstand me. I did not say you must read your letters here, I only requested that you do."

"Oh," she said.

"I merely wish for your company, even if it is passive."

Her cheeks burned, but there was an equal amount of confusion to her embarrassment. She shook her head in an attempt to clear it.

"Very well," he said coldly.

"I had not… I was not… I might need to get a heavier shawl." And now she had trapped herself. She rolled her eyes at her own stupidity. Her husband did not catch the move, looking as he was at a nearby sofa rather than at her.

A glance to the door and then he was walking over to the sofa. Pushing it with limited success, her husband changed tack, pulling the heavy item closer to the fire. Elizabeth winced at the bunched state of the clearly expensive carpet, even more precious for being one of the few tasteful items she had noted in the home. But Mr. Darcy seemed supremely satisfied with himself.

He gestured to the sofa expansively. "You should be warm enough, but I shall ring for someone to fetch your shawl and some tea and biscuits besides, do you have a preference?"

"In biscuits?"

"Yes."

Now on her feet, halfway betwixt the sofa and the door, she considered him, wrinkling her nose. What could he mean by such a request? She had calls she ought to return, menus to plan and dozens upon dozens of invitations she must personally decline. She could not even bear to think of the great task of redecorating the townhouse, though she knew it was an embarrassment to the whole family. And he wanted her to… loll about like some pet? A creature without occupation beyond ornamentation!

Her belly was full of flames. "A man as wealthy as you ought to be able to afford the finest hounds for passive company, as you call it, and need not to resort to have a wife lounging around, reading while you work."

"I do have a fine kennel but none of my bitches can read."

Her gasp was deafening. His dimple disappeared, quickly followed by the rest of his smile, a smile that might have been described by some as playful. Mr. Darcy lifted his hands, keeping them open, palms facing outward.

"I appreciate that you must also have tasks, but you must read your letters sometime, why not read them here… with me?" His voice went gravelly at the last. He also reached down, curling a hand underneath her own, to tickle her palm with his fingertips. Her breath caught. When had he moved so close?

Intertwining his fingers with hers, he led her over to the sofa and ushered her to sit down before gently disengaging.

It seemed he was instantly back at his imposing desk, seated and deeply absorbed in his work. Whereas she gazed between the hand he had touched and the letters, her breathing still shallow, which must account for the strange lightheadedness she suffered.

The first letter was from her mother. Elizabeth winced before glancing at Darcy out of the corner of her eye. She counted her limited exposure to Mrs. Bennet one of the greatest benefits of her forced evictions from her family home, but this same lack of exposure went hand in hand with a lack of tolerance.

For all that the missive was sealed, what it contained was no great mystery. There would be deprecations of Elizabeth's character aplenty, followed by insincere apologies; for she would not have to scold if Elizabeth would but do her duty to her family. The prescribed duty was to bring a sister to town, Lydia most usually, 'for surely such a lively girl as dear Lydia could net a man at least as rich as your Mr. Darcy and likely with a title thrown into the pot'. Such utter idiocy was easily ignored. The entreaties to bring Jane to town were far more insidious.

Was Jane as disconsolate as Mrs. Bennet claimed? There was little evidence of it in the few short letters she had had from her eldest sister, though the very dispassionate way she described Mr. Bingley's leave taking—or lack thereof—might be more telling than any embellished expressions of woe. Had he returned to Netherfield?

Skimming the letter revealed it to be more drivel on the subject of Lydia coming to London; Elizabeth should have followed her first impulse and thrown it in the fire unopened. She gave a huff.

Her husband's head shot up. He regarded her for a moment, a slow lazy smile making its way onto his face, stopping just short of dimpling, and the expression seemed to hold when his attention returned to his work.

Putting the offensive letter down, she briefly wrapped one arm around her waist, pulled her shawl tight and tried to still the creeping sensation that had come over her. Positioned with a full view of her husband, she likewise had nowhere to hide.

The second letter boasted an equally familiar, and yet far more welcome, hand. It brought a smile to Elizabeth's face and a lightness to her heart as she broke the seal, a sensation that was not to last beyond the first line of Mary's missive.

Dear Sister,

Forgive me for dispensing with the polite preliminaries. I am to be married.

Elizabeth squinted at the page for some moments, her fingers resting against her lips, until assured that it was indeed not a trick of the light.

Fear not, the match, should it come to pass, has not been the result of any coercion or scandal, though there has been scandal aplenty since we made our engagement public. Rather than talking in riddles, let me begin from the beginning.

I need not ask if you remember Samuel Lucas, though you may wonder at my knowing of your association with him.

The summer following your much talked about defection from Longbourn, Mr. Lucas came to my attention. Unable to separate fact from fiction with regards to the many tales told about your departure, he appealed to me to know the truth of your absence. Not seeing what his connection was to the matter, I told him, in language none too gentle, to see to his own affairs.

He was persistent in his pursuit of the particulars and had determined that I was the best source of reliable and complete information. I understand that Jane had told him you had gone away to school, when he enquired why, all she said was "By coach."

Eventually I relented and shared with him some of the goings on at Longbourn. Over the course of the summer we became friends. I learnt how you often stole away to walk together when he was home from school and I returned to him some of the books he had lent you at your last meeting.

I learnt of his home life, under the yoke of Lady Lucas, and thus how much we had in common.

Friends we remained through subsequent summers, until we found ourselves to be more than friends.

We did not delude ourselves to think that there would not be opposition to our match, so decided to keep our understanding a secret until he was further along in his studies and in a position to support a wife.

The best-laid plans of mice and men… We had intended to wait a year more, but Lady Lucas was determined to see him married to a Miss Padstone—a guest of the Shaws—with her pretty face and very pretty dowry. I am not ashamed to admit I did fear that Lady Lucas would carry the day, despite Mr. L's frequent assurances to the contrary.

Lady Lucas is a devious creature; we should count ourselves lucky that mama does not have one tenth her guile. The pair were thrown together with such frequency and strategy that the talk around the neighbourhood began to almost accept the match as a foregone conclusion.

"Not bad news I hope?"

Elizabeth looked up. Against all expectations, she had forgotten her husband was in the room. Her hand resting on her rapidly beating heart. "I can hardly tell," she said honestly.

He made to get up, but she waved her hand, flapping the letter along with it. The inner page fell to the floor. Like rushing water, her husband slipped effortlessly around his desk and onto one knee to retrieve the page. He did not retreat after his act of chivalry, but upon surrendering the page, laid an impossibly warm hand on her knee.

His hand seemed to be burning a hole through her dress. She took a deep breath to gather her wits. What was the hand of a man—fully clothed—on her own equally encased leg? Nothing… especially in light of the intimacies they had shared. The hand seemed to burn hotter when she thought about their wedding night. But in the usual mode of such recollections, that night was quickly eclipsed by the acts that had followed.

She shrugged his hand off to the best of her ability, limited as she was by their positioning. Fortunately he seemed to take the hint, lifting the offending appendage. His face darkened momentarily but ere long was arranged back into an expression of earnest solicitude.

"My sister is to be married," she said when he had not moved, still looking at her in that sympathetic yet still expectant manner.

What passed over his features following her statement was even stranger. A flare of triumph smothered quickly by him running a weary hand over his face and then a resigned nod.

"When is the wedding?" he asked.

"I have not gotten that far yet."

"I suppose you will wish to attend."

She looked at him with her head cocked to the side. Could it be some sort of trap? "I expect I shall… but from what I have read so far, whether the wedding will in fact go ahead is in some doubt. In most circumstances I enjoy Mary's sequential writing style but in this instance I would rather her get to the point."

"Regarding Miss Bennet's engagement?"

Elizabeth jerked her head back. "No, her own."

He looked down, and their respective positions prevented her from reading his expression. When he got to his feet it was decidedly blank, and remained so when he resumed his business.

Not inclined to waste more energy trying to follow her husband's moods, she instead followed his good example and returned to her letter.

Mr. L found the idea of injuring his own reputation and that of Miss Padstone through his inaction unconscionable and acted to make our prior attachment known.

Papa was applied to first, once his consent—or indifference—was confirmed we presented our intentions to the rest of our families. Strange as it may seem, Mama was opposed to the match at first, citing our connection to the house of Darcy as a basis to look higher. Her enthusiasm only blossomed once she apprehended just how vehemently opposed Lady Lucas was to our match.

Heated words were exchanged while Papa laughed in the background and poor Sir William wrung his hands nearly clean off in distress.

Lady Lucas has declared her intention to disinherit Mr. L in favour of master James. A more stupid idea can hardly be conceived. Though the boy is not yet fourteen, he is a simpleton if I ever saw one.

Sir William—to whom the decision actually belongs—has of yet been silent.

Mama declares that without the means to support a wife the engagement must be ended. Papa is also silent.

The only male relative who has spoken up is Uncle Phillips, and what surprising things he had to say.

In a private audience with Mr. L and myself he claimed himself moved by our plight and proposed a mutually beneficial arrangement, should the worst happen and my intended lose his prospects.

Aunt Phillips, he said, resembles Mama in more than her love of gossip. Her inability to economise is something he has come to expect from his wife, but with a firm hand it has caused him little grief since the early days of their marriage, but nevertheless the propensity is still there. None of this was news to me, but I was curious how this related to myself and Mr. L.

Uncle purposed that he sponsor Mr. Lucas in the final year of his education and upon completion take him on as a clerk with the view to him eventually taking over the practice. Shocked, I said that if Uncle Phillips had tired of his profession, his business would probably fetch a handsome price.

He qualified that he was not done with the Law just yet, but that he worries about our aunt. It would seem he does not trust her to see to her own affairs in the event of his demise. If we were to take over the business we would also be charged with caring for and seeing to Aunt Phillips, an obligation both moral and legal.

His reasoning in trusting us over and above some sort of trustee was quite complimentary and has given us much to think about.

For myself…

A warmth spread through Elizabeth's entire body and she felt her eyes prickle with tears. There was a great satisfaction in someone recognising Mary's worth, two people actually. And an even greater satisfaction in seeing someone stand up to the combined threat of Lady Lucas and Mrs. Bennet, the dragons of her own childhood. Mary was not exceptionally clever, nor beautiful, and her kindness could be quite blunt, but she was a good person. The light feeling made her want to laugh out loud and babble like a child.

The feeling evaporated like water on hot sand when she realised she had no-one to share this revelation with. Divided from her sisters except by the written word, unsure where Cassandra was or when she might arrive and separated most cruelly from her beloved aunt and uncle by oceans, she felt utterly alone.

…I know that I do not have any great beauty, or intellect, or fortune to my credit. That Mr. L chose me is a miracle that will sustain my gratitude always. I have no intention of crying off, but I am not insensible of the potential cost of his choice and my holding him to that choice. I will be the most dedicated and loving wife that ever was, and even should the worst happen, make it my mission to ensure he does not regret his choice for even a single day.

When I have further news I shall write you.

Your Sister Always,

Mary Bennet.

Her eyes swam as the weight of the last weeks pressed upon her. As if drawn by a magnet, her eyes sought her husband once again, though she was looking less at him but at what he represented. In a country beleaguered by a protracted war even a mediocre heir like Samuel Lucas, with his small estate, gaggle of dependants and ties to trade, could still have his pick of ladies. What prospects and expectations had her husband had?

Lowering the letter slightly Elizabeth focused on Mr. Darcy's direction. A mere cursory glance would determine him to be once again dedicated to his task, his lips were puckered somewhat, his brow furrowed also. But it was his eyes that gave away his preoccupation. As she studied him, Elizabeth could see that they were not moving over the paper he stared at, instead they seemed far away.

Mary claimed she would spend the rest of her days diligently seeing to her husband's happiness. Had she done anything of the sort for Mr. Darcy? Certainly she had acquitted herself well in a social sense, but she could not deny avoiding his disdain had motivated her more than any idea of his happiness. She could also another sizeable share of her diligence to the burning desire to prove him wrong.

In private she had intentionally attempted to wound him with words on more than one occasion. She had recently denied him the succour of her body—easily substituted for a man of his status—but more damaging, her abstinence prevented him from attaining the one thing only she could provide… a legitimate heir.

He was handsome, rich and had not inconsiderable social standing. Why had he married her? And why had she never considered the question?

The scandal of their embrace, so damaging to her reputation, would have been but a small footnote in the story of his life. A season of whispering, if word of the incident reached town, and by the next winter he would be a celebrated bachelor once again, while she, and all her unmarried sisters, would have been ruined.

As her aunt had said, the worst he could have done was to walk away. Why had he taken her as his wife? Was he so bound by the unenforceable concept of honour? Why had he treated her so poorly in the beginning of a union that had been within his power to avoid?

She could not distract herself for long, the much more confronting questions clamoured to be heard. She reeled under their onslaught. She took deep breaths, trying to calm herself.

Elizabeth knew she had captured the attention of the other occupant of the room, her skin prickled with awareness. But once again she could not support the idea of meeting his eyes. Not yet. A final deep breath and then…

"You may come to me tonight."

And let the reviews rain down.

I promise I did not do this to be mean. It was just the natural break in the chapters. Please don't flame me!