Mr. Darcy looked up from his letter. "Fitzwilliam writes that in two weeks time he is off to Portugal."

"To the war?" asked Georgiana.

"Yes. He says he is being given command of a regiment, the 106th Regiment of Foot; a new regiment raised, according to him, in the slums of London, and known as the St. Pancras Regiment. He says that he does not know if they will scare the French, but they certainly scare him. I am of a mind to go to town to see him off. Would you like to come?"

"I thought you weren't going to take part in the season this year" said Georgiana.

"I am not going to. We will visit with Fitzwilliam, dine with him, and see him off in style. After he is gone, we will take in a concert or two then we will head back here. If you are particularly good, you might be allowed a day of shopping." He shook his finger at her "Particularly good. As far as the season goes, it can go on without me. I will not be attending any balls, dinners or soirées; not this year."

Georgiana laughed and stood up. "I will let Mrs. Reynolds know. Shall we plan to leave at seven tomorrow morning?"

Four and a half days later found Mr. Darcy and Col. Fitzwilliam enjoying a fine contraband brandy in the former's study.

"Why now? Why this particular regiment?" asked Mr. Darcy.

Col. Fitzwilliam shrugged. "It's the best way for me to get back into action – if I keep waiting around for an appointment to a better regiment the war will be over before I get a chance. Nobody else wanted to take the St. Panks on; they're such a bunch of misfits, but I think I can make something out of them."

"Are you in such a hurry to get killed?"

"It's part of being a soldier. Soldiers are safe in barracks but that's not what soldiers are for. Besides a colonel is probably safer standing behind his men in a battle, you know they don't let us lead from the front anymore, than walking around most of London after dark."

"When can we expect you back?"

"Subject to the whims of the panjandrums at Horse Guards, I'm gone until it ends, one way or the other."

"Meaning?"

"Either the war comes to an end or I do."

Mr. Darcy raised his glass. "In that case, I propose a toast: To the St. Pancras Regiment, may they serve with honour and success and bring their colonel home safe."

Col. Fitzwilliam raised his glass and clinked it with Mr. Darcy's. "To the regiment." They drained their glasses.

The two cousins, in a vain attempt to avoid being maudlin, reminisced about happier times. And, as they drank while they talked, as the evening drew to a close, they were well and truly foxed. Col. Fitzwilliam, by virtue of his open nature, and his long experience in boozy officers' messes, was able to maintain more control over his intellect while being well-liquored than his more closed and inexperienced cousin. This allowed him to interrogate Mr. Darcy in a most productive and revelatory way.

"So, when are you going to start looking for Elizabeth Bennet?" asked Col. Fitzwilliam

"Why would I look for her? She's not lost. I've just misplaced her." said Mr. Darcy. He pointed his index finger at his cousin, but he could not keep it steady, so it traced a small wobbly circle in front of Col. Fitzwilliam's face. "Wait a minute, I'm looking for someone like Elizabeth Bennet. Not her at all, I'm looking for someone better than her. Miss Collins-Bennet. Someone who'll like me."

Col. Fitzwilliam pushed Mr. Darcy's hand down. "Because you're rich."

"And good looking too. Don't forget how handsome I am."

"Very proud as well."

Mr. Darcy shook his finger at Col. Fitzwilliam. "Pride under good regulation is no sin, no sin at all. I told that to Elizabeth. But she wouldn't listen to me; no, she'd listen to that snake, Wickham, but not to me. She's prejudiced against me."

"Because you insulted her. You'd better apologize to her when you find her. Slather it on thick, you can never apologize too much to women." Here Col. Fitzwilliam pointed his finger at Mr. Darcy, somewhat steadier than his cousin, "but they never forgive you, they say they do, you can apologize from here until Prinny repays his debts, but women never forgive you."

Mr. Darcy pushed Col. Fitzwilliam's hand down, to which the colonel took offence, and the two started to bat at each others hands with about as much effect as two kittens play-boxing. The exercise exhausted them to the point where they each needed another drink to revive their conversation.

"What would I do when I find her?" asked Mr. Darcy. "I'd be like the dog that chases the mail coach and catches it. What does he do then? It's not like she'll marry me." Mr. Darcy thought about pointing at Col. Fitzwilliam to punctuate his point but, given their last contretemps, did not do so. "You said she wouldn't listen to me."

"I said she wouldn't forgive you. She'll listen to you, and if you ply her with some of my charm, and not your, whatever you call it, taciturnity I suppose, she might even marry you. But she'll won't forgive you, fifty years into your marriage she'll still be rubbing your nose in that word 'tolerable'."

"She won't have a chance; I'm going to find someone better than her, nicer than her."

"Mother is going to help you."

"You told Aunt Martha? Does the whole ton know of my quest?" asked Mr. Darcy, with more than a trace of pique.

"Relax. When my mother wants to be, she can be the soul of discretion. I told her all about Elizabeth Bennet but …"

"But what?"

"But she wants to meet her. Apparently, my description was not sufficient unto the day. "

"Well, that's not going to happen. If I can't find Elizabeth, your mother won't be able to either."

"But you're not looking for her."

"My point exactly. I'm not looking for anyone this season."

"But next year you're going to look for Elizabeth Bennet and when you find her …"

"I'll jump off that bridge then."

On that ambiguous note the drunken conversation petered out, the brandy decanter, and the two bottles that succeeded it, having been emptied. And then Mr. Darcy's butler, valet and two footmen were finally able to steer the inebriated cousins to their respective beds.

The next morning Georgiana took her very hung-over brother along with her to Fortnum & Mason, where she bought two crates worth of tea, coffee beans, sugar, dried fruit, hard candy, spices and preserves to supplement the salt beef and hardtack she supposed Col. Fitzwilliam would be subsisting on in Portugal. The colonel they left at Darcy House to sleep off his hang over.

When they sobered up neither man remembered the particulars and revelations of the previous night's intimate rout.