The graveyard was the first thing Darcy saw as he exited from the coach. He wondered just how many of the men out there his Elizabeth had tended, and how many were avoiding the place because of her care. He had done quite a lot for the war effort on his own, but that was not personal. He had donated money and supplies. He had sponsored boys from Pemberley into the army or the navy. He had taken care of every Derbyshire man that came back broken. Sometimes those acts of kindness or patriotism managed to align with his other previous acts. Some of the disgraced women and children he had been supporting for years were happy to have a man about the house, even if he was not complete. He had done a lot, but had he done enough?

In the end, it did not matter. He could no more have gone off to fight leaving his estate to rack and ruin than he could fly, but it still bothered him that the love of his life had suffered through it because she had protected his sister. He hoped beyond all hope that she had not found another worthy man in the prior two years, and there was only one way to find out.

"Mr. Darcy!"

Elizabeth gasped in surprise, and just barely managed to perform a curtsey from long engrained but lately neglected habit. The surprise of seeing the actual in the flesh Fitzwilliam Darcy in her midst left her more flustered than she had been in some time. It was not quite as flustered as her first amputation, but a very close second.

"Miss Bennet… I realize you do not use that name anymore, but I cannot use another."

His bow was deep, slow and stately. He would have given less deference to Queen Charlotte or the Prince Regent, and it was obvious to Elizabeth.

He stepped forward to where only a pace separated them and decided that pressing his luck usually worked with Elizabeth, so he put out his hand for hers. Much to his pleasure, she gave him her hand and he lifted it to his lips, slowly and reverently, then kissed it without the slightest pretense at propriety while looking wide eyed at her face.

The smile Elizabeth gave him made his heart melt, and taught him to hope, as he had scarcely ever allowed himself to hope before. In fact, it made him the boldest he had ever been. He had allowed timidity, fear and caution allow her to slip away once before and was disinclined to let it happen again.

As always, pushing his luck seemed to be called for, so instead of releasing her hand like a gentleman should, he very gently tugged it towards him. It was only enough of a tug to indicate his desires, but light enough that she could shake it off without issue if she so chose. His heart nearly pounded from his chest when she closed the distance between them, wrapped her arms around his waist, and buried her face in his chest. He wrapped his arms around her shoulders, tilted his head down to lay beside hers, and said… well, to be honest, he had no idea what to say so opted for silence.

Several minutes or more must have gone by in contented silence, before Elizabeth finally turned her head to the side so she could talk without losing contact, and said, "Mr. Darcy, we have much more flexible ideas of decorum here on the continent, but I can assure you I have never done this before. You surprised me, Sir."

He whispered, "A surprise, but I hope not unwelcome, Elizabeth?"

She just shook her head, and said, "Never unwelcome."

They stood for a few more minutes in contented silence, until Elizabeth started feeling nervous and jittery. She released him, carefully stepped back and asked, "Tea?"

"Please"

The relief of having a simple and rote task to perform gave Elizabeth a few minutes to restore her composure.

"The army does not have the best tea, but I am accustomed to it. I hope you do not mind."

"Serve me mud-water and I will be content."

She giggled, and said, "No, not that. We only drink that in France."

The casual way she mentioned it showed him just how much experience and pain separated them, and he wanted so much to close the distance, but did not quite know how.

"How did you find me, Sir?"

Darcy laughed, and said, "My cousin told me about you. He was most impressed with you, though admitted it was partly fear. He asked me to set up an annuity for you."

"Your cousin?"

"Yes, Colonel Fitzwilliam."

"You are Cousin Will?"

"I am. Did you not notice that you addressed one of the letters to Clairmont House?"

Elizabeth looked embarrassed and said, "I… well, I remember I wrote one letter for him when I had been up for a night and a day, but he wanted so much for you to know he was alive. I am afraid the name never even registered. I saw your townhouse once but did not connect the name."

Darcy looked chagrined, and said, "You had forgotten me already?"

Elizabeth looked pained, "No… I…"

Wondering how to avoid the awkward moment, she got up to bring the tea and some biscuits.

She sat them down on a small table in the front parlor of the farmhouse they were using for the last of the men being treated. They awkwardly consumed a few minutes with the ceremony of taking tea, but at long last she spoke.

"I could never quite forget you, Mr. Darcy. I have tried, and sometimes succeeded for a time, but that is all."

"Nor I, you."

They sat for a few minutes, and Elizabeth finally began what she expected to be a painful conversation.

"Why are you here, Sir? You need not agree to your cousin's scheme. I am comfortably situated."

The idea that she might think he was just there to see to her living had never occurred to Darcy, so he gasped, scooted ahead in his chair and took her hands.

"No, no, no… That is just how Richard started. I am here to take you home."

Elizabeth looked down at the floor, carefully disentangled her hands, sat back to the very back of her chair, and said, "I am home, Sir."

"No, you are not. I want to take you to your home. Elizabeth, you have done wonderous and amazing things. I could not be prouder of you nor more impressed by you, but you have done your share. It is time to come home."

Elizabeth casually said, "I thank you for the sentiment Mr. Darcy. I do with all my heart, but I cannot return to Longbourn, nor can I explain why that is the case."

Darcy wanted to beat his fists into his head because he was making a complete muddle of the whole business. His Elizabeth tended to have that effect on him, so he decided he had better start making some sense.

"Elizabeth, please… I am making a complete muddle of this… You see… There are two things confusing the issue…"

He paused for a moment trying to reorder his scattered thoughts.

"The first is that, while you are welcome at Longbourn at any time, that is not your home."

Elizabeth's eyes scrunched in confusion and said, "Where is my home, Sir?"

"Pemberley"

Elizabeth looked completely startled once again, but then, with tears starting in her eyes, she said, "I appreciate the sentiment, but I cannot return to England."

Darcy said, "Please, Elizabeth. I know why you believe that, and though I am making a complete mess of this, I came here to tell you that is no longer true."

Elizabeth gasped, dug her nails into her palm, turned pale and stared at the ground, while her whole body started to shake.

Finally, she whispered, "She told you. She told you the truth."

In a complete panic, Darcy slid out of the chair onto the floor and took her hands in his. He was gratified and hopeful when she grasped his hands tightly, apparently without thought. He was also deeply shamed because she was staring to cry, and it was his fault. He had weeks to get his conversation straight and had made a complete mess of it.

"Sometimes Elizabeth, there is more than one truth. Will you allow me to tell you the truth?"

Elizabeth could not speak, so she just nodded and squeezed his hands tighter.

"My sister told me a true story. It was about the bravest woman she ever saw or heard of. This unknown woman saved her life, and then left her family to go on a perilous journey to a dangerous occupation just to protect all the people she loves. My sister of course has no idea who that woman is, but she is in awe of her, as am I. Georgiana and I are both humbled and eternally grateful."

Elizabeth was still crying, but the sentiment put a small smile on her face. She could not speak for a moment, but said, "So, now you understand."

Darcy said, "Not quite, but I am not as young as I once was. May we try a different posture."

He could have happily sat there on his knees all night but pushing his luck had never failed him before.

Elizabeth said, "Of course."

Darcy stood up, making a great deal of fuss in the process, but keeping her hands in his. Then he lifted her out of her seat, pulled her over, then on one smooth move sat down in his own chair and pulled her down on his lap.

She let out a squeak, followed by a giggle and a smile that melted his heart.

"I have another absolutely true story, if you are willing to hear it."

"Proceed at your leisure, Sir."

Now that he understood it, Darcy could see the basic conflict that his Elizabeth had been showing him every time they had ever met. She liked him but feared him. Loved him but wanted to protect him. She was happy and sad. Now was the time to resolve some of that confusion.

"Something you may or may not know is that gambling is endemic in England, particularly among the upper classes. Every day men, and the occasional woman, gamble away fortunes, jewelry, ships, estates, dowries, legacies… anything of value can be bet on anything from a roll of the dice to the outcome of a cockfight."

"Yes, I have seen that. I even see it in the lower classes."

"Well, there are some men who run out of money but just cannot abide to be out of the game, so they borrow on their luck… so called 'debts of honor'"

Elizabeth thought back to the notes in 'GW's' billfold, and just nodded for Fitzwilliam to get on with it.

"There are men who make a business of loaning to these men at enormous usury rates. It is another type of gambling, since quite a lot of the debts will never be honored, but they do make a business of it. This story is about one such man with the odd name of Miles Mileston. Apparently, his parents had a sense of humor."

Wondering where he was going with this rambling story, Elizabeth just cocked an eyebrow to get the story going again.

"Well, this Mr. Mileston preferred for his clients to make every possible effort to repay, so when one did not, he paid any number of men to 'collect'. Sometimes, these men would break a leg or some other such appendage. If that was not efficacious, he would pay another sort of man to kill them. The going rate for a killing was £40."

Elizabeth gasped at that. Though two years of war had inured her to pain and death, to put such a low value to a man's life was beyond the pale.

"One such man who took up this particular er… trade… was named Archibald Cook, who could claim more than two dozen such jobs completed."

Getting a sinking feeling, Elizabeth asked, "What does this have to do with me?"

"Not a thing. Not one single thing. This is just another absolutely true story that I think you may find interesting."

Elizabeth looked at him suspiciously, and said, "If you are here to woo, this seems an odd sort of proposal… presuming your quip about Pemberley was not some indication that you wanted to hire me as a housekeeper."

Darcy laughed uproariously, probably out of proportion to the humor of the joke, but then he thought of a legal term that he frequently saw in contracts. A clause would start out with 'for the avoidance of doubt…' and then go on to explain in some detail what the clause meant in unmistakable terms, so he simply wrapped his hand behind Elizabeth's head, reached down very slowly and carefully and kissed her very gently. It was a first real kiss for either and it left them both breathless.

Elizabeth's mind was in such confusion and turmoil she could hardly think, but her primary thought is that she might well be willing to face the hangman for more of that.

Finally, her thoughts cleared, and she said, "Are you going to continue this fascinating tale, Sir?"

Somewhat flustered himself, Darcy continued.

"A month ago, I happened to be visiting Ramsgate, and I became aware of a report of the demise of a man I played with as a boy. His name was George Wickham, and he appeared to have come to some harm. His father was my father's steward at Pemberley, so in honor of his father I initiated an investigation into his demise. It turns out he was a degenerate gambler. He had somehow borrowed money from Mr. Mileston, some debts that he could not repay. Mr. Cook, under instruction killed the bounder two summers ago, tossed his body into the ocean, and collected his £40. It turns out when a man is set for a date with the hangman, sometimes they want to clear their conscience. He confessed to killing the man and collecting his money, and Mr. Mileston verifies that he paid it out. Of course, both were hanged, and the Assize has managed to check one more unsolved crime off their list."

Elizabeth sat in stunned disbelief, while Darcy tried his best not to look smug. It turned out his best was not all that good, but he did try, and she gave him credit for that.

"So, this man… this scoundrel… this George Wickham is supposedly dead at the hand of Mr. Cook?"

"Yes… That is the absolute truth, signed, witnessed and thoroughly documented. English Law is completely satisfied."

Elizabeth nodded a few times, and unable to say anything, started a few times to ask 'How' but Darcy simply put his finger on her lips to silence her.

She tried a few times, and finally tried a different tack.

"Have you any other truths to tell me Mr. Darcy?"

Darcy chuckled, and said, "Remember when I offered to help out the young lady, we mentioned on that day back in Meryton. I mentioned that I occasionally indulged in such a pastime?"

"Yes"

"Well, I have expanded the program while you were away. It turns out that there are quite a lot of war widows, which should not surprise you in the least."

"It does not."

"Well, I have set about trying to develop good situations for them. There are quite a lively lot. There are Mrs. Buxton, Mrs. Books, Mrs. Brunton, Mrs. Cany, Mrs. Cooper, Mrs. Cook, Mrs…"

"Wait… Mrs. Cook?"

"Yes"

"A war widow, you say?"

"Well… a widow anyway. It seems her husband had an unfortunate occupation, that ended in a dispute with a rope, and since he had a connection with my former childhood friend, well… Let us see… then we have Mrs. Cranston…"

Elizabeth looked at the man carefully, held her hand for silence. Then she asked with some trepidation, "Fitzwilliam, let us just say that Mr. Cook collected his £40. I can assure you that he did not earn his money 'honestly' because …"

Darcy silenced her with a finger on her lips, just to see if it would work, perfectly prepared to use his own lips if it was inadequate.

She stared at him and said, "We are alone here William. I would have the truth? We need not ever speak of it again, but I would know."

Sighing in resignation, Darcy looked at her carefully, and began.

"Truth is not always truth, Elizabeth… Let me tell you story that is a truth, but not the truth."

"All right."

"You are aware that there are seven classes of English society, from royalty in the first to criminals, vagrants and paupers in the seventh?"

"Of course."

"Elizabeth, we were both born into the second class. I was born a gentleman and you a gentleman's daughter. We were born equal; would you not agree? "

"Perhaps."

"Well, let us just hypothetically say that a gentleman's daughter killed a man with a walking stick and dumped him in the ocean. This might be a truth, even though it is not the truth. She would descend from the second class to the seventh were she ever discovered."

"Yes, she would be a criminal… for a few days."

"Now, let us also suppose a gentleman found a scoundrel bound for the gallows, and offered to support his wife and children for their lives in exchange for a believable declaration of yet one more death added to his reckoning. Would that man not then descend to the seventh class for obstructing justice, thus making him equal with this hypothetical gentleman's daughter once again?"

Elizabeth stared at him in wonder, and finally asked, "You did that for m…"

Darcy did not want the words spoken aloud. Words spoken aloud gathered some currency in the mind, so he shut her up by the usual method.

Some few minutes later, she said, "So it is true? I am safe? I can come home? Will I have a reputation left?"

Darcy chuckled, and said, "Oh, yes, you will have a reputation. Your father was quite brilliant about disbursing your story so everyone in Meryton is convinced you went to tend a sick relative. When we found out what you had really been doing, he went back to work and now it appears everyone in Meryton has known for years that you are a war hero to be feted and celebrated."

Elizabeth said, "What? How?"

Darcy just chuckled, and said, "I do not pretend to understand. It just is. You will have to ask your father if you are curious."

Elizabeth laughed, and said, "So, are there any more truths I should know about, Fitzwilliam?"

Darcy laughed, and said, "Well, perhaps some clarification. I do not intend for you to be my housekeeper."

"Upstairs Maid?"

Darcy just laughed heartily, and said, "Let us dispense with all doubt, Elizabeth. Your home is Pemberley. Your position is its mistress. Your fate is to hold my heart in your hands until death us do part. I love you and have loved you since time began. Now either agree to be my wife, or I will kiss you again and ask again and repeat until I wear you down."

Elizabeth laughed heartily, her very first true laugh in longer than she could remember and kissed him soundly just to remove any doubt, then said, "I always did assert that you were implacably stubborn."

They kissed for a few more minutes, then Elizabeth jumped up, and said, "Come with me."

She grabbed his hand and dragged him down the stairs to a room on the ground floor. There he found three men at their rest, playing a hand of whist. Elizabeth pointed to two of them and said, "Fitzwilliam, these are the O'Malley brothers. They need to return to Ireland, and there is some possibility they will owe a few hundred pounds to their laird. Can you accommodate them?"

Darcy laughed, and said, "Of course!"

All the noise had brought in a lady of around forty years, who said, "What is all this fuss, Miss Lizzy?"

Elizabeth laughed, and said, "Mrs. Small, this is my betrothed, Mr. Darcy."

Mrs. Small looked Darcy up and down a few times, and said, "Are you sure? He does not look like much."

"He is tolerable."

Mrs. Small said, "Well, if you say so."

"I do say so. Now, will you be all right. You will be the last here except for Mr. Oliver. You would solve a lot of problems if you would just accept one of his proposals."

"Oh, you girl! You know I have just been waiting for the rest of the young ones to be settled."

Elizabeth laughed, and said, "Well, that is easily done. Mr. Oliver, will you do the honors? In English, if you please."

Darcy wondered what 'the honors' amounted to and watched curiously as Mrs. Small helped Mr. Oliver to his feet. The man was about Mrs. Small's age and missing one leg and two fingers from his left hand. He stood in front of the two.

"English? Are you certain, Miss Lizzy? Would it not be much better in French? Vous parlez bien français."

"Non, anglais s'il vous plait?"

"Español?"

"No, ingles por favor "

"Português?"

Elizabeth just looked at him in exasperation, shook her finger at him and huffed a bit.

The man grumbled, and said, "All right, please take her hand. You have the ring?"

Darcy just looked confused and said, "Ring?"

The man just shook his head in exasperation, dug around in his pockets for several minutes, and produced a ring that looked like it cost a farthing a decade ago and handed it to Darcy.

"All right, let us begin. Dearly beloved…"

As a young girl, Elizabeth Bennet, like most girls who came before her had dreamed of her wedding night with stars in her eyes. In the end, she was astounded at how much her actual wedding night matched up with her dreams. Just as in her wildest dreams she married a handsome and stubborn man in front of a one‑legged chaplain. Exactly as in her dream, she experienced the first night of wedded bliss in a narrow cot, on the first floor of an abandoned farmhouse, next to a huge graveyard, three miles from the last battle of the Napoleonic Wars.

It was perfect!

~~ Finis ~~