A/N: A foreboding of things to come in this chapter I'm afraid, and though Etar I'm glad you like Lady Elizbeth Hartfield and find her charming, she's still capable of making some huge mistakes. Enjoy!

Part 10- 'The casting of long shadows…'

Not one left the dinner with any modicum of satisfaction, save perhaps Mr Hurst who only ever required an overflowing decanter of wine to remain content. For the rest, there was little to offer in the way of comfort.

The Netherfield lot's drive home was most telling, Darcy chose to stare sullenly out of the window, Bingley hardly knew where to look, and was only aware of the acute embarrassment of his close friend and the extent to which he had missed Miss Jane Bennet's company. Even Caroline, who ordinarily would have found much mirth to be had in Darcy's exposure, sighed and huffed instead, the evening, had not ended to her satisfaction, as no pleasant agreement had been reached with Sir Richard. Apparently the gentleman needed further convincing, he had been far too occupied with attending to and failing to make amends with Lady Hartfield. She had stoically ignored him despite his best efforts.

But perhaps the most alarming outcome of the evening was Georgiana's more than usual stern silence. Her colour never returned, she had looked pallid the whole evening, and though she had adhered to Lord Chaston's assertions that she would play the instrument for him, she did so with no apparent enjoyment. As he sat next to her turning the pages, her fingers moved mechanically over the keys, but her playing though accomplished suffered from a distinct lack of conviction.

As Lizzy watched, she noted with growing concern that it appeared Darcy's presence close to the instrument, in a position that allowed him in full hearing view of what Lord Chaston could possibly have to say to his sister, was as unwelcome to Georgiana as Lord Chaston's attention, nay, perhaps even more so. Darcy could not see it, or did not choose to; in his mind's eye he was merely watching over his younger sibling.

His sullenness now as he sat in the carriage, stretched to the extent that he was oblivious to the fact his sister had chosen not to climb in after him but instead had taken the second one in the company of Mrs Hurst and her inebriated husband. It did not occur to Darcy that his sister's once infallible opinion of him had shifted.

Lizzy sat at her dressing room table, staring at her reflection in the mirror. Her head hurt, the dinner could not have been worse, it was too long since she had enjoyed a quiet evening, had there ever been a quiet evening? Yes, home sat at the feet of her dear father, he absorbed in his book and she devoutly adhering to hers. She had never found it difficult to sit quietly and concentrate, certainly not when Mr Bennet was in his chair, and his deep, gentle breathing being the only sound along with the turning of pages to fill the room. It was a reassuring sound, one that she had revelled in, a reminder of his comforting presence. This quiet scene of perpetual bliss always played out in the library, Lizzy's mother and sisters were too fond of conversation to tolerate an educated silence for very long, so it had always been just Lizzy and her father.

How she longed to be that little girl once more, curled up at the feet of Mr Bennet, far away from the Lord Hartfield's, the Sir Richard's and even the Mr Darcy's whose affection she had done little to encourage and whose good opinion she knew she did not deserve.

She was still sat with her head hidden in her hands when Lord Hartfield chose to make his appearance; he entered through the door connecting their rooms. He never knocked, always choosing to burst in on her. And as always her heart skipped a beat and she shivered in awful anticipation. He came and stood behind her, after looking at her reflection in the mirror for a second he took his hand and ran it alongside her face, before placing both hands heavily on either side of her shoulders.

Exerting the slightest pressure, he prompted her to stand which she did. He directed her away from the table and to the centre of the room, keeping her back to him all the while. He sighed deeply as he began to work the buttons on the back of her gown; Lizzy stood stock still with her hands held tight in front of her. Having loosened the dress enough to roll it down over the tops of her shoulders, he kissed the bare flesh, nuzzling gently and moving his way up to the base of her neck.

She worked hard not to shirk away from his touch, and allow the workings of his tenderness to follow their course. He stopped after a while, and placed his mouth close to her ear, so that every breath was a rush of warm air across her cheek. She could smell the wine on his breath.

'Was he very disappointed…? That you had removed the bandages or rather that I had…?' He whispered, and as Lizzy turned slightly to catch his eye, she knew her next words would mean everything.

In a voice as steady as she could master, she did not dare look away as she answered, 'I would not know my Lord, surely it does not much signify…' Did not signify, however much it would cost her, was costing her, Lord Hartfield could not perceive Darcy as a threat. So it could not and would not signify, Darcy did not signify.

He smiled slightly and turned his attentions to her hair, burying his face deep within her curls before proceeding to remove the pins and ribbons holding the whole look together. He worked deftly and with remarkable precision, and before long her lengthy locks were free and cascading about her shoulders. They stood together a while, the both of them, silent and still. He placed his hands about her arms once more, and this time manoeuvred her in front of the full-length vanity mirror on the far side of the room. Standing behind her, he moved her hair to one side and rested his chin on her shoulder so as to fully study her expression in the glass. Lizzy met his gaze calmly.

He began to kiss the top of her shoulder again before enfolding his arms about her slender waist and pulling her back slightly so that she leaned against him. He brought his lips up to her ear once more, all the while keeping her expression fixed within his gaze in the mirror. 'Do you wish me to stay…?'

Lizzy could not help but be startled by his question and request; after six years of marriage this was the first time he had ever thought to ask. The first time he had ever requested to spend the night, to share her bed.

And almost at once Lizzy ascertained just how much was depending on her answer, she knew as to what his true meaning was with such a request, she knew he was asking her to allay all of his suspicions with regard to Darcy.

'Think very carefully…' he went on, 'this is the first and only time I will ever ask. Do you wish me to stay?'

But whatever her senses urged her to, whatever of reason assured her that this was the very opportunity to free both Darcy and herself from Lord Hartfield's further scrutiny, she could not do it. She could not bring herself, could not reconcile her heart enough to willingly give herself to this man.

'No…' She spoke in a hushed tone, the sound barely carrying itself through the air. But he had heard, and as his features hardened, and the grip around her waist tightened, Lizzy braced herself for the terror she was certain was to follow. But he surprised her, even as she closed her eyes against the feared onslaught; he kissed her cheek briefly and released her.

The next instant he had left, and Lizzy was stood against the door between their rooms, turning the lock and breathing in short, ragged breaths. She had half expected him to disregard her request, and stay despite her refusal, but he had left, and his doing so was now more of a concern than ever.

Lord Hartfield stood at his study room window, watching Sir Richard mount his horse and set off in the general direction his wife had taken merely a half hour earlier on her usual morning walk. He smiled knowingly and turned back to the room to face the gentleman sitting nervously on the other side of his desk.

'Well Mr Collins…?' He looked at him with a raised eyebrow and an unnerving smile.

'You are certain she does not know who I am, that I am their cousin?' Mr Collins sat upright in the chair, he fidgeted unable to find a position he was comfortable in. He looked up at the young Lord, and found that he could never be comfortable in the presence of this man. It was something about his demeanour, and that cold gaze held within his piercing blue eyes, it was beyond mere detachment, it was a glory, a sense of pleasure almost in the art of cruelty. However, Lord Hartfield's proposal was tempting enough, but he was unsure all the same.

'No, Lady Hartfield does not know who you are, how could she? As far as the Bennet's knew a Mr Collins was to inherit Longbourn, but gave up the property and sold it to me. They never met you, the name may seem familiar, but that is all.' Lord Hartfield seating himself at his desk, and reaching down unlocked a drawer. He took out a parchment tied with red ribbon and placed it firmly on the table between them. He looked on in amusement as Collins eyed the document hungrily.

'Surely the prospect is not so very unpleasant? Fulfil the conditions I have set out for you, in accordance with my rules, and Longbourn is yours.' Lord Hartfield took up the parchment and held it in under Mr Collins gaze temptingly for a moment before placing it back in the drawer, and locking it.

'Longbourn ought to have been mine…' Mr Collins muttered in a tone he hoped was under his breath. But Lord Hartfield caught his bitter tinge and smiled widely. Leaning back in his chair he eyed Mr Collins with some incredulity.

'Surely Mr Collins you don't mean to imply that I cheated you in any way? As I recall I paid you a fair price for the place.'

Now for all Mr Collins composure he may as well have been sitting on a thousand needles, 'N-No, not at all your Lordship, I was not implying any wrongdoing …' he waved his hands and gestured disarmingly.

'I should hope not, I paid you a more than fair price considering your position at the time, and believe me I was well aware of the 'situation' you found yourself in. Surely it was I who did you the service, from what I heard at the time you were desperate for some means of finance and escape considering Lady Catherine was calling for your hanging, and not from your neck I may add.' Mr Collins crossed his legs instinctively.

'Did you not once describe Lady Catherine de Bourgh's daughter Anne as the 'brightest ornament sadly deprived from the British Court through ill health'…' Lord Hartfield laughed soundly, 'well she certainly proved too tempting a jewel for you. It was through your indiscretions with her that cost you your living at Hunsford was it not? Poor Mr Collins, as such you have been deprived of the condescension of one of the noblest patronages of the land…' Lord Hartfield revelled in his mirth now, and Mr Collins' clear misery.

He got up and walked over to the side board, and seemed to occupy himself for a while with a game of chess. He removed one of the pieces from its chequered square. 'Console yourself Mr Collins, by escaping Lady Catherine's type of patronage I most heartily assure you, that you are saved from a fate infinitely more taxing than death.'

He turned back to his game, 'Lady Hartfield and I have been engaging in this game of kings as it is so often called, for the best part of our marriage, six years now. The game of kings and yet it is the queen who has the most power, she can move anywhere, sacrifice anything, and the object?' Lord Hartfield bent close over the board, utterly engrossed in the state of play. 'Simply to defeat your opponent, to fell the opposition's queen. A civilised game of war played out over geometric shapes. And like everything else with her Ladyship it is a constant battle, one I intend to win…' He spoke in such an odd tone, so detached from the present that Mr Collins wondered if his Lordship even recalled he was sat there.

But Lord Hartfield did recall and turning around to face him, asked once more, 'Well Mr Collins, what do you say?'

'I have your word, once I have undertaken this 'commission'; I have your word that Longbourn will be mine?' Mr Collins spoke emphatically, what Lord Hartfield was asking of him was no small feat.

'You have my word sir, as much and as far as you care you trust it.' They shook hands, and Lord Hartfield made his way over to the window; he gazed down at the direction at which both his wife and Sir Richard had taken. He smiled once more, and holding up his hand to the light, displayed to Mr Collins the item he clutched tightly. It was one of the pieces he had removed from the chess board.

'And now Mr Collins, I think my queen is ready to sacrifice one of her knights…' he held the little horse aloft for a while before letting it drop to the floor.

It is a poor thing when the only comfort to be derived from a life is the monotonous series of events one undertakes to preserve the last threads of sanity, when the only truth and reason is found to lie in a repetitious sequence. And so that was the life for Lizzy, a monotonous series of events, a repetitious sequence that she adhered to religiously to preserve her last threads of sanity. She awoke early every morning, to the sound and sight of her maid drawing back the drapes, she washed and waited to be made ready for the day, and after breakfast she set out on her usual morning walk. On the better days she could avoid seeing her husband until very late in the day, the less pleasant days involved her having to take breakfast with him. Or worse, waking up with him lying next to her, those were the worst mornings, where she spent the rest of the day wishing she could scrub herself clean enough from the scent of him.

She had awoken that morning, thankfully free from the presence of Philip, and to the sight of her maid opening the drapes. For a brief moment when only the maid's back was visible, she had thought that it was Sarah, she smiled briefly then, but as soon as the girl turned around, Lizzy saw it was Millicent. And her smile faded.

But here was a brief respite, a lull from the usual; Millicent Langford was certainly proving herself an oddity. Oh, she was very good at her work, it was clear she had been well trained, perhaps too well in fact, the other servants had complained the new lady's maid gave herself airs. Of that Lizzy would not know, but Millicent was certainly distant, she rarely spoke, even as she would spend a good hour dressing and making her mistresses hair perfection itself, she would sometimes barely utter a few sentences together. It seemed a unique form of restraint, and Lizzy could not help but wonder at the poor choice of spy Lord Hartfield had made in Millicent Langford. How could the girl have any secrets to communicate if she did not take to engaging her mistress in conversation, if she made no attempt to coax confidences or even form some sort of friendship?

The girl was by no means stupid, and behind those staid and unresponsive eyes, Lizzy was certain there lay a true intelligence. They could have been good friends, had Lizzy not been so very suspicious of her, but while she remained in the employ of Lord Hartfield Lizzy would never trust her. But even there was an oddity, from the first Lizzy may have been convinced Millicent Langford was another plaything for his Lordship, but the girls own strict rationality, her discipline and her regimental approach to her duties, soon poured cold water on that theory. No, there was no doubt there was something of a confidence between Lord Hartfield and this girl, she had caught them speaking low and close more than once, but it was not the sort of confidence she had first suspected. Lord Hartfield had not employed Millicent Langford because she would prove more complying than Sarah, or that she would prove an ally, no it was for something else altogether.

In days gone by Lizzy would have walked to Longbourn, nay more likely ran, but that was no more, she had not seen her mother since that fateful day Jane had taken ill, and she missed Mrs Bennet dreadfully. The inanity of conversations between mother and daughter had been a blessing, had proved a saving grace, and now the wrenching from a mother whose exuberance she had at times in her youth been embarrassed by, was proving as awful as if she were a babe snatched newly from that mothers arms.

As it was this morning she had already found her to the very edge of the Hartfield grounds when the sound of a fast galloping horse called her attention. She stopped and looked back dreading it was Philip. She soon ascertained the noble mien belonged to another scarcely more welcome person, Sir Richard. She sighed and continued walking, even as he brought his horse to an abrupt halt close to her and dismounted. Tying the beast to a bush nearby to graze, he hurried and joined her.

Lizzy regarded him coldly, 'Well Sir Richard, it is clear to see at least one of you has survived last nights excesses, though not in time for any of you to join me for breakfast.'

'No, and I was most heartily sorry for it…' Lizzy noted the way he held a hand to his temple gingerly, she smiled more keenly now. Last nights excesses had extended and inevitably lurched towards too much drinking of wine, no doubt well after the guests had left and Lizzy had retired to bed. 'Well at least you're still suffering from it, good…'

Sir Richard returned her smile with a dazzling one of his own, 'It was an eventful evening was it not?'

Lizzy's cold stare was upon him in an instant, 'More enjoyable for some than others.'

Sir Richard sought to test the efficacy of his charm, he smiled sheepishly, 'Are you very angry with me...?' he asked pouting.

Lizzy remained unaffected, 'Very, but I suppose I must concede it was not all your doing, and though I would very much like to think it beneath his Lordship to condescend to something so petty and trivial, in truth I expected nothing better. Inviting the Netherfield lot specifically for the nefarious purpose of humiliating and exposing Mr Darcy in the presence of his sister and closest friend, I expect that was the intention all along?'

Sir Richard dug his hands deep into his coat pockets and shrugged his shoulders in that naughty schoolboy manner, he thought was so charming. It served to irk Lizzy all the more, he nodded his affirmation. 'How well you have come to know us your Ladyship.'

She laughed slightly and shook her head sadly, 'Too well I'm afraid, see how worldly I have become Sir Richard that I comprehend and anticipate so much about him.'

They walked on silently, and Lizzy was beginning to enjoy the morning sun, even in the presence of Sir Richard, but it had been a blind hope on her part that the silence would continue and he would not broach that subject she knew was weighing on his mind, ever since his arrival.

He reached out and attempted to take her hand in his own, she pulled away even as he grasped her fingers. 'You were not always so indifferent.' His voice was pained and Lizzy desperate to escape turned back suddenly and began walking quickly towards the house. He caught her about the arms, 'Lizzy stop, please…'

She struggled a while, a butterfly caught in a net, she vainly attempted to pull away even as he held her close to his chest. Her struggle was not prolonged; she relaxed and surrendered to his embrace and…his kiss.