Part 8-'…those dreaded uncomfortable silences…'

The removal to Hunsford of the film crew and actors was amazingly smooth; the only point Harry had insisted upon was Lizzy's family staying behind. Lizzy was far from making any objections.

It was by some strange coincidence that Darcy's cousin, Robert Fitzwilliam, was to play the role of Celia's husband. Lizzy had been inclined to think it a touch of nepotism at first, a sign of Darcy casting his influence, but as soon as she met Robert, Lizzy was ashamed of ever thinking such a thing.

He was tall, and though not as handsome as his cousin, was infinitely superior when it came to manners. He was easygoing, affectionate and humorous. Lizzy wondered at their ever being related.

The two cousins were to stay at the stately Rosings Park with their aunt, whilst Lizzy opted for a quiet bed-and-breakfast as her accommodation.

It was close enough to the set for her convenience and far enough from Rosings to be free from the threat of any visits from any of that quarter. She did not doubt Robert would be willing and more than welcome to visit her, but she was sure of the other two, Lady Catherine and Darcy, being such snobs that descending on a place as lowly as a bed-and-breakfast would be beneath them.

She loved the place. It was a sizable old stone building, complete with leaded latticed windows and heavy oak doors.

Lizzy's renewed commitment to the filming proved a godsend to Harry; they were working through the scenes so well and at such a pace that they were almost up to date with the schedule. Scenes now only took one or two takes to complete, and by all appearances it seemed as if the ice between Lizzy and Darcy was beginning to thaw.

Harry watched them both now, a pleasant smile playing on his chubby face. The scene was by no means a happy one; Celia had found Rupert again, after almost twenty years, only to discover that he was dying.

Celia knelt by his chair. She looked at Rupert's gnawed and calloused hand and wondered at her being here again. What a strange few months it had been; of all things, the search for Rupert had been instigated by her husband.

He had found the letters she had kept so carefully hidden high in the back of the drawer. She had always intended to burn them, but always failed at the last moment to do so.

He had not been angry as she had expected; instead, surprisingly, Henry had volunteered to help her find him again, if only so they could meet as friends once more.

She suspected he had wished to see her reaction at seeing her former lover again. He had no doubt expected to meet a rival, but what they had both found, to their shock, was a fast-fading man.

It pained her to see him so weak, so tired and ill. The way he had changed, she could not look him in the eye. He cupped her chin in his hand and raised her bowed head.

'You won't look at me, Celia? Have I changed so much…?' he whispered coarsely.

She raised her eyes to him, eyes that stung and overflowed with tears. 'No, but I fear I have…'

'Impossible! The only change is that you have grown more beautiful, if such a thing was possible…' He brushed away her tears. 'Oh, hush, Celia… please…'

She kissed his hands. 'Rupert…I can't bear to lose you again…not twice in one lifetime…'

He pressed her hands with all the strength he could muster; it was pitiful. 'Don't, Celia…going over the past is unfair…to all of us, including Henry. He cares for you deeply…what other man would bring his wife back to a man she once loved…'

He descended into a fit of coughing. Celia rushed to get him a glass of water. The handkerchief he had held over his mouth was now spotted with blood; the sight alarmed him, and he tucked it out of sight as Celia returned.

'We must take you away from here…' She held the glass as he sipped. 'Come back with us…'

Lizzy sat in the window seat reading a letter from Jane. It was the first she had written since going to London. With regards to Bingley, there was nothing to report; Jane had not met him…yet. But Lizzy saw no reason to be worried.

She was startled by a knock on the door. She had not expected visitors, but was pleased at the thought it might be Robert, who had promised to see her charming room. Her surprise was entirely genuine then on perceiving not Robert to be standing at the door, but his cousin.

'Mr Darcy…!' She looked at him, bemused; it was such a strange sight to her, him being there.

'I'm sorry…I hope I'm not disturbing you…?' He looked sheepishly at her.

She thought it only polite to invite him in, and with no expectation of enjoyment from this visit, holding the door ajar, gestured inwards. He looked around briefly, as if regretting his decision to come, but stepped in nonetheless.

Her room was long and rectangular, and seemed to be divided into two; a sofa pushed to one side of the wall and a small round table and chairs indicated they were standing in the sitting room. It was only a short step from there to her bed, neatly made up with its chintz coverings which perfectly matched the curtains.

The sight of her bed made Darcy lose all composure completely. He seemed embarrassed to be in her private chamber, and stood stupidly by the window where she had been sitting. She took up a seat at the table and waited patiently for him to begin.

He had come to visit her; it was up to him to make conversation, however painful he found it. He took up the hint and began accordingly, commenting on the seclusion of the place.

She took up the dialogue eagerly, dreading lest they slip into that uncomfortable silence again, 'Yes…yes, it's nice and quiet…peaceful…'

'You like the peace and quiet, then? I don't suppose you get much of that, what with your family…'

'I'm sorry…?'

He quickly perceived her to be offended, and sought to explain himself. 'I only meant, with your family being such a large one…so, you like being alone, then…?' In his nervousness he was repeating himself.

Lizzy laughed slightly, 'Yes… at times it's good to escape all the noise to be alone with the voices in your head…'

Darcy smiled strangely at her, 'I suppose, though there's no escaping the voice in your head…'

Lizzy wondered at his odd tone, 'No…but it does not do to talk about them all that much…at the risk of a padded cell and all that…'

Darcy laughed at her joke. Try as he might, he could not tear his eyes away from her. Something…something about this woman was making him come undone.

'So, how do you like Kent…?'

Lizzy shook her head. 'I don't know. I haven't seen much of it yet…with filming, there's barely been time.'

'I'd be happy to show you around…' The words slipped out before he could stop them. His startled look met hers. Darcy quickly sought to backtrack, '…and I'm sure Lady Catherine will be inviting you to dinner sometime…'

Lizzy laughed merrily at the idea. 'You will forgive me, Mr. Darcy, if I don't hold my breath waiting on such an invitation…!'

The dreaded silence returned soon after this remark, and Darcy dithered only a few moments longer before finally taking his leave. Lizzy stood at the window, puzzled, watching him go. It was clear he found it awkward talking to her, so why bother to visit? It could not be simply to make them both excruciatingly uncomfortable.

She shook her head, shaking away all thoughts of the unsocial, taciturn and strange Mr Darcy, and instead set about composing a reply to Jane's letter.