A/N: Missela and GMA1 are the winners of the contest on naming the person in the portrait of the cover picture. She was Princess Amelia mentioned in the chapter. Congrats to both of you and thank you to those who participated. There was not a single wrong answer.

Thank you all who read and review. I read every one and appreciate your input, even if I do not agree with you.

This chapter is shorter than usual. I am posting it as a bonus posting for this week. The next posting will be this Friday morning.

Chapter 15

It was mid-February 1813 when Mr. Darcy finally found himself back in England.

Over the previous months, he had relived a large portion of his recent life for his cousin so that when they arrived in England, the Colonel would not feel disconnected from his family or those events which occurred during his forgotten years. However, in the retelling, he merely narrated events but said nothing on matters of the heart. The oppression he had felt between the previous Easter and his departure for Portugal, which had made his life so burdensome, had thankfully disappeared. This alone made him feel like a new person.

During their return journey, at a time of a calm sea, Darcy and the Colonel leaned on the rail at the bow to look past the endless rippling ocean toward England, the Colonel asked absent-mindedly, "Do I have to worry about running into a jilted lover or two once we are on dry ground?"

Darcy chuckled and answered, "You would more likely run into the countless lovers who jilted you."

The Colonel's uncovered eye grew round, and his eyebrow rose to his hairline. He feigned a disappointed frown, "Jilted or jilting, it is all the same. A regular Casanova! Well, some things are better forgotten. Why was I jilted? Was it the same old story of my rich, handsome cousin snatching my catch?"

Mr. Darcy chuckled again.

"I cannot tell. It was you who claimed being jilted every time a woman turned her attention away from you. I never thought you were serious. You were far more focused on your army career than settling down with a wife."

"Ah, that is undoubtedly the truth. What sensible lady would pick a poor soldier over a rich bloke like you? Speaking of wives, why don't you have one? You had better not prevaricate as mother would tell all when I see her. I am certain, over the past five years, she has not ceased matchmaking for either of us."

Darcy knew then his cousin had no inkling about his proposal to Elizabeth Bennet at Rosings. As every disguise was his abhorrence, he was glad he could tell the truth.

"No one wanted me," Darcy said with an ease that surprised him. He remembered, at one point, his heart felt as if it were punched—as nonsensical as it sounded—every time he thought of his rejected proposal.

"How could that be? You are the best catch of our time! Filthy rich…" He paused and stared at his cousin with his one good eye. "And quite manly—I noticed you did not look at all shabby next to Wellington. You are also honorable, almost unheard of for someone in your position. Your wife would never have to worry about your stepping out with actresses and courtesans or gambling your daughters' dowries away. So, what did you do to scare women away? That fearsome scowl alone could not possibly have been enough to fend off the determined ladies of the ton!"

Mr. Darcy really wanted to change the subject. He feigned deep contemplation for a long moment, and then said, "Since you are unwilling to give up your inquisition, I have no choice but to confess there was one lady…"

The Colonel perked up instantly and cried, "Aha! I knew it!"

Mr. Darcy put on a serious look and asked innocently, "Do you remember Bingley's younger sister…"

Before Darcy could even mention the name of the lady, the Colonel yelled, "Stop! Stop! You want me to believe the harpy with a peaked face and the most disgusting, obsequious manners is the possessor of your heart? Not a chance! I often thought you paid too high a price to be friends with Bingley when his manacle of a sister would latch onto you every chance she got."

"Bingley has become a good friend in the last five years. I have done him wrong."

"What? What did you do to that puppy?"

Darcy looked at his cousin for another long moment. Convinced the Colonel had no memory of what happened at Rosings the previous Easter, he felt there was no harm in mentioning his foolhardy attempt to separate Bingley from Miss Jane Bennet.

"Oh, was she the fortune-hunter you had told me about?"

"When and where did I tell you about a fortune-hunter pursuing Bingley?" Although glad to see the Colonel might have regained some of his memories, Mr. Darcy was greatly alarmed that the wrong ones might have resurfaced.

"You must have told me two or three instances of Bingley falling in love with this or that unworthy lady in just the first year of your acquaintance with him. That hapless young man simply could not help entangling himself with unsuitable young women of every sort. You were always trying to extricate him from one ruinous courtship after another."

"Oh, I had forgotten about that."

"Now, who is the one with the bumped head?"

This exchange finally distracted the Colonel from his relentless probe into Darcy's lack of marriage prospects. Darcy made a note to himself to never interfere in others' private affairs again.

~.~

The season was slowly rolling along, and Mr. Darcy felt compelled to be in town to help his sister, Georgiana, to prepare for her debut the following year. He longed to be back at Pemberley, but he would wait till April, just before the planting season.

To him, even after their seven-month separation, Georgiana was the same shy, diffident girl, but she had grown noticeably taller.

She is taller than Elizabeth now.

Darcy started at this thought. This was the first time her name had come unbidden to his mind since he landed in Portugal.

At least she no longer causes the anguish that nearly killed me. I am certain if we meet again, it would be as common and indifferent acquaintance.

Darcy's mind was at ease with this realization. The devastation of having his heart trampled was not an experience he cared to repeat.

He detested wallowing in idle thoughts. It was high time he got back into society after a week at home. The first place to visit would be his club.

He rode over to Rockingham House on Grosvenor Square to invite his cousin along.

It was an unseasonably sunny and warm late-winter day. The cousins took their time wending through the elegant streets of Mayfair towards St. James Street, where the gentlemen's clubs were located. They were so deep in their own banter they did not notice a young lady, who was out walking in the garden at St. James Square. On seeing the men, she scampered away to hide behind the newly erected statue of William III, to the astonishment of her companion, the young Miss Trumbull.

"Miss Bennet, why are you standing behind the statue? Are you afraid of those two men?" asked Miss Trumbull with curiosity. The girl, though only ten years old, was exceptionally observant. Elizabeth's astonished stare at the two gentlemen on horseback did not escape the girl's notice.

"Forgive me, Hester dear, for acting so abruptly. I am not avoiding anybody. Seeing the soldier on horseback prompted me to take a closer look at the statue of William III. You see, the king is dressed as a soldier in this statue. I never noticed this before since I have not been living long in London, and the weather has been gray and cold. This is the first time I have been able to really enjoy the square." Elizabeth hated to lie to her young friend, who had become dear to her.

Hester Trumbull lost her father and only brother within a short span of six months. Her father she missed little since he had often been away, but her brother, James, had been close to her, and his death saddened her deeply. Her two remaining sisters were still in the nursery, but she had felt drawn to Miss Bennet, who was interesting and had far more ideas on how to amuse her than the governess.

"Let us go to the park. The weather may not hold for too much longer," Elizabeth suggested.

Miss Trumbull happily agreed and forgot about the riders.

To the young girl, Elizabeth appeared calm and cheerful, but inside, she trembled with panic. When she agreed to Mrs. Trumbull's suggestion to publish her story, she truly did not expect anyone but Mrs. Trumbull's friends to purchase it. The important men in government would never read a novel, let alone one written by an anonymous author. So, she should be safe there. The fear of discovery by Mr. Darcy, however, had always been overarching.

Nonetheless, she had known, deep in her heart, the day of seeing Mr. Darcy again would be inevitable, but she never expected it would be so soon. After all, her uncle had informed her the previous week Mr. Darcy had not yet returned from the Continent, and no one knew when he would be back in town.

Whether Mr. Darcy would read her novel or not was immaterial. She was simply not ready for any face-to-face encounter with the gentleman.