A/N: The weather is cooling off where I am and it's lovely! I think Fall is my favorite time of year and I can't wait until the leaves turn.

Anyway, here's a new chapter, hope you like it. Darcy will be making an appearance soon ;-)

Chapter 10

The Collins' were often asked to dine at Rosings Park from then on. Though Elizabeth was no great talent at the piano forte, the music with which she was able to elicit out of the instrument in the drawing room was appreciated by those who listened. For herself, it meant not having to take part in any ridiculous conversation as long as she kept her fingers trilling over the keys, and ridiculous they were. Lady Catherine, pontificating as if she were laying out the wisdom of the ages, and her husband agreeing whole heartedly to whatever that lady had to say, even if she contradicted herself on a previous days discourse. The opinions and knowledge of Lady Catherine was very apparent but that of Miss de Bourgh and Mrs. Jenkinson less so.

Anne de Bourgh, Elizabeth had learned, was nearing seven and twenty years of age, had never been further from home than London, and even ventured there less than a dozen times in her lifetime. She had a limited education, took little part in the conversations, and often retired early to bed when a coughing fit seized her. Whatever ailed the poor girl was never mentioned, therefore Elizabeth had no clue as to what made her so sickly.

Apart from learning these things she also became aware of her engagement to Mr. Darcy. This news came to her on their first evening at Rosings, where Mr. Collins wasted no time in informing Lady Catherine that while away in Hertfordshire he had introduced himself to her nephew and that he looked in good health.

"My dear nephew," Lady Catherine sighed. "He and Anne are engaged, have been since the cradle. It was the express wish of his Mother and myself."

Elizabeth raised an eyebrow. Engaged? She looked over at Miss de Bourgh who looked neither thrilled nor displeased with the arrangement. She supposed the two of them would do very well for each other, both seeming proud, disagreeable people.

"Every Spring he visits me along with my other nephew, Colonol Fitzwilliam. They love to ride through Rosing's lands and visit with their dear Aunt. They also confer with my steward and make sure the land is producing."

At that time Elizabeth had been asked to play for them and she hastily made her way to the instrument and began a sedate tune she had been lately practicing. Lady Catherine had made it clear Elizabeth could use the piano in Mrs. Jenkinson's room, where she would not be in the way, to practice, and Elizabeth had every intention of taking up the offer. Thoughts of Mr. Darcy left her and she immersed herself in the song until Lady Catherine called for the carriage to take them home.

That night, after Collins' visit to her bedrooms, she fell asleep and had the most extraordinary dream in which Mr. Darcy was a prominent figure. She had been at Rosings, playing on the piano, when she felt him come up behind her and begin to kiss her neck, his hands caressing her sides. She was startled awake, her heart pounding furiously within her, an unknown hunger lingering in the pit of her stomach. It was still dark out so she remained in bed and tried to calm herself. Eventually she fell back asleep and was untroubled by dreams the rest of the night.

When she awoke the next morning she remembered, in vivid detail, her dream and felt a deep blush creep upon her neck and face. A memory came pulling at her mind. Hadn't she had a dream about Mr. Darcy before? The rest of the day images from the dream came unbidden to her, no matter how she tried to stop them. When it finally came time for Mr. Collins to visit her in bed she closed her eyes while he was atop her, like always, but this time she imagined Mr. Darcy above her. Her husbands visit never lasted long, and he rarely stayed choosing instead to retire directly to his own room, so he did not see the look of shame that came upon her when he finished.

s-S-s

The days and weeks passed and Elizabeth began to feel at home in Hunsford. She learned of the goings on of the Meryton Militia from Kitty (Lydia never wrote to her, choosing instead to add a sentence or two at the bottom of someone else's letter) the gossip of the neighborhood from her Mama, and from her Papa, he admitted to not telling his family of his sickness, confessing himself to be a weak man and praying for his daughter's forgiveness.

Jane wrote from London regularly, informing her how her Aunt and Uncle Gardiner were and their children. She told of the letters she wrote to Miss Bingley and how the first must have been misdirected, but the second was answered. Then in a later letter she was told about the cool reception Miss Bingley gave Jane when she visited her in Cheapside. Jane finally had to concede that Miss Bingley's feelings towards her amounted to nothing, and that she would most likely never see Mr. Bingley again.

Elizabeth's heart ached for her sister. She wrote to her reminding her of the visit she would make come Spring and what adventures she had planned for her sister. Elizabeth had become well known with all the little paths and by ways surrounding her home and that of Rosings. She had already chosen a favorite trail that led up a hill which gave one a favorable view of Rosings Park, the grand house in the background, the fields and groves of trees surrounding. She would take her sister to that patch of meadow grass, lay out a blanket, and while watching the natural beauty around them, gorge themselves on cold chicken, pies, and a jug of lemonade made specially for her.

During the daylight hours Elizabeth was able to keep herself busy with managing the household and visiting the tenants. At night, however, is when she was plagued by the dreams of Mr. Darcy. Not every night, mind you, but enough to disarm Elizabeth. She tried everything she could think of to keep them at bay. She even asked Mrs. Shaw if she knew of any tonics she could take to keep away "bad" dreams. Nothing worked.

Her dilemma remained her own. She could not speak with her husband about it, nor anyone else. If Jane had been here after that first dream she most likely would have told her everything, but she soon realized this was her burden to bear, and hers alone.

The dreams became vivid pictures of her and Mr. Darcy, sometimes as innocuous as sitting in the Netherfield sitting room, discussing books. Others involved passionate embraces and stolen kisses. Once, after reading a rather dark novel, her dream morphed so that she was the heroine, and Mr. Darcy the villain who sought to steal her virtue. The next day she returned said book to the lending library and refused to read another novel for quite some time.