AN: The problem with the uploads have been solved. Chapters since 15 are freshly updated. Though it may take 30 minutes before all changes are in effect, so if you check right after I post this, and it isn't right for 15-17, check back in a half hour.

Elizabeth looked at the people who bumped and crowded against each other in Longbourn's drawing room the day before Jane's wedding. The Bennets were hosting a dinner for much of the neighborhood to commemorate the wedding on the next day. The feast after the wedding was to be held at Netherfield.

Almost everyone but Mr. Bingley and Mr. Darcy had arrived. Darcy had been expected the day before, but ice on the roads delayed him until past noon today. Elizabeth had seen the message Bingley sent with the footman two hours ago announcing the arrival of his friend.

It would not be long.

Elizabeth spoke with Captain Denny and Mr. Reed. It was petty, but she wanted Darcy to see her happy and with another man when he entered the room.

The timing of Darcy's entrance was perfect. Mr. Reed had just finished a delightful anecdote about embarrassing himself horribly at his club in London, and Elizabeth and Captain Denny were laughing. Flushed with good humor Elizabeth could see Darcy's eyes flash towards her. She tipped her head back and laughed harder and briefly touched Mr. Reed's arm. "You are so very amusing."

Darcy's eyes lingered on the tableau before he forcefully averted his gaze and walked up to Jane to congratulate her.

Though distracted, Elizabeth continued her conversation with Mr. Reed and Captain Denny. She spoke with a high spirit and laughed at every joke either gentleman said, especially the dull ones. Darcy walked around the room and greeted several persons before he settled into a conversation with Charlotte.

He was as handsome as ever.

He stood turned away from her. Though he showed little animation, he was perfectly attentive to Charlotte. His coattails fell in a trim line, and the handsome length of his muscular legs was showed off by his breeches. He had not chosen her; she should not ogle him like an infatuated girl.

Elizabeth laughed again, a false tinny sound, and she tried to pay attention to Mr. Reed and Captain Denny.

After he entered the room — and saw Elizabeth laughing at another man's words — Darcy did not look directly at her again. However, her laughter and teasing voice was never absent from his mind while he congratulated Miss Lucas on her impending marriage.

It was not real. She was forcing the laughter. He could feel her attention was on him.

Miss Lucas was Elizabeth's friend, and he would not immediately approach Elizabeth. Talking to her best friend was the closest to Elizabeth he could let himself approach. Bingley and a throng of well-wishers monopolized Jane. Also… poor Miss Lucas. Being unmarried at twenty-seven must have made her terribly desperate. Desperation had nearly driven him to an equally poor decision.

At last enough time had passed that he could briefly greet Elizabeth without appearing overly solicitous. She wore a pretty evening gown that had a purple tint, and it was less daring than what she had worn at the Netherfield ball. While Captain Denny had the good-humored look of a man enjoying the conversation of a pretty and lively girl, Mr. Reed looked at Elizabeth with a more particular interest.

He did not stray outside the bounds of politeness, but Mr. Reed's eyes glanced down at Elizabeth's bosom too often, and he spoke entirely to her. Nobody — at least nobody else — should look at her that way.

Elizabeth should have worn a high necked day dress with an ugly shawl.

Darcy stepped up to them. Elizabeth flashed him a bright smile with a cocked eyebrow that asked why he had taken so long to approach her. Darcy's stomach squirmed. He was simply greeting a friend.

Mr. Reed said, "Gaining the estate has changed my life completely! There are so many changes! My entire mode of life is different. Most importantly, I now can afford to marry."

Elizabeth laughed even though Mr. Reed had not told a joke. She would not pay Darcy any special attention. He did not deserve it. She touched Mr. Reed's arm again. "A sensible choice, Mr. Reed. A sensible choice to only marry where you can afford — Mr. Darcy would praise your wisdom extravagantly. I think—" Elizabeth gestured excitedly, caught in a sudden passion. "It is more romantic — it is wiser to marry when one becomes attached, whether it is possible to afford or not. But I am merely a woman."

"Irresponsibility often has a romance about it," Darcy replied gravely, "yet, it can never be wise."

"No, no — you are correct, Miss Elizabeth," Mr. Reed cried out, "were I to find a girl I really liked, I would marry her even if she had only the tiniest portion. I would show the sort of wisdom you praise. Yet, I had never, until I settled permanently here in Hertfordshire after my uncle's death, encountered a woman towards whom I had such a strong attachment."

Darcy used his years of self-control to avoid sneering at the man. Of course the nitwitted popinjay eagerly agreed with every damn word from Elizabeth's mouth.

Elizabeth caught Darcy's eye. "As a good Christian, should you not attempt to convince Reed to change his opinions and practice your vaunted wisdom?"

"I have no need to do so, for it is most easy for Mr. Reed now to claim he would've married upon nothing and against the wishes of the uncle he depended upon for his allowance. It gives him a certain daring to loudly claim the importance of affection. That is a stance I believe most ladies find attractive. What I wonder is whether he would have behaved so wisely if put to the test."

"Now, Darcy, I am no hypocrite." Mr. Reed cleared his throat. "I was put to such a test a year before my uncle's death. He had arranged for me to marry a lady whose portion was a full fifteen thousand pounds, and he threatened to reduce my allowance if I refused to marry her. Unfortunately… the lady, her person was..." Mr. Reed stamped his foot and exclaimed, "She was no prettier than my favorite hunting bitch, and while Bess is a fine looking dog I'd not marry her. Pardon my expression, Miss Elizabeth."

Darcy loved the way Elizabeth's face twisted in disgust briefly, and how she turned to him and caught his eye. Elizabeth replied to Mr. Reed in a light tone Darcy recognized as insincere. "You do not offend me. I comprehend your sentiments. It was best you did not marry her; it would not have been a good match. Your peculiar vice is not love of money."

Mr. Darcy refrained from sneering as Mr. Reed preened and thanked Elizabeth for what he imagined was her approval. The bell rang for dinner. Before Mr. Reed could ask her, Darcy peremptorily took Elizabeth's arm to lead her in the procession to the dining room. Darcy caught Elizabeth's eye and, glancing back at Mr. Reed, rolled his eyes. She grinned at him.

Elizabeth and Darcy were seated next to each other, but for a few minutes they remained awkwardly silent. Elizabeth's uncle Mr. Gardiner was on her other side, but he was absorbed with the lady on his left.

Darcy abruptly spoke, "You look well. I'm pleased to see it."

"I know I look well. You have never needed to say it. However, I also know that, no matter how good my looks, I am only tempting. I am not irresistible."

Darcy frowned. She was still hurt.

"I apologize," Elizabeth said quickly, "I vowed no hint about the matter would pass my lips, and none shall again. What must be, must be. It is no use to cry over spilt milk."

Darcy shifted in his chair uneasily. There was nothing he could say.

Changing the subject, Elizabeth smiled and said, "Bingley spoke recently about the mill on your lands and how you dislike it. Now to be contrary I will choose, sight unseen, to declare the mill to be picturesque and an improvement on the landscape. In defense of the statement, as a young girl I found the illustration of Arkwright's first mill in a geography of England to be charming."

"Now that, that is a weighty argument indeed." Darcy smiled, grateful that Elizabeth moved the conversation from unpleasant topics best avoided. "At what age were you when you studied this illustrated geography? And did you often return to that picture, or is this a memory of a single glance that you believe you found picturesque? — I will admit in favor of your case that, as the mill in my park was built by the son of one of Arkwright's partners, it does looks similar. A large red brick building with a profusion of windows and a constant clatter when in use."

"Aha, so you admit you would like it too if it was merely an illustration in a book, and not a noisemaking object which disturbs all the fish and birds."

"In truth, the workers — especially the parish children who the mill owner took on as apprentices — are a greater danger to the quality of my ponds than the sound of the mill. I simply have not the heart to forbid them to fish."

"That is sweet of you. I know fishing is considered by all men one of the great joys of childhood."

"It is." Darcy nodded seriously. "One cannot have a worthwhile childhood without muddying yourself and eating a trout you'd pulled out of the water just an hour past."

The mention of trout caught Mr. Gardiner's attention. "What is that about? Have you convinced Lizzy to talk about fishing?"

Elizabeth laughed. "He is explaining how his ponds have been denuded of game by the hordes of mill children he allows to freely fish on their Sundays."

"Ah, that is very kind." Mr. Gardiner flashed his easy smile. "It is a pity that their depredations have damaged the fishing; I once toured your park, back in your father's day, and I recall a great envy upon seeing the trout leaping from the stream."

"I hardly have the time to fish myself, and I feel I must do anything I can to improve the children's situation. I wish the parish children were not employed on my land at all."

"Oh?" Mr. Gardiner turned his chair towards Darcy and Elizabeth, while Elizabeth pushed hers back a little, so the two gentlemen could easily look at each other. "They had best be employed somewhere. Is the mill using orphaned children dependent upon the parish? The practice of apprenticing parish children to mills is beneficial to all. The children gain habits of industry and usefulness, their support is no longer borne by the ratepayers, and the mill gains a needed source of labor."

"The benefit comes to the ratepayer and the mill owner — but the child? No. The children are packed in rooms together with dozens of others; they are given no opportunity to protect their possessions; they are ill fed and forced to work from sun up till sundown. It breeds disease. The owners habitually care little for safety, and children are by nature careless around dangerous machinery. Accidents that cause death or permanent disability are frequent. As for habits of industry, mayhap there's something to that, but the claim that strenuous labor is necessary to teach such habits is simply an excuse to mistreat and overwork the children."

"That is a harsh indictment. So you have a reformist's bent? Have not laws already been passed sufficient to protect the children?"

"Laws have been passed, but my own experience proves they are yet insufficient." Darcy smiled. "Mr. Gardiner, tell me honestly, do you, in your own line of business, always follow in every respect the spirit and letter of the laws passed to regulate it? Especially when there is no inspector, or you are a friend of the inspector, and the fine is quite small in any case? Do be honest."

Mr. Gardiner nodded and then laughed. "I accept your point. Though I will not be honest on this subject. My impressionable niece is listening to the conversation, and I understand you are a Justice of the Peace."

"Now, I am not so impressionable!" Elizabeth laughed. "It shall not ruin my morals to learn you smuggled from France that Chantilly lace you gave Mama last Christmas."

"I did no such thing." Mr. Gardiner winked at her and Darcy, who both laughed. Mr. Gardiner added, "I do confess some tradesmen ignore laws they find nonsensical or inconvenient when it is safe to do so. Is the enforcement so lax?"

"There is no requirement for the local magistrate to have the premises inspected. It is why I had myself appointed as a JP. The lease on the mill is for a very long term and gives me little control over what goes on in it. However, as a JP I could inspect the premises with my parson and levy fines. However, the fines themselves are nominal, a matter of pounds and shillings when the mill turns over thousands."

"Do mill owners often abuse the situation? I have toured several mills, and at them the children were happy and industrious."

"Accidents are infrequent; you would not expect one to occur during the two hours of your presence. Much of my uncle's fortune came from leasing land and water rights to Arkwright. When I toured those mills as a lad, I saw what you did. The reality of the situation does not become apparent until you live near enough to see how affairs are managed day after day."

"What do you wish done by parliament? Harsher laws? What did you do? Since you think the present fines ineffectual."

"I did not fine him, and he agreed to improve the conditions. I directly hired several women to watch the safety of the children, and he has hired adult labor for the most dangerous tasks, mostly young unmarried women who think mill work is preferable to service. In exchange I have lowered the rent he pays by a fourth, so long as accidents remain infrequent. Also I had an additional hall constructed so the children were less crowded. I do not like it at all. On occasion someone is injured or killed, but when a person past the age of reason freely enters a labor contract, it does not sit on my conscience when an accident occurs the way the death of parish children did."

"So you have no reason to be very unhappy about the situation. After all, people die in accidents all of the time, it is simply part of life."

"I have reason to be unhappy that my income from tearing up my park is substantially less than I expected it to be, because I needed to bribe a manufacturer, so the legal murder of children for profit would not be on my conscience."

"That is a harsh way to describe such accidents."

"It captures the heart of the matter. Describing it otherwise because the death of the children is neither the mill owners goal, nor something he seeks, is sophistry. His negligence causes the death of children who the law has made him guardian."

"I imagine you must oppose the entire practice — I feel less sure myself. Are you truly losing a great deal of money over this?"

"Five or six hundred a year. I only name a number to show that it would be absurd to expect private benevolence to suffice in curbing these abuses. The practice should be entirely outlawed. The only alternative would be to create a national system of inspectors, such as we have to ensure taxes are collected, but if that was paid for out of the manufacturer's taxes, there would be little profit in employing parish children as opposed to the free labor of adults."

"Yes. Yes…" Mr. Gardiner rapidly shook his head side to side. "I hardly know; I hardly know. I have the prejudice of my position in society. I do not wish to see Parliament interfere with private commerce. But then, the disposition of the parish children is not really a matter of private commerce at all. Certainly when the parents of a child are living they have a perfect right to sell their children's labor as they will."

"Perhaps. Rights of contract and property are cornerstones of English liberty. Still… No, I do not approve at all. The parent is the protector of the child, not the master. Children are under guardianship, and if the parent mistreats or neglects the child, the commonwealth should take on the responsibility. An adult has a right to sell their own labor, even into a very dangerous occupation, but I would no more give a parent the right to hire their children out to an unsafe mill than I would give them the right to murder the child directly."

"Murder? Again, you are hyperbolic."

"Yes. Consciously so. Perhaps negligent manslaughter would be a more accurate description than murder. The need for regulations to protect children is no weaker for the substitution."

"Regulations that interfere with a parent's right to manage their children's welfare. Do you not in general approve of parental rights?"

Elizabeth interrupted their conversation. "Mr. Darcy, I think I understand why you think parental rights must sometimes be limited."

Darcy replied, "Yes, you would understand me. I trust that. We have talked about my father. And a parent who lets their child work in such a mill does far worse than simply wasting the family inheritance." Darcy looked at Mr. Gardiner. "So you see, my position on parental rights is a matter of my own prejudice. An entailment is a method of decreeing that a son is not allowed to harm the interests of a grandson. This extremely common practice amongst the gentry exists to protect children from parents. I think it not so strange then to say, when it is a matter of possible maiming or death, that we should collectively do what is needed to protect the children from their parents. We already allow such to be done in the case of property."

"I do not think," Elizabeth said, "That entails are fair to daughters."

Darcy rubbed his hand over his chin. "Perhaps they are not. But then they are also unfair to second sons, and that is a sort of unfairness everyone accepts. Mr. Gardiner, do you still think children's labor should be as freely sold as that of an adult?"

"Maybe. I do not like the idea of laws that interfere with the rights of a parent to determine what is best for their child. It is unnatural. A revolutionary French sort of thought. Perhaps freedom requires the occasional tragedy, and we should not be so soft hearted as to abandon freedom every time there is an unfortunate abuse. If we disallow child labor then Parliament will interfere again and again, with the best of intentions in every case, but eventually we will live in a very different world than our own."

"I do not know if I fear such a future. I approve of the habits of neither my own class, nor yours. The world is not as it ought to be. I am no misanthrope, but I do wish to see a world with better, more disciplined habits. The French tried to throw off every restraint given by religion and hierarchy; I see that as more the natural end of your preference for never interfering with individual rights than my belief morality should be enforced on the manufacturer and parent even when it interferes with the right to form contracts. I believe religion and philosophy stand with me in this matter."

Mr. Gardiner shrugged. "Perhaps. I am less certain about labor by children in mills than I had been. Even if the child is hired with the consent of the parent, it is not the same as on a farm or in a small business where the whole family works in its own interest."

"I certainly do not find anything wrong with a child helping a parent at their work, so long as the work is not highly dangerous." Darcy looked at Elizabeth. "That mill, that picturesque mill which looks a little like Arkwright's first, this is why I dislike it. The building I have grown used too; its management I cannot."

Elizabeth shook her head and frowned. "I admit defeat — I do not think I can convince you to be pleased by your mill." Elizabeth was absorbed by thoughts of the mill children. That sort of kindness was very much in Darcy's character, to act to help poor children when his own debts were so great.

After dinner, Elizabeth and Darcy immediately gravitated towards each other in the drawing room. They sat in a corner, with blue and white tea cups between them on a small rosewood table. Naturally, as they looked at Jane and Bingley smiling together, the conversation turned towards the couple.

Darcy spoke, sipping at his tea, "They make a handsome couple."

"And they are perfect for each other. I like Bingley more every week."

"He is the best of friends. He deserves happiness. I only slightly know Miss Bennet, though. Tell me more of your sister."

"Jane? She is an angel. She always believes the best of everyone. For a long time, I feared someone would take advantage of her sweetness, and I always thought it necessary to protect Jane. Once —" Elizabeth hesitated and stared into her tea and breathed the fragrant odor from the thick brew. The candlelight glinted off the milky surface. Placing cup back down, Elizabeth's eyes shot back to Darcy's. "Did you ever hear my mother tell the story of the man who wrote Jane a sonnet when she was fifteen? Likely you did. She has always been fond of it."

The seriousness of Elizabeth's manner confused Darcy. "I heard something about it. It is fortunate for my friend that the attachment did not ripen."

Elizabeth glanced around the room. All of the other guests were intent on their own conversations. She spoke in a hushed voice which would not carry, "It is my fault it ended so suddenly — I do not think I acted wrongly, but… what I did has still gnawed at me."

"You need not share this story if you think it best unsaid."

"No — I have told no one this, not even Jane, it would please me — I wish you to know it."

At Darcy's nod and intent expression, Elizabeth began, "We were in London visiting my aunt and uncle for a few months, and a man became infatuated with Jane. He was ten years older than her — twenty-five seemed far more aged to me then. He was a boring and shallow man. Jane neither liked nor disliked him, but she was determined to think the best of him. Mama was enthralled by the thought of the match for, while much poorer than Bingley, he had a respectable estate."

Elizabeth looked at her hands. "It was the way his eye lingered on Jane's figure when he thought himself unobserved that made me dislike him. I was sure he only wished to marry Jane due to her beauty. He couldn't understand her goodness and character. Today, Jane — until she met Bingley she discouraged every potential suitor because she did not feel what she ought. But… we were both so young. I… I thought she would do what Mama wished.

"I had servants trail the man — I sold jewels which had been a gift to pay them — and found he kept a mistress on the outskirts of town. He visited her constantly despite courting Jane. He recited his horrid poetry to Jane and left in his carriage and headed straight to that woman. I was only thirteen at the time. I know girls are intended to be delicate and have little understanding of such matters, but Papa never restricted my access to the library. I understood what he did.

"I told myself Jane would not believe me. She would convince herself he had an explanation that absolved him of wrong doing. We were fans of Gothic romances, and I thought Jane would decide that the woman he visited was a secret half-sister — or some similar nonsense. Mama would not care. I knew that. So I made a fake version of Jane's diary. It claimed that she despised him. I left the diary where Mr. Bad Poet would find it. He did not resist the temptation, and after the day he picked it up we never saw him again.

"It was dishonest. I lied and in a manner defamed Jane —" Elizabeth looked at Darcy pleadingly. "I needed to protect Jane, but, still…"

Darcy couldn't speak. She had trusted him with a story she'd never even told Jane. Elizabeth hurriedly added, "The affair may have ended with nothing —I ought to have tried a different method to put the man off — Jane was so confused by his sudden abandonment, and I never could bring myself to tell her why."

"You were still a child — you were brave and caring. That… that is what matters. You are… were perfect. You needed to do something. If I could have protected Georgiana from Wickham by lying…" — Darcy gestured with his head towards where the glowing couple sat surrounded by well-wishers — "The event has proven fortuitous. You are older now, wiser, but your heart has always been what it should be."

"Yes — I know that, but —" Elizabeth laughed shakily. "I have never, not even to my aunt, and certainly not to Jane, spoken of this — I feel easier. Thank you."

"I am glad."

The gentlemen of the party departed not much later with Bingley while the ladies gathered around Jane to laugh and speak with her on her last night as a maiden.

The warm glow her conversation with Darcy gave Elizabeth carried her happily through the next hours. Eventually, she said a last, last good night to Jane and settled on her own bed to await the morning.

She was so happy when she sat next to Darcy. She loved his voice, and she loved the way he held her eyes and listened. It was as though they were perfectly formed for each other — but no matter how connected they felt, tomorrow or the day after he would leave Netherfield and return to his own estates. Then he would marry another.

Elizabeth sobbed quietly.

She had expected he would avoid conversation with her, and perhaps he had planned to. But when he was near, it was so easy to talk.

Elizabeth hugged her pillow to her face and muffled the sounds so no hint of them could reach Jane or any other inhabitant of the house. After tomorrow he would leave again, and she would eventually stop missing him and fall in love with another.

You are resigned. Be resigned. You are happy. You accept that he shall not marry you.

MDVMDVMDV

Darcy drank and listened to the gentlemen who had gathered with Bingley at Netherfield. He refused to think about the future; instead, he contemplated how sweet it had been to talk to her. The flash of her eyes and the goodness of her character.

After a half hour of drinking in Netherfield's dining room, a gentleman called out, "I bet I can shoot a damn sight better than any of you."

The tipsy group went outside and took turns making poorly aimed shots at a hastily set up target. The sheet of paper with a bull's-eye sat in the middle of Netherfield's lawn and was illuminated by a pair of torches. Several bottles of good Jamaica rum were passed around.

When the bottle reached him, Darcy wiped the round opening of the bottle and took a deep swig. He swirled the liquid around his tongue, leaving a pleasant burn. A line of fire lit its way down his throat. He passed the bottle along as the warmth settled in his stomach.

The smell of gunpowder and alcohol was pungent in the air.

He had drunk port the night he kissed Elizabeth.

Mr. Goulding shouted out to Bingley, "You are so damned lucky! Damned lucky." He tipped one of the bottles of rum back and drank deeply. He pointed his gun up and shot into the sky. "To Jane Bennet. Prettiest damn girl in the county."

Bingley grinned sheepishly. The flickering light from the torches the servants had set up gave an orange tint to his flushed face.

Someone whose name Darcy did not know shouted, "To Jane Bennet! The brightest jewel of Hertfordshire."

Everyone cheered, and all of the loaded guns were discharged into the air. The gentlemen holding the bottles raised them together and drank a swallow before passing them on.

"An angel!" Bingley shouted out, "She is the prettiest angel in the world. I said that the first moment I saw her — Darcy, confirm that."

"Aye," Darcy took a bottle of rum when it was pushed into his hand. He took a small swallow and passed it along. He was not going to indulge far enough to lose his wits. "She always held your eye."

Mr. Reed, the gentleman Elizabeth had been speaking to when Darcy entered Longbourn's drawing room, exclaimed, "You may have taken the prettiest — but the other four Bennet girls are still there for the rest of us. Do you plan to do anything for them? Not all of us have money enough to ignore every consideration but the beauty of our partner."

Bingley laughed. "Maybe if I like the man. So you are out, Reed."

There were laughs all around. Mr. Goulding slapped Mr. Reed on the back. "Bingley sunk you."

Darcy's fist clenched itself. Reed had been looking at Elizabeth.

At Elizabeth.

Darcy was sure he wished to marry her. Darcy's chest felt squeezed, and he imagined pounding his fist into the corner of Mr. Reed's face.

The oldest Lucas son tried to hand Darcy the bottle again, but he pushed it away. Mr. Lucas looked critically at Darcy before he handed the bottle to another guest.

Mr. Reed was unabashed by Bingley's putdown, and he wobbled a little as he exclaimed, "You'll not stop everyone that way! I'd marry one of your sisters without money. They're all so —" He waved his hands to outline the curves of a lady. "You'll have a damned good night tomorrow. But you don't have the only good one. I bet Eliza will be even more exciting once you get her in bed. You can always tell: the skirts with spirit tumble the best."

Darcy's chest thudded tightly. There was a haze of red in front of his eyes. He held a gun, though he'd not reloaded it after firing his turn. He could still pound the stock against Reed's forehead. Everyone around was armed.

"She is my sister!" Bingley looked suddenly sober. "I'll not hear anything of the sort. Apologize for that — I demand you apologize now."

Bingley's eyes flickered away from Mr. Reed and towards Darcy for an instant; Darcy suddenly realized how he must appear with his muscles tense and his teeth bared. Darcy wanted to pound Reed's face into a bloody pulp.

Mr. Reed said, "Bingley, I just —"

John Lucas put his arm around Mr. Reed's shoulder. "Hear, hear. Apologize, man. She is a gentlewoman. You know not to speak about a lady crudely. Apologize."

Everyone murmured in agreement.

Mr. Reed bowed his head and said, "No offense. I should not have spoken so of Miss Elizabeth. It was wrong of me. I have let drink run away with my senses, and it is far past time for me to retire."

Darcy relaxed a little. He still wanted to hurt Mr. Reed. Bingley glanced at Darcy and said, "Enough of this. It is time for billiards — we are too foxed for guns."

No one disagreed, and Bingley's footmen and butler came to take the weapons away. They had suddenly become a somber group.

As they reentered the house Mr. Lucas said loudly, "Reed, you should not even think about Miss Elizabeth!" Seeing he had everyone's attention, Mr. Lucas added, "Papa always said you should never marry a woman cleverer than you are. And Elizabeth, she's sharper than all of us."

The round of laughter which followed drained the tension from the room.

It was well past midnight when the laughter and games ended and the other gentlemen either went home or to rooms given to them at Netherfield. The wedding was to be held an hour before noon, so the late hour was not a problem.

Darcy had ceased to drink fairly early, so he was still alert, though tired. Bingley was halfway between drunk and simply uninhibited. Darcy said farewell and went to go up the stairs to his room.

"Wait. Sit with me, please."

Darcy sat next to Bingley and raised his eyebrows in question.

"I'm too nervous. Everything changes tomorrow. What if I am a terrible husband?"

Darcy smiled and patted Bingley on the shoulder. He rolled his eyes and replied, "That is impossible. You are too good of a gentleman to make yourself or Jane unhappy."

There was a silver tray with meats, cheeses, and rolls left on a side table. A decanter full of water sat next to it.

Darcy poured himself a glass and grabbed a piece of ham and a wedge of cheese before he pushed the tray towards Bingley. "Eat something; it may reduce the effects of the drink in the morning."

Bingley did not reply, instead he stared morosely into his lap.

Darcy sighed. He had to try to relieve his friend's nerves. "My dear man, I have known you five years — and have seen a great deal of you in that time — you are an excellent man, and Miss Bennet is a lucky woman indeed. Anyone can see she adores you."

"Yes, but —" Bingley looked up at Darcy, worried eyes framed by his curly hair. He had taken off his cravat and tail coat earlier in the evening and now wore a green silk waistcoat and linen shirtsleeves. "Why do people end up miserable? So many couples are miserable. Look at my new parents or my brother and sister Hurst. Did they plan to become miserable?"

"You are nothing like either of the gentlemen — Jane is little like her mother or your sister."

"That only means I shall find a novel manner in which to make her unhappy."

Darcy laughed. "Many couples are happy together. You never knew my aunt, Lady Matlock, but her and my uncle were devoted to each other. And you have met my nearest neighbors, the Windhams. Do not worry so. It is possible to find happiness in marriage."

"I know that. But I am… I am not so responsible as you, people can talk me into doing foolish things. I am easily persuadable."

Darcy shrugged and stuffed the last of the roll into his mouth.

"You cannot deny it. Caroline — when I went to town to sign those papers the day you left, she came behind me and tried to convince me to stay in London. She half convinced me Jane was just humoring me and did not care for me at all. I chose not to listen to her, but what if I make such a mistake? I cannot be sure I will never do so."

Darcy finished the glass of water and ate another slice of cheese.

"You know I am too persuadable."

"Then be persuadable." Darcy shook his head. "Just listen to Jane first. She is a sensible girl and will not lead you astray. It is the two of you together. If you remember that I think you will do well."

"Follow Jane's lead? Always do what my wife tells me to. You recommend I be henpecked — that is not a manly piece of advice." Bingley grinned. "I like the idea. So long as she provides the orders in privacy, my reputation may remain intact."

The two laughed, then Darcy and Bingley sat in silence.

They had ceased to feed the fire, and the room grew colder and darker. Only a few candles were still lit, the flames flickering an inch or so above the gleaming metal of their holders. Darcy yawned and decided he had sat with Bingley for long enough.

"You and Elizabeth." Bingley spoke abruptly, "I saw the two of you were friendly this evening. She was delighted to see you — I spared enough attention from Jane to tell that. Over the past month we occasionally talked about you. She always wanted to know if I had any news of your doings."

Of course. It had been no accident they were seated next to each other at dinner. Darcy growled, "I would appreciate it if you did not encourage impossible hopes."

Bingley cleared his throat. "I do little of the sort. It is your behavior which encourages such hopes."

Darcy stiffened. He had talked to her hungrily. And she had been open and warm.

Bingley pushed Darcy in the shoulder. "Likely you shall ignore me again, but I must try: marry her."

"I wish you would not interfere."

"You smile with her. You are happy — for once you are completely happy. You are obsessed with her. I daresay your mind was on her pretty eyes this whole evening. Don't be a blockhead."

Darcy bristled at Bingley's words. Bingley's familiar eyes were concerned. Darcy slumped into his chair. His closest friend had earned the right to speak to him so.

Bingley looked away and rubbed at the back of his head. "I have talked with Jane — Elizabeth does not know this — but, because she is to be my sister, my favorite sister, we thought we might increase her dowry."

"No."

"Now listen! I'm not giving you anything — she will be my sister. In less than a half day, she shall be family to me. I would dearly like if you were family as well."

Darcy felt a delight at the notion. He buried his face in his hands. "It cannot matter. You cannot, not in good conscience, give enough to matter against my debts. I must find an heiress."

Bingley frowned. "Is your situation that desperate? I thought you were stable. Is it really true you must marry an heiress? If you are in need, what is mine is yours."

"It is not that." Darcy waved his hand. He was not sure what it was. Bingley was right; he did not need to marry an heiress. His uncle though would be very unhappy if he married a penniless girl, and without Matlock's support he might be forced to sell part of Pemberley.

He had sworn to never do that.

Things had always come out right for Darcy before, maybe they would again. Surely he'd find a way to keep from selling. He did not feel it, but he was more than rich enough to afford a penniless wife. His net income was at least eight thousand a year. He would not be harmed if he sold part of Pemberley to redeem his debts and earned that sum off a smaller estate.

Mr. Windham still wanted to buy part of his land, and he was an exemplary landlord. When he died, his son would be as well.

The room was almost completely dark as the last candles went out. It was still winter and the air was becoming frigid. Darcy stared at the dim red glow from the fire grate.

"Why deny both yourself and Elizabeth this happiness? You love her. Don't be a fool. It would take you longer to sink your debts, but I know that you are not afraid of adding however many years to the process."

"My uncle would be unhappy. I need his loans to keep Pemberley safe. He was very angry about Georgiana — it would be difficult to find someone to offer a new mortgage if I needed to replace his money."

"Fiddle!" Bingley slammed his hand on the small table between them, rattling the tray and knocking over a small pile of rolls. "Your uncle would be brought to reason. Do you remember the stories he told us — the time we were hunting — Lord Matlock might rant and storm, but once he met Elizabeth, he'd come around."

"I'm not sure."

Bingley waved his hand dismissively. "Risk it. You'll find some way to get the money. Marry her, then we'll figure out how to make it work."

"I cannot risk my estate in that way. I will not."

There was a long tense silence.

Why must Bingley push him so hard? It was difficult enough to ignore his own arguments. Darcy was determined not to bend.

Bingley had dipped his thumb into his glass of water and rubbed his wet finger around the top again and again.

"I don't think that is the real reason. You are frightened it would make you like your father. I remember how you swore you would always be different. But it wouldn't. You are nothing like him." Bingley set his glass down. "When I asked Jane to marry me, I knew that if I did not, I would regret it for my entire life. Do not do something you will always regret. Not for a stupid reason."