A/N: Hey gang, I'm back from Sydney. Had a bit of jet lag induced writer's block and had to discard a chapter and start over to get back on track. I also wrote a little drabble that I may or may not post. No time to answer any of the review questions, but thanks for the response and keep them coming. We're in the home stretch now.

George Wickham did not look as handsome as he formerly had. His hair had been cut half off, and he still had bits of tar and even the occasional feather stuck to various parts of his person. Instead of his previously gentleman regalia, he was wearing borrowed cast-off pants, and his uniform jacket was mussed and wrinkled. He did have the requisite angular jaw, but unfortunately for him, the angle was all wrong since his beating at the hands of the fathers of Meryton. Best of all, the large "L" tattooed across his forehead put paid forever to any claims he may have to being charming to the opposite sex. No, George Wickham would never be the handsome, charming, debonair appearing man he once was again. Elizabeth was quite happy with his appearance now, as it better matched his actual character, and based on the look on her betrothed's face, it seemed unlikely to improve anytime soon.

Caroline Bingley could best be described as… Well actually, it would be best to avoid describing her altogether; but be that as it may, she was dressed something like an orange wombat. She was wearing an orange dress that would have seemed overly formal in the Queens ballroom, coupled with an orange hat with an actual stuffed bird in it. I'm not making this up! An… Actual… Stuffed… Bird. Her eyes were not as expressive as characters in romance novels usually are required to be, mainly because there wasn't really anything behind them. In fact, they didn't have any of the usual characteristics. They were not Smokey, although that would have been a good metaphor for her personality. They were obviously not bright, exercise or no. They were not one of the popular colors like brown with gold flecks, or deep loving blue. They were brown, but more along the lines of… well, best not go there else. However, she had clearly concocted this whole plan, or worked with Wickham on it, so she must be taken to task.

As you may recall, the ursine part of our happy couple had converted to taurine behavior and was pawing, snorting and practically charging across the room to confront the new adversaries. The room is curiously devoid of armed highwaymen, aside from Jimmy who seemed disinclined to interfere. In fact, Jimmy seemed to be mostly looking around for someone to take side bets on how long the half‑haired guy was going to survive, although the way Darcy was charging, it didn't look like he'd have long to place the wager. He wondered if he could get Lady Catherine into a bet. She seemed like a good sport. Before he could approach her, the bull had crossed the room and started talking.

"Miss Bingley. Wickham. What an unpleasant surprise!"

Elizabeth, for her part had no real desire to charge the offensive couple. Why charge all the way across the room, when she can simply throw something? Really, she would have to talk to Baby Bear about all this charging about. She bet he could throw something quite well, as he had to engage in cricket or fenceing or shooting some other manly sport (well, actually she would have to scratch cricket from the manly sounding sports). Unfortunately, the breakfast table was heavy on scones, and light on things that were both throwable, and deadly. Obviously throwing scones or bacon would not do the job, unless she could find an entire side of bacon… now that would do the trick. It did seem unlikely that she would find a side of raw bacon in the breakfast room, no matter how deficient Pirate Rogers table might be. Worse yet, all of the jam was in prissy little fancy bowls, instead of proper jars which given adequate supplies of jam would make excellent projectile weapons. The coffee pot had certain possibilities, since you had both the weight of the pot, and the good chance of making a mass with the scalding coffee as well. Caroline would probably be as grievously injured by the black stain on her horrid orange dress as she would be by the scalding hot coffee. Yes, the coffee pot it would have to be.

Just as Darcy was approaching the horrid couple, and Elizabeth was reaching for the pot, they started talking back.

"Mr. Darcy, I'm amazed you can say such a thing to me! My brother is your dearest friend, and I have spent many pleasant days and evenings in your company."

"Come now Darcy, you're not still carrying a grudge over Georgianna are you? That was a year ago! Or maybe you're mad going all the way back to Cambridge, or maybe you're still sore that your father loved me better than you."

"Mr. Darcy, how could you object to this charming, rustic place? I know how much you love the country."

"Say Darcy, did you have anything to do with my recent reception in Meryton? I have to say, I really didn't appreciate the tar and feathers, or the haircut."

Darcy was a little surprised that they were getting to the point of whatever their nefarious scheme was. Being a gentleman, he naturally had to answer their questions, even if they were out to kill him. Manners were manners.

"I didn't actually have anything to do with your reception in Meryton, but I wish I had. I would like to thank whoever did."

Elizabeth actually giggled, and when everybody looked at her she said, "Tar and feathers. That's so perfect, and I love the haircut. It's so becoming." She did not however feel it incumbent upon her to bring him up to speed about the source of the rumors about him that precipitated the beating and tarring and haircut. She would however at some point look at him meaningfully should he ever be in the vicinity of a goat.

Getting back on track, Darcy asked, "So tell me Wickham, Miss Bingley, what is this all about? What are you up to?"

Wickham said, "Darcy, I can't believe you think I would do something so underhanded and devious."

"You mean, you're telling me you wouldn't think of doing something like this to cause me harm?"

Wickham laughed and said, "Of course I would do something like this if I could, but honestly Darcy, can you see me affording 60 men?"

Caroline added, "I can't believe you would think so poorly of me, Mr. Darcy after all the time I've spent agreeing with whatever crazy thoughts came out of your mouth and dressing in all the latest fashions just for you."

"I say Darcy, isn't that one of the Bennet chits over there laughing at me?"

The last word didn't come out as clearly as dialog purists would wish, what with Wickham being suspended a foot off the floor by his throat and held against the wall by the bear/bull, but who are we to quibble.

Wickham was wheezing in a most undignified manner, even worse than his usual; while Miss Bingley looking like a giant orange furball shrieked and clawed at him.

"Bingley… Caroline… I demand an immediate explanation. What are you about? Why have you subjected us to this, and I warn you, I will be implacable in seeking vengeance.

Wickham finally managed to move his arms around enough to pantomime that he had something to say or a question to ask, so Darcy released his throat and set him back on the ground saying, "We're not finished."

Darcy was happy that none of their highwaymen besides Jimmy were anywhere near the breakfast room. Now that he knew who was behind this debacle, he could probably bribe or fight his way out, for as pleasant as breakfast and snuggles with Elizabeth were; he strongly suspected there was much more and better to come after marriage. He had no idea what it was, but had heard it was even better than chocolate… or at least as good; at least some of the time. He really hoped Elizabeth was more up to speed on what was to be done. Perhaps her mother had instructed her properly… yes, that was it, they would rely on the wise council of Francine Bennet. He did however have to drag his attention away from the upcoming nuptials, and back to the blackguard at hand, as there was still business to be done.

Once Wickham was on the floor and able to at least temporarily breathe again, and the giant orange furball stopped screaming and scratching, Darcy asked again, "So explain yourself. What are you about here?"

Bingley looked at him, afraid of another trip up the wall, but finally had to say, "I have no idea. Three days ago, somebody bashed me in the back of the head in Meryton, and then hauled me here tied over the saddle on a mule. I don't have any more idea why we're here than you do."

Miss Bingley, on hearing this, repeated three or four times how much she was grieved, how shocking it was to have to ride tied up over a mule, and how excessively she disliked traveling by mule herself; and then thought no more of the matter: and her indifference towards Wickham when not immediately before her restored Elizabeth to the enjoyment of all her former dislike.

Caroline expanded, "I'm afraid I don't know either Mr. Darcy. I'm terribly mortified that you would think me vile enough to perpetrate such an act, but on the other hand, I'm quite happy that you think me capable of it. Wouldn't that show the type of skill and fortitude you need for a mistress of Pemberley? I believe I would be perfect for it had I concocted this scheme, so… yes, yes! I am the perpetrator."

"So you're the perpetrator? You can end this debacle here and now?"

Caroline sighed and said, "No, I'm as captive as you. I was abducted two days ago and brought hither in my coach. I have no idea what's going on."

These revelations let the wind out of Darcy sails. If it wasn't Caroline or Wickham, then who could it be?

"Aunt Catherine. I don't suppose this is your doing?"

"Fitzwilliam Darcy. How could you think such a thing?"

"I'm sorry Aunt. It just seems like the type of measures you might take if you were desperate, and found out I was going to Scotland to marry Elizabeth instead of Anne."

"YOU ARE NOT MARRYING ANNE! FITZWILLIAM DARCY, HOW COULD YOU?"

Once the expected outburst was complete, Lady Catherine sat back in her chair defeated. Finally, with a resigned shrug she replied, "I'm afraid it's not my doing nephew. I would quite happily abduct you to keep you from polluting the shades of Pemberley with that country nobody, with no fortune and no connections, but do you really think I could obtain 60 men on such short notice? Haven't you seen the books for Rosings? I'd have trouble paying for my parson and a mule, let alone 60 men."

"You make a good point, Aunt and I apologize for my suspicions. I should have realized you were nowhere near solvent enough to perform this heinous act. Did you say 60 men?"

"You really should pay more attention Fitzwilliam. There are at least 60."

With such a conundrum, everyone sat back in stunned silence. The world was upside down and inside out. If you could not count on Catherine de Bourgh, George Wickham or Caroline Bingley to be the villain; who could you count on? Was it to be a new character? Perhaps a repurposed role for an existing characters? This was quite a conundrum, so our bear and our wolf did the only thing they could. They had their coffee and their breakfast, while shooting daggers at Miss Bingley and Wickham, although at this point it was purely for form.

Now, the biggest mystery was who could arrange such a large party at such short notice? Elizabeth and Darcy had consumed the brandy, proposed, became engaged, wrote a stack of letters, and left Rosings all within less than a day. Who could possibly have put together such a nefarious scheme with so many men in such a short time? No, it was quite impossible… Unless… Unless… Unless, someone already had the scheme in place, they were purely after Darcy and Elizabeth was just along for the ride. That might explain the long delay here in the pirate cabin. The new antagonist must have required some time to put together a new scheme, or perhaps hire more men. Just acquiring Wickham's mule could have taken hours.

Elizabeth outlined her theory to the rest of the group, and was surprised to hear a reply.

"You seem to have the right of it, Miss Bennet."

Everyone in the room gasped, and looked up to see the speaker who must be responsible for this atrocity.

"Oh, dear"