A/N: I see you're still here, so I guess your head didn't explode with that last chapter. If you're wondering, I don't actually know where that idea came from. I had several ideas for how Lizzy would manage to solve her problems, and the idea of Mrs. B. didn't occur to me about a week ago. Before that, I was planning to have her get help from Lady Catherine. I usually just stuff my characters in a pressure cooker and see what happens. I hope you like it… although what's not to like about a cage match between Wickham and Collins in a burning parsonage? Of course, they weren't the only ones on the way to the parsonage, so let's see if the slowest phaeton in Kent has managed to arrive.

So as penance for springing that last chapter on you, here's a twofer for tonight.

Wade

We must have been only quarter mile or so from the parsonage when we saw the smoke, and once that was visible there was no amount of pleading or cajoling that could induce Mr. Smith to move another yard towards the fire. It was all any of us could do to get him to stop in the lane in the spot where the smoke had first become visible and not turn around and return to Risings instantly. I could not in truth blame the man; I would not want to tell my Aunt Catherine I had taken three ladies under her protection, two of them barely able to walk let alone run, to the site of a fire with a pony attached to their phaeton that did not even have reigns. No sir! I would not want to do that, so I had to admit that even though it was ostensibly my home that looked like it was burning, other than my concern for my poultry and my pig, I did not particularly mind. I happened to know that the Sergeant and Mrs. MacDonald along with the curate were having tea with Jane…

That thought stopped me in my tracks, not that I was actually making any tracks in the first place, but I had to admit it was on the unusual side for Jane to invite those particular personages to tea on a Saturday afternoon. I had been practically frantic (well, according to Charlotte I was far past that state, but Charlotte always did overreact to every little thing) when we went out for our ride in Anne's phaeton, and may not have noticed any peculiar behavior, but it was quite suspicious.

Before we could really make any sort of decision, including the decision to get out of the middle of the road before we were run over by another coach, the inevitable happened. We were not actually overrun by Darcy's carriage, but it seemed a frightening thing for a moment. They had clearly seen the smoke before I did, and the two lunkheads were probably on the way to see if they could be the dashing hero types and rescue a helpless damsel in distress… although I had to admit that the idea of Mrs. MacDonald née Hewes as a damsel was almost as funny as the idea of her in distress. I thought it more likely one of the gentlemen would run into a burning building to save her, and she would end up carrying them out.

Of course, those thoughts only frittered through my head for a moment at most before we were suddenly accosted by the expected gentlemen, a full week early. I had to give it to Darcy. He had defied me by a week, but I was surprised it was not a fortnight or a month, and was not as displeased with his debetrothed as you might have thought.

They both approached the carriage, Fitzwilliam running up to me with the biggest grin I had ever seen on a face since Mr. Bingley first saw Jane back in the bloom of young love, or whatever that emotion was, and I would not have been at all surprised if he jumped on the phaeton, threw Charlotte to the ground and gave me a big hug. As I said, my head was more prone to being addled than usual, and my flights of fancy more pronounced since my brush with death; who truth be told had no sense of humor whatsoever. The gentleman settled for more or less sensible speech.

"Elizabeth! Elizabeth! Elizabeth! Elizabeth! Let me look at you! I am so happy to see you well and whole. Nothing in this life can ever match the pleasure I am feeling at this moment. Please tell me you are well. Please, be well Elizabeth!"

I was nearly overwhelmed by the pure emotion of the address, not to mention the repetitiousness, and I matched his exuberance with my own reckless torrent of words.

"Fitzwilliam"

He did not seem to mind my brevity, because I believe I gave him the very first truly heartfelt smile in our long rocky history. I was not even certain I liked him at our last supper, but my sisters had told me all that he had done, and all that he would do, and as far as I was concerned, he had earned all of my smiles and more. There was no longer any question about whether I liked him or not. No question whatsoever.

I glanced away from him to see his cousin, the other lunkhead as my sisters called him approaching the carriage, and exhibiting his usual over‑exuberant chattiness he was famous for.

"Anne. Elizabeth. Miss Lucas. I am overjoyed to see you all well."

I looked at Charlotte to see if she was sharpening her knives, but she just looked at him neutrally. I was so excited I practically screamed… neutrality we could work with. Neutrality was such an improvement.

I turned back to Fitzwilliam, who I found could never quite be 'Darcy' when he was standing in front of me, and reckoned that much more of his behavior over the previous week… well, the previous week of our acquaintance anyway, made more sense than it had before. In fact, nearly everything he had ever done made some kind of sense.

I was thinking of that, but then I remembered the smoke. I was not overly concerned about the parsonage, and I knew the gentlemen had been distracted for the moment, but neither they nor I could just stand there without knowing what was happening.

"Fitzwilliam, might you help me down please? I am still not quite back to being the great walker I once was."

At the reference, but smiled like a boy who was wandering through his favorite glen, next to his favorite trout stream and unaccountably found a pie lying on his favorite stump. When I reached for a hand, he simply grabbed me around the waist and lifted me down like a child. I was all skin and bones at the time, so I doubt it was that much of a strain for him, but I reached over and put my hands on his shoulders anyway just to be sure.

When he set me on my feet facing him, as gently as a breeze, I felt somewhat unsteady… yes, that was it… I was truly unsteady, and that was the reason I tipped forward to end up with my head on his chest. Yes that was it… I was quite near to vapors. We were all lucky I did not fall on the ground to be trampled by the pony.

I may have leaned on the man a bit longer than propriety strictly allowed, but I reckoned that everyone present was trustworthy enough to keep my secret, and it was certainly not as if I had to worry about compromise.

I vaguely wondered how Charlotte was doing, but it took perhaps a moment to come back to myself and ask. "Fitzwilliam, would you help me these last few hundred yards. I am afraid I am not what I was, and I would like to make sure my animals are released and nobody is injured, or worse yet doing something stupid to save that horrid building."

I expected an argument, or an order to return to Rosings while the manly men did the manly man duties, but he surprised me… as usual.

"It would be my privilege Elizabeth. Anne, would you be willing to return to Rosings so you can tell your mother and sisters what is happening. They will see the smoke soon and I would not have them worried unnecessarily."

I thought Anne would argue too, but she simply answered, "Yesl. I will be back in a half hour though if you will convince Mr. Smith."

Fitzwilliam simply said, "No, I shall not importune the man. Go in my carriage and my driver will take you to Rosings, and then bring you back if your mother allows it."

The insufferable girl gave him a pout worthy of a thirteen year old Lydia, but agreed to his scheme.

Fitzwilliam said, "Miss Lucas, will you be joining us at the parsonage or returning to Rosings? You are of course as welcome in the carriage."

"I will be joining you if you do not mind."

Then she completely surprised all of us by saying, "Mr. Fitzwilliam, might you assist me."

I knew perfectly well that Charlotte could have jumped from the phaeton and landed on her feet with the greatest of ease, so it was clear she was either determined to give the poor man a chance, or she was simply doing what she needed to prevent the Bennet sisters from hounding her to death for the next week. A betting woman would have been inclined to the latter explanation, but maybe she was relenting just a little bit, or perhaps she had just finally realized that the gentleman had never actually done her the least bit of harm.

"It would be my greatest pleasure, Miss Lucas."

He was perhaps too sincere and smooth with the manners, but I would give him the benefit of the doubt.

Fitzwilliam seemingly reluctantly let go of my waist, and I seemingly reluctantly released my hands from the lapels of his waistcoat where they had landed. He offered his arm and I wrapped both of my hands around it. I thought I should step lightly because he looked like one misstep or tiny little stumble would have him carrying me, which would be very undignified, but… not as unpleasant as one might think. Apparently, it would not be the first time he had carried me.

We arrived in front of the parsonage a merry party. Charlotte surprisingly had her hand on the crook of Richard's arm and they had even had what appeared to be some light conversation in the few hundred yards. I had both hands wrapped around Fitzwilliam's arm in a most unconventional and probably undignified manner, but he did not seem to mind. I had not had much chance to converse with him on the way since I was still weak as a kitten and was putting all of my efforts into not stumbling.

The path allowed me to see that someone had released all of my animals already so they were not a concern. We continued onto the parsonage where we found the must unbelievable sight of the day. Seeing the parsonage in flames was not it, as that was just fire. What shocked me was seeing the last man in the world I expected to see, Mr. Bingley.

Something about the man seemed altered, or perhaps my perceptions were altered. Whether I was any better at understanding others or worse was hard to say, but Mr. Bingley seemed more… more… well, the only word I could come up with was solid. He was standing tall, his hands clasped behind his back just watching the parsonage burn like Nero watching Rome when he heard our approach, and he looked like he had grown in stature since I last saw him, but I could not hazard a guess as to why.

He looked at us, and a smile graced his features. Even his smile seemed more solid than what the amiable man of Netherfield had sported. This one looked perhaps more genuine than what he had back a year ago, as if the old one were simply a habit. I wondered what had happened to the man in the previous year, but that was nothing compared to the absolute burning curiosity I carried about just what in the blazes he was doing here.

He bowed, obviously acquainted with us all, and said, "Good afternoon Mrs. Collins. Miss Lucas. Darcy. Richard. I am quite happy to see you all."

He said it all as if it was not incongruous in the least. Neither Charlotte nor I were very inclined to curtsies and the two lunkheads were staring at him as if he had somehow landed on a griffon to hop down in front of us, but he just smiled and carried on.

Fitzwilliam said, "Bingley, I was not expecting you here."

The man just started laughing nearly uncontrollably for a moment while we all stared at him, and he said, "Yes, Darcy. It turns out you did not expect me, much to my surprise."

Well, that did not make any sense at all, so maybe if we just waited patiently, it all would eventually.

He looked at me and said, "Mrs. Collins. You are looking well. I understand you have been very ill, and I am most grateful for your recovery."

He actually seemed just a bit touched, and I swayed a little bit on my feet with just one surprise too many for the day. Fitzwilliam either felt concern for me, or was looking for a convenient excuse, so he shifted over to where he was standing right behind me, and grabbed my waist lightly with both hands for good measure. I intended to slap those treasonous hands away from my person… very soon, in fact almost immediately.

Mr. Bingley looked at me in concern, and then said the oddest thing.

"Mrs. Collins, normally I would start this phrase with the words 'I regret to inform you', but I cannot work up that level of respect for the common forms, since I do not regret it in the least. I will just say it outright. You are now a widow. Mr. Collins was in the parsonage, and you will find his bones in the cellar."

I gasped in surprise, not at the fact that Collins was dead… but that Mr. Bingley could be standing here telling me with no more ceremony than he would use to describe a recent horse race. It was just too odd. Too odd by at least double, and I did not precisely feel faint or unsteady or moved by the death we had all been just waiting for. I did not swoon or fall over or demonstrate any of the other weaknesses our sex is frequently accused of. I simply did not move or oppose him when Fitzwilliam pulled me back against his chest and wrapped his arms around my waist. I must admit, since we are clearly keeping confidence here, that I did not find it in the least bit distressing. He was doing what was right… seeing to my comfort and security, just like he would with any of his sisters. Yes, I was quite certain of that.

"Mr. Bingley, you seem to know a lot about the parsonage. Tell me, will we find any other bones in there."

The man looked… well, odd was the only expression I can come up with, weak as it is. He said, "Weeellll… There is also a man you may remember from Hertfordshire… a Mr. Wickham."

At that point, I was absolutely dead certain that I did not regret Fitzwilliam's forwardness, because I may well have swayed on my feet or even swooned at that news. He simply pulled me closer, and nobody challenged it. George Wickham… dead! Except for Longbourn, all of my problems in the world were floating up to the sky in a haze of smoke.

It only took a few seconds of selfish reflection before I wondered how Charlotte was taking the news, and I was thoroughly shocked to see her standing with a dazed expression on her face, but straight as an elm tree swaying in the breeze. Richard looked like he would give his right arm to emulate Fitzwilliam holding me so tightly, but probably judged that grabbing Charlotte at the moment might indeed cost that. It took a moment for me to see a bit of the old Charlotte peeping out of the cloud she had been carrying all this time, and her face broke into the biggest grin I thought I had ever seen. It was if the cloud she had been enveloped in had spit a bold of lightning and disappeared. She was free… and come to think of it, I was too!

I burst into a bit of a giggling fit right then. I was completely free. I was at long last free, and so was Charlotte, but I came back to myself after a few moments of enjoying the sensation. I thought it was completely unfair that Mr. Bingley got all the fun, so thought I might have a bit myself, since I had my own surprises.

"Mr. Bingley, I have two matters I would like to clarify, if you could oblige me."

He just grinned, a bit more of the Bingley grin we were accustomed to, and replied, "Your servant, Madam."

I giggled just a bit at that along with him, and said, "The first matter is simply a clarification of address. I have not been Mrs. Collins for a fortnight, nor am I now a widow."

I must admit that was the most diverting trick I had ever played on the lunkheads, and I thought I might have to hold Fitzwilliam up, which might be harder than one would think. He naturally yelled, "What!"

I craned my neck around to where I could see him, then got him to release me so I could stand on my own two feet facing him, and said, "You and Richard are not the only lunkheads here. I must join you in the distinction. Aunt Catherine dragged the story out me with her fingernails, and just laughed at how silly we all were with such an obvious solution at hand."

He looked a bit confused, then I said, "Do you remember what I told Bennet, just before we got to the er… instruments?"

He thought about it a bit then just smiled like a schoolboy, and said, "How long did it take her to get the archbishop here?"

"Five days"

He just laughed aloud, while Richard and Charlotte asked, "What do you mean, Lizzy?"

I belatedly wondered how this news would affect Charlotte, but it was far too late to worry about that now. I said, "I neither consented nor consummated the marriage, so it was annulled… as if it never happened. I am back to being Miss Elizabeth Bennet."

She took it with an even bigger smile than the last one. Charlotte was someone who knew how to be happy when it was time to be happy, and I was not entirely convinced she would not find her own way to happiness one day sooner rather than later.

Once I was happy with her condition, I asked, "So tell me Mr. Bingley, why exactly are you standing outside a burning parsonage in Kent?"

I was surprised but not entirely shocked to hear another voice join the discussion.

"Yes, Mr. Bingley. Do please enlighten us."

Mr. Bingley looked at the newcomer with an expression somewhere between joy and fear, but straightened his spine and prepared to answer.