I regretted agreeing to this so much. I was cheery when we started from London. I was in somewhat high spirits. I thought it would be refreshing. But after driving for 3 hours, I just couldn't keep my mind straight. I wanted to smoke so badly but I promised myself that I won't. It was a very difficult thing I imposed on myself. I had no idea how deep into this country Pemberley was. Who lives this isolated from civilization? Are these people normal; human even?

We reached Pemberley late in the morning; sometime around 11 maybe. The cold season seemed very prominent so far away from the city. Or maybe it was the gigantic palace spreading in front of my eyes. A massive row of the tallest marble pillars lining the entrance of the Darcy mansion, a lush green estate that was practically a forest on its own- there was no sign of any closeness. Maybe I was still drowsy from waking up so early for the drive but everything seemed so big. My only point of reference to make out the size and scale of this scene were the cars crawling in the sprawling driveway. Plus, the dark grey sky overhead the mansion gave the whole situation a very spooky feel. All I needed was some hardcore organ music blasting through some unseen speakers.

I was surprised to see the friendly face of Mrs Reynolds greet us as we were moving towards the entrance. She looked so out of place in that horridly spooky castle.

"So good to see you, Mr. Bennet" she said towards papa.

"And how is the old dog doing?" he asked as a troop of butlers filed out of the ornate door to tackle with our scant luggage.

"He has been waiting for you in the breakfast room for 2 hours now" Mrs. Reynolds exclaimed with glee as we followed her in. I tried to find the end of the mansion from side to side but as we approached it kept getting bigger and bigger.

We entered into the main hall that was lit with a warm yellow and orange glow. The décor was something out of a classic Hollywood movie. The ones that came in the 40s or 50s. The only things that stood out were the few items of 21st century functionality that grounded us into the present, like the noise of cell phones belonging to unnamed people. It was an absurdly large hall with staircases and doors lining all the dimensions of the place. The indoor haze of the hall made it so that I could only see the wood panelling and carpets of, along with your standard knick-knacks that are stuffed in every corner of cold mansions like these. I stood squinting in the dismal light there for a few moments until I heard hurried footsteps coming from one of the rooms.

"Mr. Bennett!" came Harry with his arms wide open.

"Harry my boy!" papa exclaimed as they hugged quickly.

"Papa's been waiting for you all morning" he said as he ushered papa towards the room from where he just emerged.

"I hope I didn't turn the breakfast cold" papa said rubbing his palms. Harry chuckled.

We entered the door that was way too small for the large dining room. It was dark despite having a cavalcade of dim bulbs and candles burning in indeterminate parts of the room. The ceiling was high with two chandeliers hanging over the long dining table. There was a large fireplace at the opposite wall with an oil painting above it. The wall to my left had large windows that had the view of the vast Pemberley estate with the dense forests lining the far horizon. I must have spent almost 2 minutes just trying to visually take in the dining room that looked more like a set of "Game of Thrones" or something. I don't remember if I was impressed, but I was definitely a bit spooked. When I was done with sight-seeing, I finally turned my attention to the human beings that were present underneath the large dark ceiling. I finally looked at the person sitting at the head of the table that was right in front of the cackling roaring fireplace. My eyes took a few seconds to adjust to the darkness, but when they did, I had a mini heart attack- Frank Darcy was looking back at me with his hands resting on the table.

I stared at him for a few seconds as I waited for my eyes to adjust more to the dimness of the room. It was only then that I noticed that he had streaks of grey hair and his skin was a lot more ashen and slightly wrinkled.

"James!" I heard papa's jolly roar coming from behind me. Mr. Darcy looked behind me and gave a wide smile as he moved away from the table. Papa and him met halfway and shared a big, generous hug.

"I thought that the Brits would have to take the Americas back just for me to have a chance to meet you" Mr. Darcy said to papa as he looked intently in his eyes.

"Well, I am a divorced guy" papa sighed as both moved towards the chair, "so you get the next best thing, I guess"

The people present there laughed at that dumb joke as I stood there staring at Frank's dad and virtually freaking out and screaming internally. It is like someone aged up Frank and asked him to impersonate his dad. The similarities were too apparent. I kept gawking at him for an absurdly long amount of time.

"That must be Little Liz" Mr. Darcy said with a booming voice that echoed in the dining hall (it was the size of a ballroom without the heavy furniture). I moved towards him warily and shook his hands. It has been very long since I saw Frank at this point that my memories of him were bleeding into my present now. My senses were all awry. His face kept flashing every time the light from the fire fell on different parts of his face. I don't know if it was the room that made me feel like it; or he really was a bit larger than Frank himself.

He looked intently into my own eyes, a bit similar to how Frank does. But he had lighter coloured eyes and they were a bit mild.

"Doesn't look anything like you" he said as he gestured towards papa while maintaining eye contact, "are you sure you're the father?"

I was a bit taken aback and paused a few seconds to figure out how to respond to that. There definitely was a small moment of awkward silence till papa said, "well she doesn't look like her mother either so don't put all the blame on me"

The people present started to laugh in a limp attempt to keep up with the camaraderie between the old patriarchs that nobody really understood. I kept looking at Mr Darcy's face, still trying to figure out what he really meant. Was I being paranoid? Obviously. Duh. Why? I don't know, why are people paranoid anyways?

All I know that my senses, my mind my heart everything was on overdrive. I was nervous, anxious. I honestly had no idea what I was doing there.

Luckily someone cued us all to sit at the dining table decked with breakfast. Toasts, piled sausages, jugs of juice and milk, kettles of tea or coffee (or both), mayonnaise, marmalade, strawberry jam, mustard, cut and uncut fruits; along with some smaller stuff crammed between these that were difficult to see in the darkness and crowd of the table. A small battalion of servants entered with more, probably cups and plates but also some jugs and kettles.

"I would say I'm sorry about your divorce" said Mr Darcy sitting in his chair, "but you already know my feelings about your ex-wife all too well"

"I'm here to forget about it, James" papa said as he seated himself eyeing the breakfast table. I reached straight for the coffee pot and groped around the table for a cup. I hated how 'British' this breakfast table was- the cups were comically minuscule. They were made only to sip the weak pathetic 'tea'. One wonders whether colonising half the world would teach them to brew something better then gutter water.

"I have to attend her wedding anyways, so give me a break James" he continued.

"You will be coming back to London after the wedding" Mr. Darcy asked, "or going back to Beardsley?"

"I have no business in America anymore" papa said, "I am an old man now, I just want to relax". "What about Jane?". "What about her? She is in New York, I think? I don't know"

"I heard about her coming out" Harry remarked, "It must have been very brave, I'm sure".

"Yes, but it broke her mother's heart" papa said, "She had a hard time wrapping her head around this reality".

"She has a history of that, alright" Mr. Darcy said sardonically under his breath.

I was by this time drinking a third serving of the coffee. I was still feeling so groggy and disoriented. Part of that was me trying to piece together the Darcy family; half of it as it existed in front of my eyes. There was the patriarch Darcy, an older version of Frank. And there was Harry, the masculine form of the woman in the oil portrait at his London flat, gentle green eyes, warm smile and red wavy hair- the extreme aesthetic opposite of Frank. I knew that siblings can be completely different from each other (me and Jane), but I was trying to imagine one drop of Catherine Darcy in the faded memories of Frank I had. Maybe he has began the process of escaping completely from all the nooks and crannies of my conscious memories. The only thing left of him were the meek remnants of the sensations that his physicality evoked in my body- a funny type of muscle memory, perhaps….

"….book going?" the words flew by me as I gradually seeped back into attention. I saw Diane looking at me intently with an expectant look.

"Oh, great, yeah" my autopilot replied, "its tough work but I love the process" I finally took some control.

"Yeah, that is always the best part of it all" Harry replied while looking between me and his wife. I replied non-verbally by giving a short smile. I moved my gaze for a moment towards the head of the table to find Mr. Darcy gauging me. I understood the look, he was working an opinion of me in his mind while trying not to betray anything. I held my gaze to look at him continually, some foolish pride in me that took over for a few seconds compelled me to not avert my gaze. He finally broke the little private moment by breaking into that crooked smile, the same one as Frank. My subconscious told me that the mini-game of social cue was over. I guess Frank's memory lived in me in more ways than I thought.

We were shown to our rooms that lied within the labyrinthine mansion. Mine was in the west wing of the house, one of the only three rooms there since the rest of the wing comprised of a huge 3- storey library. The other two rooms were empty guest-houses. This part of the mansion felt a lot more isolated from the rest of the sprawling estate, a perfect place to build an ostentatious library which can double as a study and office. My door was directly across from the third-floor entrance to the library.

The room (despite not being the suites that exist in the other part of the mansion) was still fairly spacious. It was freshly furnished in anticipation of my arrival. There was a snug bathroom on one side with an adjoining closet. The butler, a young man, gestured towards a button by my bed that can be used to summon English country side servants. I would have balked at this idea, but considering how far off I was with humanity in the west wing of Pemberley I was quite grateful.

I familiarised myself with the room. The window overlooked the sprawling Pemberley estate. The forested area was cleaved by a natural stream meandering through low hills. Coupled with the deep grey sky, the view was both menacing and beautiful. I opened the window and leaned over it as I lit my cigarette. The brisk cold air combined with the smoke and filled my lungs followed by my very being. I felt like I existed outside of myself. My drowsiness now turned to a nonchalant mellowness. I doused the cigarette on the thick window sill and turned.

The corridor outside carried the sparse echoes of staff and guests traversing the mansion, moving from one part of the room to other, talking on phones or beckoning each other. The door to the library was slightly ajar. I entered noisily with my shoes echoing in the hallway.

The three-floor library emerged from under the balcony placed at the entrance. Two sets of stairs unravelled at my either side that ran the entire length of the wing. For a castle practically teeming with people, it seemed to be isolated from the inhabitants. It carried a stillness that loomed heavy in the air coloured deeply by the thick volumes of unnamed books lining the length and breadth of almost every wall.

I was holding the wooden lacquered railing lining the elevated foyer where I stood when my phone rudely rang up echoing cruelly in the quiet library. With my heart beating in my throat from the startle I took it out of my coat pocket.

"Hey" I heard the warm voice of Dean.

"Hi", I said still flustered, trying to remember if I told him about my weekend trip.

"You were unreachable for quite while" he said. "Yeah I'm away for the weekend" I replied, "I'm sorry I should have told you". "Don't worry about it" he said, "just wanted an update on the manuscript"

"I'm halfway there. I'll show you first thing Monday".

"Miss Bennet?" a man voiced from the library door. I turned around to find a youngish man sheepishly looking at me with dark curly hair. He was around my age, slightly taller than me with broad shoulders and top button of his shirt open revealing a hint of hairy chest.

"Yes?" I replied removing my phone away from my cheeks instinctively. "I just wanted to ask when and where do you want your lunch served" he said in a very thick and very sexy northern accent.

Oh he's a pageboy! I exclaimed internally. "Umm, I'll call you later Dean" I said hanging up without waiting for his reply. He has fully moved in the library and stood in front of the heavy oak door waiting for me to give an answer.

"What is there for lunch?" I asked as I slowly moved towards him. "Anything you want" he said, this time a low husky voice, his gentle face features working in response to me moving in better light with respect to him.

"What's your name?" I asked standing barely a foot away from him. "I, uh, miss I don't" he hesitated being caught off guard by my question, "I'm sorry about my uniform miss something spilled on my…" "I don't give a flying fuck about your uniform" I cut him off. "I don't want to call you a butler, a bellboy or whatever. What do I call you?" I asked as my gaze moved smoothly from his dreamy eyes to his lips to his Adam's apple finally ending at his unbuttoned collar. He noticed this movement of my eyes and I spied a coy smile at the corner of his delicate mouth.

"Oliver" he said through his shyness and lustful mirth, "Can I ask yours?"

"Elizabeth" I replied.

We looked at each other with a series of flirty smiles exchanged for an elongated moment. But then reality caught up with him. "Miss, your lunch?" he asked tying his arms behind his back in a self-conscious way that simultaneously made me uncomfortable and horny.

"I want some cold cuts with a salad" I said. "Very well ma'am" he bowed perfunctorily, "do you want it in your room or in the dining hall?"

"Are you going to bring it to me?" I asked. His newfound composure melted in the heat of the insinuation and he broke into an awkward smile. "If you want me to"

"I'll have it in my room with a glass of your best red" I said getting close to him under the guise of moving out the door, "and bring it alone" I practically whispered into his reddened cheek. He saw me enter my room with an expression of breathless exhilaration. I heard his hurried footsteps outside my closed door.

I pulled the dressing gown from my suitcase as Oliver still lay supine on my bed, breathing heavily. I moved over by his side with my box of cigarettes and lighter, offered him one which he took sitting up. His eyes moved all over my body naked under the open gown as I lit both of ours.

"I haven't had sex in such a long time" he said sighing. "Also, a ciggie". Standing over him I noticed his rough tan and slightly crooked bridge of nose. His hair was dark and soft, my hands moved through them.

"You should eat your lunch now, Miss" he said struggling to pull himself away from the noisy little tryst we had just five minutes ago. He stood up and pulled a drawer in a side table to produce a porcelain ashtray. "Do you want to join me?" I asked. He looked at me with mild surprise with his left hand outstretched putting off his cigarette.

"You should know that I'm already walking on pretty thin ice, miss" he murmured. "It's Elizabeth" I said, "Or lizzie".

He looked at me intently while slowly moving his hands towards my waist, around my torso and caressing my cold hips. I pushed him back on the bed in a sitting position and slipped out of my gown. He saw me go on my knees with bated breaths as I moved my mouth towards his groin.

But this round of forbidden bliss was interrupted. A loud bell reverberated throughout the hallway from somewhere very close by. It startled Oliver as he painstakingly moved my head away from him. The bell kept on ringing as he struggled frantically to get in his uncooperative clothes.

"I'm really sorry miss… I mean Lizzie" he said buttoning his shirt.

"Is there not a single fucking soul in this part of the house?" a sharp voice bellowed right outside my room. I felt a pang of eerie familiarity.

"Fuck me it's Mr. Darcy" Oliver whispered nervously. "Which one?" I asked sardonically as I tied my gown over my frustrated self.

"Frank Darcy" he said. "He's the eldest of Mr. Darcy. He lives mostly in America" he continued in a matter-of-fact way.

I stared at his reflection in the dressing table mirror where I sat utterly stunned. "Let me know when you're done with your lunch, miss" he loudly exclaimed performatively after opening the door. He moved outside nervously. I immediately moved to the closed door and glued my ears.

"I'm really sorry sir, it's just me in the west wing right now" I heard Oliver say, "When did you arrive at Pemberley sir?"

"Just this morning" Frank said gently, "How have you been Oliver?"

"Very well sir" he replied as they moved into the library followed by the heavy door shutting behind them.

I sank down at the heavily carpeted floor. How did I not see this coming? Fuck!