A/N: Hello all. Thanks again for the follows, favorites, and reviews! I wish that I had time to personally respond to them. 😊 I don't think I'll say it for many more chapters, but I do go back and fiddle with previous chapters occasionally. I'm lengthening scenes, or clarifying, or fixing plot holes so if you get an alert and I haven't posted a new chapter…I apologize. I am in the process of adding a new section to the beginning of each chapter. It had been planned but I needed more time to finish fleshing it out. I recently read this quote by Shannon Hale.

"I'm writing a first draft and reminding myself that I'm simply shoveling sand into a box so that later I can build castles."

—Shannon Hale

I wish that you guys were getting the finished castle right now, but I figured better a semi-refined full sand box that gets messed with than nothing at all. Slowly the castle will be built!

Also-I was having a hard time finding a playlist to write Fate and Folly too, and I've finally struck gold. The official Bridgerton playlist (on Spotify, but I'm sure Youtube would have the same songs) is amazing. I love the modern string quartets, etc…This means that my writing is going smoother because I'm not getting pulled out of it by music that irritates or ruins the muse.

I hope you enjoy Chapter 4. It was a lot of fun to write.

-Cognisance

Fate and Folly

By Cognisance

Chapter 4

"Trust in soulmarks and in the matches made through them is one of the underlying foundations of any society. . ."

-Partial quote from The Critique of Soul Mates by Manuel Kant [1]

Wednesday, October 9th, 1811

Longbourn

Elizabeth had thought long and hard over just how to keep Lydia in check. There had to be something that could motivate her to better behavior, but it was difficult to see what. They were such different people. Elizabeth liked books, long walks, debates with her father, scones, and the special chocolate cake that cook made for her birthday. Lydia liked bonnets and ribbons and lace, pocket money, officers, and any type of sweet she could get her hands on. Unfortunately, not only did their interests barely align, but just about everything that Lydia did want that was of material worth she got almost immediately with a few exceptions that Elizabeth refused to use in this ploy. Then a thought popped into Elizabeth's head. Since material items wouldn't work, what if she played off of Lydia's competitiveness and desire for attention. Yes, that could work. Lydia had long been engaged in a subtle war with Elizabeth. While Jane was favored by their mother for her beauty, nothing (in their mother's mind) could compare to Fanny's youngest daughter's brash nature termed 'lively' by their mother. Elizabeth on the other hand had the distinction of being their father's favorite due to her love of books and her appreciation for his sardonic humor. Lydia had made it an obvious point of pride (to Elizabeth at least) to prove to their mother that she had chosen the right daughter to favor, and with every comment by their father about having "three of the silliest daughters in England" Lydia's determination to be more than Elizabeth seemed to grow. Elizabeth knew it was also a frustration that Lydia could not 'borrow' from her at whim for Mr. Bennet's orders took precedence even over Mrs. Bennet's, and while there was seldom much that Elizabeth had that Lydia wanted the fact that she could not just have it made her burn with visible indignation.

Elizabeth took greater care than normal that night with her appearance. She asked Sarah, their maid, for help with her usually unruly dark curls. She wore her second best evening dress that brought out the hints of green in her eyes and the roses in her cheeks. She used her special scent that Aunt Gardiner had bought in London and presented to her on her twentieth birthday, an exotic blend with hints of orange and cinnamon and other unknown spices. And she wore her pearl pendant given to her by her father on her eighteenth birthday. These last two were her equivalent of pulling the gloves off, for Lydia had been trying for months to find her hiding spot for both (probably to ruin them and blame someone else) and her hackles went up whenever Elizabeth wore them.

Elizabeth could hear Jane and the others calling as she put her finishing touches on. It was unusual that she was the last one ready, but this was part of her strategy. She swept as gracefully as possible out her door and down the stairs to find everyone ready to depart. She moved over by Lydia as Mr. Hill handed her outerwear to her. As she slipped into her pelisse she turned to make sure that Lydia's eyes caught on the pendant. Elizabeth was pleased to see a narrowing of her sister's gaze at the sight and then a decided frown as she took a breath. Elizabeth spoke in an undertone to Lydia as the others began moving out the door.

"You think that you shall be the favorite of the officer's tonight," she smirked condescendingly, "I shall prove you wrong, and I won't have to remove my fichu to do so." Elizabeth spun on her heel and exited. Internally she was gleefully smiling at the mixture of anger, irritation, and determination she had seen chase across Lydia's face. Externally she was collected and a touch haughty the whole ride to the Phillips as she sat smushed between Lydia and Jane, listening to Mr. Collins keep up a steady stream of nothings on the fineness of the carriage (though it didn't compare to Lady Catherine's, who let him ride in one of hers on the way home from her dinners when he was so lucky as to be invited to dine with her); or how he was looking forward to the game of cards (of which he was not opposed to at all, for he could well withstand a slight loss, though to be sure he hoped to win). By the time the carriage stopped, Elizabeth's composure in the face of such decided speech was wearing thin. Mr. Collins redeemed himself slightly by descending as soon as the carriage door was open and very politely handing each of his cousins out. It was with great aplomb that he offered to escort his 'dearest cousin, Miss Bennet' into the warmth of the house. And if any of his cousins were feeling chilled from the ride, he would see them settled by the fire, so they didn't risk getting a cold. Elizabeth (politely) and Lydia (promptly) declined. Kitty expressed her wish to see if Maria Lucas had been able to come. And Jane, with the air of a martyr, said that she would appreciate it, after she had introduced him to her uncle and aunt Phillips. Elizabeth smiled in commiseration at Jane as Mr. Collins led her in. Elizabeth had been naught but resigned to her own doom this evening, but now that she saw that Jane still meant to help by engaging Mr. Collin's attention, she felt that perhaps there were worse futures than hers tonight.

_F&F_

Wednesday, October 8th, 1811

Mrs. Phillips House

Elizabeth practically shone as they entered their uncle and aunt's cozy house. It wasn't fair. Why should she get preferential treatment from their papa and aunt. Surely if I had an advantage such as that I would win easily. But the gauntlet had been thrown down, and Lydia was not one to back down. After all, she was the liveliest, tallest, and had the best figure of any of her sisters. She would prove Elizabeth wrong. Just because she didn't have her sister's biting wit didn't mean that her own conversation wasn't appreciated. Lydia frowned as Elizabeth stayed beside her after their outerwear was taken and she moved toward the officers that had already arrived.

"Go away, Lizzy."

"No, no, Lydia. I think you need a lesson in just how to manage a conversation, and I shall be pleased to instruct you." Lydia huffed as Elizabeth took a half step in front of her and greeted the officers before she could.

"Lieutenant Saunderson, Lieutenant Denny, Lieutenant Chamberlayne. What a delight to see you tonight!" The men greeted Elizabeth cheerfully and she moved slightly to the side to give Lydia space to join in. "And I am sure you all remember my younger sister Lydia. Does not she look charming tonight?" Lydia wanted to snarl-younger sister indeed! Charming- as if I am yet a schoolgirl! - as Elizabeth put a hand on her shoulder and squeezed in apparent sisterly affection. Lydia made herself adopt her most practiced coquettish smile instead of the frown she felt forming and sucked in her breath a bit to show off her figure as their eyes turned towards her.

"I am so glad you were able to come tonight, I was afraid that your duties would keep you."

Elizabeth spoke again though before they could answer, "Oh yes, a card party is much more fun when there are enough people to fill the tables. And even more so when those filling the tables are closer to our age than fifty." Elizabeth laughed lightly before fanning her face, "I do say, my aunt has the fires stoked tonight."

Mr. Denny bowed slightly, "Let me get you a drink, Miss Elizabeth, your aunt was exclaiming on how wonderful her punch recipe is as we arrived."

"Oh, thank you, Lieutenant Denny, what a gentlemanly thing to offer. Lydia? Surely you would like a drink as well? You know aunt keeps the alcohol in her punch well watered down so father would not mind at all." Lydia could feel her cheeks flushing as Elizabeth again referenced her youth, but managed to agree and thank Mr. Denny before he moved off.

Mr. Chamberlayne looked at Elizabeth and said, "The weather has been exceedingly pleasant for October. Is it always so this far south?"

Lydia broke in before Elizabeth could answer, "Why yes, this is our normal weather. But surely you are not that far from your home county? The militia does not send you so far from home, you are to be close to protect your own are you not?" Mr. Chamberlayne and Mr. Saunderson looked blankly at her a moment and Elizabeth ducked her head. What did I say?

"We are of the Derbyshire militia." Mr. Saunderson said with a kind smile. Lydia appreciated the smile, but was unsure of his point.

"But Derbyshire is not so far away. Is it not only a couple counties away?" Mr. Chamberlayne coughed into his hand. And Elizabeth put her hand on Lydia's arm.

"Lydia, Derbyshire is where Aunt Gardiner is from. Do you not remember her saying that it took almost three days of comfortable travel to get there from London?" Elizabeth's tone was truly gentle, but Lydia pulled her arm away petulantly. Who cares about geography anyway. There are much more interesting topics of conversation.

"Of course, I knew that, it just slipped my mind for a moment." She prevaricated. Lieutenant Denny was a welcome distraction then as he came back handing a punch first to her and then to Elizabeth.

She took a large sip to give herself a moment to regain needed equilibrium.

"I have heard a rumour we shall be off to Brighton to practice multi regiment maneuvers once spring has come." Mr. Saunderson said.

Brighton! Lydia smiled, I know right where that is, the gossip pages mention it frequently.

"Oh, Brighton," she said with a dreamy sigh, "I would dearly love to go there. Just think of all the balls, and dancing, and shopping." Mr. Chamberlayne seemed like he was hiding a smile again so she turned her attention more to Mr. Denny and Mr. Saunderson. "And it would be wonderous to see the Marine Pavilion. Just imagine if we were there at the same time as the Prince Regent! I have read that he is considering expanding it. I wonder if that will begin immediately? I have never seen a place decorated in the chinoiserie style and I have read such things about it. Have you ever seen it?"

Mr. Saunderson shook his head, but Mr. Denny spoke for a minute on a private ball he had seen that had a room decorated with the exotic accoutrements. She was about to respond again when her eye was caught by Mr. Wickham walking in through the entry. Perhaps he'll come over, she mused, just as Elizabeth's voice pulled her back into the conversation.

"Are you a fan of the style, Mr. Denny?" Lydia frowned as she realized her inattention had allowed Elizabeth to naturally continue the conversation.

"Not especially. It seems awfully frippery to me. Why should we waste money imitating foreigners."

"A true patriot then? Do you feel the same of all foreign fashion?"

Mr. Chamberlayne broke in, "Miss Elizabeth, we are in the militia you can hardly doubt we are true patriots." He flashed a smile at only her and Lydia hmphed quietly to herself as Elizabeth laughed.

"I meant to cast no doubt upon your character, Mr. Chamberlayne, of course all the militia have only joined out of the most noble of purposes. True sons of England, one and all. Which of course means that as you nobly disapprove of all the foreign fripperies, so too you must disapprove of those goods that our nonloyal comrades have smuggled into our country? Cigars, brandy, wine?"

The officers laughed. "Well, you have me there, Miss Elizabeth. Not that we get to taste it much, but perhaps that would take our disdain a touch far. I imagine you feel the same about the lace upon your dress." Mr. Chamberlayne motioned towards the neckline of Elizabeth's dress, and she brought her hand up to run it along the edge.

"Why, yes! How in the world, Lieutenant Chamberlayne, did you recognize this little piece of lace as French!"

"It was just a guess. Truly. Do not all beautiful ladies boast a piece of French lace on their evening gowns?" He smiled and gave her a small wink. Lydia fumed. They are supposed to be flirting with me!

"Well, English lace is good enough for me," she said, running a hand down her side, "I have not a jot of their wares on my gown." She glanced up, expecting to see an approving smile or some other positive, instead Elizabeth was biting her lip in a way that meant she was desperately trying not to laugh. And the men were looking everywhere but at her. She ran the conversation back through her head, then flinched as she grasped what she had just implied about her own beauty.

Flushing red again, Lydia decided that retreating was her only option at this point, with a bare curtsey, she turned and flounced off. What a disaster. Without much care, Lydia slumped into a chair on the other side of the room. We have not even been here above half an hour. The cards have yet to start and sheis winning.

"That is a pretty pout." Lydia started and straightened, looking up just as Mr. Wickham flashed her a handsome smile, turned a seat to face her a bit more, and sat. "Tell me, that it was not something distressing enough to send you home, for I was greatly looking forward to having the chance to speak to you again."

Hah, the night is not lost yet. Lydia regained her spirits quickly. With a small giggle, she fluttered her lashes at Mr. Wickham, "Oh no, Lieutenant Wickham, not at all." She thought quickly, "It is just that I was afraid the clasp on my bracelet was coming loose so I came over here to check on it."

"And is it? Perhaps I could help?"

Lydia held up her wrist to show the (non)offending clasp, "No need, Lieutenant, I was mistaken." His eyes caught on her wrist and she smiled internally in triumph as her favorite ploy for attention found another mark, and smiled again as she replayed the pun in her mind.

"Is that- I do hope you don't think it's too forward of me- but is that your soulmark?" There was a hint of something more in his voice that Lydia didn't recognize. She filed it away to study later.

"Not too forward at all. It is my mark." She slid the bracelet up her arm a bit more and offered her wrist again for his perusal. She felt an unfamiliar flutter in her stomach as he took her hand in his and brought his head down lower to study it.

"How fascinating. I have heard a story. . ." he let the words drop off clearly inviting her to finish it. Lydia was more than happy too.

"I imagine you have!" She said proudly, "It was the talk of Meryton for several years. And if you are wondering if it is true. It is. With an ordinary quill and ink, I drew my own soulmark, and it has stayed."

"Fascinating." He said again as with one last look he let her hand fall, "I had also heard a rumour that you drew your next two eldest sister's marks on." Lydia shook her head and giggleds, but before she could answer, a call was set up to fill the card tables and the sudden noise and movement in the room broke up their conversation. Lydia desperately wanted to be seated with Mr. Wickham during the card games, but he was drawn away by a fellow officer into a game of whist. Lydia despised whist. She looked around, deciding that she would sit by Kitty, but found that her sister was already at a whist table that held both her aunt and Mr. Collins. Lydia grimaced, a double strike. Lydia loved her aunt, for she always had the newest and most useful gossip in town, but Mr. Collins. . . She grimaced again, she could tune out most anyone's speech, but he was irritatingly hard to ignore. His loud rumbly voice seemed to fill whatever room he was in and she had already had enough of it for a lifetime over just the course of a day. She was still dithering when her arm was caught by Elizabeth and she was led to a table for Lottery Tickets.

"Are you having a pleasant time?" Elizabeth asked. Lydia shot her sister a glare before pasting a smile on.

"It was a bit tedious at first, but I hope you saw that although the other girls wanted the attention of Mr. Wickham, as soon as I sat down, he made me the object of his attentions."

Elizabeth looked at Lydia sardonically, "Are you saying, dear sister, that the one in your hand was worth three in the bush?" Lydia followed Elizabeth's eyes around to Mr. Saunderson, Mr. Chamberlayne, and Mr. Denny.

"No." Lydia stuck her nose in the air, "I'm saying that the other officers didn't approach you, Mr. Wickham-" she broke her words off in confusion as Mr. Denny stepped up to the two of them and addressed Elizabeth.

"I see that you still have room at this table. Would it disrupt your conversation with your sister to have me join?" Lydia fumed as Elizabeth slid over a chair so that Denny could sit in between her and Lydia.

"Not at all Lieutenant Denny. In fact it is probably better for our sisterly affections if you break up our tete a tete." Elizabeth flashed a smile at Mr. Denny, and didn't look towards Lydia. Lydia could feel Elizabeth not looking at her, and it felt more like gloating than any of those smirks Elizabeth sent her way did. So the fight is still on.

Lydia tried very hard throughout the card game not to get lost in it. She would not let Elizabeth claim this portion of the evening as a victory as well. It was difficult as she truly did love Lottery Tickets, but she felt that she had just edged ahead a bit by the time the hot supper was called. She was slightly surprised though at the tactical error Elizabeth had made by calling attention to the unique fish Lydia had won. It allowed Lydia an undoubted advantage for Mr. Denny's attention was on her for a full quarter of the game as they chatted over various fish they had won and lost this night and others and Lydia promised to show him the necklace she had made from her favorites.

The rest of the night went about the same according to Lydia's score. It was frustrating not to be able to claim a decisive victory over her sister. But at least she did not lose as badly as it seemed she might within the first minutes.

They had not been home long before Elizabeth yawned and retired for the night, Lydia stopped her in the hall on the way to her own room. "You didn't win tonight, Lizzy. I hope you saw that."

Elizabeth had a strange light in her eyes as she responded, "I might not have. But you didn't either, Lydia. I guess we shall resume at the assembly. If you didn't flutter your eyes and showcase yourself indecently I don't think you'd be able to dance even most of the dances. But. I know you shall not change your ways, and I think that even with you throwing yourself at the men that I shall be able to dance just as much as you."

Lydia saw red, how dare Lizzy infer that I am a trollop! I am lively. I know how to have fun. "You think- you think that you are so superior! Well, I shall show you. It matters not what I wear, the men like me not just my-my clothes."

Elizabeth laughed, "Why don't you prove it then. Jane shall be our neutral party. Allow Jane to decide how you shall put the finishing touches on your new gown for the assembly. I shall do the same. We shall both let Sarah have her say in how to fix our hair."

Lydia glared, "Fine. But you are not allowed to wear your pearl and you will share your scent." Elizabeth flinched and frowned at that. And Lydia internally cheered. She had won a point herself there.

"Fine. I will let you have a dab of my scent. But you do not get to touch the bottle. Jane can apply it to you."

"Fine."

"Fine." Lydia stared at Elizabeth a moment longer, both of them frowning, before they both spun and went their separate ways.

_-F&F-_

The rest of the week before the assembly proceeded apace. Mrs. Bennet began speaking again. It had taken three full days for more to come out of her mouth excepting cold little one word answers or terse requests, and while Elizabeth had not wagered with anyone, she was still pleased that she had won that little bet against herself. It was especially humorous as now that almost a week had passed it seemed that her mother was softening towards the voluble young man. She still ruffled up like an offended chicken when he commented on something's monetary worth in her own house, but as Mr. Collins was even more verbose on Rosings and its inhabitants, Mrs. Bennet had found an odd fascination with how the very wealthy lived. And she was often heard muttering about redoing this room or that room in a more opulent style. Or engaging a painter to paint the ceiling of the entry or Parlour. Elizabeth hid her smiles at all this and was grateful that Mr. Collins had found one of the family who could humour him in his speech.

_F&F_

Monday, October 14th

Mr. Bennet was almost persuaded to go meet the new master of Netherfield (a Mr. Bingley, said his wife, who had heard it from her sister, who had it from her husband), but when he heard that the man wouldn't be in residence before Saturday he decided it would be too much bother to try to see him before the assembly. Mrs. Bennet, who felt her consequence in the neighborhood much more than Mr. Bennet did, was greatly vexed by this, and also because her fellow matrons would surely crow over knowing more of the man than she did herself. It came as a great relief to her then that she heard that Mr. Bingley happened to return Sir William Lucas' call on Monday, just as Mr. Bennet had stopped by to allow Mr. Collins to extend his acquaintance with the Lucas'. At least it was a relief until Mrs. Bennet realized that her husband only meant to tease her with tantalizing hints of what had been spoken and how Mr. Bingley looked instead of giving her a full accounting. Mr. Collins was then applied to, but he had not noticed much more than that the man had ruddy hair and seemed to be a pleasant sort of fellow. He did give the pleasing information that Mr. Bingley had been invited to and accepted the invitation for the Meryton Assembly the next evening. But then Mr. Collins went on to wax poetic on Sir William Lucas' approbation and the pleasant tea they had, which was made even more pleasant in knowing that the man's own daughters had helped in making the sweets served, and how polite and ladylike they appeared. He finished the discourse by asking if they had heard Sir William's fascinating account of St. James and repeating it. Mrs. Bennet, who had indeed heard it more times than she could count, was most displeased in being unable to turn their guest's speech back in the direction that she wanted it to go. But with great forbearance, she chose not to be upset at Mr. Collins. No, it was clearly Mr. Bennet who was at fault here, and in a move that even she recognized as petty, she served Mr. Bennet coffee (which he despised) instead of tea that night after supper and to cap it off she stirred in three heaping teaspoons of sugar. As he was absently reading a book when it was handed to him, he took a large mouthful unknowingly and it so surprised him that he immediately spit it out, quite ruining the book. Mrs. Bennet instead of being apologetic said pettishly that if he would not satisfy her, she would see him in the same state and that it was his own fault for not taking more care. Mr. Bennet rather thought she had taken things too far, and responded harshly by saying that she had no need to serve him coffee for that, she did just fine by herself without it. Jane, Elizabeth, Mary, and Lydia cringed at the insult, while Mrs. Bennet (who knew she was being set down but could not figure out how) just strengthened the voice of her displeasure until she drove her husband back to his Library. Elizabeth was pleased that Mr. Collins had decided to turn in early and missed the scene. She did briefly wonder which group he would have been a part, she guessed that he would have been as insensible as Mrs. Bennet and Kitty, but the man had surprised her a couple times with an astute observation that was not based on flattery, so there was a question left.

_-F&F-_

Monday, October 14th, 1811

Netherfield Park

Caroline Bingley sat stiffly as her brother-in-law handed his wife, Louisa, out of the carriage, then tucked his wife's hand around his arm and started forward. Hmph! What a petty man my sister married. I said nothing more than the truth. If we are to stay in the good graces of Mr. Darcy, someone with more discerning taste than Louisa should be hostess. After all she has only had to please Hurst, and that surely does not take much effort. No. I should be hostess. Why do they keep arguing against this? A footman appeared and she sniffed in derision before sliding forward and accepting his help climbing down from the coach. And where is Charles? Surely, he should have been here to greet us. She trailed slowly behind her sister and brother-in-law taking in the aspect of the building. I guess Charles didn't do so badly in regards to the house. But the shrubbery! How am I to impress Mr. Darcy when this is what I have to work with.

The butler opened the door to the building even as they reached the top of the step and gave them a solemn bow. "Mr. Bingley informed us of your arrival, but was obliged to return a call today. He has said he will be back before dinner and asked the housekeeper to care for you." The man ended his short speech with a nod in the direction of a stiffly starched matron of middle age. Caroline looked around at the décor of the entry as introductions were made. Perhaps if we lived in the 1700's this would be suitable. When was the last time this place was updated? I do hope some of the rooms are in better looks than this. Mr. Darcy comes tomorrow, so I cannot change anything before he gets here, but perhaps that is even better, for then he will be able to see-"

"Caroline." Mr. Hurst spoke sharply.

Caroline's eyes snapped over to him, "What?"

"Mrs. Nichols has asked if you would like to see your room."

"Oh, yes, of course I would," she said dismissively, "What else-" She stopped at a sharp pinch upon her elbow and looked in surprise into Louisa's unsmiling face.

"That will be fine then, Mrs. Nichols, thank you." Louisa nodded politely to the housekeeper and glared at Caroline as they all started forward towards the stairs. "I can see the thoughts going through your head. I remind you once again. You are not the hostess, Caroline." She whispered before moving closer to the housekeeper. Mr. Hurst gave her a decisive nod, his eyes narrowing, as if echoing his wife's words, and stepped in front of her to get to his wife's side. Caroline had started to move forward as well and was forced to pull up sharply to avoid running into him. Hateful man.

"Once I am refreshed we can meet to go over menu's and such? You did get my communication on the rooms-" Louisa began speaking with the woman as they climbed towards the family wing. Caroline tuned it out as she absently rubbed at her arm and grimaced. It had been a long while since her sister had done that. It felt like Louisa kept her nails longer now. Caroline ran a finger over her own nails contemplatively. She would like to pinch the both of them. Or better yet give them a good whack with her fan. But while it would be pleasing to return the favor at an opportune moment, she had bigger plans to make.

The housekeeper stopped in front of a door and opened it, saying, "Your rooms, Miss Bingley." Caroline's mouth dropped as she looked at the room decorated in white and a multitude of sickly sweet pinks and then at Louisa's satisfied face. Yes, much bigger plans.

_F&F_

Tuesday, October 15th, 1811

Netherfield Park, Noon

Darcy shivered again and rubbed at his side where his mark was tingling in an odd way. Sitting back in the saddle for a moment he gathered his energy before dismounting his horse in front of Netherfield. Perhaps it had not been the wisest idea to finish the trip on the back of his horse instead of in his coach. But how was he to have known that it would begin drizzling lightly and turn colder. The weather had looked perfectly clear and usually a good ride helped to clear his head, not stuff it up. A groom came to hold Midnight's reins and Darcy fumbled with cold fingers to extract a coin for the lad.

"Your name?" he asked. The gruffness of his voice startled him, and apparently the groom too, for the young man jumped as he answered, "James, sir."

Darcy nodded as he handed the lad the coin, "Thank you, James," he said as he cleared his throat, "I am Mr. Darcy. Rub him down well. We walked the last bit, so he won't need to be cooled down. I daresay a hot mash would be a good thing for him after a bit."
The groom nodded once, "Yes, sir."

"My coach and valet will be along shortly."

"We will be on the lookout for them, sir. We'll care for them proper."

"Very well then. Thank you."

The groom led his horse away, and Darcy turned to face what was feeling more like a prison sentence than a restful house party with his friend. The house was impressive looking. He was surprised. It was not at the level of Pemberly certainly, but an obviously newer construction in a lovely Palladian style. The stables and house appeared well-kept. The grounds were a bit overgrown, but as that could happen in a single season and could be fixed in almost same if the neglect was not too bad Darcy did not think that much signified. Seeing the edifice in front of him, Darcy felt another twinge for how he had questioned his friend in his study. "Did you even go in, indeed." He muttered to himself. If the façade looked this well, that bode very well indeed for the interior. Perhaps not the décor, but the bones of the place was what Darcy was truly interested in. After all, much like the shrubbery, décor could be updated with ease, but what mattered was the foundation. Was the house built solidly of good construction on a good foundation? Were there cracks in the windows or lintels that had been left unattended? Were the roof and chimney's well built and watched for signs of disrepair? Was the garden laid out in a pleasing manner? Did the workmen cut corners when constructing the paths? Were garden structures put in on a whim to please a demanding master or did they follow the flow of the original plan? He would bet his horse that the answers to all these questions would be the right ones, and he was not a betting man.

He sneezed as he headed up the stairs and rubbed at his eyes where a headache was forming and then his side again. Why does the blasted thing bother me? His mind turned back to Bingley and the man's sister. He hoped, but did not expect, that his friend had indeed spoken with Miss Bingley with a level of stricture that would allow him some peace. He shook his head banishing such things. I will have an early night tonight. A hot bath. A hot drink. A warm bed. And tomorrow Richard and Georgiana shall come. And with those pleasant thoughts he was admitted into the house.

_F&F_

[1] The whole quote reads:

"Trust in soulmarks and in the matches made through them is one of the underlying foundations of any society. This seems like it may be a pointless thing to say, but imagine a world where soulmarks could be manufactured by humans, how would one know if they had found their true soul mate or if they were being tricked by devious artifices. I do not say this because there is such a thing, but only to illustrate how our faith that soulmarks are of the divine drives our actions." -The Critique of Soulmarks by Manuel Kant