Thank you for all your support. Reviews keep me going and inspired.

Funny/frustrating story: A few days ago I was asleep when my middle son (just started college this week) called at about 11:30 pm to tell me he'd been pulled over and to ask if I could text him a picture of the current proof of insurance (the old one recently expired and we forgot to put the new one in the vehicles). He told me he'd been pulled over for speeding (45 in a 30), didn't have his lights on (area is well lit, so it is hard to tell if your lights are on), and in trying to pull over for the cop he ended up turning the wrong way down a one-way-street. I was about to have kittens. I texted him the proof. A while later he called and asked me, "Will you bail me out of jail?" I about lost it and then he added, "Just kidding; they let me go with a warning." Phew! But that one hour of sleep I got messed me up for going back to sleep and I was still wide awake at almost 2 am. But lucky for you, I put that time to good use, writing the first half of this chapter then.

For anyone who has been wondering about my daughter, at least for the moment she is doing better. She is living with her sister and that's had some ups and downs, but has been a big relief for me. After about six months with no job, she got a part time one, and then traded it in for a full-time housekeeping job which she's kept for a couple of months. She recently declined to get back together with a boyfriend that dumped her and has even been talking about taking a class to try to get her CNA certification. Our relationship has vastly improved since we stopped being her guardians/conservators. I tell her every chance I get about how proud I am of her for keeping a job. Not holding my breath that it will continue, because the usual pattern is that it will all fall apart again soon, but I do have hope that maybe she is maturing a bit. Of course a couple of days ago she called me and told me she was worried she would get fired as she called out of work because she was feeling ill, but without having anyone to drive her couldn't get to the doctor for a note, but lied and told her work she had a note and will get in trouble when she doesn't turn one in.

By the way, I expected this to be a lighter, more upbeat chapter, but it took a turn halfway through that I wasn't expecting at all, but I think explains a lot about Darcy's character and how he ended up as he is.


43. A Better Understanding

We stayed in the same pose, tucked against each other, sitting on Firz's bed for several long minutes. It was warm, companionable, pleasant, and it seemed right then that no words needed to be spoken. But unlike in some lending library stories, we could not keep such a position for too long. The way my head was tilted and my body angled from the slope which his heavier form lent to the feather bed, well it was becoming uncomfortable. I believed he might have felt the same, but as with me was unwilling to disturb the unity we had found, perhaps have this fairy hour magic fade.

I had to find my courage again, to say what I desired as he would not. "Fitz, I am enjoying being beside you, but I need to move. Do you think, perhaps, I could go lie down instead?"

Mr. Darcy stood up and faced me, so very tall as he was standing while I remained seated. His face had a bland expression save for some tightness in his forehead. Somehow my hand upon his arm had become my hand in his, which he held gently but firmly. His dark eyes stared at mine as he asked in his deep, rumbly tone, "Elizabeth, do you mean that you wish to go lie down in your room? That is, should you want to sleep there while I remain here?"

"No, not at all." I did not voice the thought aloud, but recalled in the book of Ruth what Ruth said to her mother-in-law, when Naomi tried to send her back to her mother's house after Ruth's husband died: "Intreat me not to leave thee, or to return from following after thee: for whither thou goest, I will go; and where thou lodgest, I will lodge: thy people shall be my people, and thy God my God: Where thou diest, will I die, and there will I be buried: the Lord do so to me, and more also, if ought but death part thee and me."

I explained, "I should like to remain with you. We could lie down here or in the mistress's chamber together; whatever you desire."

Fitz swallowed thickly and said in a strained voice, "I have pictured you right here with me, many times before. Shall we both stay here? I ask nothing of you. I shall be content to simply have you near."

In answer, I got up also. Recalling my layers and thinking my robe might be too much underneath the covers, perhaps the sash holding it closed would twist, the knot push against me painfully like a carbuncle my Uncle Philips once had, I took off my new robe and lay it across my husband's wingback chair. I turned toward him and walked slowly back to his bed, trying to project a confidence I did not fully feel. "Thank you for these lovely bed clothes," I told him, pausing near him for a moment.

Fitz reached out and fingered the fabric by my shoulder. "Soft and lovely, just like you." He released the material, picked up my hand and kissed the back of it gently and then gestured toward the bed. "Shall we?" I slid in and waited for him.

Mr. Darcy looked at me for a moment, but then pulled his eyes from mine and apparently recollecting himself and what else needed doing, he strode around the room, blowing out his candles. I could see little as my eyes adjusted to the dark (which was not full dark but close enough) but as he approached the bed I was fairly certain he had not removed his banyan.

Would he? Did I want him to? I was still curious about his natural form which I had glimpsed for a moment as he left my bed the night before, and this evening when he was crouching low, but without the light I was unlikely to see much more than I had on either of these prior occasions, in any event.

This reminded me, "Fitz, I left a candle burning in my room. Could you do me the favor of dousing it, too?"

"Certainly." When Fitz opened the door a wide swath of light flooded the room, outlining his form. I felt a momentary disappointment that he was still wearing his covering. I knew then, that whether it might make me seem a wanton or not, that I wished to see him bare, to study him at my leisure.

It occurred to me that perhaps me going into his bed in my nightgown did not encourage him to himself enter a state of undress. Yet I could hardly display myself naked before him, without it signaling my encouragement for him to immediately exercise his marital rights and I wanted to talk with him first.

I wondered if Fitz might plan to remove his banyan just before getting into the bed, his bed, as he had when visiting me, before in my bed. I resolved that if he did, I would gaze upon him rather than play the part of the blushing and demure maiden. For I was a maiden no more and planned to claim the full breadth of what I now had the right to do, to exercise by full measure all pleasures reserved for the married. Surely that included looking upon my husband whether clothed or bare.

Mr. Darcy blew out the light, closed the door and slipped into the bed, taking no time, alas, to cast off his banyan. He pulled the counterpane up over us, and then lay beside me. The two of us were side by side upon our backs, separated by several inches. I was on the left and he on the right.

It was awkward. Someone needed to change things and it appeared that someone needed to be me.

I slid toward him, commenting as I did, "Shall you not wish to help keep me warm?" He reached out his arm and I turned sideways, placing my head upon his shoulder and my left hand upon his chest, or rather the fabric covering his chest. He curled his arm around me.

My husband was warm and solid and his warmth seeped into me. Before long, I began to feel sleepy again, but also some pain in my neck. Once again, I was loath to break the spell or worse, to perhaps make him think I did not want him against me.

"Fitz, I am going to turn to my other side. Perhaps you can too, so as to keep me warm?"

"Certainly, my dear."

We settled onto our left sides, his chest pressed into my back, his right arm around my waist (but his hips angled away from my own). I wanted both to talk to him and to drift away in warm contentment.

I knew that on this night I had made a new commitment to him, or rather had felt the force of the words from our vows as a sacred thing I needed to fulfill as fully as I could. But he did not know about my change of heart from my earlier grudging agreement.

I wanted him to know how my perspective had changed (even though it was difficult to begin) and so after a long span of silence I asked, "May I tell you about what happened earlier to me when I prayed, the reasons why I am here now?"

"Please do. I am intrigued. I was not sure earlier that you should even wish to see me in the morning, not without proper redress and humility on my part, and I am truly, truly sorry."

As he apologized, Mr. Darcy rubbed my belly in a gesture that was far more comforting than sensual, though I felt a little bloom of desire, too. However, I put aside my resulting impulse to roll over and into his arms, to press my lips into his and just let things take their course, for I knew there was far more I wished to tell him, which would be rather impossible during any giving of ourselves to one another. I was not going anywhere and neither was he, so that could wait.

I then told him about my prayer, concluding, "I am resolved to try my best to love you in thought and deed."

When I fell silent, Fitz held me a little tighter, exclaiming, between soft kisses to my neck. "How great is He! How wonderful you are!And yet, can this resolution of yours truly be true? Not that I doubt you, but it is too wonderous and I scarcely deserve it. I am all amazement."

Whereas once my husband's grip might have felt like it was caging me, now I reveled in his embrace, pushed further back into it. For his warmth felt just right.

Fitz cogitated further and then added, "I have acted horrendously toward you in hurrying you to the altar and all the rest. I would have never wanted anyone to treat my mother, my sister, my cousin or my aunts that way. Could you, perhaps, forgive me?"

"Of course, I will. I have!" I exclaimed, knowing right then that it was true.

"You cannot know how much that means to me, truly, truly, my beloved." Fitz nuzzled my ear with his nose.

"Not that it justifies in the least my actions," said he, "but I believe I understand the impetus behind them better, for our separation all evening caused me to engage in some much needed introspection. My jealousy and my aggression has doubtless been fueled by my fear. I could not bear to lose you, but I have been in danger of driving you away from me, of having you be mine in only the most superficial of ways. In grasping tighter, I could have ruined everything. It is as if someone trusted a young boy to hold a handful of raspberries, and in his eagerness to guard them well, he closed his hand in a tight fist and the berries were smashed, the juice forced between his fingers, his hand stained."

"I am not nearly so fragile as a handful of berries," I told him, "and my heart is a most resiliant organ."

"How it is that you can return good for my evil?" Fitz asked, sounding truly perplexed.

"You may have been miguided and jealous and quite unreasonable at times, but you have often been kind and generous, too. Perhaps going forward you might try to contain the former and give free rein to the later."

"I shall try my best," said he.

"But if you fail, all shall not be lost. For I am determined to both like you and love you, for God himself ordained our marriage and I am convinced we shall be happy.'

My husband's hand moved over to my right arm and slid down it, fingers tracing warmly over the bare flesh of my forearm, wrist and hand. His overlapping hand wove his fingers between my own, and I bent my fingers down, enfolding his own in a gesture that recalled to me hands folded in prayer.

Mr. Darcy sighed in a slow exhale. "Beloved, I long to feel the peace and certainty you describe. I have had but one similar encounter with God, in which something of Him spoke through me to, I hope, ultimately redeem my father's immortal soul, just before he died. But any peace I felt from that was short-lived, perhaps because I was only His means and not His object. Many other times when I have longed for His presence, it felt like He turned His back on me, said 'No.' again and again, or perhaps was not there at all, most memorably when my mother died."

I squeezed the portion of his hand I held and asked, "That one encounter, regarding God and your father, will you tell me of it?"

He considered, apparently hesitating and debating about it with himself. "I should, I must, for if not to you then who? I have trusted you with my sister's darkest secret so why not his?"

Fitz then proceeded to explain to me about his father's depravities, what his sin had reaped, the dreaded French disease, and every infirmity and behavior it caused. Although I had of course never even so much as met the man, the elder Mr. Darcy's earthly sufferings made my eyes well with tears. It was everything horrible and Fitz had likewise suffered much in seeing and living with it all first-hand.

I let Fitz speak without interruption, knew from the lurid details that he was not censoring himself. No, I was hearing the unvarnished truth about a wicked man who had reaped what he had sown but whom my husband had nevertheless looked up to and loved.

I understood my husband better then. It was clear that although Fitz had rejected his father's more outlandish conduct when it came to women, that he still retained an ingrained understanding about what was due to him as compared to them. His views were shaped by how his father conducted himself as a man based on his position in life. Having ascended to the self-same position, my husband had been given more chess pieces than most, and like his father did not hesitate to move them as he wanted. That was fine and well in certain matters, but I had no desire to be one of those pieces. There is a good deal of difference between managing lands so the best crops grow, and servants so the household runs efficiently, than in him trying to manage his friends and me.

I do not believe that Fitz truly understood how much his upbringing had shaped him (especially without the moderating influence of his mother) as he grew from boy to man. When he finished telling me as much as he wished, I turned toward him, pulled him into an embrace (which he returned) and told him "Thank you with trusting me with that secret. What a tragic way to spend one's last days on this earth, and how difficult it must have been to care for him when he was in such a state, to have no one to share your burdens with but those two servants."

"It was very hard, so very hard," Fitz agreed. "When he first became ill, I prayed for the mercury to heal him, but by the end I was praying for his death to come quickly. I felt so disloyal then, for I wished to be spared his torment, and of course I wished him spared from it too, but I also knew that if there is indeed a hell where punishment is doled out in perpetuity according to our just desserts, that far worse would be waiting for him." He shuddered in my arms, apparently visualizing hell.

I stroked his back, rubbed the napr of his neck, as I considered how best to respond. "Fitz, I know we may be judged for even our thoughts, but I do not think ill of you for yours; it is natural to wish to be spared from partaking in such suffering. Some will flee their responsibilities in such a scenario, but you did not. No, you did what could be done for your father. But in this recounting, you have yet to tell me whatsoever about your encounter with God."

My husband drew in a shuddering breath. "Sometimes I doubt that it even occurred or if it meant what I hoped it did. In one of his rare by then periods of lucidity, my father confessed he did not believe in the Christ, that he only attended church as such was expected, but that as his end drew near he feared hell. I did not know what reply to make to his sudden disclosure, for I had never given myself leave to believe that my father was no better than a heathen (for all that I should have known, for I had observed his lack of fruit). Then, suddenly, the right words came pouring out of me, words I scarcely can recall, but he nodded along as if he were a parched man in the desert being offered a cool drink. He had a Bible in his room, which turned out to be the Breeches Bible, and I read parts of the Gospels to him and also about Paul's conversion on the road to Damascus.

"It was this last part that roused him the most, and to my astonishment he sat up, reached out (not toward me) and exclaimed "My Lord, my God, I wish to follow you. I am the worst of sinners. Forgive me my folly, my selfishness, my unbelief." He rose to his feet--and you must understand that he had been bed-ridden for weeks, I had been astonished even when he sat up--took one step forward, fell, hit his head and died all in a moment. His face, although blooded, showed no sign of distress and bore the slightest of smiles. I prayed for his immortal soul then, for there was naught else I could do."

I hugged my husband closer and he clung to me and shook with what I found were tears when the wetness reached me. I wanted to fetch him a handkerchief, recalled seeing one in the sidetable, but even when I explained my planed errand, it was some moments before he seemed able to release me. After I fetched it and he wiped his eyes and blew his nose, I hugged him to me again.

Other than occasional snuffles as he fought for self control again, it was sulent for some minutes. During this time my mind returned again and again to my contemplation of the fate of a man I had never known.

Finally I told Fitz, praying inwardly that it might be true, "I believe, from everything you have related, that your father, despite his sin, has been redeemed and is in paradise. If he had been able to speak to you just then, I believe he should have told you . . ." a hymn unbiden came to my lips and I burst into song "It is well, with my soul. It is well, with my soul. It is well, it is well, with my soul." I let the words of the song die away even as the hymn continued to play on in my mind and my fingers itched to touch the corresponding piano forte keys.

Fitz gave a choking sigh and I felt him relax. "Dearest Lizzy, thank you for your reassurance. I have hoped and prayed that it be so, but still doubt. For if true it seems too wondrous and given his bouts insanity . . . . "

"What have others said, when you told them?" I asked.

"I have told no one before you. I could not. For to tell it right, I would have to share about his illness and he wanted none to know. I did try to tell his valet, Mantley, but he stopped me after I said, 'Just before my father died, I think he was redeemed.'

"Mantley told me, 'No, sir. It was too late for one such as him; he has no more hope than Judas could have when he hung himself. Your father deserves to be punished for eternity. He had me do many things that I knew were wrong, but I hope were counted more against him than me, for if it had not been me it would have been another. I tried to gently stir his conscience, softened his cruelest dictates when I could, gave more information than authorized at times, but that only made a difference around the edges. I fear it has stained my soul black as coal, but perhaps if I live my remaining years in piety and repenting I might earn a measure of forgiveness, not find heaven's gates barred to me. I only remained in his employ because your father paid me well for my loyalty and promised my wife and I that we could remain together at Pemberley for the rest of our lives. My Sarah's palsy is so bad, what else could I do? You heard him say that more than once, did you not? You will honor his promise, yes?'

"I reassured Mantley that I would, and truthfully told him that my father had told me of this promise, also, and I did not doubt he had likely left a recommendation to that effect in his will as well.

"Mantley was relieved and became quite loquacious then, telling me 'I do not doubt you shall be a kinder master than your father, and hopefully much wiser. Perhaps you might be the sort of man who might even wish to right wrongs that you did not make yourself?' He raised an eyebrow at me, but I did not catch his meaning, so he had to more plainly declare, 'There are certain things your father wanted me to burn upon his death, and I can do this last service for him but . . . you are the master now and my loyalty is to the living and not the dead. So in you is the power to countermand such orders, sort through his accounts and perhaps give some recompense to those he harmed (though of course this is not your responsibility unless you wish it to be).'"

"What did you do?" I asked my husband as I stroked his back.

"I was not sure what was right. Did I want to understand the true depths of how low my father had sunk? Did I truly want to know that which he had wanted to hide from me? Or should I honor his express wishes?

"I knew I had no legal obligation to those that he had wronged, but thought I might owe them a moral one. I knew that if but loosed, the information would be something of a Pandora's box, impossible to put back away once opened and I might well regret learning what he never wished me to know."

I held Fitz tighter, trying to reassure him that I would understand whatever he had chosen to do.

"It felt like some test I was sure to fail no matter what I chose to do. I did not want to ask Mantley, but something compelled me to ask, 'Do these writings, would they reveal who and where his natural born children may be?'"

I had perhaps been expecting a revelation of some further secret from my husband, but had not conceived of its likely nature, and I suppose my mouth spoke faster than my mind could reason it out, "Why would you even ask . . . oh, your father must have told you something that hinted at the existence of . . . ." I pulled back a bit to see what I could of Fitz's expression, could just make out how his lips were pressed in a grim, thin, line.

My husband turned his head and then whole large frame away from me and out of my arms. I had to strain to hear what he said next: "You may think, Lizzy, that your family is tainted by what your sister did and what was done to her, but my family bears the stain of my father's actions, too. But he was no naive girl, no, everything he did was deliberate, with full knowledge of what he was doing. His sin was far worse than hers, but society shuns the woman and condones the man."

I understood then that my husband was highly ashamed, had taken on guilt that was not his. I wanted both to help him bear this burden and find a way to lift it off of him. I reached over toward him, but he shrugged my hand off his shoulder.

"I know you mean well," said he, "but I cannot bear your compassion right now, not if I wish to get it all out. For all of my dealings with you prove that I am more his son than I ever wished to be. I knew my father was depraved, but I did not really wish to know how bad his actions had been. So when Mantley said about those who share our blood, 'Not necessarily all or where they may be now, but where their mothers were originally left and with what compensation,' I only asked 'Was it enough?' He answered, 'Your father thought it was.'

"I questioned, 'But what do you think?'

"Mantley shook his head, and forced out a bitter laugh. 'No, not even when he thought he was being generous, it was never enough to prevent pernury or to require her to sin further to keep them both fed.'

"My solution was to ask, 'If I give you ample funds, can you try to right his wrongs?'

"He replied 'I rather doubt all of your holdings might generate enough.' Not wanting to know more, I decided on an amount to give him and set him to using it as he would wherever the need was most urgent. I have thought back upon this moment many times, and cannot but think that were I a better man I would have confronted my father's sin directly and taken it upon myself, no matter the cost."


A/N: I hate to leave you there, but this chapter is already way too long. What are your predictions going forward? What would you like to see happen in the next chapter or two? I feel like this story may be winding up, but I've thought that before . . . .

The Bible quote is from the King James Version (KJV) of Ruth 1:16-17. I always quote from the KJV in PP variations, as that is what the characters would have available to them. It has pretty language, but occasionally is not apt to illustrate a point that occurs to me from my better familiarity with more modern versions such as the ESV and NIV. For example, in 1 Corinthians 13 and elsewhere, it uses the term "charity" rather than "love" which quite changes the meaning.

The Breeches Bible, from which Darcy read to his father, is more properly known as the Geneva Bible and came out before the KJV. It received its colloquial name because in Genesis 3:7, it states that Adam and Eve sewed fig leaves into "breeches."