AUTHOR'S NOTES:

THANK YOU, THANK YOU! I am overwhelmed by the response this story has received so far, 20 reviews and a ridiculous amount of follows. I'm very flattered.

A few questions have been raised in the reviews, some of them will be answered in the text of the story, but a few things will be clear up now.

Mr. Bennet died in 1804, Jane was 15, Lizzy 13, Mary 10, Kitty 8, Lydia 6. Jane and Mr. Collins are married after a six month mourning period, making Jane 16 and Collins 49 at the time of their marriage. A disturbing image, I know, but a large family like the Bennet sisters with very little money and no well-off relations to help support the sisters meant either accept the offer or split up the sisters and have their status in life materially diminish. Neither the Phillips or the Gardiners are pleased to see this happen for Jane, but there was little other recourse than marriage for the protection of young women in the day and age we are working with in. This subject will be touched on in many ways throughout the story line.

As far as the younger Collins being married off to Mary as an easy solution - this is a valid point that totally slipped my mind as a possibility. I already have a plotted course for Mary and will work that into the context of the of her story...to me, Collins' principal motivation in this story is greed, I imagine having already "done well" by the Bennet family by marrying one of their daughters and continuing to support the others, he considers his obligation to that family fulfilled.

Here is the next chapter of our journey, please continue to review - your thoughts are welcome, your assessing eye for grammar and typos appreciated, and your readership is valued.

Adelaide sighed as soon as the door shut on the great members of society who had deigned to call upon her this afternoon. Tuesday was her to day to be at-home to callers, and it was always the day of the week she dreaded the most. For all her society airs, she was, in her heart, quite the country girl. The crowded drawing room full of admirers and enemies alike was stifling. When she made calls, she could choose to partake in company only she enjoyed, but here she must suffer those it was deemed necessary by the men in her life to cultivate.

Being the muse of such a renowned artist as Forelli had always meant company was in strong supply, even before her stage debut. He had been her entranceway to this society, for good or for ill. When his painting, Il Riso Venere, The Laughing Venus had been presented five years prior, the curiosity about the beguiling creature representing the goddess had made her an object of interest. Now that her career had launched, there could be no denying the popularity of Miss Bernard's at-homes. It had undeniably become a place to see and be-seen. She credited herself on keeping an excellent table - she had been raised by a country mother who prided herself in her hospitality, and so Adelaide's refreshments were always of the highest quality. The conversation was always stimulating, for with such regular fixtures as Forelli and dear Thompson the world of art always remained a central topic of discourse. Yet for all the good food and good conversation, Miss Bernard felt herself just as much on the stage in her drawing room as she did on Covent Garden.

Only dear Forelli ever seemed to sense her exhaustion at the end of these excursions. He smiled at her now, his liquid black eyes sparkling in sympathetic amusement. "Ah, my dear girl, at last you are free from the maddening crowd once again."

She laughed aloud, a pleasant, almost melodic sound, and sank down into the plush settee without any worry as to the grace of her action. "What I would give for a long walk in a little piece of wilderness - where no one knew me or wanted to talk about Hamlet for one more god-forsaken time."

"Yes," He replied, his accent giving a more pleasant cadence to dismissive words, "what a tiresome thing it is, to be admired. Is it not the right of an artist to despised in their day, and only appreciated once they have gone to dust? How inconvenient that we should have to suffer the indignities of success and respect together!"

The young woman made no attempt to conceal the roll of her eyes. "Once again, my dear friend, you bring me to task over my insolence. Indeed, being admired is our bread and butter. I should not resent the niceties of such a life. I have very much so chosen this path, and I do not regret it. Yet I can not help but be utterly exhausted by such an afternoon! To please and be pleased for seemingly endless hours, it is quite exhausting."

"We are courtesans you and I, for our purpose to others is to bring them endless pleasure, nothing more or less. Art is the greatest piece of whoring that was ever done by mankind. We make them feel, whether it be boundless joy or impossible despair. We live to serve, to bring this emotion out in others."

"You are as correct as always, Maestro. I am a whore of feeling. That is much too true."

Forelli could not help but notice the distant look that entered her fine eyes with such a statement. They were feeling eyes, and often told more of his young charge's troubled past than she would have him know. Forelli knew more of her real self than anyone else in her acquaintance, yet he often felt as if he had barely scratched the surface of her mystery. It had been that pain she held so closely to her breast, that mystery that had so-consumed his own artistic drive. It was more than the loss of her beloved parents, more than the separation from her childhood home and family. She was virtuous, yet not innocent. What had befell her before he had come to know her? When he had first encountered her, the budding English rose, the depth of her feeling had arrested him. She had been an unwilling subject then, exasperated to sit so still, but he had needed to take such emotion down with his pencil. Her guardians had been wary, but properly chaperoned could have no cause to repine.

After that afternoon in the warehouse, her character had captured his imagination and unwittingly become his muse. So young, but with such wisdom and feeling! It was a rare commodity to be sure. He hadn't thought to ever see the girl again, but she had found him, had turned up on his door step and put herself in his protection some six years prior. Forelli prided himself that he had done well by a young girl, unprotected and friendless, by taking her in. He had educated her, clothed her, dressed her, painted her, and given her a path to independence. She was by no means a melancholy creature, constantly caught in her sorrow, yet there was dark and haunting air that seemed to cling to her. It was a heady, intoxicating power that she unwittingly possessed, for though she laughed freely and often, she was a tragic creature all the same. People were drawn to her. It was what had given her such monumental success on the stage. She was talented and industrious, always seeking to hone her craft, but her haunting essence was the key to her budding fame.

Forelli was sure that one day he would uncover the whole of Adelaide's past. She could not carry all of her history with her forever. He also knew that today was not the day to pry. One day, Forelli was sure she would reveal the entire sad tale to him. It would happen in her own time.

Gently, he met her eyes and said, "You should take this opportunity to rest, little dove. Tonight we dine with the Matlocks, and we must have all our wits about us when put on such a display."

She laughed ruefully, a single brow arching in amusement. "This shall be the most important performance of my lifetime, of that I am absolutely certain."

He tipped his graying head toward her in a mocking salute, "Prepare the armory, tonight we go into battle."

vVvVvVvVvV

Mrs. Collins sat in her drawing room paying little mind to the company she kept. Lady Lucas had been a great friend of her mother, but Jane did not consider herself to be on intimate terms with the elder woman. It was for her daughter, Charlotte, that Mrs. Collins kept the acquaintance with the same intimacy that had been her mother's. Miss Lucas was a dear friend indeed, not just to Jane, but to Mary as well…and very kind to the younger girls, when they were at home. Charlotte was a wonderful companion, lively enough when called for, but perhaps the most sensible young woman Jane had ever had the pleasure of meeting. The logical order of her mind was often able to sort through the tangle's of Jane's own troubles when discordant thoughts led her astray. If her mother was a preening, gossiping old biddy, Jane would tolerate it with a smile for Charlotte's company. Lady Lucas was prone to prattling, and Mrs. Collins only need smile and make inconsequential comments when appropriate.

The subject that dominated the conversation was, of course, the assembly ball that had been held the previous evening. Lady Lucas was in her glory. Her daughters, sensible Charlotte, and the rather more feather-headed Maria, had done very well for themselves. They had each stood up with the new comer, Mr. Bingley, and Charlotte in particular had been sought out for conversation with the two sisters that had accompanied him. Privately, Jane thought that her charge had done better for herself. Mary had her own set with the dashing Mr. Bingley, and he seemed well pleased with her, but her greatest feat was the conversation she had held with the formidable Mr. Darcy, his friend!

If Mrs. Collins considered Bingley to be a boon of good tidings to the neighborhood, that he had brought with him a single gentleman more than twice his worth could be considered nothing short of a miracle. It was rumored that Darcy owned half of Derbyshire, and while his manners held nothing to recommend him, she was determined to think well of him for Mary's sake. A small, teasing voice in the back of her mind supposed that he must be the owner of the miserable half, for he had the most dour expression through the course of the evening; but she laughed off those suppositions with a rueful smile. Mrs. Collins had not been the wit of the Bennet sisters, that gift had belonged to one of her younger sisters, and ever since she had left the household, the occasional reminder of her humor would pervade Jane's thoughts.

No, Jane was determined to think well of the gentlemen, especially on so short of an acquaintance. She interrupted Lady Lucas' self-congratulatory monologue with a question directed toward Mary, who had so far been rather quietly reworking a bonnet.

"Sadly, Mr. Darcy did not seem to have the same happy, obliging manners of his friend, or the eager feet for dancing. He did however, spend the whole course of a set in conversation with you, Mary, and I don't believe I saw him speak much more than two words strung together to anyone else outside of his own party. Whatever did you speak of?"

Mary's head was bent over a particularly difficult bit of stitching, and she did not look away from her work as she responded. "In truth, Mrs. Collins, I would hardly call it a conversation so much as an interrogation. Mr. Darcy asked me many questions about the area, the families here, and our own situation, but I can not say that I learned anything at all about him. I was able to speak with Mr. Bingley much less during our set than I did with Mr. Darcy, yet I was much more able to begin a sketch of his character than of his friend."

Charlotte took this moment to intercede with her own thoughts. "Mr. Darcy is certainly a distinguished gentleman, clearly from the first circles. From my own view, he seemed less proud than some assumed, and much more uncomfortable. It must be an awkward thing indeed, to walk into a room full of strangers, who then begin bandying about your name and your worth before you have even had the pleasure of being introduced! I would shudder to be put on such a display."

Lady Lucas smiled at her daughter indulgently. "My dear Charlotte is always so level-headed about these things! It would not due to pass judgment too soon, though he did seem a proud, disagreeable man. Perhaps he was in an ill-humor or feeling poorly after his journey. We must press on in our civility and show him that the society here in Hertfordshire is just as well cultivated as the first circles!"

"Very well put, Lady Lucas." Mary replied, head bent and working with a steadfast vigor. " As the good book says, 'Be not forgetful to entertain strangers: for thereby some have entertained angels unawares.' It is not only a sign of good breeding to treat our new neighbors with respect, but a soundly Christian principle."

Only a sharp observer would be able to detect the slight narrowing in Mrs. Collins' eyes as she watched her sister. On the surface, the very pretty display of serene domesticity she presented did not falter. Yet Jane had learned to observe people closely in her confined and unvarying society. It was a method of survival in a an unkind world which did little to shelter soft-hearted dreamers like her from the harsh realities of life. It had taken long years to craft and hone such a talent, but now Mrs. Collins was very adept at reading people, perhaps her greatest accomplishment. She often used this skill to adroitly avoid her husband's ill tempers, of which he had many, or to put the company of those around her at ease. Today she turned those same attentions on Mary, who knowing her sister best, would not look at her. The younger girl was hiding something, Jane was absolutely certain. But what could it be and why must it remain hidden were the real questions she needed to answer.

Blithely, Jane pressed on, determined to make her point. "Perhaps reserved is the best description we have for the mysterious Mr. Darcy so far! He was not one for idle-chit chat, and yet he did spend the better part of half an hour in your company, my dear. It is a remarkable thing indeed, to be so singled out by such a taciturn man."

The faintest beginnings of a blush began to tinge Mary's cheeks with such a remark. Taking pity on her, Charlotte laughingly interjected into the conversation before she could reply. "We ladies may pride ourselves on our good sense, but it must be owned - a lady's imagination is a very rapid thing. It goes from notice to admiration, and admiration to love in the course of a day's acquaintance. Let us leave poor Mr. Darcy be, as he is to be in residence with us for some months, at least as I was told by Mr. Bingley."

"Do not despair, my dear Mrs. Collins." Lady Lucas added, patting Jane's hand with a smile, "We will have our chance to come to know the Netherfield party better soon enough! Sir William and I are to give a party at Lucas Lodge in a fortnight, and you are all invited!"

"These are glad tidings indeed!" Was the courteous response.

The tête-à-tête continued in a similar vain for some minutes. The lace of Mrs. Hurst's, Mr. Bingley's married sister, gown was much admired, as was the plumage of Miss Bingley's headdress. Mr. William Collins, Jane's adult step-son, was politely asked after, and so on the conversation generally went, as morning calls are so often wont to do. It was only moments before the ladies of Lucas Lodge were about to return home that the master of Longbourne returned home from a morning of riding the estate.

Longbourne had not employed a steward in many years, well before Henry Collins had gained his inheritance. And so it was that he dealt with all his tenants directly, with little understanding or compassion for the tribulations of farm life. Michaelmas had been past a week, and still his tenant had not finished pulling in his crop, nor paid his rent. Collins was always eager to be paid his due, and had gone to sort the matter to his satisfaction. The incident had been resolved in a manner satisfactory to no one but himself, for he had extracted his rent at a great cost to the family. He was extraordinarily pleased with himself, and returned to the manor house in excellent spirits.

Not the most expressive gentleman in tone or countenance, often times these bouts of extreme good humor could be detected by little other than a marked difference in his gait. On this warm autumn morning, there was decided purpose to his stride as he crossed Longbourne's threshold, great coat already in hand. Broad shoulders set back and high, back erect, his weathered head sat upon his neck with all the regality of a king enthroned. A thin, sheen layer of perspiration from the morning's exertion highlighted the deep creases in his brow and the crow's feat of his eyes, and then slanted down across the broad, flat planes of his face to thin lips perpetually resting in a grim line. He was not an altogether unattractive prospect, even for a man more than 6 and fifty.

Mrs. Collins' eyes turned to take in the sight of her husband as he crossed into the room to bid the callers good morning. She felt a weight lift from her as she met his eyes, for though they did not twinkle, there was a steely, excited, brightness to their look, as if suddenly the Master of Longhorn had achieved a new degree of awareness of his surroundings. He was awake, truly awake. In this light, she tried to view her husband as an attractive subject, and could make herself begin to see him as such, for a moment. It was a fleeting feeling, but in the morning light, as he stood at that moment, raised up proud at his full height, filling the drawing room doorway with the impressive frame of a large man who had known labor most of his life, she could view him more charitably.

He had certainly been considered handsome once, and considered still so by other women, but his humorless temperament always ensured he showed himself in his least attractive attitude possible to Jane. It was not an ugly face, Mrs. Collins would often concede to herself, but it was not a face that had seen any laughter, it was not a kind face at all. Try as she might, Jane's soft heart struggled to respect or love a husband with such little gentleness in him. She had been a grief stricken child when they wed, with no mother to turn to for comfort, support, or education on her wedding night. Jane had sought protection from the harsh realities she had been violently accosted with in life, by the passing of both her parents within the course of a few short years. She had agreed to marry Longbourne's heir because she wanted a father to guide her, and her sisters….her husband had very different expectations of what such a relationship should entail….and as her husband, he was well within the rights to do with her as he pleased.

The early days of married life had not been easy on sweet Jane. There had been many abrupt and drastic changes made to her life so rapidly, that at first she had hardly been able to keep apace with all the new feelings they entailed. Jane was the eldest of five sisters, and now she was the leader of four orphans, who had only each other to cling to. She did not have the time for grief or self-reflection, she was far too busy running a house and tending to a new husband for that. She had been a soft but steady girl growing up, known since child hood for her good natured temper. Few would have looked at her, including her own parents, as a pillar of strength, for she was truly a docile creature, but Jane became the backbone of the Bennet orphans. It was with a very rapid pace that she adapted to married life. She learned swiftly that her husband had all the power in the house, and took great pleasure in wielding that power. He was her lord and master at Longbourne estate, and the better of a wife she was, the more she saw to his comfort, and made his comfort her life's study, the better things were at Longbourne, for herself and her sisters. For their sake and safety, Jane found she could abide most anything.

Almost a decade of marriage had given Jane ample time to study the art of being the perfect wife. She had molded herself into the image he desired, but her soft, rebel heart refused to mold itself as well. She could not love her husband, though bound by God to do so, but in all other vows she was wholly obedient. But as she had shaped herself to his exacting standards, she had also learned him inside and out, and knew him perhaps better than he did himself. She could observe and interpret even the slightest tick on the otherwise blank canvass of his expression. As he shaped her, she learned to play him, how to increase his pleasure in any matter, how to address his ego, how to supplicant herself to his need for superiority, all to her advantage. He was a strong, hard-hearted man, yet somehow his wife always seemed to have her way.

With marriage, Jane had also learned that she was a beautiful woman. Her mother and father had always said she was a remarkably beautiful young girl, indeed everyone had remarked on the honey and milk pot Jane with her cornflower eyes, but to become a wife was to learn what power there was to be had in the beauty she had been gifted with. It did not take long for Jane to fully realize the full depth of her husband's appreciation of that beauty and it's charms. She was a dutiful wife in all ways, and learned married relations went a long way to soften her stern husband's attitude. For her sisters, Jane found she could abide most anything, and she used the little power she had to her best advantage.

Seeing him stand so proudly, Jane knew quickly to work on him and push this good humor as much as she could. "Good day to you, my dear husband. Join us, please." She smiled at him warmly, and rose out of the lovely wingback next to the hearth, indicating that he should sit down, as she lowered herself onto the lesser foot stool next to it. Her tone was soft and submissive, the obedient wife.

Looking up at him through her lashes, she allowed his gaze to sweep her person, as she knew it would. When she met his eyes, he crossed the room, taking his preferred seat with a smug satisfaction written deep within their grey depths. He was pleased indeed, and Jane thought that in such a moment he would be very likely to give consent to the Lucas's party. It was always an unknown question whether Mr. Collins would be in the humor to tolerate large social gatherings, and if he chose to abstain, it was expected of his wife and sister to do so as well.

Jane was very determined to get to Lucas Lodge. With the members of Netherfield's party having accepted the invitation, it would be the most likely chance for Mary to encounter either of the gentlemen again soon. Only frequent company could enhance the likelihood of either one from forming an attachment with her. Mrs. Collins was well aware that she was in control of no one's heart, being so incapable of making her own compliant, but she would do her best to move things to ideal conditions for courtships to form. For Mary's sake it was the least she could do - she had not given up her own youth so rapidly so that her sisters would give up theirs in service.

"Tell me, Sir, have the activities of your morning been met with success?" She inquired of him gently.

"Indeed they have, Mrs. Collins." He replied, his gruff voice and his northern accent harsh in the sunny parlor. "I do not believe any more complaints shall arise from that quarter."

"I am so glad to hear that, my dear." She demurred. Turning to the visitors she continued, "The ladies of Lucas Lodge have come to congress over the events of previous evening, as we women are ever eager to do. They have also issued us an invitation."

The last remark she addressed toward Lady Lucas, who, ever eager to have her say in a conversation, immediately issued a rejoinder. If she seemed to preen as she spoke to the Master of Longbourne, the Mistress did not care to notice. Her husband was not a young man, but he was certainly a handsome one, and many women, maid and matrons alike, were often discomposed or intimidated when speaking to him.

She looked toward him as the invitation was issued, and heard his polite but noncommittal reply. If he had a mind to do it, he would have outwardly declined, so the chances that he would acquiesce on the subject seemed favorable to Jane. His eyes met hers as he gave his answer, and though his face remained neutral throughout, Jane understood the situation for what it was quite immediately. Though he fully intended to grant her favor, the lord and master of Longbourne desired that his wife earn such considerations from her husband. He was in good spirits and prepared to be quite generous, but he expected to be rewarded for such magnanimity.

After the polite time for a morning call had passed, and the Lucas's had taken their leave, Jane turned to Mary, diligent with her stitching and said firmly, "Mary. Please go see to it that everything is in order for the dinner this evening, and then practice your new pieces for the party at Lucas Lodge. We have new company to impress with your talents."

Mary stood without a response, curtsied briefly to her guardian, and slipped out of the room. The door closed and Mrs. Collins felt her husband rise, the air in the room growing very tense. Mr. Collins bouts of extreme good humor could turn very rapidly to volatile anger. Jane had become an expert in tending to the flames of his personality, but when playing with fire it was very easy to be burnt. Every time she played this game with her husband, she knew she took a gamble, but Jane did it all the same.

He took her hand in his, and in his deep, solemn voice said, "I am very pleased with you, Mrs. Collins." His lips turned somewhat upward at the corners, in the dark mockery of a smile. "Very pleased indeed."

Jane met his grey eyes through dark lashes and smiled sweetly at him. For her sisters sake, she could abide most anything. And so to Lucas Lodge, they would go.