Author's Notes: Thank you all so much for the favorites, follows, and reviews after a very long absence. It really helps to inspire writing to hear feedback, as I'm sure any author will attest to. I've actually managed to follow through on promise for once and am getting the next chapter out with a decent amount of time. The next chapter has been started.

I did have one reviewer critique my grammar and spelling pretty harshly. I would just like to say again that this story does not have a BETA or any editor of any sort at this point in time. Typos are going to happen. I think I have a fair context for grammar, but I'm also a human being prone to mistakes. If you want to read a technically flawless document, please stick to professionally published pieces. For those of you who have posted reviews pointing out specific mistakes, THANK YOU! that kind of constructive criticism actually is very helpful. General comments that this story is unedited are not. I already know that, and so should you.

Darcy,

The little season has begun in earnest, and I despair of the society I have seen so far. Perhaps war has changed me in more than the obvious way, for I find the busy nothings of the Ton more tedious than ever. Outside of visiting with Georgiana, there is little pleasure to be had here, and I almost long to hear my summons from the War Office! That is a sentence I never thought to write to you, cousin. Yet it is true - England may be at war, but the drawing rooms of London certainly are not. My army acquaintance gives me some relief from the gossip hounds, but we both know that my presence in Town always demands a certain amount of sacrifice made on the behalf of society, as my good parents are exceedingly fond of it. In fact, the Countess has started this season with a new project in mind - they apparently had some sort of falling out with their last illustrious artist and have decided to extend their patronage elsewhere. Indeed, I was somewhat alarmed to learn that they have decided to reestablish themselves in the theatre. After the retirement of Mrs. Siddons, you know Mother lost much of her interest in that field, finding no other performer as capable as that great lady, however a certain someone has sparked her interest once again.

I confess, I wasted an entire sheet of parchment in my original copy of this letter, for at first I thought I should conceal my seeing her from your notice, but I finally decided that such concealment is beneath us both. The Earl and Countess are quite taken with the charming Miss Bernard, and indeed, I found myself glad to see her, though I had told myself many times to remain stern and aloof for your sake. I hope you can forgive this weakness in my character. Your Miss Bernard was always a fascinating creature - intelligent, lively, such playful airs that conversing with her can be nothing except pleasant. I know very well that her refusal injured you, but surely after almost three years, you have recovered sufficiently to hear tidings of our friend and wish her well. Truthfully, it was a most imprudent match, the very idea of it as incredulous as it was hysterically romantic of you. She spared you from making a grievous error in that regard. She also spared dear Georgiana's the indignity of a having a very scandalous connection during her own search for a respectable marriage partner.

I digress. Logically, you were fully aware of all the obstacles such a union presented, and I know you need not have me remind you of them. I suppose in writing of them I hope to soften the blow for you of knowing she has been much in the company of our family these past few weeks, and you are likely to see her on more than one occasion when you finally deign to grace us with your presence in Town. I can not let you walk into the battlefield unprepared to face such an enormous foe as unrequited love. You can not avoid us for the entirety of the season, lest you greatly disappoint a sister who looks up to you as a father, but perhaps you will decide to remain with Bingley through to the holidays. Miss Bernard's working calendar begins in earnest in January, and as she will be playing the title role in one of the bard's most romantic classics (do I dare to write the name?) she will be much engaged during that time of the year, and you will find it significantly easier to evade her company, if that is your design.

I must give her all the credit in the world for her skills as a performer. On the first evening we were reintroduced, Mother had her recite several sonnets, and Miss Bernard obliged the company with enormous talent. Indeed, the room became quite emotional with her performance, even I, hardened soldier as I am, was not unmoved. However, there was one deficiency in her set that evening that did not go unnoticed, by myself at least. At the end of the evening, I was able to engage with Miss Bernard in a private tete-a-tete in which we discussed our mutual acquaintance. I had assumed that we would politely circle around your name, both knowing how awkward such a subject would be to bring up between us! Yet, for all her training, Miss Bernard could not help but to ask about you directly when I communicated that you were in the country for the little season, indeed, when she heard the name of the county she grew pale and seemed almost shocked. She seemed to take a very eager interest in your concerns. Perhaps someone less known to her would have not noticed such an event, for she recovered with grace, and yet I, who spent some time in greater intimacy with that lady, could not help but to detect her discomposure.

I know not why I write to you of these events. What began as a fair warning seems to have twisted into sufficient encouragement of a continuance of your inadvisable attachment. I dare not suggest that you make such a reprehensible connection, especially before our ward is properly placed in society, however my integrity must guide me in all my actions. There was such a queerness to Miss Bernard's reaction that it can not be over looked in my missive. Regardless of how things were left between you, the lady in question is not indifferent. It is only fitting that you should be in full possession of all knowledge before you meet with her again.

With this thought, I must bid you adieu, my calendar is so full of tedium that I scarcely can find the time for writing. Pray respond quickly with glad tidings of a heart unaffected by news of old interests, and a wit ready to evicerate Bingley's playing at the gentleman to a willing audience. Know that I am the perfect correspondent to laugh at all your friends' foibles with — I have no head for gossip, nor any acquaintances in the same circle as that gentleman from the North. I am very eager to hear how he and his sisters with their Town manners enjoy quiet country living.

Yours,
Richard Fitzwilliam

Had Fitzwilliam Darcy known upon receipt of a lengthy letter from his cousin that is contain news of such an alarming nature, dwelling most expressly on the subject he most often tried to forget, he would have perhaps waited to be in the privacy of his own rooms before opening the missive. As it was, when the post came he had eagerly sat down to read, for Miss Bingley's conversation was particularly grating when she had little to entertain her beside the sound of her own voice.

The weather was unfavorable for shooting as it seemed as though the heavens would open at any moment, and it seemed needlessly risky to force the sport. The company was generally listless, and his hostess especially so. Her eye was constantly turned toward him, looking for any opportunity to open a conversation or tend to to a perceived need of his, any way in which she could prove herself as consummate hostess and desirable marriage partner. The attention was officious, and Darcy only bore it with politeness for the sake of his friendship with her brother. In many ways he could not blame Miss Bingley for attempting to attract his notice. Did he not have every trait possible to be a good match for her, or any woman? Would it not be more strange as a single woman that she be disinterested in him?

With a melancholy half smile, he shook his head at his own thoughts. In one way he was indeed, very deficient. In a very harsh lesson, he had became aware that he lacked all the skills necessary of pleasing a woman worthy of being pleased. That he had always despised those who sought him out due to his family connections and personal wealth, yet had done nothing to offer a woman any more than that was a very ridiculous irony. He could not pretend that Richard's letter did not discompose him, knowing that it would be very likely that he would be frequently in Adelaide's company once again, yet his heart secretly delighted in the prospect.

In a society where others saw only the Master of Pemberly, Adelaide Bernard had been introduced to Mr. Darcy, a man. Her history unknown and her education at the hands of an artist and foreigner, she had a sort of irreverent attitude toward rank and could converse with ease with anyone she was introduced to. Darcy had never been so comfortable in a woman's society outside of his family circle as he was with hers, and that comfort rapidly transformed into an intoxicating attraction. At first, he had barely seen her as handsome, in fact he had once declined an introduction to her at a ball, seeing her as an unfortunately plain, grasping actress, and wondering how she had ever been invited to begin with.

Then, a few short months later, Benito Forelli had unveiled his latest masterpiece, "Weeping Venus". All of London was in a rage over the piece, which could not be more perfectly timed with the revival of popularity with the classics. He had been dragged to see it by the normal social rigors of the day, had been absolutely struck by the beauty of the model and intensity of the pain in her very fine eyes, eyes that seemed to leap off the page and lock into his mind. Darcy had of course seen "The Laughing Venus" and appreciated the lush curves of the model as much as the artist's skill in depicting them. It had been several years since that painting had adorned the Duke _'s home, and somewhat faded from his memory. It was only during the viewing of Forelli's latest work that he realized he had rejected an introduction to the darling muse of society.

When they next were in company together, Darcy did not behave nearly as boorishly as he had done previously. He quickly realized that Miss Bernard had perfectly genteel manners and excellent breeding, even if she had a certain sort of conceited independence in her manner. However, she was so arch and playful that she was incapable of causing offense, no matter how shocking her opinion or how decidedly she gave it for so young a person. To Darcy she was everything delightful.

Darcy called frequently and became quite a fixture at her at-homes, though he rarely had much to contribute to the conversation. When he discovered her walking at Hyde Park during the less fashionable hours, he found himself making a habit of frequently the same times and pathways quite unconsciously. She was a force that drew him in.

Little did he realize that Miss Bernard found him a strange man, taciturn and proud. When the violence of his affections finally overcame him to the point of making her an honorable offer, she had been completely shocked to be the recipient of his affections and had not hesitated to make them known.

"Can my cousin be correct?" He mused, his eyes scanning the paragraphs about the lady in question for any hidden nuances he may have previously over looked. "It can not be, I know how little she thinks of me! Would that I had behaved in a more gentleman-like manner, as her reproof called upon me to do!"

Still, there was an even more interesting piece to the report than the wishes of his own heart. Darcy had been amongst Meryton society for only a few short hours when he had been struck with the remarkable similarity of countenance between his own Miss Bernard, and one Miss Mary Bennet, of the nearest neighboring estate, Longbourne. At first he had not been able to place why his eye kept turning toward the unremarkable girl. Pleasant looking enough but by no means a classical beauty, there was no obvious reason Mary Bennet should attract his notice. Darcy was used to the highest levels of society and therefore had seen all the most beautiful debutantes paraded before him. A slip of a girl like her was nothing that would turn his head. It was only until she had spoken to him, polite, yet cool and almost irritated, that he had been struck by the comparison between this country miss and the woman he ardently loved.

He had always been curious about the background of the actress who had stolen his heart, though he had always supposed it could not be anything close to illustrious. His happiest thought that perhaps she was a natural daughter of a member of gentry, for her breeding showed her to have all the skills and talents of any gentleman's daughter. However that hypothesis seemed unlikely as no rumors began as her star started to rise in London society. Surely someone would wish to claim her, even if only furtively.

When Darcy was first struck by the notion of how much Miss Bennet reminded him of Miss Bernard, he had become somewhat attached to the idea that there may be a connection. What he learned of the family did not naturally encourage the supposition, however it did not fully distinguish the notion either. The Bennet family was comprised of several daughters, and while the eldest had married her father's heir and become Mrs. Collins, all the younger Miss Bennets were unmarried and described as being away. From what he understood, they had been raised by other relatives in Town and elsewhere. It was difficult for him to pin down clear and exact answers to these questions while remaining circumspect in his inquiry. It had been clear that his arrival and that of his friend in the neighborhood had given rise to some hopes that either single gentleman might attach themselves to one of the local ladies, and to inquire minutely into the family details of Longbourne might generate speculation he had no wish to foster.

But now his cousin's letter had created a need for further investigation into the matter. It could not be that Darcy was simply a lovesick fool seeing hints of the object of his admiration in strange women, not with such a testimony before him. She had asked after him by name, asked and been alarmed to learn that he was in Hertfordshire, of all places. Could this be a coincidence? How unlikely such things were! There was nothing for it. Darcy must learn everything about the Bennet family he could, and with alacrity.

Without ceremony he stood, crossing the parlor to the writing desk. His party looked on, somewhat startled by his abrupt movement.

"Not bads news I hope, Darcy." his congenial friend began with concern.

"What?"

"Your letter man! You have quite the agitated look."

"Indeed dear Mr. Darcy, you do look very ill. Is there anything I can do for you present relief? Shall I ring for tea?" added his cloying sister.

"No, I thank you, pardon my interruption. Only a pressing matter of business which I must respond to with haste. I beg you would excuse me."

"Certainly we shall not delay you for an instant, but allow me to ring for tea so you may soothe your present agitation. A clear head can only be a balm in situations such as this."

Defeated by the politeness of his hosts, Darcy sighed. "Very well. I thank you."

Just as Miss Bingley had finished her instructions for tea, a footman came forward and announced callers. "Mrs. Collins, Miss Bennet, Mr Collins Sr and Mr. Collins for Miss Bingley."

The parties all rose with the announcement, though with varying degrees of pleasure at the callers. It was only polite that they should return the call after personally being invited to the ball, that it should be the very next day was beyond the established modes of decency. For Darcy's part, he could barely believe that they were at the door step, it was as if the turmoil of his own mind had summoned the family hither. Alarmed, at his on discomposure, he turned toward the window to collect his thoughts as the family arrived.

The Master of Longbourne strode through the threshold with all the advantages that height and proud bearing could deliver. He was the sort of man who seemed to fill any space he occupied, and the other members of his party trailed in his wake looking decidedly smaller and meeker than they did when standing apart from him.

Bingley was quick to greet his guests, his affability even more pronounced than was typical for that gentleman. "Good day to you all! Will you not make yourselves comfortable? Caroline has just rung for tea, and will instruct Mrs. Nichols to add more settings presently. It is excessively kind of you to call on so bleak a day!"

The Longbourne party returned his greetings with all the usual manners of politeness, though some were more capable of expressing it than others. Mrs. Collins seemed to sparkle under the warmth of the address, and with similar warmth to her host's, added, "Please allow me to introduce our son to you - this is Mr. William Collins, of Kent."

The unknown gentleman bowed once again, in unusually low a fashion. He was a tall man, though barely touching Darcy's stateliness, and falling far short of his own father. His air was grave and formal, as if he was being presented to royalty rather than a simple idle gentleman of wealth and no important connections. "I am exceedingly pleased to meet you sir, and all your fine family. You are prodigiously kind to receive me."

"It is our pleasure sir! Any family of Mrs. Collins must be welcome at Netherfield!"

"Please, do be seated," added his hostess, with a tone that stated she much rather they did not.

The group heeded her words, arranging themselves with quickly. Darcy watched from his vantage point by the window and noticed that Mrs. Collins somehow sat Miss Bennet next to his friend. It was only a gentle touch from one sisters arm to another, but that had been enough for Miss Bennet to follow the lead her sister presented. Darcy did not enjoy the machinations of hungry husband women, but he could not help but admire how subtly Mrs. Collins deployed her craft. Her husband she quietly diverted toward Mr. Hurst, a simple question of what birds he had caught so far in his time in Hertfordshire allowing a dialogue to open between one self important gentleman and one who had no interest in conversation outside of his own habits. For her own part, Mrs. Collins arranged herself on the settee closest to Miss Bingley, so that she could control the flow of conversation by engaging the hostess.

The lady of Longborne seemed to have little to say, though the intelligent look in her startlingly blue eyes betrayed something of an inner dialogue. Darcy found that he could not help but envision a hazel brown set in their place with that same look — was such mental capacity a family trait? He was longing to uncover the truth, even if that truth was simply willful self deception.

However, it was the younger Collins who would demand his attention. He approached where Darcy stood by the window, effusing apologies at his assumptions - Darcy watched the approach in astonishment, thinking the younger man who addressed him had something to his look of a dog who had received a kick or two by his master - and heard the following speech with incredulity. "Mr. Darcy, you must allow me to convey to you my humblest regrets at not seeking you out as soon as I had been admitted to Hertfordshire society. Only the delay of addressing my excellent father and step-mother with all the proper civilities necessitated by an absence of some duration could have prevented my making myself known to you as soon as possible upon my arrival in this county."

Darcy inclined his head, thoroughly confused as to why this timid, bumbling man would feel any need to address him personally without an introduction. He opened his mouth to ask that question with all the politeness his own consternation would allow when that gentleman continued, as if anticipating Darcy's address. "Indeed, you are Fitzwilliam Darcy, Master of Pemberly, are you not? This is the information provided to me by father, and I could not think so little of his understanding as to assume he has been mistaken in this regard. Therefore, you must allow me to tell you that your aunt, the Honorable Lady Catherine DeBourgh, and your cousin Miss DeBourgh, were both in excellent health and good spirits upon my departure from Kent, just under one week ago."

His immediate distaste for the younger gentleman begged for Darcy to extricate himself from such tiresome conversation by any means necessary, yet with thoughts of Adelaide so fresh in his mind, he could not. "Had you behaved in a more gentleman-like manner," applied to his manners toward all his acquaintance, not just the mode of his address. He nodded with all the congeniality he could muster. "I thank you, sir." He paused, then added, "May I enquire as to how you are acquainted with my family?"

"Indeed, sir! I apologize for not beginning my address with how I should have such intimate knowledge of so great a lady! Your aunt, Lady Catherine, is my patroness. I have recently received my ordination and been granted the living at Hunsford. She could not have bestowed it on more grateful a recipient, I assure you."

"She had mentioned that she had acquired a new parson for the position in one of her letters. I congratulate you on your good fortune."

"Thank you, sir! Indeed your aunt is all affability and kind condescension. Nothing is above her purview from the shelves in my closets to the sermons I deliver to her flock weekly. It is quite beyond what I had ever imagined for myself. I am excessively flattered by all her attentions to a person so humble as myself."

Darcy noticed the head of the Collins Sr rise sharply with his son's words. From his seat with Hurst, he barked, "Nothing more important than the attentions of a noble to someone as lowly as you, is there?"

The son paled with his father's tone. "Sir, you misunderstand me." He said with a wince, his arm raising to rub nervously along the back of his neck.

"Do I?" It was not a question, but a warning.

The attention or the entire party turned toward the exchange. Mrs. Collins seemed to eye the pair warily, a pleasant smile plastered on her face even as her eyes sharpened to take in the scene. Her sister's face set in a grim line, her intelligent eyes sparking with barely contained anger. Darcy's own party, clearly unaware of some subtext to the conversation at hand had their own reactions. Bingley appeared anxious, glancing rapidly around the room at his guests, attempting to discern a way to cut the tension. His sisters smirked at one another, barely keeping their amusement at this display of ill breeding in check. Hurst was annoyed to have a perfectly good anecdote about brace of birds he had shot in the beginning of the week be interrupted for family squabbles.

The younger Collins' hand stretched along the line of his cravat, and his words seemed to stumble from his mouth. "I, what I meant to imply, indeed, what I have been saying to Mr. Darcy, is…" The kicked dog of a man looked toward Darcy with a plea in his large brown eyes. Beads of perspiration had begun to form along his hairline.

Darcy could not help but take pity on the man, and said, "It is rare, for someone of Lady Catherine's rank to give much attention to her parson outside of the typical civilities. I see my own rector outside of services but a few times a year. From what I understand from my aunt, Lady Catherine has Mr. Collins to dine regularly. She does him a great honor."

The elder man's black eyes narrowed, and his chest rose as he straightened his back in the seat, as if to make himself appear as large as he possibly could. "My son is the heir of Longborne, he is a landed a gentleman. I do not see how such civilities go beyond his due as a member of her own class. She would dishonor him and the entire Collins family to invite him any less. The boy puts too much stock into the opinion of others. Do not encourage such a servility of manner in him."

Darcy was almost sure he heard a snicker escape one of the superior sisters, but could not be certain. He was about to reply when that gentleman's wife interjected.

"My dear husband," She said with a purr, her pretty blue eyes peering up at him through eyelashes that fluttered attractively, "no one would dare to question the respectability of the Collins family. Though untitled, our family have ties to these lands that go back for hundreds of years. Only a fool would try to imply otherwise. It is simply that Lady Catherine is such an unusually generous neighbor that surprises our son so. Indeed Mr. Darcy has owned that even he does not mix with his neighbors nearly as much as his aunt does. I dare say even we do not entertain nearly so much as Lady Catherine, for we have been remiss in inviting our neighbors to dine of late, have we not? The present company has not been to dine at Longborne, though soon we will dance at Netherfield."

Collins chin lifted with pride at his wife's words. His black eyes seemed to glint with steely satisfaction. "You are quite correct Mrs. Collins, let it not be said that a family as old and proud as the Collins's have forgotten their place in society. In fact, our purpose in calling today was to invite you all for a dinner party this coming Friday."

The tension began to dispel with his words. Darcy felt the gentleman standing next to him let out a quiet breath that he had been unaware he was holding in. He glanced at that gentleman from the corner of his eye as he adjusted his collar. The faintest hint of a purple bruise was exposed for a brief moment before being hidden from view.

Bingley was quick to jump at the invitation and change the direction of the conversation. Carried along by the kindness of the host and supercilious comments of the hostess, the quarter hour meeting soon came to an end. The Collins family made their goodbyes, and were shown out in the usual fashion.

His mind racing with the events of the morning, Darcy paced about the drawing room. He happened to pass by the window facing the drive as the Collins carriage was exiting. Pausing in contemplation of that family, Darcy stopped for a moment to watch their departure. They were close to the edge of the grounds that would lead to the road to Longborne, close to being out of Darcy's site, though still enough in range to make out the carriage. He was about to turn away when he realized that it had stopped.

In astonishment, Darcy watched the heir of Longborne descend from the family's equipage. He had a great coat and hat, but little else to protect himself from the grey autumn day that was rapidly growing black. The carriage the took off, mud flicking from the wheels and splattering the son and guest of the "proud and ancient family" of Hertfordshire. He saw the unmistakable figure of his new acquaintance pause for a moment, his head hanging, and then begin walking in the path the carriage had gone.

Disgusted by what he had witnessed, Darcy turned away abruptly. He sat down at the writing desk, ignoring invitations from his hostess to take a turn at cards. Something was not quite right with the Collins family, of that Darcy was now certain. According to Richard's letter, Adelaide had appeared almost frightened to learn he was in Hertfordshire. It was time to learn everything he could about her and this place he had unwittingly come to.

Darcy began a letter, but not a reply to his cousin, it was time to start a different dialogue entirely - a correspondence with Bow Street. Just as he was coming toward a conclusion of his missive, the rain finally let loose with an unexpected ferocity.

Concern immediately flooded Darcy. It had not been nearly enough time for the younger Collins to converse the four miles back to Longborne. The poor man was sure to be wet through. He stood, and addressed Miss Bingley, all the while cursing himself for his own foolishness.

"Please ring the bell at once, I need a pair of horses saddled immediately."

His hosts were aghast at the notion. "Good God man!" Bingley cried, "whatever can you be about?"

"Mr. Darcy, I beseech you, whatever business propels you out of doors can surely wait!"

He frowned with gravity. "I am afraid that I can not be delayed. I overheard Mr. Collins tell his family that he would seek his exercise and return to Longborn on foot. I am sure that he must be caught in this storm and can not, in good conscious, leave him to elements.

Bingley immediately rose, concern etched across his countenance. "Are you quite certain?"

The poor man's head hanging flashed across Darcy's vision. "Decidedly so, I actually observed him embark on foot from the window."

"Caroline, please ring the bell at once! We have not an insistence to lose!"

Caroline scowled, but did as she was bid. "I shall tell Mrs. Nichols to prepare some hot baths as well, for now not only will Mr. Collins be close to catching his death, but the pair of you as well! Such whim and folly, surely a man who has lived in this area for years knows where to take refuge during a bit of rain."

Darcy's frown only increased at the severity of her tone, but Bingley beamed. "That is very good of you Caroline, a splendid idea. Now come Darcy - we must dress for a very wet ride."

Darcy bowed to his hostess. "I thank you for your assistance Miss Bingley. Charles, let's be off."

Author's Notes: So here we are! That action is finally starting to really take off - - looking forward to hearing all your theories and questions about what's going to happen next. I love the feedback and seeing how far on or off the mark everyone is, it's a lot of fun! Thank you again to my readers, I hope you all enjoyed!