Author's Notes: Well, Hello There.
I'm not quite a grandmother yet, but this update did take a lot longer than I anticipated to get out to you all. My apologies, seriously. In short, this summer really kicked my butt mentally. As a full time worker, and a student, I really just didn't have many creative juices flowing for a long time. My credit to all the writhers who have kids and way more responsibility than me. I truly don't know how you guys do it.
So many thanks for the absolutely incredible response to the last chapter. I read all of your reviews, and your feedback truly means so much to me. I know it might not feel that way by how long it takes me to turn out chapters sometimes.. But I really do appreciate everything so much. While I have a very clear ending in mind for all these characters, your opinions on the direction of the plot has definitely helped me in the journey of getting there. I got a lot of feedback about Mr. Collins' slippers that definitely changed some of the direction in this chapter.
Since it's been so long since my last post, I thought a summary might be helpful for some readers.
Previously:
With permission of Jane Collins and Miss Bennet, Mr. Darcy travelled to London, to convince his acquaintance, the actress Adelaide Bernard, to visit them while they stay at Netherfield Hall.
Darcy calls on Miss Bernard, and confronts her as to his belief that her birth name is Elizabeth Bennet, sister of Mrs. Collins & Miss Bennet who has been missing for 7 years. Darcy and Miss Bernard have a history together, Darcy proposed and had been rejected two years prior, before he learned of her true identity. Darcy and Elizabeth address the former proposal and Elizabeth acknowledges that she has learned to care for Darcy since that time. However Elizabeth is insistent that she will never marry, despite her feelings and her only goal is justice for her murdered father.
Darcy had a letter for Elizabeth from Miss Mary Bennet. Mary confesses in her letter that she figured out Elizabeth's new identity years ago, but she did not tell the rest of the family because she knew that due to Elizabeth's career as an actress, her guardian the elder Mr. Collins would disown and cut the girl anyway. Jane and Mary are staying as guests of Netherfield Hall in order to act as nurses to their cousin Reverend William Collins, who was found on the estate grounds during a severe rain storm, injured and feverish.
Darcy and Mary's letter convinces Elizabeth to travel with Darcy to Hertfordshire. Darcy recruits the assistance of his aunt, Lady Matlock, who dispatches her son Colonel Fitzwilliam to help escort Miss Bernard from London respectably. Darcy, Colonel Fitzwilliam, and Elizabeth arrive at Netherfield where they learned from Mr. Bingley that the Reverend's fever has broken. Elizabeth, acting as Adelaide Bernard, is a guest at Netherfield. Her mourning status gives her a degree of privacy other guests would not have. She has to wait until after dinner to be reunited with her sisters Jane and Mary.
Elizabeth reunites with her sisters and is asked to share her story with a group that includes Jane, Mary, Mr. Darcy, Colonel Fitzwilliam, and Constable Gantry, a Bow St runner hired by Mr. Darcy to find out who had assaulted the Reverend Collins. Elizabeth reveals why and how she left Longborn, fainting at one point. Elizabeth and Darcy also openly acknowledge their feelings for one another during Elizabeth's confessional, but she still insists they cannot marry. Elizabeth's story has one potential corroborating piece of evidence at Longborn, a pair of slippers that was torn and then mended some years ago. Mary offers to go to Longborn to retrieve these slippers with the help of Mr. Bingley and Mr. Gantry.
Elizabeth and Jane have a more private reunion, and Jane encourages Elizabeth to look at the future with optimism and possibility.
And that's where we left things.
As always, thank you for your continued support. I truly hope you enjoy this chapter. And remember, I've promised those HEA's. I think this installment has a little bit of everything, Including, the one character who's perspective we've never had before...The Master of Longborn's...
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The white-washed walls of the master's chamber of Longborn glowed in the soft, pink light of an autumn morning. The Master was still abed, feeling as if he had only just drifted to sleep mere moments ago, but the shadows that danced upon the walls before him told a different tale. There could be no denying that morning had arrived, whether he was prepared to face the day or not. His dark brow furrowed; thoughts confused. He knew there was some particular task which needed his attention this very morning but could not recall what it may be.
Well, there would be no benefit in his playing the sloth. With a soft groan that revealed his age in a manner his countenance had yet to betray, the master of Longborn rose, one large hand blindly searched the wall for the bellpull, while the other grasped at his temple. By God, his head throbbed! The persistent ache behind his eyes of the past week seemed to be increasing, despite the apothecary's powders and Hill's teas. This morning, the pain could be called nothing short of a stab. Finding the cord, he pulled on it with aggression.
Black eyes squeezed closed, Longborn collapsed against the bed once more, curses spewing from his lips. There was far too much to do – far too much at stake – to let such a malady slow him. He was a healthy, powerful, man, he did not, would not, succumb to illness…he had never fallen before. He did not share the weak blood of his pathetic, sniveling, heir apparent. No – this blasted headache, this pain that had besieged him since the very moment his wife had dared to censure him some days ago…he would not succumb to this pain, of all pains. He would not, could not, give Jane Collins the satisfaction of seeing she could yield any power over her husband.
But for all his determination, all Longborn's will to be well, when his valet arrived at the door of his chambers, the voice that bid the servant enter was stilted and slurred. Though it was a struggle, he found the energy to rise, wavering slightly on his feet as the younger man dressed him for the day. The servant knew far better than to comment on his master's appearance, his employer was well known below stairs for having an uneven temper at best, and considering how little he showed his appreciation for the efforts of his staff in either word or wages, none of the people serving the man had any fondness for him. If the master wanted to wear himself out when he was clearly feeling poorly, he was welcome to do so. A bedridden Collins would need far less of his attention.
Eventually, Longborn lumbered from his bedroom with a scowl half twisted across his thin lips. He had dulled the knife in his head with the help of Jones' tinctures and powders, but the mix of his potions left him feeling even more sluggish than he had been without them. He tried to ignore the ways his hands trembled as he broke his fast, and his mind swirled with disconcerting, disconnected thoughts. He felt uneasy and anxious, as if he had forgotten to do something very important, and he tried to piece together the events of the last week even as hot coffee spilled across his fingertips from his jiggling cup.
His wife, Jane, and her loathsome sister had been gone for some time now…staying at the neighboring estate, Netherfield, to care for the heir of the Longborn, who had been found in the woods surrounding the property during a rainstorm, injured and ill. A hot flash of anger shot through him, jolting his dull senses somewhat. Caretakers indeed! He had seen the way that milksop Bingley stared after his wife – it was the way all red-blooded men did. What he had never seen before was the way Jane had blushed and smiled under that boy's attentions. Well…he would be reminding her of just who she had promised to honor and obey soon enough…after all, it was a just a matter of time until Jane would have to return to Longborn…She could not stay under Bingley's protection indefinitely, Jane belonged to Longborn…yes, it was all just a matter of time…of time…of…time.
Blast! The master of the estate shot up from his spot at the breakfast table, spilling coffee against the linen as he did so. His feelings of forgetfulness were justified, or nearly so…for he had all of five minutes to make a very important meeting. His scowl twisted even more fiercely as he awkwardly attempted to make haste from the dining parlor to Longborn's stables. His gait was uneven and heavy, nothing more than a side effect of all the mixtures Jones had prescribed to relieve his pains, he was sure, but inconvenient, nonetheless.
Fortunately, the gentleman Longborn had agreed to meet had enough patience to wait for the older, slower, man. He was leaning against the north side of the barn facing the wooded boundary of Longborn estate, as he'd been instructed, his boyish, handsome countenance looking quite smug.
"Wickham." The elder greeted plainly, not dignifying the officer with a bow.
"Collins." The younger man replied, matching the tone of his social better.
Longborn reached inside of his waist coat and retrieved a small purse. He handed it to the younger man without ceremony and twisted as if he would walk away once more.
"Not so hasty, sir!" Wickham said with a mocking laugh. "You have cheated me once already, and myself and my fellow officers are kept far too busy by Colonel Foster to have me traipsing about the countryside regularly to ensure you have paid your dues. I do not mean to call on you again here if it can be avoided." He undid the string and dumped the contents into his palm, smiling as the coins tinkled against one another.
He counted quickly. "You have underpaid me, again." He snapped.
The blade behind Collins' eyes sharpened at the indignity of being addressed so by a steward's son. "I have paid you what your silence is worth" He slurred, "not a farthing more, you grasping upstart."
Wickham threw back his head and released a barking laugh. "You've named me quite correctly…I am an upstart, though hardly a grasping one. You might have met me during a bad hand of cards, but my luck always wins out in the end. Did you think that word would never reach the village of Reverend Collins' assault – or the fact that the most illustrious person currently in Meryton has hired a Bow Street Runner to investigate the crime? That we three would never realize the amount of risk your scheme had exposed us to? Your magistrate's lady-wife made sure to share this important information all around the village yesterday afternoon. The added risk faced by myself, and my friends must mean added reward. I am afraid the rate for our silence has now doubled."
"Doubled!?" Collins roared, angry and incredulous. "Doubled?"
"Doubled indeed," Wickham hissed. "And very likely to rise again in the coming weeks and months. You must have thought yourself very clever, getting a few militia men in their cups and allowing young soldiers to rack up more gaming debt then they could possibly afford to pay – and offering to discharge that debt if we rendered you an evil service. And perhaps it was a clever plan, until providence placed Fitzwilliam Darcy in the countryside."
Longborn laughed then, but it was a hollow laugh, a timid attempt at mockery. "I am not threatened by Darcy and that boy he's paid to poke his nose in a man's private affairs. So, Darcy is rich enough to hire a runner. So what? It hardly signifies."
"Perhaps it wouldn't, if this were your average rich man who felt inclined to throw money at the troubles of his friends and acquaintances. But unfortunately for you, I happen to know Fitzwilliam Darcy, I know him very well indeed. You see…we grew up together as boys…surely you remember my mentioning having been raise on a fine estate in the north…" He smiled coldly as Collins' black eyes widened. "He is not the sort to give up easily or care so little…" He paused slightly, watching the older man's normally stoic expression twist unpleasantly. Sensing his audience was growing increasingly impatient, he continued in a tone of somewhat begrudging respect, adding, "Fitzwilliam Darcy is by no means a stupid man. Some might even call him clever. And he most certainly has deeper pocket books than you - Perhaps I have more to gain in telling him my story of our acquaintance, than there is in remaining silent on the subject. Unless of course, you are willing to double this coin?"
A tense silence held between them, but Longborn knew he was cornered. He should have never asked three men to do the work of one. There were too many accomplices to silence without drawing even more suspicion, and if William Collins lived, he would have little choice but to buy off those who had been unwittingly roped into the parson's attempted murder.
"Very well." He growled with malice, black eyes shining with a hatred which scorched. "You shall have your money."
Wickham grinned affably, entirely used to being on the receiving end of another man's displeasure. "There's a good man – clever indeed to see things my way. This will be the best recourse for everyone, you'll see soon enough."
"Stay here, and I'll return shortly with the funds." Came a low, venomous, reply.
Just as Longborn turned the corner of the barn to return to the house, his housekeeper, Mrs. Hill was exiting Longborn's doors in search of her master. Two gentlemen from the Netherfield party had called and requested an immediate audience with the master of the house, as they had news of the heir's present condition. She had been informed by a maid that the master had quit the house on foot, and she bustled across the grounds eager to find him and glean what news she could of poor Master William's condition. The pair crossed one another about midway, where Hill informed her master of the early visitors and beseeched him to see them immediately.
Though he squared his shoulders, pulling his impressive frame as close to its full height as he could possibly bare, Longborn knew he was a pale shadow of the man who had come close to thrashing Charles Bingley in his own home only days prior. He felt weak…a trait he abhorred above all else in others.
Worse still, he felt tricked and trapped…after his dealings with Malvern, he had sworn to himself that he would never involve another man in his affairs again. He had tried to live simply and quietly at his estate, enjoying the pleasures of being a great man of a fine house with a pretty and obedient wife. He had neither asked for, nor expected more than that. Then his weak-willed heir had removed from the household…and gone and grown himself a spine that Collins had needed to beat out of him again with this visit…It should have been enough…a leather thrashing has always quieted the odious boy in the past. But he had seen the way the boy's round dark eyes had glared at him through his tears and realized that this time…he would have to make the Longborn heir silent for good. He had thought sending him away for an education would keep him far enough away and much too occupied to have many questions, but it had been yet another misstep in all of Longborn's best laid plans. His life in Kent, the protection of his deacon and his dear patroness, Lady Catherine, the independence of his own establishment…the boy was finally beginning to grow into a man…a man with far too many meddlesome questions.
Yes, silencing his heir was his only choice. But in correcting his error in allowing the stupid boy to grow into an irksome adult, he only committed further blunders. It had all seemed so simple…he had noted William's trifling cold upon his arrival in Hertfordshire. When he had taken his son to task for his insolence in following Lady Catherine's instructions in looking for a wife, rather than his own, the weak state of his heir's body had only become more apparent. Collins had realized quickly that it would not take much abuse upon the man's person to ensure he came seriously ill, especially if he had some degree of exposure to the elements. A sick, bedridden heir would be entirely at the mercy of the master of the estate…and a few extra drops of laudanum in the night would have ended it all. Once Collins had realized the necessity of such an act, the means of accomplishing the task in a blameless way had immediately come to mind. Conveniently at the same time his heir had come to visit, a militia had been quartered in Meryton, and Collins knew full well that militiamen had but a pittance of a salary…he need only linger in Meryton's most popular pub, take a seat at his favorite table, and keep his ears open for an opportunity to recruit a few good men into a dark deed.
Confound it, it was all so horribly unfair! Though the beginning of his residency at Longborn had been somewhat tense and fraught, with the eyes of so many children watching his every move…life as a gentleman had been relatively simple and easy. He had grown complacent with his years of playing the gentleman farmer, and he had not anticipated the defiance of those who depended on the estate for their security. First, his heir had begun to question things best left unspoken - and then Netherfield Park had been let at last, and his wife had begun to look at him with judgmental airs as well.
It was too much to be borne. He would not tolerate his life of abundance and simple pleasures being disrupted by either of them. The death of his heir would not only spare Collins the indignity of having to relive events of the past…it would also force the Collins family into a year of mourning, effectively isolating Jane from her friends…especially those that resided in Netherfield Hall.
It had been a good plan…a simple plan…until that supercilious bastard Darcy had stuck his nose into the Collins' family affairs. The parson should have been discovered in the woods much later, after the storm had passed, and returned to Longborn to recover, as was proper. But instead, Darcy and that dandy Bingley had ridden out during the storm, for reasons unknown to him, discovered the heir and returned him to Netherfield, rather than Longborn, where he belonged. That had been a blow, but word was that the sickly man did so poorly his survival was questionable…even without the aid of laudanum. He knew that he could not allow his heir to speak of what had occurred in the Hertfordshire woods that day...he only needed an opportunity to get close to the boy to ensure things would turn out the way he had intended. He had to regain control of the situation…if the heir did not die as he was expected to, something good must come from his time at Netherfield…so Miss Bingley and her alleged dowry of twenty-thousand pounds would become his object. If he could only engineer a compromise that might tie Miss Bingley and her money to Longborn, he believed he could perhaps still William's tongue in a different manner than a violent one...the boy might have grown clever enough to defy him…but such a prize as Miss Bingley's wealth would make many men forget their principles. He had been laying the ground work for such a compromise when he called upon Netherfield, only to be thwarted by his own temper…goaded into acting rashly by that foppish boy of a Bow Street Runner, when he mentioned Elizabeth…
The Master of Longborn released a swear that made his long-suffering housekeeper blush. Elizabeth. Another mistake, another loose end, another threat to the life he had created in Hertfordshire. Elizabeth Bennet, that loathsome chit with her firey gaze…that little girl that had refused to be frightened of him…that had made him bleed! For years he had worried over her fate, wondering what the little girl who had gotten away might do…who she might turn to with her sorry tale…only for nothing to occur. He had finally let the memories of the lost Bennet daughter begin to fade, only to have them brought up to the foreground of his mind with the irksome questions from a stick of a boy.
It was all too much. Malvern had betrayed him first. Elizabeth had escaped his control. William was growing into a man who no longer feared him. Jane had defied him, choosing to care for the heir at Netherfield, and refusing to acquiesce to his demands that she force a marriage to Longborn with either of the Bingley siblings. And now…after all his troubles…his most recent conspirator dared to extort him, claiming an intimate acquaintance with the very man who had spear-headed the investigation of the reverend's assault.
All Collins wanted to do was live in peace, enjoying the fruits of all his labors, could such a thing be so very much to ask for?
The fury rose in his breast with each lumbering step back toward the house. Had Hill not walked but a few steps before him, the rage pulsing through him might very well have blinded him from the path.
O0o0o0o0o0o0o
Shielded in the brush that bordered the northern boundary of Longborn estate, a petite young woman glared at the retreating back of the master of the estate. Her head was buzzing with all she had witnessed between her guardian and a handsome young stranger. She wondered who the unknown man might be and lamented that she could not have moved closer to listen to the conversation lest she give her position away. Still, to a woman of Mary Bennet's keen intelligence, there was still much to be learned from witnessing the exchange, even at a distance. It was plain from her observation that the pair of men were not friends, or at the very least, there was some bad blood between the pair. She had also witnessed her guardian hand the young man a bag of coin, and how heated the pair had become after the sum had been counted out. Could this be the man Malvern Elizabeth had accused Mr. Collins of conspiring with regarding the alleged murder of their dear father? But that hardly seemed possible…the stranger was young, much younger than Elizabeth had described. Perhaps this gentleman served as an agent of Malvern's?
Her plump lips pursed in annoyance. She had promised Mr. Gantry that she would retrieve the injured slippers from the attic undetected. The Constable claimed that these slippers could be vital in providing tangible evidence to Elizabeth's accusation against Collins regarding their father's murder. She had not just promised them – she had quite insisted on going despite the varied protests she had received. She could hardly back down from that challenge now…and yet all her instincts told her that Collins' exchange with the stranger was significant in some fashion. She was loathe to let the stranger out of her site…but she could hardly be in two places, achieving two objectives, at the same time. If everything Elizabeth had claimed held true, that very morning could be Mary's last opportunity to retrieve the slippers in question.
But…even if everything Elizabeth had claimed was true, in all the awful details, even if Mary did retrieve those slippers…Mr. Gantry had wondered if even that would be enough to bring Collins to justice in a court of law. And what then, of Cousin William? Thomas Bennet, God rest his soul, had been dead and buried for eight long years. His death had not roused any suspicion of foul play at the time – and the words of a famed actress against him would hardly be enough to convict a man of murder. But what of William Collins – bruised, battered, and ill – who had lived for years under his father's tyrannical thumb and yet retained his goodness, his kindness, who had suffered through years of humiliation, and depravation, and lately a horrible assault and violent fever which threatened his very life…where would the justice be for William, if they pursued charges for the crimes against Thomas Bennet and lost? What then would become of William, of Jane, and even of herself, should the elder Collins stand trial for his crime, and walk free of it? Was it wise to attempt to unbury a crime nearly a decade old – or was the wiser path to pursue justice for crimes committed in the present? Was it possible there could be justice for both cases?
As she mulled over the course she was to take, her icy gaze never left the young man who had so perturbed her guardian. He had not yet abandoned his position behind the barn – was the young man waiting for the master's return? What could he mean by remaining there, his pleasant countenance twisted in an ugly scowl?
Her silent reverie was interrupted by a rustling in the woods some yards away. Mary's slender neck twisted with the sound, her heart suddenly racing. Through the brown thickets of autumn trees and shrubs, she could see the distinctive scarlet of a militia uniform approaching her. Instinctively she turned her body behind the nearest tree, concealing herself from view…thankful that her straw bonnet, dark hair, and brown muslin morning dress would not immediately call her out against the scenery.
The hair on her neck rose…why would a soldier ….no…it was two! – make their way from the main roads and wander about in the muddied forest that surrounded Longborn? They must be making their way through the bramble for a purpose, just as she had…for no one would traipse about the countryside in such poor conditions for their own amusement. Her sharp, assessing gaze swiveled to the area immediately surrounding her. It would not do to be seen! She could not know what purpose these soldiers had in making their way thither…but even if their intent was harmless, to be caught alone with this pair of strange men in the woods beyond Longborn's boundaries…it would defy every law of propriety Jane had so meticulously instilled in her. She must hide, and she must do so quickly, and silently, for every moment she wasted in analyzing their movements was another the two men advanced toward her.
Finally, her eyes landed on a large shrug several yards ahead of her, bringing her closer to Longborn's boundary. For perhaps the first time she could recall, Mary thanked providence for her doll-like stature. Most adults would not be able to crawl beneath the lowest branches of the bush and conceal themselves…but a woman of her size would fit with ease. With a grimace, she dropped to her hands and knees. There was no time to be missish. The mud of the forest floor was painfully chilled, and her gloves would be beyond recovery, caked in the dirt as they now were…but she was far more practical than vain. If the pair noticed any movement low to the ground, they would surely believe they had startled an animal, and not a gentlewoman of nine-and-ten. She scurried forward, adrenaline propelling her crawl. Panting, she pulled herself beneath the shelter, branches disheveling her bonnet as she did so. In an effort to make herself as small and invisible as possible, she curled her knees toward her chest…and just in the nick of time…for she could clearly here the crunch of their boots against the fallen leaves now.
Voices followed the boots, as the men seemed to be following the very path Mary had taken to hiding. A swell of panic rose in her breast – but her logical mind swallowed it down, for there was little use in such an emotion until she could be sure she had been witnessed by the pair. She would save her fear for the moment it was warranted, and not expend it a second too soon. She took a deep rattling breathe and then clasped her pouting lips together tightly, as the boots moved closer…closer still…and now were close enough that if she extended a muddy glove, she could very well reach out from her hiding spot and touch one with the tip of her finger.
"Chamberlain…" came an exasperated sigh from above. "This paranoia does you no credit, my friend. We are utterly alone in these woods."
A much younger and significantly more nervous voice replied. "I am not so anxious as to have conjured images from my own imagination. Denny…I saw a girl in these woods ahead of us, I swear it."
Beneath the brush, Mary's eyes widened. Her heart was beating rapidly now…for a moment she was sure the pair could hear it's wild, frantic, thumping.
The voice belonging to Denny replied in a somewhat bemused tone, and the pair of boots moved closer to her still. "I believe you when you tell me you saw something, but I'd wager that your nerves have tricked you into looking for witnesses where none exist. Look around man – is there any sign of this girl now? I certainly see no indication of it!"
A heavy pause hung in the air. Mary felt a lifetime pass through her as she waited for the younger man's response. "No…" he finally spoke, his tone hesitant and tremulous, "I see no trace of her now."
The pair of boots mere inches from Mary's face moved away from her then, approaching the other set. She heard the hearty clap of Denny grasping Chamberlain's shoulder. "Even if you are right, and there was a girl out in these woods a few moments ago – it does not signify much. We are not far off from the main roads toward London…I am positive that Hertfordshire must see a fair share of riffraff run through it. Perhaps there is a caravan of gypsies moving this way, and they have sent their children out to forage…or to poach from the estates. If there was ever a child out and about in these woods…she is gone now, and you needn't worry yourself so."
A hot flash of indignation crossed Mary's mind – the soldier had thought her a child! She was not so small as to be mistaken for a little girl! – and then with a grimace, she swallowed her vanity and remembered that she should be grateful for such a mistake, had she not just thanked the Lord for her petite nature mere moments before!?
Chamberlain released a heavy sigh of his own. "You are correct of course. No one is here now…and no one was present then. I just…I can not like this, not any of it. I have never gotten into any sort of trouble before…I wish I had never been persuaded to gamble that day at all! If we make it through this sorry event unscathed, I shall never try my hand at cards again. I swear it!"
Denny let loose a hearty laugh. "You should not make a vow like that so lightly, friend…a life in the militia means you will find yourself more likely to break it than not." Then he paused, and added in a more somber tone, "For my own part…I am sorry that you have been mixed up in this ugly business. I never anticipated that such a simple task to discharge our debt would become so complex."
"A simple task indeed," came a surprisingly bitter reply. "Perhaps it was simple enough for you and Wickham…but I could hardly countenance it then, and I can barely stomach the notion now, realizing just what we have done. I am supposed to be his majesty's soldier, not a common hooligan. I should have never debased myself so."
"No." Denny's voice had turned angry. "If your honor means so much to you – you should not have agreed to discharge the debt with violence. But in the moment, taking fists up against a stranger held far more appeal to you than advancing Collins' your next two months' wages, and now you must live with the consequences." There was sharp, stinging pause. "As we all must." He added, somber once more. "We are in this together now, come what may."
"Yes." The younger man said with resignation. "Yes, I suppose we are."
"There's a good lad. Now come, we must make haste if we are to find Wickham before his meeting with Collins…I believe we are nearly there."
And with that, the two sets of boots set off, moving closer to the forest's edge. For several long moments Mary lay in her hiding spot, stilling her heart and catching her breath. Once she was sufficiently calmed, and she was unable to discern the sound of their footsteps amongst the leaves any longer, she crawled out from beneath the plant that had so well concealed her and set off toward her meeting spot with Bingley and Gantry at a sprint.
There could be no sneaking into Longborn now, covered in mud she has was, and Mary was not sorry for it. Constable Gantry had told Mary that he had worked out what had happened to her cousin William…that he knew the culprit and that an arrest would soon be made…he had all but accused her guardian of being the master-mind of such a plot…But he did not say that he knew who, exactly, had assaulted the man. Well, Mary had now worked out one more piece of this dangerous puzzle…but there was one important question that still plagued them both...Why?
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Inside Longborn's parlor – two energetic young men fidgeted restlessly. The Bow Street runner toyed with the chain of a gold pocket watch, while his companion, the current Master of Netherfield Hall, worried his riding gloves. Neither man was keen to admit his nerves to the other, but any sensible person truly ought to be nervous when entering a lion's den – should they not? The last time either man had met with William Collins they had had the advantage of being within the confines of their own estate – now they were guests of a man who had been accused of conspiracy, abuse, and even murder.
Charles Bingley did not relish the task before him. When he had met with Longborn previously, he had been full of bluster and righteous indignation, giving little thought to the consequences for all involved as he banned William Collins from his property. Today, for the sake of the woman he loved, and all those currently within his protection, he would rescind that ban…he would grovel before the elder gentleman and apologize for his actions, as much as the very idea of doing so sickened him. What good was pride, – if not kept under good regulation? His own self-pride, his eagerness to prove himself a gentleman of quality, as well of the type of man his father would have wished him to be, had the potentiality to costs other quite a bit. "It takes a strong man to stand up for those less powerful than himself…and perhaps even a stronger one to admit where he has erred." He reminded himself internally.
The wiry Londoner was looking forward to their meeting with something much more closely resembling eagerness. While Elizabeth Bennet's tale of murder and disguise was absolutely riveting to a man of mysteries such as himself, even if true, it would be terribly hard to prove in a court of law. But unlike Miss Bennet's woes, Reverend Collins distress was current – his assailants were present in the country side, needing only to be identified, and perhaps the last pieces of that puzzle would make themselves apparent in this very interview….after all…if you had tried to kill a man, and had been living in limbo for sennight or more waiting to find out if your plans were met with success…how might one react to learning that their victim was recovering…speaking…once again? He slapped his pocket watch between each hand, his excitement mounting. Yes, he was quite eager to meet with Mr. Collins once again.
His chocolate eyes swiveled to the doorway. Had Miss Mary entered the household? She had been so poised and self-assured as she had volunteered herself to retrieve the torn slippers from Elizabeth's tale of escape. Her elder sisters, Mr. Bingley, Darcy, and the Colonel had all tried to dissuade her from the task, but Mary Bennet would not be missish when there was something she could do to be of use. Such an admirable, formidable young woman was rarely to be met with. He only hoped that his skills in leading a conversation could keep Bingley and Collins at length long enough to provide her all the time she needed to complete her task without detection.
In a more typical meeting, Gantry's skills in reading and leading people might have been quite useful. However, the impish Londoner could have had no preparation in meeting a man quite so angry, so tired, so desperate to maintain control as the Master of Longborn.
The housekeeper, Hill, lead the master to the drawing room where they waited but his presence was felt by both the younger men before he even crossed the threshold. It was as if a dark cloud had gathered in the parlor, the threat of a storm hanging in the air before them. The master walked through the entrance way with a heavy gate, not dignifying either of his callers with a bow even as they each proffered him their own. Nor did he speak…he met the gaze of the younger men with violence dancing in his orbs and waited.
It was Bingley who spoke first, calling upon his good manners to guide him where his bravery was faltering. No one had ever looked upon him with the sort of hatred Mr. Collins directed his way. "I beg your pardon for intruding upon you here, sir…" he began, gulping. "After our last meeting at Netherfield, a simple note felt inadequate to the occasion. I did not behave as a proper host ought to at our last meeting, and I have come to apologize."
Longborn did not reply. His countenance was flat – cold and hard, but his eyes burned. He allowed their gaze to move from Bingley to the smaller man who stood beside him, waiting for that Londoner to speak.
Gantry saw that it was his cue, and internally grinned to have the nan's angry attention upon his own person. "I have come to proffer my own apologies as well, Mr. Collins. I did not behave in a professional manner, by deceiving you as to the manner of my questions regarding the Reverend's medical history. We would have been much better served if I had informed you that I was a Constable and employed by Bow Street from the very start."
Only the slightest dip of the elder man's head gave any indication that he heard the Londoner speak at all. The black stare moved back to Bingley.
The younger man squared his shoulders, pulling his courage up for Jane's sake, if not his own. "It was presumptuous of us to call upon you here without sending word of our intention…I certainly hope you can forgive it me. However, knowingly how poorly I had behaved, with tensions of the past week running so high, I felt you were owed this conversation in person so I could impress you with the full sincerity of my address."
The silence that descended upon the trio was deafening. Everything depended upon how Mr. Collins might react to Bingley's apology…and the dark look he cast at the Master of Netherfield's person did not bely much hope for a reconciliation between the two estates. Though the clock claimed only the duration of a minute passed in such foreboding quietude, a lifetime might have passed between them in those moments. It was Gantry who broke the spell, stating in as unaffected a manner as he could muster – "We also have tidings of your son, Mr. Collins. Would you like to hear how the Reverend fares?"
And there it was! The moment Gantry had been waiting for. Collins did not have an expressive countenance, his mouth was perpetually set in a grim line, and the planes of his face were flat. But with this small mention of the Reverend Collins, those thin lips trembled, and the dark eyes flashed. "Yes." He said stiffly, sluggishly, "Tell me the news."
Bingley grasped at the olive branch he thought had been extended. "I am prodigiously glad to bring you good tidings, sir. The fever has broken, and the Reverend has awoken. He is speaking, though he is still rather weak and quite confused."
"He has awoken?" Came the coarse, incredulous reply.
"Indeed, he has, Mr. Collins." Gantry said eagerly, watching the elder man's expression turn with a keen interest. "We are delighted to hear that Dr. Barringer now believes Reverend Collins will make a full recovery, in time."
"A full recovery?" Repeated the elder man in a sluggish manner. He seemed confused, even disbelieving.
"Indeed Sir!" Came Bingley's happy response. "We are thrilled to see that the Reverend will continue to mend. While the fever has broken, he is still quite ill, and of course, should not be moved any time soon given the state of his ankle…but we thought you should hear such news as precipitously as possible."
Gantry watched in astonishment as Bingley's address seemed to shake the confusion away from the elder man. His dark eyes sparkled with fury as he turned to answer the Master of Netherfield. "Not to be moved?" He spat through half-parted, twisted, lips. "I suppose you mean to keep him in recovery at Netherfield indefinitely…or rather, his nursemaids."
Bingley paled, and sputtered, "Sir…I assure you…I am happy to host Reverend Collins at Netherfield as long as he needs for his recovery…I am only following the suggestions of the excellent Dr. Barringer to ensure we give the gentleman the best possible care…It is certainly not my intention to keep anyone at Netherfield longer than they ought to be when the comforts of home are so close…" His rambling was interrupted.
"Do you think me a fool?" Came an icy hiss.
Bingley sputtered further, his eyes darting between Gantry and Collins as he dissembled. "Of course not, Mr. Collins…I assure you…we may have not gotten along so well as one might hope for between neighbors, but I would never dream of insulting you in your home in such a fashion as this…"
Unfortunately for Bingley, the blinding rage that had been building inside Collins since he awoke that morning was finally reaching a boiling point. He took a long, lumbering step toward the younger, smaller man, filling the gentleman's view with nothing except Longborn's broad, powerful frame. He bared down on the younger man, hissing even more quietly than before, "Do…you…think…I am a fool?"
"No…sir…please, you have mistaken my meaning…"
Longborn only took another step closer, forcing Bingley to crane his neck to meet his black eyes. "Do you think me blind then?" He asked, his volume low, and his tone as dark as any Bingley had ever heard before. "Do you believe that you have come to this house…mixed with my family in company…all that while staring after my wife, and I have seen NOTHING!?"
Bingley blanched, opening his mouth to protest even though he knew he could hardly defend himself against such a charge, but Collins would give him no quarter to speak.
"For weeks, I have endured the disrespect of a tradesman's son." Collins spat, his vehemence breaking through his slurred speech. "For weeks, I have watched as a nobody ingratiated himself in my neighborhood, pretending to be my equal, coveting my wife, doing everything in his power to turn her attention from me. And now…now you come to me with apologies?"
He took another lumbering step closer, forcing Bingley to take one back. "You simper and smirk and offer some pretty words, all the while keeping my wife in your home, making a cuckold of me?! You, the son of a money-grubbing no one!"
Gantry's round eyes were wide in astonishment. He had not expected this interview to go well, per se, but he had hardly anticipated this. "Mr. Collins, sir. I assure you, Mrs. Collins role in the household has only been that of a nursemaid. She has hardly left the patient's side for a moment. Dr. Barringer does believe it is in Reverend Collins best interest to be moved as little as possible, even now that the worst has passed."
Collins' head swiveled toward the skinny Londoner as if he had hardly remembered the man was in the room. His black eyes scanned his person and with a dismissive snort he said, "And who are you to speak…you, little more than a servant, defending your employer. Pathetic."
"I am not employed by Mr. Bingley." Gantry replied with an unnerving calmness, "I have been hired by Fitzwilliam Darcy of Pemberley in Derbyshire to investigate the matter of Reverend Collins' assault, and I owe no allegiance to Mr. Bingley whatsoever."
Collins released a bark of laughter from his twisted scowl. "So, I have named your master incorrectly…what of it…men who have to answer to others are not ones worthy of my consideration."
"I believe you are forgetting something." This statement came from Mr. Bingley, who's voice shook slightly with the delivery, but who's eyes held a steely resolve. "Even Kings must answer to someone. Or do you place yourself above the Lord as well?"
All of Collins attention turned back toward Bingley, and he glowered menacingly…but Bingley felt his spine stiffen under the elder man's hatred. Yes, he might be the son of a money-grubbing no one…yes, Collins' accusations that Bingley coveted his wife were not without merit…but for all his human flaws, he could see clearly who the better man was. He would not let this…bully, this monster of a man, intimidate him any further. He took a step forward, reclaiming his ground. "I have come here to tell you that your son is past the worst danger, and rather than rejoice in his recovery, you demean and insult all those who have aided in it. Longborn's entail is much talked of in Meryton, and here is a man of advancing years and only one heir who has been on the brink of death…yet all you can think of are perceived insults against yourself. Your wife and her sister have spent countless hours ensuring that the man who carries on your legacy lives to see his inheritance, and in your one call to Netherfield in all this time…you did not even see your son. It is a curious thing, is it not, Mr. Gantry?"
"Curious indeed." Gantry replied, both bewildered and impressed by Bingley's courage.
"Am I to stand in my own house and be so insulted?!" Collins roared, his normally stoic face becoming quite red and animated. The spittle from his lips spewed across Charles's unflinching face.
"I had hoped, sir, to make amends for my behavior at Netherfield. As a gentleman, I should have regulated my temper, even when you are incapable of doing so. But in calling here it has only reaffirmed the worst of all my suspicions regarding your temperament. I have long suspected we could never be friends, but now I see that you have made an enemy of me, when my only intention in offering Netherfield for your sons' convalescence was to be of use to you and your family." He paused, unfamiliar with the anger that filled his breast, but relishing in the power he felt from it. "Perhaps, sir, you would have preferred that I left Reverend Collins out in the storm to suffer, beaten and bruised, ankle broken, in the cold and the rain. It certainly seems as if his discovery, and recovery at Netherfield, has been the cause of untold vexation for you. Tell me truthfully – you are not angry that I have hosted your son, wife, and ward at Netherfield…you are angry that he was discovered, at all!"
If Gantry was bewildered by Bingley's previous statement, he was thoroughly astounded now. To speak so to a man who they suspected of conspiracy, abuse, and murder…it was unwise at best…and yet Gantry could not help a feeling something akin to fatherly pride fill his breast at the site of it. Bingley was a good sort of man, even if his present address was prodigiously stupid, even dangerous. However, there was hardly a moment to process such a feeling before a sickening crack filled the air…and Bingley was doubled over clutching at a handsome face dripping with blood.
"MR. COLLINS!" The Londoner bellowed, rushing toward his host.
For his part, Collins pulled back, the force of the address cutting through the stupor of his anger, though his black eyes were wide and shining with hate. He shook unsteadily on his feet even as fingers unfurled from the fist they had made. The dull stabbing ache of his mind was consuming him now, blotting his vision of the scene before him. The rage that had filled him had transformed itself into searing pain, and now he could hear little else save for the blood thundering in his ears.
"This is not over." The Master of Longborn snarled, stepping backward, and collapsing into the chair there, grasping his throbbing temples.
"Indeed, it is not." Bingley spat back; his voice pinched from the blood which poured freely from a now crooked nose. "I had hoped we could reconcile our differences for the sake of our families, but I see now that this is impossible. You are sad, sick old man, and violence is the only language you understand. So be it, then. We shall do things your way. We will settle this score at dawn, on the boundaries of our estates…two days hence…that should be adequate time for you to find a gentleman willing to stand with you, should it not?"
Gantry's jaw slackened…his host could not have just proposed a duel…
"Very well." Collins shot back; his eyes squeezed closed as if to block out all the pain within his head. "I shall meet you then, with my pistols, and we shall see how many apologies you have for me then, won't we, boy?"
Bingley bowed, low and mockingly, blood dripping from his nose to the floorboards. "I promise you sir, I shall never make the mistake of offering you an apology again in this lifetime. Until tomorrow, next."
And with that, Charles Bingley lifted his head of sandy curls and marched out of Longborn, quite possibly for the final time.
O00o0o0o0o0o0o0o
Truthfully, Fitzwilliam Darcy could not be sure he had slept at all. The hour had already grown quite late when he had quit the sick room's parlor and rejoined Bingley and the Colonel in the drawing room. By the time that second interview had been completed, the Colonel fully satisfied in the accounting of the facts that had been relayed, it was nearly approaching dawn. Perhaps he had dropped off for a moment or two in his exhaustion, but true sleep had alluded the master of Pemberley. He had retired to his chambers, had climbed into the comfortable bed, and stared at the canopy as the light changed from grey, to deep blue, before shifting into the warm honey glow that promised a fine autumn day, his clever mind turning over all he had learned of the Bennet family's plight. Once enough light trickled in as to convince Darcy that a morning ride would be perfectly safe, he had summoned his valet and set off to the stables with haste, desperate hoping he might settle his mind with the exercise.
The ground was still soft, though the higher points in the land were beginning to dry up nicely. Darcy was careful to direct his mount toward the easiest terrain on the estate so that he might enjoy the speed of a gallop as safely as one could after such a deluge. They ran the length of the estate hard and fast, pushing anxious, disparate thoughts to the back of his mind. Darcy knew that the confessional of the previous evening was only the beginning of this story – his shock, his horror and dismay at the tale Elizabeth had told…it needed to be put aside. What good would it do Elizabeth, her sisters, or her cousin, for him to allow the emotions her story had stirred to consume him? If he followed his instincts, he would storm Longborn's gates and run the Master through for all the misery that vile man had inflicted on this innocent family…but in doing so Darcy would become hardly indistinguishable from the villain himself. Mankind was supposed to hold themselves to a higher ideal, and Darcy would not succumb to these baser instincts…no matter how sorely he was tempted. So, while Charles, Gantry, and Miss Mary road off toward Longborn, Darcy road down his feelings.
A good hour or more was spent in such a pursuit. As the sun climbed higher in the sky and the low growls of his empty stomach grew to something of a rumble, Darcy turned his steed in the direction of the house, some of his disquietude eased. As he grew closer, to the building, Darcy spotted a figure cloaked in black walking amongst a grove of ornamental trees near the gardens, and instinctively moved in her direction. He could not help but smirk slightly at the sight of his beloved – what a striking, tragic figure she made, silently moving amongst of the dying trees, the fallen leaves crunching under the swirl of black wool that enveloped her. She looked every inch of the tragic heroine in one of Georgiana's novels, and it seemed too fitting than actress would find such look so dramatic even in such a quiet, intimate moments of silent reverie. She wore another mourning veil, which trailed after her, fluttering in the slight breeze. Approaching her, he dismounted, wrapping the reigns around a low hanging branch, and bowed.
"Elizabeth." He greeted her simply, attempting to peer through the lace at her pretty face. "Good Morning."
"Good Morning." Came a quiet, almost-timid reply. It sounded so unlike the woman he knew that Darcy almost started.
"I hope you are well this morning." He said, gently yet earnestly. "Yesterday was a trying day."
She released a small, hollow little laugh. "I am…many things today, Mr. Darcy. Unfortunately, I am not sure if I can count well amongst them."
"Forgive me," he said, offering her his arm, "perhaps well was an inadequate term to the occasion. It is only…I hope that you are pleased with my interference in your family affairs. When you spoke last evening…" He paused, glancing down at the slender hand which had tucked itself against his elbow. "When you spoke last evening…I could not help but feeling ashamed for having thrust you into this situation. You have endured so much Elizabeth. You made a new life for yourself that you thrived in…and I have forced you into a position of having to relive the traumas of your past with hardly any guarantee that reviving such memories will bring your family the justice you deserve."
Her steps, which had fallen in with his so naturally, faltered. "Please Darcy," she said softly, turning slightly to face him, "forget such a thought entirely. You have done me, and all my family, the greatest service in bringing about our reunion. I made a new life for myself, certainly…but I have lived that new life in both fear and loneliness. I will always be grateful for you for these days, come what may of all our troubles. To be reunited with my sisters, however briefly it must be for now, has been my dearest wish since the day I left." She squeezed his arm tenderly.
"I am pleased to hear you speak so. It pained me to see you so distraught last evening, but the joy in your eyes when you beheld your sisters…and theirs in turn upon seeing you…I hoped dearly that those feelings would negate any feelings of bitterness at having been pressed into this uncomfortable situation here at Netherfield."
A moment of silence held between them. "I can not deny that being in Hertfordshire again…it is not easy." She spoke haltingly, as if embarrassed. "I have so many memories tied to this land…so many of them bad…but still, not all of the associations here are unpleasant. These are the lands of my father, of my bloodline and my history…this is the ground which grew my mother's gardens, these are the hills and woods where I played with my sisters. I did not leave this place because I wanted to, I left because leaving became a necessity. It feels right to have returned, no matter how difficult it may be."
"You are an incredibly brave woman."
An unlady-like snort escaped her. "Hardly." She retorted. "I ran because I was a coward."
"You ran because you were a child that knew herself to be in a dangerous situation. You were resilient, and yes, brave. Now you have returned because you believed it to be the right thing to do, even knowing such a trip would be difficult for you. What is this, if not courage?"
"Foolishness, perhaps?"
"Perhaps," Darcy allowed with a small dip of his head, "but I do not think the two notions are mutually exclusive. Sometimes acting with courage is an imprudent act. I give you all the credit in the world for it."
Not wishing to argue with him, and indeed hardly trusting herself to speak more than a few words at once, Elizabeth nodded. Yesterday had been trying, indeed. Yet hard as it was to recite her entire story for such an audience, doing so had been enormously beneficial for her own peace of mind. Before the previous evening's confessional, Elizabeth had never spoken to another soul of her father's murder and her journey to Town. Returned to the bosom of her family, she had finally been able to drop the mask she had unwaveringly worn for seven long years and become herself once more. Sharing the story that had so haunted her these many long years seem to lesson the burden of it the next day in the morning light. She was no longer alone with her horror, her guilt, and fear. She was surrounded by love and support.
She did not exaggerate when she spoke to Darcy of how much she had longed for such a reunion with her sisters. Every choice she had made in her life in London had been with the design in mind of recovering them and renewing their bonds of sisterly affection one day…but that day had always seemed increasingly more difficult to achieve. With Darcy's assistance she had been returned to her family's embrace, and her heart sank with the joy of it. The hours that she, Jane, and Mary, and then just the two eldest, had shared in companionship together…she would treasure that memory for the rest of her life.
But it was not her joy in her reunification with her sisters, or her fears for William's recovery or of Collins escaping justice which stilled her willful tongue so admirably that morning. Jane's admonishment was fresh in her mind – the thought that sharing her life with someone who truly valued her…that to love, and be loved in return was something truly special, worth fighting for, rather than spurned. She had decided so long ago that she could never, and world never marry, that she could not put herself in a position where another had any power over her in life. Yet Jane had made it all seem so very simple, so easy, despite all that remain unresolved at present. "Does the Ton truly know Adelaide Bernard?" She had asked. "Could you not simply walk away and become Lizzy Bennet again?" She posed.
Elizabeth had dismissed her sister's notion readily, but the thought had stayed with her long after Jane had quit her that evening. She had laid awake for seemingly endless hours considering all the possibilities…and she had realized that Jane was more correct than she wanted to admit. If Elizabeth truly wanted to leave her life on the London stage behind, she could do so. Society's memory was short. Adelaide Bernard gave a pleasing performance, but she was no legend of the stage quite yet. Should she retire so early into her career, she would be forgotten just as quickly. Should Mr. Darcy marry a gentleman's daughter of little standing, such a bride would be a curiosity, but hardly a scandal. Such a lady would easily become of little interest to the Ton once something more interesting occurred during a Season. Obstacles which had seemed insurmountable only yesterday, merely looked like blocks in the road now. Being with Darcy was not impossible…not if she truly wished to be with him and was willing to give some effort in helping him to clear the path to their making a respectable union.
Such a revelation was a joyful one for Elizabeth. Though she strove every day to create a better life for herself, and eventually her sisters, she had never looked to the future with much hope for real happiness. She had scarcely allowed herself to believe that such a happy resolution could be possible for anyone, but Jane's words had given her a reassurance that Darcy's passionate arguments had failed to do. Of course a man violently in love might believe that any obstacle to his marrying his choice of bride could be overcome through sheer force of will alone – but Jane had no reason to encourage Elizabeth in making an imprudent match. Yet, as joyful as such a revelation made Elizabeth, it also made her shy. Hope was such a new feeling in her breast that walking alone with Darcy as she did now, she hardly knew how to act. Her acting skills attempted to moderate her feelings, but the tumult of her mind, as well as the strength of her regard refused to be regulated. The pair of lovers walked on together in companionable silence, Elizabeth's heart pounding in her chest.
Occasionally in their ramble, Elizabeth would steal a glance at Darcy, hoping to meet his eye, willing with all her heart he would reopen the conversation they had shared the previous day on the lane to Netherfield. Unfortunately, it was difficult to catch his look, shielded as he was behind a layer of black lace. Had he truly only reentered her life but a few days ago – demanding to call on her, forcing her to receive him but beckoning her with news from Hertfordshire? So much had happened since that day in her study, and such little time had passed! Could she truly have decided to accept the addresses of a man who she had not been in company with for nearly two years before this past week, and who, in their last meeting until now, had abused her so abominably all the while professing his regard?
Elizabeth's mind recalled her to the scene of the dreadful proposal. She had been so thrilled to receive his card that afternoon, informing her he would be in attendance for her performance as Ophelia. Darcy was not nearly as keen for the theater as she was, but as a man of both sense and taste, he appreciated the Shakespearean tragedies for the art they were. By that point he was such a frequent caller to Forelli's house that she had come to quite depend on his steady, thoughtful companionship. Through their acquaintance she had realized that her Derbyshire friend was a man of discernment and refinement, and she had been determined to astound him with the pathos of her performance. His good opinion was worth that of a dozen different peers in her estimation. As dedicated to the stage as she was then, as sure as she was that she would never marry, she hadn't even realized she was in love with him already.
He had started prettily enough. "In vain I have struggled; it will not do…my feelings will not be repressed. You must allow me to tell you how ardently I admire and love you." How shocked she had been then! And she now realized after two year's reflection, how much she had thrilled in his admiration! To have captured the interest of a gentleman of Darcy's intelligence and good taste! But of course, he had made the mistake to keep talking…telling Elizabeth of every obstacle and possible objection to their making a match together – and while many of his concerns had been very valid ones…the gulf between an actress and a gentleman of leisure being impossibly wide…he had also been demeaning and insulting in equal measure. What had started as a beautiful, thrilling moment had ended in disaster. They had parted with the harshest possible words, though Darcy had tried to apologize for his cutting remarks before she had seen him escorted from the room.
How broken he had looked in that moment. How many times had she seen his face in her mind's eye, seen the anguish in his dark eyes as he bowed, quitting the room. They may not have met in person since that dreadful day, but Darcy had been a constant in her thoughts throughout all this time. She had never meant to make him fall in love, she had reasoned with herself whenever she felt guilty, it was most unconsciously done. She had railed against his insults and insinuations, cursing him – all the while being haunted by the pain, she knew she had caused in her rejection, for though he had spoken spitefully, bitterly at the end…the hurt so evident in his expression had been the most raw, visceral expression Elizabeth had ever seen before in the face of a man.
She had assumed the scruples Darcy had that had prevented him from forming any serious design on her for so long would surely help him recover from her rejection with ease. However, their separation had only proved that Darcy had a steady, constant heart, for he had not forgotten her…in fact he remembered her so well that he had seen her face in the features of strangers. All he had done for her, even when he thought all of hope of loving her to be lost…consoling her for Forelli's loss and offering assistance in sorting out her inheritance, promising that he would aid her family in their quest for justice regardless of her feelings toward him…vowing to wait for her for as long as she needed him to, if she offered him a shred of hope, while also telling her that she need say only one word for him to end his attentions, should they be unwelcome.
She stole another glimpse at her beloved from beneath dark lashes. Such a tall, handsome man, as good and kind as he was beautiful to look at. A patient man, an imperfect man, a man willing to improve when he was corrected. That he should have come to love her – so deeply, so truly! What a gift, what a blessing in her life…could she truly spurn such a blessing, reject an offer of a love so ardent and true, the joy of sharing one's life with a partner to walk through life's trials with? They could not marry tomorrow, no. There was still so much to be resolved, so many lives and fortunes hanging in the balance of the duplicitous web Collins had weaved. She could not attach Darcy to scandal and pain.
But what if…just what if…everything went how she wished it too? What if enough evidence was found to see Collins hang for her father's murder and William's assault? What if Jane was free of her husband and her sisters could be reunited at Longborn once more? What if Adelaide Bernard retired, and Elizabeth Bennet returned to Meryton from whatever far off place the neighborhood had been informed she now resided in? What if a happy future was possible for her after all?
She looked down from his handsome face to her hand on his arm. How nicely it fit there, how safe and secure she felt leaning on Darcy's arm. Perhaps, just perhaps…neither of them had to go through life alone. Her speaking eyes flitted up to his face once more, and this time his warm gaze caught her eye between the veil that separated them. He was looking at her with such a tender affection, that Elizabeth's breath hitched. How many times now had Darcy put his feelings on the line for her? How many times had she hurt him in her refusals, as justified as her reasoning may be?
Suddenly, she smiled, a broad, beatific grin that lit up her whole face. "I have decided something," she said warmly, pausing in their stroll of the grove and turning toward him. "once this unhappy business reaches its conclusion, or I reach my majority, whichever comes first…I will announce Adelaide Bernard's retirement from the stage."
Darcy looked down at her searchingly. "Is this truly your desire, Elizabeth?"
She sighed heavily, but her smile only faltered for a moment. "I came to love the theater while I resided in Forelli's home, and I grateful for what my time on the boards has given me. But the truth is, Adelaide has been the greatest role I ever played, and I am weary of the performance. I am tired of living in fear of my cousin Collins, I am tired of living up to the expectations society has of a woman who is not me. I am ready to be Lizzy Bennet of Longborn again, for good or for ill."
Lifting the veil from in front of her face with her free hand, she continued, meeting his warm, questioning gaze with a heated look of her own. "Lizzy Bennet she is…far from fashionable. Hoydenish, really. And quite poor, for the Bennet girls received nothing except an equal share of their mother's portion at her passing. Lizzy Bennet does not have much to offer a great man in a marriage."
Darcy's eyes widened at her words; confusion suffused with happiness. Lizzy pulled her hand from Darcy's arm, only to place it on his chest where his heart lay. "All I have to offer," she said softly, stepping closer to Darcy as she spoke, "is devotion. Friendship. Admiration."
"Lizzy…" Darcy breathed, scarcely believing he was not still in bed, asleep. "Lizzy, what is it that you are saying to me?"
Her smile only widened; hazel eyes watery. "What I am saying to you, dear Darcy, is that….in vain I have struggled…it will not do."
Despite himself, Darcy laughed, though it caught in his throat with the unshed tears he had been swallowing down.
"Returning here…difficult as it has been, has reminded me of something quite important. Something I had nearly allowed myself to forget. We…people, need one another. We are not made to go through this life alone…and if you are so lucky as to find another human soul that you connect to, and you are able to share this journey with them…we should embrace that bond with all our hearts, not push it away in fear." She swallowed heavily, her voice catching with emotion. "I cannot promise you that our forming an alliance will be easy…all of the obstacles we have discussed that prevent our forming a union remain. My own fears of what marriage entails are not entirely conquered. But I have spent nearly ten years of my life being ruled by fear, Darcy. You have called me brave more than once Darcy, when in truth, I have been terrified. I see that, now, so clearly. Life is full of trials and tribulations…and perhaps the Bennet girls were handed more than their fair share. But I have been denying myself the potential for future happiness, because I have lived so much of my life in fear, I'd almost forgotten there could be another way."
Unknowingly, Darcy covered the hand which held his heart with his own. His thumb brushed against hers in slow, even strokes. He inclined his head toward hers, transfixed on her fine eyes, shining so brightly with love in the autumn morning light.
"What I am saying, Mr. Darcy…what I am asking is…when this sad business is over, and I am able to put Adelaide behind me...would you please relieve me of my suffering, and condescend to be my husband? Knowing all you do of my past, and believing in all of my future?"
"Miss Bennet…" Darcy whispered, his free hand reaching to cup the cool, smooth skin of her cheek. His dark eyes sparkled with unbridled happiness. "I..." His voice caught on the words; his emotions too overwrought to comprehend how his hearts dearest wish was finally being answered. "Have I fallen into a dream?"
Lizzy laughed then, a hearty, sparkling laugh than danced in his ears. She was grinning, an ear-splitting grin that made her pert nose crinkle and her fine eyes squint as she peered into his earnest gaze. "I suppose there is one way to be certain." She whispered back, conspiratorially.
Before her husband-to-be had a chance to respond, the hand which held his heart reached up to his cravat, and pulling his handsome face down to meet hers, and Elizabeth Bennet kissed Fitzwilliam Darcy, with all the passion of their shared past and every promise of their brilliant future.
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AUTHOR'S NOTES: I hope you can all forgive me a bitttt for the wait now!
This chapter originally ended with Bingley and Collin's confrontation. It was supposed to be posted last week, and I had log in issues with this website that weren't resolved until mid week. When I went to edit this chapter again today before posting. This scene hit me hard and I had to add it on to this chapter rather than wait until the next. I hope to have another chapter to you by the end of the year, but at least if I don't see you until 2022...I left you on one happy note.. I hope you all enjoyed this proposal and that you felt it was rewarding romantic pay off. Id love to hear your thoughts, as always!