PP FF NON-Canon AU GENERAL REGENCY

Guest: I apologize but I did not allow your review through simply because I thought I had a note one of the chapters addressing that 'complaint' (I went and double checked just now-should have done it first- for that I apologize; somehow it did not get saved -if you wish to do leave it again , do so and I will let it through...HOWEVER, keep in mind... He did not do anything after their words for childish reasons-that should have been clear by now... and their sisters are speaking out of stress.

Hearts in Hiding

Previously:

Mr. Darcy extended his hand in acknowledgment of Mr. Smith's position. Upon departing, he donned his hat, ascended his carriage, and set forth. As the vehicle moved away, he contemplated the revelations of their exchange: firstly, the recent demise of Mr. Tippins; secondly, Mr. Smith's instrumental role in securing assistance for Mr. Bennet's daughters; and thirdly, the likelihood that Mr. Bennet, fully aware of his actions, had - most likely- become entangled in an inquiry that reached beyond the jurisdiction of any ordinary magistrate.

Becoming Robert Clark

Ch. 12

No light shone in the one-room stone cottage, except for one candle flickering on a small table. Beyond that, it was lit only by the natural light beginning to slide through a row of curtainless windows. A grassy knoll could now be seen outside, with a rock wall separating it and the cottage from a larger meadow. It was not that scene, nor the fact that a wood fence separated the small home from Brigitta Erickson's three-bedroom house, that its inhabitant standing in front of the hearth was dwelling on.

'Robert Clark' was looking at himself in the mirror. His hair had quickly grown in six weeks, far more rapidly than the gentleman thought possible. It now reached just below his shoulders and was braided. A full beard, kept off his neck, was well-taken care of; however, it still covered any identifying marks of his old self. No one from his former days would have recognized this man as Thomas C. Bennet.

It was not just his facial hair that no longer shouted Bennet. It was his clothing, his hands, and his mannerisms. His hands, in the short six weeks since departing London, now sported new callouses. One small bookshelf instead of many was his 'library,' and they were strictly ones which helped him take care of things around Matthew Jones's estate and Widow Erickson's place. Simple linen shirts with long sleeves and trousers made out of sturdy cotton had replaced his earlier suits. Shiny shoes had been replaced with heavy leather boots. And his head now sported a woolen cap when outside.

"Tell him only enough to keep him alive and safe," rang in his ears in regard to Mr. Jones, the gentleman who now paid his wages.

"That was good advice, Mr. Smith." Robert, a name that still felt a little odd to use, but one in time Mr. Bennet was sure would come as naturally as his real one, spoke to himself in the mirror. "That gentleman is an amiable enough fellow, not stupid by any means, but I fail to see how he has managed to connect any dots at all." He spoke to no one in particular as he was the only one in the room.

Turning away from the mirror, he did not have to look outside to know the first light of dawn had already crept over the horizon. Clearly, he had already risen from his modest quarters, donned his well-worn linen shirt and sturdy trousers, and fastened his braces before pulling on his heavy leather boots. Now, with a woolen cap perched on his head, he stepped out into the crisp morning air, the dew still clinging to the grass.

If it were summer, Robert would have checked the vegetable garden and tended to the flowers. He then would have inspected the orchards, pruned branches, and so forth. However, it was just hitting winter. Therefore, he began his morning by clearing fallen leaves from any pathways around not only his place but also around Mrs. Erickson's home and garden beds. No garden beds were ignored, and the groundskeeper made sure he added compost to enrich her soil for the next planting season.

"My sister's son would help you, but arrangements have been made for him to enter a university soon, and I am too busy to properly take care of her place. People will think nothing of you taking care of her place."

Brigitta's new groundskeeper may have continued focusing on preparing the grounds for winter, only the sounds of wheels stopping near the top of the road and Mrs. Erickson calling out a name made his ears pick up. And it would have sent him flying around a corner, only, unfortunately, the widow also called his name.

'Guess this is as good a time as any to test out my new looks, and see if I can act. And if that old crone really is as bright as she thinks,' was 'Robert's' knee-jerk reaction as he came around the corner and up to where Mrs. Erickson stood by the coach of none other than Lady Catherine de Bourgh.

"Mr. Clark, this is Lady Catherine de Bourgh of Kent. She came to visit a neighbor further north and stopped to say hi." Her eyes said more than her mouth; it was all Robert could do not to laugh.

Mr. Clark nodded his head and, in a very gravelly voice, greeted her with a polite hello. He waited to see if his new 'morning' voice was good enough to throw her off. If it was, then great… if not, they were in trouble.

Lady Catherine raised an eyebrow at Mr. Clark, her eyes sweeping over his appearance with a look of mild disdain, not a surprising reaction as far as the gentleman was concerned.

"Good morning, Mr. Clark. I trust you are attending to the gardens with the utmost care and diligence. It is imperative that one maintains one's work ethics no matter whose grounds they are attending. I must say, your voice has a certain… heaviness to it today. Perhaps you are catching a cold? Do ensure you take proper care of yourself; we cannot have our groundskeepers falling ill. Now, if you will excuse me, I must be on my way. Good day." Not once catching on to who she really had been speaking to.

"We cannot have our groundskeepers falling ill." Brigitta mimicked Lady Catherine's voice perfectly while rolling her eyes. "Does she really think I am incapable of taking care of myself if you were truly ill? However…" folding her arms, Brigitta twisted her mouth. "Where have you met that… lady… before and why did you disguise your voice?"

"I was that obvious?"

"To many people, no. It is rather early in the morning. I am surprised a woman like that is even out of bed. Still, why talk like that? You have been here six weeks, that has not ever been your voice this time of day."

"Let us just say, yes, I have met her in a former life and… well… we did not exactly get along."

Brigitta opened her mouth as if to speak, closed it, and then opened it again. "My son is packing. I was hoping you would take him to the crossroads. He is to meet a friend there. They are traveling to Edinburgh because a local doctor is highly impressed with my son's natural ability towards medicine. He told us that under normal circumstances it would be advised Brandon wait to start any form of medical training. However, Dr. Mason was eager to make an exception on my son's behalf and was willing to help us get him into the university to make it possible."

"I would be delighted to transport your son to the crossroads."

It was with those words Mr. Clark had the horses soon hitched to the wagon and he, along with Brandon, were heading down the road and away from the house. Brandon's hands clutching at his bag belied his act of ease in front of his mother. And Mr. Clark smiled.

"It is all right to be nervous, young man. It is your first time away from home, is it not?"

"Yes, and I worry about my mother. She is a strong one and all, father was never around for her in the first place. And I did my best to make up for it. I told her I did not have to take this offer…" Brandon laughed. "But Mother was hearing none of it. I do not know how to repay her for all she has ever done for me."

"Give it your all for one." Robert's mind turned to his mother and figured he had to have failed her on that, but was bound and determined to make it up to her on whatever time he had left. "Second, write to her… whenever possible that is, your studies will eat up much of your time, I dare say. And third? When the time comes for you to marry and, well, I do not know what time a doctor will have for his own wife and children, but whatever possible time you can possibly grab? Grab it… Do whatever you can to show them you love them, even your daughters. Do not assume they know it. For if you converse with one and not the others; you will not be viewed in a good light. Secure their future from the start. Either wise, they will slip through your fingers and they will be lost to you - even before they leave your home. In other words, pass on what she has given you."

"You did not do those things?" Brandon's tone was not disrespectful, just curious, as if he had detected a faint sound of regret in the older man's voice.

"No, no, I did not. I did -for the most part -what society told me to. However, I did make a few major errors. Learn from my mistakes." Mr. Clark gave a half-hearted smile. "Maybe, in telling you this, I am hoping you will not repeat my past."