Hey readers – full disclosure this is about a 90,000 word situation that while drafted needs major rewriting so my posting schedule will probably be weekly and it may only start to make real sense after a few chapters. It is also not your typical P & P variation, but I love it. It may be my favorite of all the things I have written (I have about 20 FFs on my computer right now in addition to the 2 I have posted on here so far). So am curious to know what you all think. Nervous, but curious.

Additional Note: I have been asked to post warnings. As a writer I hesitate to give too much away by way of warnings. I would like to tell you a story and let you decide if you like it or not. Very early on it will be clear who is and who is not in this story. I will challenge those of us who love the more traditional route to give this a chance I am obviously VERY biased but I think it works and would love the opinion especially of the purists (ok and the non-purists, I want to hear from everybody) I will warn that there is tragedy including talk of miscarriage so if that is a trigger please avoid.

Day 3

Elizabeth struggled to open her eyes. They felt heavy, the attempt wearied her and when accomplished she remained confused. Turning her head, which caused tremendous pounding in every part of her, Elizabeth realized she was in her chambers. Since becoming Mrs. Darcy she had rarely slept here. It was a waste really. The large opulent room was used only for dressing and the accommodating of a rather large wardrobe. The bed was comfortable and served as a resting place on the exceptional occasion she ignored that holy admonition to not let the sun go down on her anger.

But now she was uncertain as to why she was awakening here. She did not remember fighting with William. In fact, she struggled to remember much at all and nothing she could recall justified the sight before her. Stephen Fitzwilliam, her husband's beloved cousin and their dearest friend, was sleeping in the chair next to her bed. With no energy to raise her head Elizabeth tried to lift her hand to get Stephen's attention. Her body seemed singularly unwilling to cooperate and the effort was making her sleepy. Focusing her mind once more to try and remember what could possibly have brought both she and Stephen to her room Elizabeth thought back to his most recent arrival at Pemberley. She was fairly certain he had come that morning, but then hazy memories of his being there longer made that seem unlikely. He was to visit for several weeks having been unable to come for Christmas the previous month when the Gardiners along with Kitty, Mary and their new husbands had spent the holiday.

Elizabeth recalled fare welling her sisters and the feelings of both hope and sadness as she watched them drive away. Hope, for they were both at the start of new lives with wonderful gentlemen. Sadness, because they now all lived quite far apart. Mary was to go to her new home near Meryton where her husband held a living and was beginning service as a vicar. Kitty and her husband, the viscount Hargrove, were to begin their yearlong wedding tour on the continent. She remembered William offering her his arm to escort her back into the house. She remembered feeling blessed that she loved her husband more on that day even than on the day they married and that she knew in that moment she would love him still more tomorrow. She remembered his smiling brown eyes and the crinkling lines around smiling lips. She remembered . . .trying to recall more Elizabeth faded off to sleep once again.

Day 5

Someone was speaking. Not to her, but around her. Keeping her eyes closed she tried to focus on the sounds. She could make out certain words, but could not make sense of what they meant together.

Grief . . .Memory . . . Burial . . .Nourishment . . .Express . . .Roads . . .Snow

None of it made sense with the memories she could bring forth. They were hazy, but she now remembered certain things about the past few days . . . or what she believed to be the past few days? Perhaps it was weeks ago, even years. What she remembered was Stephen's arrival and Georgiana's typical enthusiastic response. Elizabeth clearly recalled the foursome dining together on Stephen's first night. Well not clearly exactly, but she knew cook served all of his favorite dishes as she and Georgiana had specifically planned the menu that way. The ladies played duets after dinner. The next days were a little less clear. She and Georgiana had visited several tenant families. There seemed to be a number of sick people.

The talking continued and Elizabeth left her memories to once again try and focus. This time not on what was being said, but who was saying it. She could discern two men and at first assumed it was Fitzwilliam and Stephen. But soon realized this was not the case. She quickly discerned that neither voice belonged to her husband. One was too quiet to hear beyond determining gender. The other, a deep timbered tone was clipped and harsh. Although her husband could be commanding and authoritative when he chose this voice was fierce and Elizabeth felt certain she had never heard it before. More than that Elizabeth always felt a strong pull whenever she heard William's voice. Even when he was speaking about something completely mundane or uninteresting she found its modulation, rhythm and depth singularly compelling. She needed to hear his voice. The need made her tired.

Husband . . .authority . . . force . . .allow . . .bloodletting . . .heal . . . sword

There seemed to be silence following this conversation or she was asleep again and Elizabeth tried to pick up the thread of her memory. The tenant, illness . . . Georgiana had retired early one night. The next morning, or was it days later, Elizabeth had been attending her in her room. She was feverish. The Doctor came. Perhaps his was the quiet voice in her room because she had to admit this would make sense as she was clearly unwell. As Georgiana had been. It was a fever! In her mind Elizabeth rejoiced as her memories finally gave her something relevant. Georgiana had been sick and now clearly she was as well. Some fever had caused her to take to her bed. Certainly, it must be serious, but her relief at discerning what was going on nearly overrode her concern. William must be terribly worried. Elizabeth decided she would rest now and when she next awoke would insist someone take her to see him

Day 7

Her head pounded and Elizabeth was fairly certain it was the growling in her stomach that woke her. Her lids lifted with only moderate effort and the increased pain she felt was not overwhelming. Surely this was an improvement. The room, which she was prepared to see as her own, was dark, but this she realized was due to the drawn curtains which let in only a small sliver of weak sunshine. Recalling the pain it caused previously Elizabeth slowly and deliberately turned her head. Once again in the chair next to her bed sat Stephen Fitzwilliam. Only this time he was awake and looking at her with an expression she could not read at all. Seeing his normally merry blue eyes so blank and empty alarmed her more than anything had thus far. As did his appearance. Stephen was by no means a dandy, preferring simple and formal dress like William once he turned in his red coat for good. And they both always looked like they had just stepped away from the most careful valet. Now Stephen appeared to have run through a gauntlet of the worst sort and his clothes, face and hair had paid the price. His eyes were rimmed with red and although regarding her steadily they remained unreadable.

"Elizabeth . . ." he gently spoke her name with a mixture of fear and hope. Elizabeth tried to answer, tried even to keep her eyes open to hold his empty gaze but her body refused to cooperate. How could such small movements, such ineffectual thoughts cause so much exhaustion.

Closing her eyes once again Elizabeth focused on what she had seen. Stephen. Eyes blank. She tried to remember any other time in their nearly six-year acquaintance when she had seen him like that. It seemed important somehow, relevant even, to recall another instance of such a look. The memory of it came to her through the fog of her mind as the past seemed clearer than the present.

It had been the first time she saw him after her marriage, after he had returned from the war when he had accepted their invitation to Pemberley. Elizabeth had expected him late in the afternoon as she was certain he would stop first at his family's home at Matlock before traveling on to Pemberley. That was before she understood his relationship with his father, his home.

She had been walking in the garden while William finished with his steward. Her husband was impatient to accomplish as much business as possible before his cousin's visit to allow them time to spend together. When she rounded a corner on her way back to the house there stood Stephen, his back to her, his head tipped up gazing at the house beyond.

"Colonel Fitzwilliam." Elizabeth exclaimed. It was not until he turned to face her that Elizabeth was able to take in the many changes in the man she had met nearly two years previous. From behind he had looked much as she remembered him, tall, sandy haired and broad-shouldered, but looking at him head on she saw his cheeks were almost sunken, a scar like an angry track ran from his left ear to just above his eyebrow and then there were his eyes. She remembered them previously – always sparkling with some form of mischief, humor or kindness. Now as she looked at this changed man, Elizabeth saw in the deep cobalt blue a blankness that was startling to behold. He was observing her closely and Elizabeth had to imagine what he was thinking, there was no hint from his eyes, but from the rigidity of his stance and the fact that after several moments he still hadnot greeted her she feared he was angry. Finally, after a deep breath in which he seemed to recall himself he looked away then back again.

"Miss Ben . . .Mrs. Darcy, forgive me, I seem to have left my manners somewhere on the battlefield. It is a pleasure to see you again and let me say how grateful I am to be welcomed to your beautiful home."

Elizabeth was somewhat confused not only by the content of this speech but also the stiff nature of its delivery. This would not do at all. Her husband considered this man his dearest friend and she would do everything she could to make their reunion happy and his visit perfect.

"Nonsense, Colonel. Pardon me I mean, Sir Stephen." Elizabeth corrected herself as she stepped closer. "Pemberley is at least as much yours as it is mine so I can no more welcome you here than I can Georgiana. You grew up here, this has practically been your home, with William and Georgie, for decades before I and therefore have the prior claim. What's more you have just spent the better part of eighteen months defending our country from foreign enemies and this, I believe entitles you to claim rest and recovery as a spoil of war." More seriously she added as she extended her hands, "this is, and always will be your home."

"Mrs. Darcy," Stephen began in what sounded like a protest but Elizabeth was not quite done.

"And I must insist we dispense with all of this Mrs. Darcy and Sir Stephen business as we are practically cousins and shall become the best of friends or so my husband tells me. Therefore, if you have no objection I shall call you Stephen and you will please call me Elizabeth or Lizzy if you prefer."

"Darcy said we would be the best of friends?" with this he took her hands in his and she squeezed them gratefully.

"He did." Elizabeth assured him waiting to see if he would accept her offer.

"Well then, Elizabeth, Lizzy, shall we go and find your husband that we might begin to plan all of the different activities in which I might remind him how far superior I am to him throughout the course of my stay." With this Stephen offered Elizabeth his arm.

His visit lasted two months. Mrs. Patmore's cooking seemed to put some of the meat back on his bones enough to allow him to resume more of his old appearance and Elizabeth never again saw that distant expression.

But he had worn it as he stared at her with his bloodshot eyes. Elizabeth told herself it was due to his worry over her condition. It was only that. Nothing more. But her heart raced and her mind followed as she felt with a deep and unwelcome certainty that this was not the case. The effort of retrieving the memory and the exertion of her panic exhausted Elizabeth such that sleep claimed her once again. Stephen's blank eyes haunted her dreams.