A/N: Thank you all for the warm welcome and encouragement!

Here is my next short story. Comments and feedback is welcome.


1

Elizabeth laughed wildly as the wind blew her hat from her head. Held by the silk cord tied around her neck, it flopped wildly about her hunched shoulders, while Apollo's hooves thundered beneath her. She had shortened the stirrups of the saddle before scrambling up to sit astride him like a man. No sidesaddle for her! Her skirts flailed in the wind like sails on a ship.

She felt the shock of the horse's hooves pounding on the turf all the way up her spine and she raised herself in the saddle to reduce the impact. Glancing over her shoulder, she looked back at her husband, far behind her in the race for the golden flag, hanging from a tree branch at the edge of the forest. "Not fair," he called to her. "Apollo is my strongest and best steed… my favorite… and you are but half my bodyweight! Not fair" he repeated as she laughed.

She never asked how it was possible she heard his voice so clearly over the pounding hooves and the rushing wind. She just laughed all the louder at the idea of beating him on his favorite steed. Now they were approaching the tree with its hanging golden fruit. She stood taller in the saddle, reaching up with her left hand as she controlled her galloping steed with the reins gathered in her right. The flag was beneath her. She grabbed at it, ignoring Darcy's cry of dismay… and the light of a thousand suns burst in the head.

With a cry she sat up sharply in her bed as the maid drew back the second drape, allowing more sunlight to pour through the great windows.

"Oh! I'm so sorry, my lady" the maid flustered. "I didn't see you under the covers and at this hour I assumed you had arisen."

Lizzy swept a hand over her forehead, brushing away curls of dark hair and yawned, tiredly. She had been mostly under the covers. She could not fault the young maid for not noticing her eyes between a crack in the covers. 'A dream' she breathed to herself as she realized her victory over her husband had happened only in her head.

"Would you like me to redraw the drapes, my lady" the young maid asked, obviously upset by waking her mistress unintentionally.

"No, no," Lizzy replied with another yawn. "If the sun is so high already I have overslept enough." She threw back the covers and swung her legs over the side of the bed, to stand. A moment later a wave of nausea swept over her and she hurled herself to her knees, reaching under the bed for the chamber pot, which fortunately had not been used during the night. With retching heaves her empty stomach spasmed again and again. The young maid looked on in horror for a moment, then ran from the room, shrieking for Mrs. Richardson.

A moment later the older woman was there, helping her mistress to her feet to lead her to one of the chairs in front of the window. Mrs. Richardson felt Elizabeth's forehead. "Have you been feeling weak, or feverish lately, my dear?" she asked, peering into Elizabeth's eyes. "No, I actually have been feeling more vigorous in the last few weeks," Elizabeth told her.

"And in the mornings have you previously felt the nausea you felt this morning?"

Elizabeth thought for a moment. "Nothing like this morning, but a slight queasiness the last few days when I awoke." Then added anxiously as the older woman sat back in her chair and continued peering closely at her, "Is it a contagion? I would not have my husband catch something from me."

Mrs. Richardson gave a gentle smile. "It is a contagion of sorts," she said. "But it is one you caught from your husband." Elizabeth knotted her brows in puzzlement and stared at the house-manager. Then another light exploded in her head just as bright as the one that woke her from her dream, and her eyes opened wide as her jaw dropped. "You mean…?"

"Yes, my dear," Mrs. Richardson said, taking her hands gently into her own. "I believe you are with child!" Elizabeth broke into a wide smile. "Where is Darcy?" she cried, leaping to her feet. "He must be the first I share this wonderful news with! Then, Jane… and my family," she added after a moment.

"I agree," Mrs. Richardson said, smiling with shared joy. "But first, perhaps, you should get dressed for the day, my dear?"

"Of course," Elizabeth said, her face flushing from the embarrassing thought of running through the house in her night clothes. She moved to her vanity to begin the process of dressing for the day. Mrs. Richardson gave some whispered orders and admonitions to the maid. "You will speak to no one of what you have heard here," she told the wide eyed girl. "And hurry back with the breakfast I have described."

The maid scurried off like a frightened rabbit to the kitchen, stifling her impulse to share the wonderful news she overheard with her friends and fellow workers. Her employment here was more important to her than any momentary pleasure of being the first to spread news about her mistress's condition.

By the time Elizabeth was dressed, the maid had reappeared with a breakfast tray. Elizabeth eyed it queasily. "I really am not hungry and doubt I could eat a thing," she protested to Mrs. Richardson.

"You may not be hungry, my dear," the older woman said, gently. "But the little one growing within you surely is and we must now consider his, or her, health in all things." Elizabeth nodded in thoughtful agreement and seated herself to poke at the eggs and bacon, gradually conveying what she thought was a reasonable amount into her mouth. After a few minutes she looked questioningly to Mrs. Richardson who nodded approval. Lizzie jumped up and ran to look for Darcy.

She found him downstairs in the library seated behind his desk, waving a letter thoughtfully in his hand as he tapped on the desk with the fingers of his other hand. The joy that Lizzie wanted to share with him evaporated as she saw the solemnity of his expression. She sank into the chair opposite him. "You have grave news I see," she said softly, unsure of what news the letter dangling from his hand bore. "Grave, yes. In a sense, it is life-changing. You know the last session of Parliament is approaching with the beginning of the summer months." Lizzie nodded, unsure why the change of seasons might be ominous for them. Surely something to do with Parliament, otherwise why would her husband mention it?

"I have in my hand a letter from my uncle, Earl Matlock," he explained to her. He was to address Parliament in its final days for the debate on the subject of slavery and Great Britain. She glanced at the parchment he was holding. "And that letter?" she prompted, looking back at him.

"Unfortunately my uncle, the Earl, is suffering a severe attack of the gout and is confined to his bed on a strict diet that forbids most of the foods and wines he holds most dear.

Lizzie frowned slightly in thought. "But slavery has been abolished in England for many years now, thankfully," she murmured. "So the subject of debate must be…?" she finished questioningly.

"The fact that while we do not practice this abomination here on the shores of England, we none the less support it by dealing with other countries that practice it. We even allow it in some of our colonies," he said with a tone of disgust and loathing. "By doing business with those who steal human beings from their homes and enslave them to work in their fields, we enjoy sugar in our tea at a reduced cost," he finished with a passionate ring in his voice.

Lizzie nodded slowly in agreement. Unconsciously her hands moved to her stomach, as though protecting the small life that was beginning there.

"Yes, she murmured softly to herself, with a faraway gaze. "We would not want our child to live a life of comfort when that comfort is at the expense of enslaved human beings." She became aware of the silence that followed her words and glanced up at her husband. He was looking at her with mouth agape. He leapt to his feet, and in a moment was kneeling beside her chair, his hands gently covering hers.

"My dearest girl," he said tenderly. "Am I wrong to hope your words mean that our greatest desire is to be fulfilled? You are with child?"

Elizabeth blushed. "Mrs. Richardson has expressed her confidence that before the year is finished, we will be holding to our hearts a new life."

Darcy took her hands in his and kissed them tenderly, but when he rose to his feet, he was frowning. Returning to his desk, he took up again the letter from his uncle, and shook his head.

"I fear this means I must inform the Earl I cannot replace him at the close of Parliament. My primary duty is to be here with you. "

Now Elizabeth rose to her feet and went to him, placing a hand on his arm. "No, my dearest," she murmured. "The babe will not be here for many months yet. Your first duty is to do what you can to improve the world into which it will be born. Any child of ours would not want anything less of us." He looked at her with great love in his eyes. "I am constantly reminded what a blessing I have received from the Almighty when you agreed to be my wife," he whispered in a voice hoarse with emotion. Lizzy turned away so he would not see the tears that sprang into her eyes at his tender words. She wiped away the tears with her lace handkerchief and covered her deep emotion by announcing, "I will go by coach to my mother and sisters to share this blessed news with them… and then, of course, on to Jane so she may also rejoice with us."

Darcy nodded. "You shall take the large coach for its greater comfort," he declared, firmly. "I will instruct the coach master to avoid all unevenness in the roads… even if his coachmen must fill in the potholes to assure you a smooth ride." Elizabeth smothered a giggle at his pronouncement. "The crown will surely thank us for saving them the expense of road repair," she said, then added, quickly, "but say nothing of my condition. I will not have the servants falling over each other, fussing about my condition… not until it become obvious to all," she added.

Darcy smiled. "You do not know our coach master," he murmured. "Nothing is a secret from him for long… happily," he added softly, as an aside.

A fine coach drawn by six powerful horses drew up in front of Longbourn Estate. The lone occupant did not wait for the attendant to open her door and hand her down. Impatiently, she threw the door open herself and jumped down to the distress of the Coach driver who glared at the slowness of his assistant, who could only hopelessly shrug.

Mrs. Darcy was already hurrying up the path to the door, even as it flung open and girlish shrieks greeted her from her two younger sisters. Hugs and kisses followed as her mother finally caught up to her girls and added her kisses and cries of welcome. "Lizzy!" all three voices were crying. Elizabeth Darcy, nee Bennet, was as flushed as her sisters were in excitement. Her duties as Mistress of Pemberley did not allow her much leisure to go visiting. If she did take the time it was usually to visit her sister, Jane, at her husband, Charles Bingley's estate of Netherfield. "Mr. Darcy is in London on business," she was explaining to her family as they settled down on sofas and settees, "so I determined to take a few days and come visit my dear family." She jumped up again as her father, the noise of her arrival penetrating to his inner sanctum, finally emerged to see what had disturbed his studies of the classics. "Lizzy," he smiled as he hugged her lovingly. "I've just been reading the most engaging works by that fellow Milton."

His daughter smiled. "Better to be free in Hell than to serve in heaven' she quoted. "Close enough," her father smiled in return. Her mother reclaimed her attention by waving a sheet of paper. "I've been reading, too," she proclaimed. "Lydia just wrote her monthly letter." Her husband flinched and announced, "I will be in my study if anyone needs me. The last thing I need to hear about is the doings of the Lucifer we know. I prefer to continue reading about the one I don't know." Scowling, he stalked out.

"What does Lydia have to say?" Elizabeth asked, settling herself once more on the sofa with a sister under each arm. Her mother frowned. "I'm not sure," she said slowly. She looked up at the daughters sitting across from her. "What does 'troglodyte' mean exactly, Lizzie? It is on the tip of my tongue, but I can not get it out."

Her daughter frowned. "A cave dweller," she said, slowly. "What is Lydia telling you?"

The mother shrugged. "Just that with Mr. Wickham often off on patrols, and now is perhaps preparing to take ship to France with the Regiment, she is at home alone so much she feels like a troglodyte." Her daughter's frown did not lessen. "What else does she say?" she asked, her voice almost a whisper.

"Just that Wickham says he is sorry now he didn't follow his ecclesiastical calling, so they could be together more often." Lizzie shrugged off her sisters' embraces and slowly stood up. Her heart was beginning to race. "Lydia writes that Wickham regrets not following his ecclesiastical calling?" she repeated, in hollow tones. She moved across to her mother. "May I see her letter, please," she asked, trying to keep the tone of her voice normal. Her mother frowned at her but handed the letter over.

Lizzie scanned it, quickly. The handwriting certainly looked like Lydia's childish scrawl. "Something wrong, dear?" her mother asked. There was no hint of worry in her voice and Elizabeth certainly didn't want to provoke needless anxiety in anyone. She shrugged, casually. "Just that she is using words she surely didn't know the meaning of before her marriage," she said. Her private thought was that the last thing Wickham regretted was not entering the clergy when it was offered to him. Where would Lydia get such an idea?

"Maybe she is using her time in her cave to improve herself," Mary offered with a snicker (Mary wouldn't giggle), showing how unlikely she thought that prospect. Her sister, Kitty, joined in her giggles.

Assuring her mother with an "I will return in a moment," Elizabeth took the letter and approached the door to her father's study (you said this already), knocking politely before entering. Her father looked up from his Milton. Any protest at the interruption died on his lips when he saw it was his favorite daughter. He raised his eyebrows in a silent question.

"Father," she said, softly. "I need the use of your sampling glass for a moment." He gestured towards a side table and she stepped over to pick up the large ornate magnifying glass her father had used for years to closely study old manuscripts. When he realized she was using the glass to closely study what he recognized as Lydia's letter, he let out a guffaw. "Surely your younger sister has not been taken to hiding secret messages in her epistles, Lizzy," he asked in an amused, but affectionate, tone.

Elizabeth didn't answer, absorbed in looking at the formation of the letters. It certainly looked like Lydia's script, but something was not quite right. She moved to her father's desk and leaned over placing the letter in front of him and handing him the glass.

"Please, father," she said softly. "Just examine the writing. Is it Lydia's?" Her father looked over the letter through the powerful glass. He shrugged. "It certainly appears to be," he murmured. "What is your concern?"

"Just quickly read it," his daughter urged him. In a few moments he looked up. "Troglodyte?" he asked quizzically. "Would your sister even know such a word, never mind using it in a letter to her mother?"

Elizabeth began pacing. "That is one thing that troubles me," she said. "Did you notice the reference to Wickham regretting not pursuing a clerical life? How likely is he to have that sentiment; given what we know of the man and his character? When he had the chance to do so, he sneered at it and took money instead."

"Which he immediately gambled away," her father added with a tone of opprobrium.

After a moment's reflection, Mr. Bennett shrugged. "Surely you make too much of this, Lizzy," he said. "I'm certain they are leading lives in which each daily increases the other's misery… as they deserve!" he added, grimly.

His daughter took the letter from his hands. "There is another thing that disturbs me and I have just realized what it is." She held the glass over the letter and perused it again. "Ah!" she said in a soft cry of alarm. "Yes! Now I realize what bothered me. You see how the nib of the pen has pressed heavily into the paper; even scratching it in several places? That is not a feminine hand. A woman writes much more lightly than a man."

Her father looked at her quizzically. "What are you suggesting, Lizzy? Has Wickham taken to writing Lydia's letters home to her mother? That is surely highly unlikely. He hardly wanted to say even two words to us when they last dined here," he finished with a short laugh. Hs daughter chewed her lip in concentrated thought. "I do not know what to make of it, father," she finally conceded. "I do not understand it and that worries me. I share with you the desire to make sense of the world we live in and this particular puzzle is more intriguing for being personal, involving as it does my sister… as dear to me as she is silly."

"Well, when you solve this particular puzzle, I am not sure I want to be troubled with the answer." her father said, dryly. "The less I have to do with your sister's scoundrel of a husband the happier I shall be." He picked up the Milton he had set aside and resumed reading. His daughter, still frowning, left him alone.

With her mother and sisters again, she handed the letter off to her mother. "I just realized I must give the coachmen their instructions since I will be staying here a few days," she told them. Going outside, she beckoned the coachman and he came limping over. "Wilkinson," she said softly. "I have an important errand of some urgency. Which of the footman is the best rider and the most dependable to carry out a confidential assignment?"

"That would be my son, Bobby, my Lady," he answered without hesitation. "He's just turned eighteen and I've been training him to replace me someday. He's a fine rider, too."

"Call him over," she continued in the same soft voice. "I want you both to hear my instructions so you can add your ideas." A gesture from him drew a tall, somewhat gangly youth who hurried to join them.

He touched his forelock in respect. "Bobby," Elizabeth said in a low voice. "I have a special mission of great confidence for you." The youth straightened up, alert, but silent. "I want you to take a horse and ride to Newcastle to the military encampment there and make discreet inquiries…" He frowned at an unfamiliar word. His father said, "Quiet… unnoticeable…" Bobby nodded and Elizabeth continued. "Ask about the whereabouts of a Mr. Wickham of the regiment. His wife's name is Lydia Wickham, formerly Bennet… my sister," she added in explanation. "If you learn they are there and in good health, return to me with the report." He nodded again and she continued. "If there is anything strange or out of the ordinary, quietly gather what information you can and return just as swiftly as you are able."

Wilkinson frowned at the task before the youth. "Respectfully, my Lady. It is a three day ride each way to Newcastle. I can give him instructions as to the fastest roads to take, but three days is with almost no time for sleeping and meals." Elizabeth bit her lip in frustration. "What do you suggest, Wilkinson? The matter is most urgent. Should I send two riders from among the footmen?"

"I do not suggest that, my Lady," Wilkinson answered, hastily, "but I think he should take a strong horse and change for a fresh one every few hours at a post inn. They will both last longer and be able to make the return trip without losing too much time for resting them more than the one night."

He pursed his lips thoughtfully. "Also, Bobby will be needing some funds to buy food for himself and the horses and perhaps lodging and stabling, as needed." He snapped his fingers at a sudden idea. "It happens I have a cousin in that very regiment." He turned to the youth.

"Ask for Sargent Lorry when you arrive, Bobby. Explain you come from me on behalf of our Mistress. He will give you the information Mrs. Darcy requires at once with no one else needing to know anything. He will surely also allow you and the horse to rest a night with the regiment before you ride back."

Elizabeth felt relief at his words. She pulled open the strings of her gold beaded reticule and removed some notes and coins which she stuffed into the youth's hands. His eyes widened at the sudden wealth he held. More money than he had ever seen at one time in his young life, never mind actually holding it in his hands. Wilkinson frowned and took back some of the larger bills and gold coins, returning them to his mistress.

"Won't do for him to be on the road with that kind of money, Mrs. Darcy. We do not want him attracting the wrong kind of attention. Also, we will get him out of that livery into plain clothes. And we will fit him out with some plain saddles and gear too, to keep him from attracting suspicion."

Lizzie looked at him in surprise. "Suspicion?" she repeated.

"Well, we do not want folks thinking him a thief running off with one of his master's fine steeds and his master's fine livery," he explained. "Best I take him 'round to the scullery for some provisions to take on the road, also," he added. "The less time he has to stop to eat, the less expense and the faster he'll move."

Elizabeth could see the sense of his words and was glad she had included him in the planning of the assignment she was sending the youth off to execute. "Under no circumstances are you to approach Mr. Wickham or his wife on your own," she stressed urgently. "If all is well there, I do not wish to raise an alarm."

Bobby touched his forelock again. He seemed impatient to hurry off on the greatest adventure of his young life. Being sent off on a secret mission by his Master's wife! To his young mind it was the undertaking of a lifetime. And to do what he loved doing best… riding the fine steeds of his master's stables! Who could ask for anything more? Lizzy turned towards the house and, struck with the thought she had to arrange for Wilkinson and the coachmen to find lodgings for the week, turned back. Her heart skipped a beat as she saw the father hand the son a pistol which the latter put behind his back, under his jacket. "Do you really think there is such danger on the road as to require this youth to be armed?" she asked the coachman,

"We always prepare for the unexpected, Mistress," the coachman said. "But is your son sufficiently acquainted with the use of weapons to entrust him with a loaded pistol on a long ride?"

Wilkinson hesitated, finally sighed. "Master asked that we not mention it to you, but I am responsible for security at Pemberley." Now Lizzy could not hide her surprise, but she left unspoken her immediate thought. 'A one legged man responsible for security at an estate like Pemberley! That seemed unlikely.'

He read her expression perfectly. "I was not always a coachman," he explained. He hesitated. "I have a military background… among other things. When I caught a bullet in my leg and lost it, your husband's father hired me to look after such matters at his estate that might impact its safety and the security of its residents. My job as coachman was secondary. I have continued my role quietly along with my other duties."

After sending Wilkinson and his coachmen off to find lodgings in the town for a week, Elizabeth walked slowly up the path to return to her family. She placed a hand on her stomach as she walked. There had been no time to share her wonderful news with her mother and sisters. Now her anxiety for Lydia drove from her mind any thought of sharing anticipatory joy. A week at least of waiting! She would live in dread the whole time.