A VERY AUSTEN NOЁL

Robin Helm

Laura Hile

Wendi Sotis

Barbara Cornthwaite

Mandy H. Cook

A Very Austen Noel

About the Stories

Maestro by Robin Helm

Shy, introverted Mary Bennet has resigned herself to a life of spinsterhood, but an extended visit to London opens her eyes to other possibilities. After Darcy and Elizabeth treat Mary to a concert given by an Italian master, Mary’s resignation to live a quiet life alone turns upside down.

In Want of a Wife by Laura Hile

“What my father-in-law needs,” complained John Knightley, “is a wife.” Darcy could not believe his ears. Was this the solution to his troubles with the widowed Mrs. Bennet? Could it be so staggeringly simple?

Saint Nicholas Day by Wendi Sotis

Elizabeth and Jane Bennet head to London to take up their Aunt Gardiner’s role in preparing for an annual celebration at the orphanage. Elizabeth’s desire to divert her sister’s mind away from her heartbreak is toppled once they meet those involved in the event, including the very gentleman who Elizabeth suspects had planned the separation of her sister from her true love—the arrogant Mr. Darcy!

Kitty’s Christmas by Barbara Cornthwaite

Kitty Bennet is thrilled to be spending her first season in London with the newly married Darcys. Every invitation could mean an introduction to the handsome suitor of her dreams, but Kitty soon discovers that there’s more to life in Town than high society. She might be surprised to find that love blooms best outside the confines of the ballroom. Will she catch the eye of a dashing young gentleman, or will her perfect match steal into her heart when she least expects it?

No Small Spark by Mandy H. Cook

After Mr. Collins’s death, Charlotte Collins is settled into a life of service to the people of the community wherever she goes. Much to her dismay, a visit to the Darcys puts her in the way of a reunion with an old friend who is now a widower with a grown, headstrong daughter. The young lady determines that she will make a match of the two, but will the widow and the widower cooperate with her plans?

MAESTRO

Robin Helm[1]

Chapter 1

If music be the food of love, play on.

William Shakespeare

London, October 1816

Her breath quickened as she watched his strong hands flying over the keys of the pianoforte, taking her to another world, controlling her thoughts and emotions. She closed her eyes as his long, slender fingers seemed to touch her soul, falling into the music as the dark-haired stranger played on her heartstrings.

When he hit the final, passionate notes of the third movement, signaling the end of Beethoven’s “Sonata Pathetique,” the audience rose in thunderous applause, rudely jolting her from her reverie, breaking her intimacy with both music and musician.

He stood quickly and bowed, and his loose curls fell around his handsome face.

She felt the confusion of suddenly waking from a dream as she watched him stand tall, dramatically throwing his head back to clear his hair from his searing eyes.

Is he real? Have I imagined this dark angel? Angel he is, for only God could bestow such a gift.

Elizabeth patted her arm gently. “Are you well, Mary?” she asked. “Did you not enjoy the performance? I so hoped you would.”

Mary nodded and stood, never taking her eyes from the performer. Her voice was low, nearly a whisper. “He is utterly magnificent. I would give nearly anything to play so well as Signor Landini. I am quite embarrassed to think I considered myself a pianist before I heard him.”

“Do not be so harsh on yourself, dearest. Very few people ever attain that level of excellence. Landini is truly marvelous,” replied her sister, squeezing her hand.

As the crowd sat down, the orchestra filed onto the stage.

The artist, dressed in unrelieved black, stepped forward, unsmiling, watching the conductor for his cue.

The theater quietened as he sang the opening notes.

Mary was entranced, holding her breath in anticipation.

A love song, according to the programme. How I wish I understood Italian.

His voice soared, his face relaying every feeling he experienced straight to her wildly beating heart, caressing her.

She could almost think he focused his fierce, stormy gaze on her, but she dismissed the idea immediately. It was altogether too ridiculous.

Even so, his face never turned from hers.

She attempted, unsuccessfully, to distract herself, only to find her mind wondering about the gentleman. He is very young to sing with that degree of empathy. His musical range is unbelievable. More than three octaves. Perhaps four? I now understand the meaning of the word ‘prodigy.’

Her childhood, lived out in the small country village of Meryton, had not prepared her for such strong sentiments.

Mary had never learned to swim, and she was drowning.

Finally, the curtains closed on the night which would change her life forever.

~~oo~~

Early the next morning, after a fitful night’s sleep, Mary went to the music room to practice on Darcy’s splendid pianoforte. She worked on Beethoven’s “Moonlight Sonata” for hours, finally attaining adequate skill with the first movement. The second and third movements were completely beyond her abilities at the instrument, but she persevered until she heard her brother-in-law’s deep voice behind her.

“Mary, my dear, Elizabeth has rung for tea. Will you not eat with us?”

She nodded and left the bench to sit on the sofa beside Elizabeth.

“How long have you been here?” Mary asked her sister.

Elizabeth poured the tea, handing Mary and Darcy their cups. “An hour, at least. You were lost in your music. Were you inspired by the concert last night?”

Mary nodded. “Inspired, most certainly, but I shall never learn to play so well as Signor Landini.”

“You have done very well, considering you never had the benefit of a master’s instruction,” replied Darcy.

“True,” said Mary, sighing. “Our church musician did the best she could to teach Elizabeth and me, but she was limited herself. There are no truly proficient pianists in Meryton.”

Darcy smiled. “Would you enjoy music lessons while you stay with us? There are several renowned masters in London. Perhaps Georgiana would join you in your lessons. She shall be here in a month or so and is always ready to further her musical studies.”

“’Tis an excellent time to improve your performance,” added Elizabeth, “for the Christmas season shall soon be upon us, and we will be quite busy. You have more time to practice right now. I am so pleased Georgiana will be here to celebrate with us. I must take both of you girls to the dressmaker’s to be fitted for new gowns. In fact, you and I shall go as soon as I can secure an appointment with the modiste.”

“You shall also commission several for yourself, my love.” Darcy walked over, bent down, and kissed his wife’s hand. “Since we spent last Christmas at Pemberley, you have yet to experience a festive Yuletide in London as my wife, and I quite look forward to dancing with you at every opportunity. Indeed, I think I will allow no one else to dance with you, except Bingley and Colonel Fitzwilliam.”

She caught his eye, pretending to pout as she watched him straighten to his full height. “Am I so shabby that I would embarrass you in front of your friends?”

He chuckled. “You well know the answer to that question. I introduce you to my acquaintances at every opportunity. I am inordinately proud to have you on my arm.”

“I am teasing you. My gowns are not suitable for London ballrooms, I fear, and I would not wish to cause further gossip. Tongues wagged enough when you wed an unknown country miss from the wilds of Hertfordshire. I shall not give the debutantes and their mamas more reason to despise me or criticize you. Since we wed barely a year after our first meeting, and our situations in life were so very different, there is too much speculation already.”

Darcy shook his head. “I care not what they think, but I would have you, Georgiana, and Mary properly attired as suits your beauty to please myself. You must also have coats, bonnets, gloves, scarves – whatever you might require during the winter. My aunt shall be happy to accompany you ladies to the modiste. I shall send a note asking her if she can accommodate us the day after tomorrow. We can always make a second trip after Georgiana arrives,”

Mary looked up at him, wide-eyed. “Us? Are you going with us to the shops, brother?”

He raised a brow. “I went shopping with you and Elizabeth in Meryton, Mary. Would it make you uncomfortable if I accompanied you here? I prefer that my ladies do not go into the streets without me. Besides, I enjoy being in such lovely company.”

She glanced down at her hands, folded in her lap. “Forgive me. I have had no true brother to be concerned about me before you, and I shall probably blunder more often than not. I would never suspend any pleasure of yours. We would all benefit from your opinions.”

Elizabeth took her sister’s hand in hers. “Mary, I know you are shy, but do not be anxious. Only my husband will go with us to the shops right now – no other man – and he does so to protect us from unwanted attention. This is not Meryton. We cannot walk about freely as we did there.”

Mary nodded, and her expression was serious. “Mr. Darcy is very good to escort us. I truly appreciate his interest in my well-being, and I rely on his guidance. Our village was small. Consequently, I am unused to the ways of Town.”

“My dear sister,” he said quietly. “I value your country upbringing and inexperience with Society. My sister and I are more like you and Elizabeth than you imagine. Neither Georgiana nor I have ever been comfortable in crowds, and we both dislike grandiose displays of wealth and power. Do not make yourself uneasy about the Season, or Town, or anything else. I shall always look out for your best interests. Do you trust me?”

Mary looked up at him, smiling tentatively, her blue eyes shining through her spectacles. “I trust you implicitly. You are the best man of my acquaintance.”

Darcy pulled at his cuffs, lowering his eyes. “I shall endeavour to deserve those words.”

You already do, thought Mary. You have given me more attention and consideration than any other man I have ever known, including my father. My sister has chosen wisely. Should I ever marry, I would hope to find such an excellent man as you are.

~~oo~~

Darcy had returned from his afternoon of business and, after inquiring of the butler where he could locate his wife and her sister, sought them out in the music room.

Mary was practicing one of the pieces Landini had played the evening before, while Elizabeth was seated on a loveseat close to the piano, mending clothing for the children at the orphanage. He strode across the room and sat beside her, leaning over to kiss her cheek.

Mary sighed and muttered to herself. “I shall never be able to play the “Moonlight Sonata” so well as Senore Landini, and the Pathetique is totally beyond my reach.”

“He will be performing in different concert halls and at grand estates in London throughout the next couple of months, including Covent Garden. Would you enjoy going to more of his concerts, Mary?” asked Darcy. “Each will be a bit different, according to what I have heard.”

“Oh, yes!” she exclaimed, standing quickly and clapping her hands. “I would consider that a wonderful gift, brother. Her expression changed. “But would you and Elizabeth enjoy it?”

“My dear,” answered Elizabeth. “You must know that Mr. Darcy would never suggest it if he did not think I would be in favour of the idea. Nor would he subject himself to several evenings of entertainment he could not enjoy. I think you may safely show your enthusiasm for the activity.”

And so it was, that for the next month, Darcy, Elizabeth, and Mary attended Landini’s concerts each Monday and Thursday, and they were always fortunate to have front row seats. She fancied that he smiled at her and bowed in her direction after each performance.

Mary had become quite comfortable, knowing that though she was certainly attracted to Senor Landini, she would probably never actually meet the man. She had begun to feel almost as if she knew him.

~~oo~~

London, November 1816

Having become accustomed to finding his wife and sister in the music room in the afternoons, Darcy always sought them there after completing his business for the day.

“We shall have a guest for dinner tonight, my dears, so be certain to wear your finery,” Darcy said, brown eyes twinkling with good humour.

“Only one?” asked Elizabeth, placing her sewing aside.

He nodded. “A gentleman – a friend of mine I wish you both to meet. I think he will make an interesting addition to our conversation.”

Mary lowered her gaze and clasped her hands in her lap. I enjoy being en famille. Perhaps I shall plead a headache and stay in my room.

“Mary,” rumbled a deep voice. “Please, do not avoid my friend. There is no need. I think you shall be more at ease in society during the Season if you meet a few gentlemen now. This way, you shall already have friends who will ask you to dance.”

Mary blushed, lifting her eyes to his. “If you think it best, I shall try to be sociable, if only to please you, but why could we not simply meet him at a ball?” After I improve my dancing skills and grasp a better understanding concerning the art of conversation with strangers. I have so much to learn before my first London ball. She groaned inwardly.

Darcy smiled. “This gentleman is rather awkward, so I doubt he has ever been to many balls. I think he shall be quieter than even you, Mary. You and I must depend upon our vivacious Elizabeth to draw him out. Then we shall all help him to relax at the social events of the Season.”

Elizabeth tilted her head, laughing at her husband. “Ah! So, this is why you married me. I have long wondered what I had to offer an extraordinary man such as yourself. Now I find I am valued because my friendliness balances your taciturn disposition, and I gain importance as I converse easily with strangers.”

“Just so,” he replied with a chuckle. “I was quite oblivious to all your other excellent qualities. My attraction to you had nothing to do with your spirit, your beauty, your quick wit, nor your intelligence.”

Elizabeth stood, pulling her sister with her. “We must hurry if we are to be ready for your friend, husband. I shall direct Mrs. Mills to set another place for dinner, and then we will go directly to your rooms, Mary, to pick a gown, select jewelry, and choose adornments for your hair.”

Mary arched her eyebrows. “All that for a dinner at home?”

“Why, yes, dear. We shall consider this a rehearsal for dinners at which you shall meet new people during the Season.”

“Excellent idea,” added Darcy. “Both Mary and my friend need to practice – just not the same things.” He laughed under his breath.

Elizabeth narrowed her eyes at him. “This is most unlike you, Mr. Darcy. You normally do not keep secrets from me. What are you up to? Who is this friend? Have I ever met him before?”

“Ah. Now I am Mr. Darcy. I have not been Mr. Darcy since two weeks ago when you were peeved with me.”

“Should I be peeved again, sir?” she asked moving her hands to her hips.

He lowered his voice. “No, my love, for I shall answer your questions. I am seeking only good things. He is an acquaintance of several years standing. No, you have not ever met this particular friend. Are you satisfied, Mrs. Darcy?”

“Very much so,” Elizabeth answered, smirking a bit. She turned and bustled from the room, followed closely by her sister.

~~oo~~

Promptly at eight that evening, Darcy, Elizabeth, and Mary met in the music room to await their guest.

Before five minutes had passed, the door opened, and the butler preceded a young man with a mass of dark, loosely curled hair.

Jenkins bowed. “Signor Landini.”

The butler left, closing the door behind him.

“Elizabeth, my wife, and her sister Miss Mary Bennet,” said Darcy, gesturing toward the ladies. “May I present Signor Alessandro Landini?”

Mary was struck speechless. Fortunately, there was no need for her to form words. She looked to her sister to help her.

Elizabeth smiled at her, nodding slightly, and Mary’s training in etiquette rescued her. Acknowledge him. She took a breath, smiling.

The sisters curtseyed as the gentlemen bowed.

When Mary raised her eyes, the Italian gentleman was staring at her, an expression on his face that she had rarely garnered from a man.

She could not understand his meaning. Why is he so intent? Have I offended him?

Before Mary could puzzle it out, Darcy had given Elizabeth his arm, and Landini had offered his to her.

She hesitantly placed her hand on his forearm, blushing when he covered her hand with his.

Chapter 2

Where words leave off, music begins.

Heinrich Heine

Darcy led the party to the smaller, more intimate dining room he favoured when eating with immediate family or close friends. He seated Elizabeth to his right, while Mary walked to her usual place at his left.

Signor Landini stepped behind Mary, waving away the footman, and held her chair.

“Grazie, signor,” she murmured. My Italian is extremely limited. How shall we communicate? Her heart raced in near panic.

He leaned over to speak quietly to her, his words spoken with a slight Italian accent. “Please, Miss Mary, I wish to practice my English. Will you ’elp me?”

Mary nodded, unable to speak, and looked down at her hands. He is here. In person. I am known for my uneasiness in company, yet I am expected to eat in front of him? And converse with him? There is one good thing, though. I can speak English now and stop worrying about my poor Italian.

Her lips trembled as she tried to think of something, anything, to say.

Hearing his chair slide on the floor, she realized he was to her right, facing Darcy.

As the footmen served their soup, Darcy cleared his throat. “Alex, we have greatly enjoyed your concerts over the past month. Thank you for the tickets. I knew my ladies would be enthralled by your skill. Both my wife and my sister play and sing.”

Elizabeth laughed. “But, for my part, not very well. Mary is much more serious about her music, and she practices several hours daily.”

“Indeed, my sister was at her instrument for at least three hours this morning, working diligently on the Beethoven piece you performed last night,” added Darcy.

“Is this true?” he asked, fairly beaming at her, his dark eyes sparkling. “You must play for me this night.”

She dropped her spoon, splattering her soup on the tablecloth, and her face flushed red. “Please, excuse my clumsiness.”

Elizabeth glared briefly at her husband, and then turned to their guest with a small smile. “My sister is quite shy, sir, and she is most likely apprehensive concerning performing for you, especially a piece that you displayed with such command during your concert.”

The gentleman’s expression was puzzled. “’ow shall I teach her if she will not play for me?”

Mary, very nearly fainting, turned her face to his and raised both of her eyebrows to almost comical heights. “You? Teach me? To play the pianoforte?”

“Do you remember that I promised to find you a suitable master? Alex has agreed to instruct you, Mary, along with Elizabeth and Georgiana,” Darcy said calmly. “Is that not wonderful? There is no better master of the instrument than he.”

“Oh, yes. Glorious, indeed.” Mary swallowed past the lump in her throat. “I can hardly believe such a wondrous thing. But, sir, you shall be most frustrated with my lack of skill. Your other students are surely much more accomplished than I will ever be,” she said timidly, eyes cast down.

“I teach no other students,” he replied.

Elizabeth widened her eyes. “No others? Do you mean, no other students at the moment?”

Signor Landini shook his head. “No other students ever. I never taught before. I do not want to teach, until now.”

“If I may be so rude as to ask, what changed your mind?” asked Elizabeth.

“I met Darcy in London about a month ago and gave ’im tickets to my performances. We ‘ave been friends a very long time. ’e said ’e would bring ’is wife and ’er sister, and I know you three will sit in the front row. I told the owner of the ’all to make it so. I want you all to enjoy my music. After the first concert, I arranged it so for every concert.”

“We did enjoy your music, sir. Thank you so much. I cannot imagine who would not be transfixed by your talent.” Mary’s voice was barely discernable. “However, I am still confused concerning why you would wish to teach us.”

The gentleman smiled. “When I stood after I played in each concert, I saw your expression, your face. You ’ave the soul of a musician. You felt the same way I felt. Darcy visited me a few days ago. I asked him to tell me more about you. ’e said you love music but never had instructions from master, vero?"

“My sister and I are from a small village. There were no masters,” she answered, lifting her face to see him. “Did my brother ask you to give me lessons?”

His gaze was gentle. “No, no, no. I ask ’im to let me be your master. I studied with Beethoven for two years, 1800 until 1802. ’e composed the sonata I played last night during that time and taught it to me. I was thirteen years old. Ludwig learned from Josef ’aydn. You shall learn from me.”

He studied with the genius himself, and he would teach me? Mary asked silently.

She could not wrap her mind around the thought, struggling to see his reasoning.

“Please forgive my impertinence, but I still do not understand. Why would you wish to teach me?”

He drew his brows together. “I am far away from la mia famiglia, from my country by war, and I cannot return to my l’Italia. I do not know if I ever see them again. I saw your face after I performed the Beethoven, your beautiful dark hair, your eyes blue seas like il Mediterraneo, and you are casa mia, my home. Sei la donna più Bella che conosco. You must know I sang ‘Il Mio Tesoro’ only to you.”

Mary, sensing the harmony in his words, seeing his tender expression, felt compelled to ask, “What does the title of the song mean?”

He waited a moment, appearing to consider his answer. “Words have many meanings. ‘My Treasure’ is good.”

The gentleman affected her so deeply, she could not form a reply. This man is shy and awkward? I cannot see it. He expresses himself beautifully.

Darcy looked from Mary to Landini. “I have a grand idea.”

Elizabeth chuckled. “Another one? You are blessed with an abundance of grand ideas, today. Please, share it with us.”

“I think I shall, my love, since you asked so nicely.” Darcy nodded at Alessandro. “You can instruct Mary at the pianoforte, and she can help you learn to read and speak English fluently. Both of you can teach the subject you have mastered to the other one. You already speak very good English, my friend, but she can help you with common expressions, pronunciation, and the flavour of certain words. Rather than have Mary merely correct you from time to time, Alex, you should set a regular time every day for English, just as you shall set a time to teach Mary the pianoforte.”

“That is truly inspired, my love,” Elizabeth said. “I am so clever.”

Darcy frowned in mock consternation. “’Twas my idea. How does that make you clever?”

She looked toward the ceiling. “’Tis so obvious, I fear I shall embarrass you by stating it. However, since you did ask, I was the one who had the good sense to marry you.”

He laughed. “Yes, you did, though not until you put me through my paces for a year.”

She quirked a brow, pointing a finger at him. “You know whose fault that was. Need I remind you of what you said at the Assembly?”

Darcy turned to his butler. “Jenkins, I believe everyone has finished their soup. You may serve the next course.”

Landini leaned toward Mary, whispering, “What did ’e say?”

“Let us trade information. I will tell you his infamous remark if you translate what you said in Italian. Something about ‘donna’ and ‘bella’,” she answered.

He coloured a bit. “I say that best in my language. The English has not the lyrical sounds of l’italiano.”

So, he is a bit shy when talking about certain things, she thought.

“Shall we strike a bargain then?” she asked, surprised at her own boldness.

“Non capisco.” He shrugged his shoulders.

I suppose the idiom confused him, she thought.

“Come to terms? Have an agreement?”

“Ah! Yes,” he answered, smiling. “Come to terms – a contract.”

She nodded, pleased to have explained herself so well that he could understand.

“When you are ready to share with me what you said, I shall tell you Darcy’s comment the first time he saw my sister. He was so terribly rude, I am amazed that she married him. It must have been the very deepest love for her to forgive such a slight.”

“That does not surprise me.”

Mary tilted her head. “Why not?”

“Darcy has had women after ’im since he was just a boy. ’e never felt in danger of love. ’e saw your sister and felt something for ’er. ’e felt fear. ’e said a rude thing to chase ’er out.”

She considered his words. “You are probably right. He protected his heart by driving her away.”

“If ’e loves ’er, she can ’urt ’im. ’e has known much pain.”

“You are wise to be so young. How old are you?”

“Twenty-seven, and I travelled most of those years.”

Mary looked at his large hands holding his knife and fork. Those talented fingers had caressed her soul with the sounds they coaxed – no, demanded! – from a keyboard. Her gaze travelled slowly up his chest to his face with its aristocratic nose, perfect lips, cleft chin, and strong jaw. His dark hair curled around his ears, and she wanted to stroke her fingers through it, to know if it felt as soft as it looked. Her eyes continued their journey to those dark, expressive eyes.

His eyes.

His eyes!

His clear, brown eyes were focused on her, his amusement clearly showing, as his full lips curled up in a smile.

She closed her eyes tightly and willed herself to become smaller, to disappear if at all possible. If I should die in this moment, I would go to Heaven. That would be far better than this.

She sank down a little lower in her chair, putting both hands in her lap, noticing there were no sounds around her. It was absolutely quiet.

Perfectly still.

Maybe I have died, she thought, somewhat relieved.

She opened one eye a tiny bit, but then closed it quickly. No, he is still laughing at me.

Mary pretended she was in her room at home, sitting on the windowsill behind the curtains, hiding from her Mama and sisters while she read in the dim light.

She took a deep breath. This is my favourite place. I am always happy here.

A warm hand touched hers, covering it completely, and she jolted upright.

“Mary,” he crooned, his voice velvety soft, so close she felt his breath near her ear. “Do you sleep? Where did you go? Open your eyes for me, la mia piccola.”

She gingerly lifted her eyelids.

He moved his hand to her shoulder and straightened up.

She immediately regretted the loss of his warmth.

What is wrong with me? I am the sensible sister. He is not the first handsome man I have ever seen. Mary sighed quietly.

A little voice whispered to her, However, he is the first handsome man who has ever seen you.

Mary sat up. “Where are my sister and brother?”

“They wait for us in the music room. Where did you go?”

She shook her head a little. He will never understand.

“I was here – in my chair. You saw me.”

Landini shook his head. “When I was young, I feared people who came to ’ear me play and sing. I learned to go in my mind to a place I felt safe. I ’id under my bed with quilt on my head until I went to the stage. Where do you ’ide?”

She pushed her chair back and stood, her face tilted up to his. “I was in my room at Longbourn, my home, hiding behind the curtains while I read a favourite book.” She paused. “You do know I was not really there? I am perfectly sane.”

He nodded, tucking a curl behind her ear. “Sì, lo so. I know. We are more alike than you think, cara.”

Her heart fluttered, even as her own words, spoken in judgment of her sister Lydia, echoed in her mind. Loss of virtue in a female is irretrievable; one false step involves her in endless ruin. A woman’s reputation is no less brittle than it is beautiful; therefore, she cannot be too much guarded in her behaviour towards the undeserving of the other sex.

She sighed. “We should go.”

He immediately stepped back, offering her his arm.

She accepted his assistance, and they walked slowly through the French doors into the hallway.

“Will you play for me?” she asked.

“Always. If you are there, I am playing for you, il mio cuore. When will you play for me?”

“Tomorrow, if you come to teach me.”

“I shall be ’ere in the morning. Is eleven o’clock too early for you?”

She shook her head. “Not at all. I will have time to practice before you come.”

“Eccellente.”

A footman opened the door to the music room for them, and Landini crossed to the pianoforte. He pulled the bench back, then walked around it to settle himself on the edge of it with his long legs stretched to the pedals before he looked at Darcy and Elizabeth.

“What will I play for you?”

“I shall enjoy anything,” answered Elizabeth. “Let Mary choose. Her taste is far more discerning than mine.”

Mary clapped her hands, her face glowing with delight. Her words flowed from her in a rush of excitement. “I wish to hear Beethoven’s Sonata No. 21 in C Major, Opus 53. I have worked so hard on it, but I have never heard the piece as it should be played.”

She walked to stay a little way behind him and to the side, affording her a clear view of his hands. “Do you mind if I stand here? I wish to watch your fingers move.”

Landini nodded solemnly. “You must excuse me if I miss notes. I have not played this piece for many months. Movement I only.”

He bowed his head a moment, placed his hands on the keyboard, and attacked the keys.

Her heart raced the full ten minutes he played, his fingers moving at an impossible tempo across the instrument, his entire body involved in the music.

She felt what he felt. It was as if she had met her other half of herself.

Mary Bennet had always thought that every impulse of feeling should be guided by reason, yet there was no reasoning to explain what she felt for Signor Landini. She was rudderless, though complete for the first time in her life, and the idea was as terrifying as it was gloriously stimulating.

She knew what it meant. I am lost.

Chapter 3

Music expresses that which cannot be said and on which it is impossible to be silent.

Victor Hugo

Mary rose early the next morning, glad to leave her bed of worried dreams. She attempted to calm herself by taking a bit more time with her toilette, but she failed in the attempt, instead raising her levels of anxiety by rushing through a cup of tea and two slices of toast.

Susan, her maid, shook her head as she clucked her disapproval. “Miss, you must slow down before you choke yourself. Why do you look so anxious?” She poured another cup of tea from a different pot. “Here, have a bit more tea while I arrange your hair. Try to drink it slowly.”

Mary closed her eyes, took a deep breath, and exhaled slowly. Susan is right. I am a student. Signor Landini does not expect me to be very good. I have no reason to be fearful.

The young lady opened her eyes and took a sip of her tea. “Chamomile!” Mary exclaimed, smiling up at her maid who had taken up a brush to arrange her charge’s hair.

“Yes, chamomile with a bit of lavender. That blend works wonders for Mrs. Darcy when she gets a bit overwrought. Last night, she suggested you might want a cup of her special blend this morning.”

“I am not at all surprised. Lizzy and Jane have always been thoughtful of the feelings of others.” The knowledge that her sister had been concerned for her well-being warmed her heart.

Susan nodded. “Yes. The Mistress is a wonder. She is never idle like some who think so highly of themselves. She always has some project or other going to help the poor. The missions always call on her when there is a need, and she makes certain to answer.”

Mary smiled. “Lizzy has always been thus – taking food and clothing to our tenants, checking on them if they were sick, and making certain the children were taught to read and write. Jane and she did the work together. Before Lizzy married Mr. Darcy and Jane married Mr. Bingley, they took me with them to show me all there was to be done. I have found contentment and a sense of satisfaction in continuing their work. While I am away from Longbourn, the parson and his wife are teaching the children.”

Susan nodded. “You are like your sisters,” she said as she continued to help Mary dress.

“I would like to think so, but I fear I fall short so many times,” Mary answered.

Susan shook her head and smiled. “Just like them.

At half past eight, she was seated at Darcy’s Broadway grand, practicing the Beethoven sonata Landini had played at his concert. Her determination to complete her chosen task of memorizing the first movement drove her, and she lost all sense of the passage of time.

Mary worked diligently until, frustrated with her limitations, she slammed her hands on the keys. She removed her spectacles to rub the tears from her eyes, turning when she heard a noise behind her.

Landini walked up beside her, calmly pointing to the music. “Play it again.”

Mary lifted her eyeglasses, but Landini held up his hand.

“I want to see your eyes. You need those? Can you see me?”

She nodded. “I see you clearly.”

He frowned. “You can see? Non capisco. Why do you wear eyeglasses?”

“I need them for close work, like reading and sewing,” she replied with a sigh. “The farther away something is, the better I see it.”

“You see the music? You see the piano keys?”

“Yes,” she replied softly, lowering her gaze to the keyboard. He raised his eyebrows.

“Why wear eyeglasses, then? Tell me,” Landini commanded, lifting her chin with his index finger.

“You shall think me silly.”

“You are ’iding again!” he exclaimed, releasing her as his eyes reflected his pain. “From me,” he added in a low voice, betraying his pain and dissatisfaction.

She was perplexed. How could he know that? He is right, but even I did not realize the truth of the matter until he said it just now.

“I have worn spectacles for many years, but I met you only last night, Maestro. I started hiding when I was a child, but I shall try very hard not to hide from you anymore,” she said quietly. “You must be patient with me.”

He shook his head, then smiled. “I am not a patient man, but I try for you. Tell me if I am not patient.”

She smiled, standing to place her eyeglasses on the table beside the piano, then facing him. “English lesson one. Repeat after me: ‘I am not a patient man, but I shall try for you. Please, tell me if I am not patient.’”

Landini smiled. “Yes, little maestra. I am not a patient man. I shall try for you. Please tell me if I am not patient. Better?”

She chuckled. “Much better!”

“Sit,” he said, pointing to the bench. When she obeyed, he shook his head. “Stand!”

Mary stood, perplexed, and he moved the bench further away from the keyboard. “Sit down now.”

She complied, immediately understanding his reasoning. “This position is entirely different.”

Landini nodded, pulling a chair up to sit beside her. “Look at me. My arms are not bent at my waist. Move your arms out longer. Lean like this. Foot here. ’ands like this.”

Mary tried to follow his example. “Like this?”

“Your hands are wrong.” He reached for her right hand, pushing her wrist down and her knuckles up. “See? Curl your fingers.”

Landini moved her hand to the keyboard. “Both hands should be like that. Wrists are always the same level with the keyboard.”

She tried to follow his instructions, but she knew from his expression that she had not pleased him, so she moved to the left end of the bench, patting the right side.

“Maestro, please show me the correct way to place my hands.”

He did as she requested, explaining the technique by positioning his right hand and pointing to his fingers and wrist with his left.

Mary attempted to master the form a second time but raised her wrists too far to gain his approval.

“No! Not this,” he exclaimed, using his own hands in front of his chest to exaggerate her high-wristed hand position. “Stiff this way. Not free. No easy movement. Your music will suffer.”

He then bent his hands backward at the wrist, speaking in a lilting voice. “Not stiff this way. Easy movements. Relax your hands. Let the music flow.”

Landini placed his hands correctly on the keyboard, holding his hands still as he played first from the fingers, then moving his hands in a hammering action from the wrist. After that, he added elbow action, and finally, leaning forward, he employed his entire body, using the strength of his upper torso while playing from his shoulders to increase the volume of the sound.

“See? There are many ways. Now, play the Beethoven,” he ordered, moving from the bench to the chair.

She slid to the middle of the seat and began to play the piece again, from the beginning.

“Stop!”

He moved behind her and placed his hands on either side of her head, gliding his fingers to her forehead and eyebrows. Then he moved his hands slowly down her face to her clenched jaws.

“You are indolenzito. Relax here.”

What do my head and face have to do with playing the pianoforte?

Landini gently rubbed his fingers in circles against her temples. “Imparare a rilassarsi. Relax all your muscles.”

She held her breath and closed her eyes, trying to focus on his words, not the exquisite feeling of his skin against hers.

I cannot think when he does that. He touches me, and I lose my concentration. I must try harder to think of what he says instead of what he does.

She felt a tap on her shoulder and looked up at him.

“Maria, breathe,” he said quietly. “Now, relax more.”

Landini touched his own temples and smiled, assuming an expression of relief. “Like so. Ah!”

He frowned and gestured to his patrician face. “Relax.” His closed eyes, and his facial muscles showed a complete lack of tension, as if he slept.

Then he pointed to his broad shoulders, hunching them, and then releasing them. “Relax. You must relax! Close your eyes.”

She obeyed his authority as he directed the exercise, taking charge of her body by compelling her to relax each set of muscles as he called them out, one group at a time, from the top of her head to the soles of her feet.

The gentlemen stepped to sit in the chair beside her. “Very good. Now, open your eyes and give me your ’and.”

Mary held out her hand to him, and he turned her palm towards the floor, placing his index finger under her wrist. “Relax.”

He quickly pulled his hand back, but hers stayed stationary, hanging in the air.

“’a!” he laughed. “You did not relax. I will show you.”

He held his hand out flat, knuckles up. “You put finger under wrist like me.”

She did as he said. “Like this?”

“Sì,” he answered, allowing the weight of his hand to rest on her finger.

Landini looked away. “Move when you want.”

Mary waited a few moments before she snatched her hand away.

His hand immediately fell to the bench, limp, and he turned his face back to hers. “See? I relax. You do not relax. Now you.”

They did the exercise again, and when he jerked his hand back, hers plummeted.

He favoured her with a blinding smile. “È stato molto bello! Very good! You did relax! Now play, Maria.”

She forced herself to look away from his beautiful face, calming herself, breathing deeply, releasing all tension before she put her hands on the keyboard. As she concentrated on the notes, she removed everything else from her mind.

By the time she finished, she was exultant.

Mary lifted her hands to her face, pleased beyond measure with her performance. It was simply the best she had ever performed any piece.

“Better!” he said, pride in his voice. “Much better. You did relax. Music flowed from you. Now we will think loud and soft, fast, and slow.”

Her smile faltered. “You were not pleased? I did not do well?”

His confusion was apparent. “I said ‘much better.’ Non sono stato chiaro, forse? You do not understand? You did much better.”

“I will work harder, signore,” she replied, eyes cast down.

“Maria! Look at me,” he demanded, leaning towards her.

She turned her face to his. “I am very sorry to disappoint you, Maestro.”

“Do not make the sad face. I am ’appy. We must all play better. Every time. We try to be better. Every time.” He pointed to himself. “Me, anche.”

Mary managed to smile for him. “I understand. I played better than I had before, but I still have more work to do. I should try to make improvements every time I play.”

“Yes. More feeling. What does the music say? Find the words in the music. Speak to me.”

“Speak to you with my music? I have never done that before. I tried to play the notes and rhythm correctly.”

“Did I speak to you? At the concert?”

Her eyes sparkled. “With your music? Yes, you did. Until I heard you play, I had not thought of music in such a way. I saw images in my mind. It felt as if I knew you, and you were playing only for me.”

He smiled tenderly and leaned back into his chair. “Now play. Speak to me, Maria.”

She closed her eyes, trying to remember how she had felt when she heard him play at the concert. As it flooded back to her, she looked at her hands and lost herself in the music.

She became what he called her: beautiful, exotic, romantic Maria instead of provincial, plain, uninspiring Mary.

Maria did not rush the melody – instead experiencing the ebb and flow as measure melted into measure, thought into thought, gradually building in profundity and grace, until she dove deeper than she had ever dared before.

To Maria, the music was tranquil rather than gloomy; dark as midnight with a crescent moon, rather than blackness of the soul. It spoke of longing, and she understood that very well, for she longed above all else to be loved for who she was.

As the final chord died away, she knew she had achieved something she never had before.

She had put her own emotions into her music. She had bared her soul.

Landini did not speak; he did not move.

Finally, she lifted her head to look at him. “Maestro?”

He took a breath. “Magnifico,” he whispered.

She clasped her hands and brought them to her mouth. “You liked it? Truly?”

“Very much. You speak in music.” He hesitated. “You speak to me?”

Mary lowered her hands to her lap, gazing at them as she nodded.

“Maria, what did you say?”

She looked up at him, bold for the first time in her life. “What did you hear?”

“No sadness, but alone. No one knows you. You look for something. I look, too. What do you look for?”

“I look for what you see when you see me, signor Landini. I think no one else sees me as you do. I want to be Maria, not Mary.”

He took her hand, raised it to his lips, and smiled for her alone – an achingly lovely smile which destroyed her walls. “My bella farfalla.”

“What does that mean, Maestro?”

“My beautiful butterfly. My Maria.”

She pulled her hand away, sitting up straighter. “What shall I learn next?”

His lips twitched. “Learn to say ‘Ale’ to me.”

Her eyes were round. “Ale? Not Maestro? Not Alessandro?”

“Many call me Alessandro. Only family say Ale.”

He thinks of me as a sister? Probably a little sister, at that.

She tried to hide her chagrin, being careful not to move. She would not allow her features to betray her thoughts. He knew her too well.

What did I expect? Very well. I shall try to be his younger sister, but I doubt I shall ever think of him as an older brother.

“What shall I learn next, Ale?” Vexed, she bit her lower lip until she felt the pain.

“So much. Beethoven sonata in C# minor key, so you must practice the C# minor scale, arpeggio, and chord progression.” He moved to the bench. “We need two pianos. I will tell Darcy.”

She walked around him to the chair. “Will that not crowd the room?”

He laughed. “Is a music room. We need two pianos. Not so many chairs and tables.”

For the next few minutes, he demonstrated the scales and arpeggios. “Two octaves up, two apart, two back together, two down. At speed. One twenty. Use a metronome. Then chord progressions. C# minor, F# minor, G# minor7. See?”

Mary went to the desk, returning with paper and pencils. “Let me write all this down, for I shall never remember all of it if I do not.”

“You do not know scales?”

“I know the scales and arpeggios for the major keys – C, G, D, A, E, F, and B flat – but no more.”

“No chord progressions, no other major keys or minor keys?” He was astounded. “’ow do you play? You know the Circle of Fifths?”

I had no idea I was so ignorant. “I have never heard of that, but I can read music. I simply don’t know all the scales and arpeggios.”

He muttered an unintelligible string of Italian. “No matter. I will teach you.”

She raised an eyebrow, placing her hands on her hips. “Can you conjugate English verbs? Construct a sentence properly? Pronounce the words correctly? Say your h’s?”

Landini chuckled. “No, Maria. I am not smart like you.”

“No matter. I teach you,” she said gruffly, mimicking him as she gathered her paper and pencils. “Come to the desk with me, Ale. Bring your chair.”

After an hour side-by-side at the desk, he had a full sheet of work to do, and she had her music assignment for the following day.

Chapter 4

Music is a higher revelation than all wisdom and philosophy

Ludwig Van Beethoven

The days passed quickly, and before Mary realized it, nearly three weeks had passed during which she had daily sessions with Senor Landini. Her playing had improved drastically, as had his English.

She practiced for several hours each day, and her maestro was profuse with his praise.

Her confidence grew under his tutelage, and, though she tried not to allow herself to think such a thing, his marked attentions had nearly convinced her that he felt more for her than one normally felt for a student.

And during those three weeks, she had fallen in love with her teacher. What shall I do when he leaves? How shall I live out my life in Meryton without Ale?

Those worries were for another time. For now, I must store up memories to last me a lifetime and be thankful that I know what it is to love such a man.

~~oo~~

Mary awoke with a smile when her maid bustled in and opened the drapes in her room. She sat up and stretched. “Good morning, Susan.”

“Good morning, miss. I have ordered your tea and toast, for I know you’ll be rushing to the music room as you do every morning.”

Mary chuckled. “I have become quite predictable, it seems.”

“Let’s get you dressed. I laid out your blue gown, for it brings out the color in your eyes.”

“Truly? I never heard such a thing before,” Mary replied. “You are very kind.”

“Me?” Susan answered, smiling. “I say what I think, miss. You are truly lovely, and your morning practices cheer the entire household.”

“What? You can hear me? I always close the door,” Mary exclaimed as she climbed out of bed, allowing Sally to help her dress.

Susan laughed quietly. “Miss Mary, you have been playing for an audience for more than a week now. Everyone finds some excuse to be in the hallway outside the music room in the mornings.”

Mary blushed a deep red. Shocked, she brought her hands to her face. “Please, tell me you are joking. I begin with scales, chord progressions, and arpeggios. Then I practice a section at a time, or even one phrase over and over. No one could enjoy listening to that.”

“We all manage to be there for the last half hour, miss. We noticed that’s when you play the entire piece. ‘Tis truly wonderful.” Susan patted Mary’s hand. “Your teacher seems to be very pleased with you every afternoon. He always leaves with a smile and a tip of his hat.”

“He is a friendly man. He is pleasant to everyone.”

“As you say, Miss,” replied Susan, nodding with a twinkle in her eyes.

~~oo~~

It was nearly time for luncheon when Mary heard voices raised in excitement. She left the pianoforte and rushed into the hallway, overjoyed to see Darcy’s sister, Georgiana, with Elizabeth and Darcy.

“Mary!” exclaimed Georgiana, quickly removing her bonnet, coat, and gloves, handing them to a footman before embracing her. “I am so happy to see you! Both Elizabeth and Fitzwilliam have written to me, in raptures about your visit.”

“Let me look at you,” answered Mary, stepping back to admire her friend. “You grow lovelier each time I see you.”

Georgiana smiled brightly. “As do you, my dear Mary. I hear you have been working diligently at your instrument. We shall have such fun playing duets. Perhaps Fitzwilliam will host a musical evening while we are together.”

“What a wonderful idea! Do you not think so, husband?” Elizabeth asked, turning to Darcy.

He smiled. “Bingley and his wife will be here after their child is born. I feel certain they would enjoy it, too.”

“I had a letter from Jane this morning,” Elizabeth replied. “They shall be in London after Christmas.” Her smile deserted her. “Caroline Bingley will come with them, and Mrs. Hurst is already in Town.”

Mary looked troubled. “Must we invite our brother’s sisters to our evening? I am not inclined to play in front of them again. The experience was most unpleasant at the Netherfield ball.”

Darcy sighed. “I am sorry, Mary, but I see no possible way to avoid extending the invitation without being rude.”

“Unless,” Elizabeth said, “they have a previous engagement. Perhaps someone will ask the sisters to dine that evening. One can but hope, and we might send our invitation very late. I could tell Jane to reserve the date but share the information with no one except her husband.”

Georgiana grinned. “Your plan is remarkably similar to what Caroline and Louisa would do themselves. I like it.”

Darcy rolled his eyes. “There must be a better way. Please consider allowing them to attend. You are all three talented, lovely, and kind. There is no need to lower yourselves to their level. Perhaps you could influence them to be better by including them, rather than shutting them out.”

“I do so hate it when you are right and I am wrong,” replied Elizabeth with a grimace.

“Would you be upset if I declined to exhibit, brother?” asked Mary. “I truly do not wish to expose myself to further ridicule.”

“I heard you play this morning, Mary, for Elizabeth and I were sitting outside the door much of the time,” he answered, smiling at her. “The Beethoven was simply wonderful, and I think having you display your talent would be an excellent introduction to London Society for you. In truth, we were both astounded at your rapid progress. Alex is obviously a very fine teacher, and I must conclude you are an exceptional student.”

Mary permitted herself a tiny smile. Mr. Darcy and my sister sit in the hallway to listen to me? Is the entire house just outside the door while I practice?

“Alex?” asked Georgiana.

“Alessandro Landini is teaching Mary now. He has agreed to give you lessons, as well. Would you like that?” asked Darcy. “He would teach Elizabeth, too, but she has declined for the present.”

Georgiana nodded emphatically. “I had no idea Signore Landini was taking students. Of course, I would never give up any opportunity to study with such a Master. When shall he come again?”

“We are going to visit the modiste with your aunt in the morning,” answered Elizabeth. “Perhaps he will come in the afternoon, if he is not already engaged elsewhere.”

“I shall send round a note to his lodgings, asking about his availability,” added Darcy.

Elizabeth smiled. “Then shall we make our way to the parlour? I am in great need of refreshment.”

~~oo~~

After another busy morning of shopping with Lady Grace and Elizabeth, Mary tidied herself and went to the music room, hoping to practice before meeting Landini for a lesson. Georgiana had stayed behind, pleading for practice time before she would be called upon to perform.

When Mary opened the door to the music room, she saw Georgian and Ale. Their backs were to her, and they did not acknowledge her. As Landini had requested, nearly all the furniture had been removed from the room more than two weeks earlier. Consequently, there was no place to sit. As she had no wish to disturb them, she quietly closed the door and walked slowly back to her chambers.

Two hours passed with no word from her teacher.

She tried not to allow the circumstances to upset her, but her mind would not stop.

I suppose I shall have no lesson today. Georgiana is a far superior student of the pianoforte. To be honest, she is everything I am not – beautiful, interesting, and wealthy – with a marriage settlement of £30,000. Her family is of noble lines, and her education is in every way superior to mine. She has all the social graces which I lack. I should not be surprised Mr. Landini would prefer to spend his time with her rather than me.

Mary walked back to the music room, chewing the inside of her cheek, standing in the hallway once more. She listened through the door as Georgiana laughed gaily, then she returned to her room.

I suppose I shall have no teacher and no place to practice now. How can everything change so drastically in such a short time?

She silently donned her bonnet, coat, and gloves before leaving the house alone for a walk in a nearby park, unable to bear the sight of her friend or her teacher, knowing she would cry in front of them and disgrace herself.

Mary usually loved snow, but the thick layer of white did not cheer her. She trudged along, leaving her footprints behind her.

Hearing thunder, she looked up, noticing the gathering clouds for the first time.

She chuckled darkly. How apt. I am in perfect harmony with nature. She cries for me.

Heavy drops began to fall, but Mary welcomed them, not feeling the chill.

She sat on a bench, despondent, turning her face up to watch the rain as it fell from the angry sky. Closing her eyes, she wished she were back at Longbourn, playing on her old spinet, never having met Ale. I was content in my ignorance.

Mary blindly searched her mind for an answer to her suffering.

Perhaps my brother would loan me his carriage tomorrow. I cannot stay here any longer.

She shook her head as her tears mingled with the raindrops, streaking her face.

I must awaken from my dream and accept that I am Mary, not Maria. I cannot escape who I am.

She had no thought of the passage of time, knowing only that she had no wish to return to her brother’s home and face the crumbling of her dreams. Her numb fingers and toes matched her despondent mood.

There was something romantic in the idea of dying, leaving the misery of an empty, lonely life stretching endlessly, perhaps as a governess or companion, as she slipped from one existence into the next. Or, I shall spend my life taking care of my parents until they leave me like everyone else has.

“Miss Mary Bennet!” exclaimed a vaguely familiar voice. “Why on earth are you sitting out in this cold rain? You shall catch your death.”

She opened her eyes, looking up with confusion into the face of a golden angel with crystal blue eyes.

I have died? Is this Heaven?

“Come,” he said. “You must be visiting at Darcy House. I shall take you back home.”

Home? To Darcy House? No.

“Are you able to stand? Please, allow me to help you to my carriage. Your family must be frantic with worry.”

Grasping her hands, he pulled her to her feet, but her legs would not hold her. Before she could collapse to the ground, he lifted her into his arms, striding from the park to his conveyance.

She felt warm, safe, cared for, as she turned her face to his broad chest and fell asleep.

~~oo~~

Mary awoke in her bedchamber, warm and dry under the covers. She turned her face to the wall.

“Mary, please look at me.”

Why is she sad?

A masculine voice spoke in low tones. “Miss Bennet, I must examine you. Will you allow it?”

He waited a moment before speaking again. “Your sister is here. Will you not speak to her?”

Mary shook her head, not trusting her voice.

A large hand gently cupped her chin, encouraging her to face its owner. His touch was gentle as he brushed her damp hair back from her forehead with his fingers.

He is so warm.

“Do you know me, my dear? I am Darcy’s physician, Thaddeus Beckett. I was walking back across the park to my carriage when I saw you in the rain.”

The rain?

“Mr. Beckett? Not an angel?” Her voice was hoarse.

He chuckled. “I have heard that before, and it is no truer now than it was then. I really must get a haircut.”

“No,” said Mary.

“No?” Beckett raised his brows.

“You must not cut your hair. ’Tis perfect,” she whispered.

“Miss Bennet, how much do you remember?” he asked.

She drew her brows together. “Remember?”

Mary tried to recall what had happened, but it was just beyond her reach.

“You appear to have no physical injuries. I found you sitting on a park bench in the storm with night falling. It was not safe to be there alone. You were most fortunate that I noticed you before the pickpockets and rogues did. This is London, not Meryton. Why would you do such a thing?” he asked, his voice full of concern.

The park in the rain. Why was I there?

As her mind cleared, all her memories rushed back to her, and her pain was fresh once more.

“I must leave London. I wish to go home,” she croaked, agitated.

Elizabeth shook her head. “You are not well, my dear. I fear you caught a chill in the cold rain. You must stay with us a bit longer.”

The tears began to trickle down her face. Her voice trembled. “I cannot. Please, send me to Longbourn.”

Beckett put his hand on her forehead. “I think not, Miss Mary. You have a fever and must rest until you are better. I cannot allow you to leave your bed for several days at least.”

She tried to calm herself. No one can come in here but Elizabeth and Mr. Beckett. I shall not have to see Mr. Landini or Georgiana. I wish never to see him again.

She sniffled. “I will do as you say.”

Elizabeth reached to wipe her sister’s tears away. “Dearest,” she said, as her voice cracked. “Fitzwilliam and Georgiana wish to see you.”

Mary shook her head, closing her eyes. “I apologize for causing you so much trouble, Lizzy, but I am too weary,” she murmured.

“I shall stay with Miss Bennet,” said the physician. “You must go eat something, Mrs. Darcy, lest your own health should suffer. Please have the cook send some broth and hot tea, and I shall feed it to her.”

Elizabeth nodded. “I shall send your dinner, as well.”

Mary heard the door open and caught a snatch of whispering voices before it closed again.

“I have been told more than once that I am quite an entertaining fellow,” said Beckett cheerfully. “I looked on the table and saw one of my favourite books. Were you reading Gulliver’s Travels?”

She opened her eyes, nodding.

“Shall I read to you?” he asked.

“You do not have to stay with me,” she whispered.

“Ah, but I do. Young ladies who wander about in thunderstorms need someone to make certain they do not further endanger their health. As I have assumed the role of your protector, and you should not talk and further strain your throat, I shall read for both of us. You know, I must have some amusement myself, even if you do not require it.”

She lifted her head a little, glancing around the room.

He laughed quietly. “Have no fear. We have observed every propriety. See? Betty sits there in the corner, sewing away. Your reputation is quite safe with me. Your brother has made very sure of it.”

Beckett walked to the table, retrieved the book, and sat in a chair by the bed, crossing his foot over his knee.

“Now, I think I will begin at the beginning, for you were only a chapter or two in, and I would like to refresh my memory as I have not read Gulliver’s Travels in quite a while. Are you in agreement?”

She nodded.

He began to read. “My father had a small estate in Nottinghamshire: I was the third of five sons. He sent me to Emanuel College in Cambridge at fourteen years old, where I resided three years, and applied myself close to my studies; but the charge of maintaining me, although I had a very scanty allowance, being too great for a narrow fortune, I was bound apprentice to Mr. James Bates, an eminent surgeon in London, with whom I continued four years …”

Beckett’s deep, pleasant voice soon lulled her to slumber.

Chapter 5

Where words fail, music speaks.

Hans Christian Andersen

Mary, having slept fitfully, was still slumbering at mid-morning. She awakened to a commotion at her door.

Soon, she heard music playing. Is that a pianoforte? I am surely imagining things.

Lifting her aching head to determine the source, she was astonished to see Mr. Beckett asleep on a chaise by her bed, the morning sun from an eastern window displaying the planes of his face in sharp relief.

His tousled blond hair framed sculpted features relaxed above his open collar. A discarded cravat lay carelessly flung across the back of the chaise, along with his jacket and waistcoat, and his shirt sleeves were rolled up to his elbows. The blond hair at the base of his throat and on his muscled forearms caught the rays of light against his honey tanned skin.

Mary had never before seen a grown man in any stage of undress, except her father and a few tenants who worked in the stables and fields, and certainly, neither her father in his nightcap and robe, nor the rough men covered in dirt and sweat bore any resemblance to Thaddeus Beckett.

To watch him slumber, another first in her limited experience, made him seem quite young – even harmless.

In some corner of her cotton-filled brain, Mary knew it was inappropriate to stare at him, but she could not look away.

She forgot the throbbing pain in her head and her difficulty breathing.

All thoughts of what was proper fled in her fascination with his beauty.

There was something tempting in the idea that she could observe him freely, with no idea of being caught in such an action.

Would I do this if I knew my actions would be displayed to everyone? She felt guilty. Such a thing cannot be right if I wish to hide it.

After a long moment, Mary heard a woman clear her throat. Her eyes followed the sound, and she saw her maid Betty, sitting in her corner chair, watching her.

Mary felt the blush rise from her neck, covering her face in heat. Be sure your sins will find you out.

The maid came to the foot of her bed, attempting to whisper and failing miserably, as she looked back at the physician. “Susan has gone fer your breakfast, miss. Mrs. Darcy was that put out when she saw you didna eat what she sent last night. She stayed on the couch ’til this morning. Said she’d be back by in time to help you eat.”

Mary tried to reply, but to her surprise, she had no voice at all. She pointed to the door and shrugged.

“Yes, miss?” Betty stepped closer to her.

She mouthed, “Music,” though she made no sound.

Beckett sat up, covering his yawn with his hand. He stretched, casting an amused glance at the door, then back at her.

“Miss Bennet, I do believe you are being serenaded. Is that not Beethoven’s 'Sonata Pathétique'?”

She nodded and lay back against her pillow. Who is playing? ’Tis not my sister. Georgiana or signor Landini? Is there a pianoforte in the hallway?

He left the chaise, coming to stand by her bedside, reaching out to place the back of his hand on her cheek, then moving his palm to her forehead. “Hmmm. Still a bit too warm for my liking. How do you feel this morning?”

Betty returned to her chair, keeping an eagle eye on her young charge and the handsome gentleman.

Mary pointed to her forehead, nose, and neck.

“An aching head and the inability to breathe properly are to be expected when you sit for hours in a cold rain,” he said sternly.

She put her hand over her mouth.

His eyes softened. “I see you cannot speak. Does your throat hurt?”

She nodded again, her eyes drifting to his hair, reddening as her gaze wandered down his face to his neck.

Beckett followed the direction of her attention.

“Ah. You must forgive my – uh – untidiness,” he said with a lazy grin, his ice blue eyes crinkling at the corners. “I was extremely concerned for you last night and insisted, much to your brother’s discomfort and disapproval, that I would stay. My jacket and waistcoat were too fitted to allow me to sleep, my cravat seemed determined to choke me, and I could not stretch my arms because the cuffs were extremely tight. I really must talk to my tailor. Why, I might as well have been in a straitjacket.”

Mary rolled her eyes. He is enjoying my discomfiture.

He tilted his head. “I was the model of propriety, as I actually was covered by a blanket.”

She narrowed her eyes, pointedly looking behind him. Really? A blanket, which is nowhere in sight, makes your state of dishabille acceptable?

The young man glanced back at the chaise, then returned his attention to his patient, his hands up, palms facing her. “I truly am innocent of whatever charges you have laid at my door. I must have felt too warm in my sleep and thrown it off. Further in my defense, I was up several times to check on you, for you were quite restless. Perhaps I forgot to pull it over myself the last time I saw to you. However, have no fear for your pristine reputation. I shall soon put everything to rights.”

Beckett quickly buttoned his collar, unrolled his sleeves, and secured the cufflinks. He retrieved his cravat, tying it before he turned his back to Mary, donning his waistcoat and jacket. The young man then turned around, smiling as he swept his hand gracefully from his neck down past his waist.

“Better?” he asked, his lips twitching.

Her eyes were round.

“I fear I have scandalized you,” he said with a grimace, belied by his twinkling eyes, “and I apologize. I truly am no libertine. You are quite safe with me. As I am a physician, I study the human body, both male and female, and I am very comfortable with my own. I forget all the strictures of Society at times, especially if I am worried for a patient.”

She shook her head, pointing to her journal and pencil on the bedside table.

Beckett retrieved the items and handed them to her. He placed several more pillows behind her head and helped her to sit up.

Mary scribbled on a page and handed it to him.

“‘Thank you for taking such good care of me,’” he read aloud. “‘I am sorry to be so much trouble.’ What balderdash is this? You could never be any trouble to me. I am only glad that I was the one who found you.”

He shuddered. “Someone as beautiful and innocent as you must be more careful, Miss Bennet. Not every man will look out for your best interests. Now open your mouth so I can examine you.”

Beckett held her chin with his fingers, turning her face to the light and peering down her throat. He then bent over beside the bed to rummage in his bag. When he straightened up, he held his thermometer. “Open your mouth and allow me to place this under your tongue.”

He held the device steady, pulling his watch from his pocket, holding it in his hand.

When he finished, he put the watch away, reading her temperature before fixing his gaze on her. “The fever has come down a bit since last night, but I still am wary of leaving you. I wish to listen to your heart before I make a decision.”

She nodded, and he returned to his medical bag, holding up a tube for her inspection. She watched as he put one end of the tube on her chest over her heart, bending to place his ear to the other end. He then moved it to several different places on her chest.

His wavy hair tickled her nose, and she held her breath, offering up a silent prayer.

Please, Lord, do not let my heart betray me.

After a few minutes, he straightened and put the instrument away. “Quite strong, though a bit rapid. However, I hear a wheezing sound in your lungs which I cannot like. While I go home to make myself presentable, for heaven knows I would not risk offending you again, you must eat whatever you can, preferably with honey and lemon. Broth is healthy and should be easier to swallow than solid food. Be sure to drink plenty of hot tea. It will make your throat feel better. I will order a hot bath for you. After that, stay in bed, keep warm, and do not try to talk. I shall return shortly.”

She nodded and pointed to Gulliver’s Travels.

“No,” he said, wagging his finger at her as he returned thermometer to his medical bag. “You shall rest while I am gone. I shall read to you later this evening. Meanwhile, enjoy your concert.”

He stopped to listen, the side of his head turned towards the hall as he made a comical face.

Mary smiled broadly at his antics.

Beckett put his hands on his hips, obviously continuing to act for her amusement. “Whoever is playing seems determined to spend the entire morning regaling you with Beethoven. How shall you sleep with all that pounding on the keys? And the 'Moonlight Sonata' is much too somber for your mood.”

He cupped his ear, leaning towards the door. “What’s that? Finally! A more relaxing, cheerful Haydn sonata. After all, not everything has to be a virtuoso performance,” he sniffed with a foppish air.

Mary tried to giggle, but instead put her hand to her throat when the effort hurt her.

Beckett immediately was contrite. “That was my fault, and I am sorry for it. I would never willingly hurt you.”

She shook her head, smiling.

The door opened, and Elizabeth bustled in, followed by Susan bearing a tray for the invalid.

Beckett bowed. “Mrs. Darcy, right on time. I must leave for a few hours, but I shall return as soon as I am able to do so. After your sister has a hot bath, please make certain she stays in bed and has as much broth and hot tea as she can manage. If that goes well, have your cook make some chicken soup, cutting the fowl and vegetables very fine.

“Her head hurts, and she has trouble breathing, so I shall try a treatment to alleviate that when I return with the medicines I need. She cannot talk, and ’tis better if she does not try, as that could further irritate her inflamed throat. Miss Bennet will be well within a week, if she does not develop an infection.”

Elizabeth nodded, hurrying to her sister’s bedside, smoothing her hair, glancing quickly back at him. “I shall take very good care of her. Thank you for being so attentive. We are in your debt.”

He looked back at Mary before he left, winking at her behind Elizabeth’s back.

Mary was determined not to make the same mistake she had made with Landini. She would guard her heart fiercely.

Mr. Beckett must act that way with all his patients in an attempt to make them feel better. He is an extremely pleasant, unusually handsome gentleman, and I am not accustomed to attention from such a paragon. It means nothing at all, but I shall do what he says and enjoy his kindness while he attends me.

~~oo~~

Beckett returned as he had promised, finely turned out in a suit of hunter green, accented by a green and gold striped waistcoat. His hair was neatly combed and his boots freshly polished.

Mary had thought him handsome in the clothes he had worn when he rescued her from the rain. To her mind, he had been perfect when he woke in the morning, those same clothes rumpled from sleep, boots splashed with mud from the park, his messy hair missing the ministrations of his valet.

Had she not been ill, she could have decided which way she liked him best. As it was, she resolved she would try very diligently not to think of him in that way.

She tried not to think of him while he read to her.

She tried not to think of him when he held her face over a steaming bowl of something aromatic, covering her head with a towel.

She tried not to think of him as he fed her chicken soup.

Mary finally fell asleep, exhausted from trying not to think of him.

The music continued for several hours, growing increasingly mournful, until it stopped in the early afternoon.

Chapter 6

Music is the universal language of mankind.

Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

The following morning, Mary awakened in the dimly lit room. A few rays of sunlight filtered through a slight opening between the heavy curtains.

Hazy memories flooded through her mind. Georgiana and Ale. Sitting in cold rain, chattering teeth, Mr. Beckett.

She slowly turned her head and saw Elizabeth, asleep on the couch. I have made things difficult for everyone with my stupid behaviour, she thought. How could I have been so thoughtless?

Susan rose from her chair across the room and came to Mary’s bedside. “The mistress told me to awaken her as soon as your eyes opened.”

Mary shook her head a little. “You must allow her to sleep,” she whispered. “Please. She must be exhausted. I feel better.”

“I shall go to the kitchen for your breakfast, then, but I must awaken your sister when I return,” replied the maid. “She will be vexed with me if I go against her orders.”

Mary smiled. “I understand. I know my sister very well, and I would not have you be in trouble with her on my account.”

Susan crossed the room, and as she opened the door, Mary glimpsed Georgianna sitting in the hallway. She looks quite tired. How could I behave in such a manner towards her? She has always been kind to me, and this is how I repay her. I am certain she was simply enjoying her lesson with a master. She had no way of knowing it was time for my lesson. I am thoroughly ashamed of myself.

Georgiana stood, speaking quietly to Susan, and Susan left the door open.

The young lady walked to the open door. “May I come in, dearest?” she asked quietly.

Mary nodded, put her finger to her lips, and looked toward Elizabeth, still asleep on the sofa.

Georgiana crossed the room silently, stood by the bed, and patted Mary’s hand.

“Georgiana?” Elizabeth sat up and rubbed her eyes.

“I tried not to wake you, Lizzy, but I could wait no longer to see with my own eyes that Mary was recovering,” the young woman replied. “I was unable to sleep, so I sat outside the room.”

Tears ran down Mary’s face. “I am sorry to have caused all this trouble,” she whispered in low raspy tones. She put her hand to her throat.

“Do you see how much we all love you, my dear?” asked Elizabeth, rising and going to her sister’s side. “I suppose Susan has gone to fetch our breakfast. She was supposed to awaken me.”

“I asked her not to, Lizzy.” Mary said softly, taking her hand.

Georgiana opened the curtains. “’Tis a lovely morning, and I think we would enjoy the sunlight after the cold rain yesterday and the day before. Shall we have our breakfast together in here?”

After Elizabeth and Mary agreed, Georgiana rang the bell for Mrs. Mills. When the housekeeper arrived, Georgiana gave her instructions, and the lady hurried downstairs to oversee the preparations.

Before long, Susan returned. In her absence, the staff had moved the couch, set up a table, and filled it with the family’s favorite breakfast foods.

Elizabeth and Georgiana helped Mary to sit up against several pillows, and Mrs. Mills placed a bed tray over her lap.

Susan busied herself pouring tea for the ladies. She took a cup to Mary and put it on her tray. “Nice and hot, Miss Mary, with some honey in it. I hope it will make your poor throat better. Would you like some milk porridge? I know just how you like it.”

Mary soon realized she was not yet completely well. Her head and throat hurt, she felt weak, and she had no appetite, but she wished to please those for whom she had caused so much worry and extra work, so she nodded and attempted to smile.

A familiar, pleasant voice sounded at the open door. “Good morning. What have we here? Far too many people, I fear. Though I know you all mean well, perhaps Miss Georgiana, Mrs. Darcy, and I could help Miss Bennet? My patient still needs her rest. She is still ill, though she will not complain.”

Mary’s face flushed red with her faint memories of the previous day. Did I really think he was an angel? What was I about? What must Mr. Beckett think of me?

As the servants left the room, the doctor looked at Mary and arched an eyebrow. He crossed the room in a few long strides, placed his bag on the floor, and stood beside her bed.

“I presume you just awakened, yet you already look tired again. Have we been overdoing it a bit this morning, my dear? You felt better so you thought you were well?” he asked kindly.

Elizabeth moved to stand beside him. “I fear you are right, and all of this bustle,” she said, glancing behind her, “is mostly my fault.”

“No, Elizabeth, I was the one who suggested having breakfast together. You shall not take the blame for it,” said Georgiana from Mr. Beckett’s other side.

The doctor held up his hand. “I feel certain that all was done from a place of the deepest affection for my patient, and knowing her tendency to undervalue her worth, I would venture to say she did not tell you she felt unwell. While I am pleased for Miss Mary to know how highly she is held in regard by her family and everyone else at Darcy House, we all must remember that she is not yet fully recovered. Perhaps we could make a schedule for today? One guest at a time? I have no objection to my patient having company, for I would rather she would not be alone, even while she sleeps.”

“The idea is a sound one, but I must insist that you put my name on that schedule as well,” said Mr. Darcy, from the doorway. “I have not yet seen my wife’s sister for myself, and that is a matter of great concern to me. When Elizabeth suggested that Mary come to London, I wrote to her father asking that he allow her to visit with us. I told him that I regard her as quite my own sister and would treat her as such. What must he think? I shall have to write him today to apprise him of her progress and take full responsibility for her present condition.”

Elizabeth cleared her throat and walked to her husband. She took his arm, speaking softly. “My dear Mr. Darcy, you have never neglected your duties in reference to my sister in any way. I know you sent an express the day before yesterday as soon as Mr. Beckett examined her. I confess I am surprised my father was able to convince Mama to stay home. He must have great trust in your excellent judgment. You know I had an express from him yesterday. He awaits another report from you before deciding whether his presence is required or not.”

Smiling down at her, he put his hand over hers. “Thank you, wife. Now I must satisfy my own mind that Mary is better before I compose my letter.”

Together they walked to the young lady’s bedside, going to the opposite side to face the doctor and Georgianna.

Darcy looked down at Mary, turning his wedding ring on his finger. “I would have come to see you for myself sooner, Mary, but I was convinced by Mr. Beckett and Elizabeth that I should wait until you felt better. This morning, I decided I would see you for myself. Thaddeus is the best doctor I know, and I trust him implicitly, but if you are no better, perhaps we should call in other doctors to confer with Thaddeus and employ a nurse.”

The doctor raised an eyebrow and pursed his lips. “Darcy, I have rarely seen you so undone. Miss Mary is better, but it will take time for her to fully recover. She is conscious, her colour has improved, she is eating a bit, and though I have yet to listen to her heart and check her fever this morning, I am optimistic that her heartbeat has returned to normal, and her temperature has declined.”

“Is there any reason you cannot check her heart and her fever now?” asked Darcy, continuing to twist his ring.

“Of course, I can. I came here for that express purpose, and I shall do so immediately.”

The doctor retrieved his bag and put it on the table by the bed. In a few moments, his examination was complete, and he turned to Darcy, smiling. “It is as I thought. Though Miss Mary must remain in bed to rest for another day, she is on the mend. Her temperature is nearly normal, and her heartbeat is strong. Tomorrow, she can get up and walk a bit with assistance, if she continues to improve. Darcy, I think you may stop abusing your finger now. May I have a cup of your excellent tea, Mrs. Darcy?”

“Please, allow me,” said Georgianna, turning to the cart behind her. “Cream and sugar?”

“Just a teaspoon of sugar, thank you,” he answered. “No cream. Now, Darcy, you may relax and send your good news to Mr. Bennet. Is that not right, Miss Mary?” He sipped his hot tea and smiled.

She looked up at him and nodded. Please, please, do not have Papa and Mama come here.

“Your tea is cold, dear,” said Elizabeth, gazing down at her sister. “Shall I get you a fresh cup with honey? It would help your throat.”

Again, Mary nodded. I must get well as soon as I possibly can, and I shall NOT cause any more distress to this household, she thought.

After obediently drinking her tea with help from her sister, Mary felt better. Her throat was soothed, and she decided to try to speak again. My jealousy must stop. It is hurting the people I love, as well as those who care for me. She tried to look happier. “Thank you, Lizzy,” she whispered. “I would like to talk to Georgiana for a moment.”

Georgiana smiled and placed her hand over Mary’s.

“Alone,” Mary continued softly.

The room fell completely silent as eyebrows were raised.

Elizabeth was the first to recover. “Of course, Mary. Gentlemen, would you join me in the hallway, please. Georgiana will fetch us when she and Mary finish their conversation.”

Once the door was closed behind them, Georgiana smiled down at Mary and took her hand in both of her own. “Do you need anything, my dear? You may have whatever your heart desires if it is within my power to procure it for you.”

“I ask your forgiveness,” Mary replied quietly.

Georgiana raised her brows. “Whatever for, sister? You have never hurt a soul in your entire life. You are one of the gentlest ladies I know.”

“I am selfish.” Mary’s tears began to roll down her cheeks. “I went to the park because I heard you and Landini practicing together. I waited outside the door for a good while, but I left. I was jealous. This is all my own fault. Do you forgive me?”

Georgiana bent over and kissed her cheek. “I see that I was the selfish one. Was it your lesson time?”

Mary grimaced. “That does not matter.”

The young lady straightened up, wiping her own tears from her face. “Of course, it does, but I can honestly say I did not mean to do it. I should have asked. Please, forgive me.”

“There is nothing to forgive,” replied Mary in her raspy voice. “I was touched by your kindness when you played outside my door. It was beautiful.”

“I cannot take the credit for that,” answered the young lady.

“Because it was written by a master?”

“No,” said Georgiana. “Because I did not play in your hallway. Surely you could tell the difference between a student and a master.”

“Landini? He played the ‘Moonlight Sonata’ for me?” Mary was incredulous.

“More than that, dearest. Landini played for several hours, until my brother asked him to leave. People needed to rest, and so did Landini. He had concerts scheduled every evening except that one. The gentleman needed to go home and sleep.”

As if on cue, the music started again. “The ‘Appassionata Sonata’,” whispered Mary. “The music is much happier. Lively. Brilliant.”

Both women looked towards the door. “He has sent multiple inquiries every day. He must know that you are better. Landini would have filled this room with flowers had my brother permitted it. Shall I allow him in to see you?”

I must look awful. My hair is undone. I have not bathed. Mary started to shake her head but thought better of it.

“Yes,” she answered. “Send him in, but after he finishes the piece. You must help me make myself presentable.”

Georgiana laughed quietly. “You’re definitely better. Shall I call your maid to arrange your hair and send for Elizabeth?”

Mary nodded and glanced out the window. The sun is shining again. She smiled.

Chapter 7

You pierce my soul. I am half agony, half hope. I have loved none but you.

Jane Austen, Persuasion

An hour and several cups of hot tea with lemon later, after the ministrations of her maid, her sister, and Georgiana, Mary felt sufficiently well-groomed and refreshed to see her music master. Propped against her pillows wearing her favourite blue dressing gown with her dark hair curling about her shoulders, she felt that she looked the best she could, considering her illness of the past few days.

“I shall see you again this afternoon, Mary,” Georgiana said, bending to kiss Mary’s cheek before leaving the room.

“Lizzy, I would love to listen to him play longer, but I want him to see I am recovering quickly. Could you ask him to come in?”

Elizabeth smiled. “Of course, dear. He has suffered more than enough, I think.” She walked to the door, opened it, and motioned to the gentleman at the piano.

“Alex,” she said. “Mary is ready to see you now. I shall wait in the hallway while you speak with my sister, but the door must remain open.”

“Grazie, thank you,” he answered. He straightened his jacket, took a deep breath, and strode into the room, stopping at Mary’s bedside. “I am so sorry you ’ave suffered because I was not considerate, Maria. I knew it was my fault as soon as I ’eard you left the ’ouse. I was trying to find you. Please forgive me, even though I do not deserve it.”

Mary’s heart melted, but she was determined to know why she had been treated in such a way. She spoke softly. “I want to know why you forgot my lesson. I know that I am not as accomplished as Miss Darcy, nor am I as pretty, but I thought I was making progress, and I thought we were friends.”

He wrung his hands and took a deep breath. Then the words rushed out. “I can make no good excuse. The fault is all my own. I was lost in the music, and I did not mind the time. Miss Darcy is a very good musician. Her technique is excellent, but she has not your feeling for what the music says. You speak to me in your music, Maria. I will use a clock in the future, if you will forgive me, or you come in the room so I see you. I forget time, but I do not forget you. Please forgive me. Please?”

Mary was so moved she was unable to speak, so she nodded her assent. Tears rolled down her cheeks.

“Maria,” he said in anguish. “Please do not cry. My ’eart breaks to see your pain and know I caused it. I love you as I have never loved anyone before.”

His eyes filled with tears. “’ave I lost any chance with you, or will you allow me to court you, beautiful Maria? Please allow me to prove myself to you.”

“I will,” she whispered.

He pulled a ring from his little finger and held it out to her. “You will be my Christmas gift. I have one for you, as well. This was Nonna’s ring. She was my grandmother, and she left it to me. It is my most precious possession. I want you to wear it.”

Mary held her hand out to him, and he slid it on her finger. “It is beautiful, Ale. I shall treasure it always.”

“When will we marry? I do not like to be apart. I want my bella moglie to be with me.” He bent over and lifted her hand to his lips to kiss her fingers.

“We must go to my home in Meryton, and you must talk to my Papa and ask permission to court me properly. My mother will be in raptures, so try not to notice. ’Twas embarrassing when my sisters’ husbands went to Longbourn to ask Papa for permission to marry them.”

Alessandro chuckled. “I am quite accustomed to emotional people, Maria. I am Italian. If your Mama is happy that we shall marry after a courtship, I shall adore her. You need not worry. Also, I have to correct you. I hope you do not mind.”

She tilted her head and looked into his eyes. “What have I said that was wrong, Ale? Tell me.”

“You think Miss Darcy is prettier than you are.” His brown eyes flashed. “I will not have it! You are the most beautiful woman in the world to me. I love your dark hair and blue eyes. I love your soft ’eart and sweet voice. Your smile makes my heart glad. You are lovely inside and outside.”

Mary smiled. “You must love me very much, my sweet Ale, if you think that, but I will try to accept your compliments graciously.”

He walked to the door. “Mrs. Darcy, your sister has accepted my request to court her. She tells me I must meet her parents and ask her papa for his permission. We must write that we are coming to see them as soon as my beloved feels well enough to travel, for we want to be engaged. Would you ask for a pen and paper for me? I think Mary will help me with the words. Do you agree?”

“I do, indeed, Alex,” Elizabeth answered pleasantly. If you wish, Darcy and I will go with you. Our mother tends to be excitable. She calms a bit in Darcy’s presence.”

“I think she will like me. Most people do,” he answered.

“I think you are right.” Elizabeth laughed. “You may be one of the few people in the world who will understand her emotional outbursts and excitement.”

“Then I shall be as a son to her,” he said, smiling. “She had no sons, and I have been without a family for too long. Will she be happy to have another son?”

Elizabeth tilted her head and looked at him. “I think she shall be ecstatic. You may very likely be her favorite son-in-law. Shall we talk to my husband? As soon as Mary is well enough to travel, we shall go to Longbourn and give them the happy news.”

Landini suddenly stopped smiling. “But will Darcy accept me as a brother? He is a fine gentleman, while I am practically an orphan.”

Mary shook her head. “Mr. Darcy would never have brought you into his home, introduced you to me, and allowed you to teach me lessons if he did not approve of you, Ale,” she said quietly. “I think he chose you for me. I would have you know, though, that I have very little in the way of a dowry.”

Elizabeth chuckled. “I think you are right, Mary, and I highly doubt Alex will care about your lack of a dowry. I shall go find my husband and tell him his plan succeeded very well. We can set the date to travel to Hertfordshire, and he will write to Papa and Mama. Perhaps Mama will be calm if she receives a note from Darcy and has ample time to digest the news. Since Jane and Bingley are still at Netherfield, perhaps they can be there, too. Jane usually has a calming effect on Mama.”

And so it was, a week later, they were in Darcy’s spacious carriage on the road to Longbourn.

Chapter 8

There could have been no two hearts so open, no tastes so similar, no feelings so in unison.

Jane Austen, Persuasion

Mary had done her best to prepare Alessandro for the singular experience of meeting her Mama, but she still feared that he might change his mind concerning the upcoming marriage upon actually living through the jubilance which would surely be exuded by Mrs. Bennet upon meeting the man who would fulfill all her ambitions as a mother. The final one of Mrs. Bennet’s five daughters would be married at last!

Fortunately, Elizabeth’s hopes were fulfilled; Charles and Jane Bingley had made a point to be at Longbourn when the Darcy carriage pulled to the front entrance. They had chosen to spend Christmas at Netherfield Park, awaiting the birth of their first child.

Alessandro reached for Mary’s hand. “Do not trouble yourself, Maria. I think your Mama must be much like my mother and grandmother. The English are a bit quiet and staid, but Italians are very lively people who enjoy laughter. They would hug you and feed you. Whatever happens here, know that I will love your Mama and Papa, just as my family will adore you.”

“Thank you, Ale,” she replied, squeezing his fingers. I see my sister Jane and her husband Charles are here as well. See? They are with Mama and Papa on the steps.”

“She is lovely, as is Elizabeth,” he answered, “and I like your parents already. You have two more sisters? Will they be here?”

“No. Kitty is traveling with our aunt and uncle, and Lydia is with her husband. He is in the militia in the north.”

The conversation ended as they pulled up in front of Longbourn. Mrs. Bennet immediately went up to the carriage. “Come in! Come in! We have a late breakfast ready for you. You must be famished.”

After the party descended from the coach, the Bingleys and the Darcys exchanged greetings while Mary attempted to introduce her betrothed to her parents.

“Mama, Papa, this is –”

Before she could finish the sentence, Mrs. Bennett had embraced Landini. “Welcome, welcome. We are so happy to meet you!” She backed up a step and looked up at him, her face wreathed in smiles. “What shall I call you? Mr. Landini sounds much too stuffy for such a young, handsome man.”

He laughed. “What would you like to call me? My name is Alessandro, but my family calls me Ale, and friends call me Alex. What shall I call you?”

She laughed and patted his arm. “When you marry my daughter, you may call me Mama Bennet. My other sons-in-law call me Mrs. Bennet, but I think it sounds so stuffy when talking with family.”

Smiling, he replied, “I miss my family, and I am so happy to be joining yours, providing Mr. Bennet agrees. As soon as he does, you will be ‘Mama Bennet’ to me.”

Mary immediately relaxed. He likes my mother. I think Ale’s parents must be a bit like mine.

“Welcome to Longbourn, Mr. Landini,” said Mr. Bennet as he extended his hand to the young man. Then he turned to his daughter. “Mary, it is good to see you looking so well. I thought I might have to go to London, but good man that he is, Mr. Darcy handled everything so well that I could relax in my library without fear of losing a beloved daughter. Shall we go in? I should like to have my tea and toast before we talk a bit. Hill might even have some soft-boiled eggs for us this morning, and she put up some jams and jellies this past summer that are quite tasty.”

“Yes, yes, yes!” cried Mrs. Bennet, fluttering her hands. “Come into the house. It is much too cold out here for Jane in her delicate condition.”

Mr. Bennet rolled his eyes and offered his arm to his wife. “Shall we go to breakfast, then, my dear?”

After they entered the house, the maid collected their hats, bonnets, and coats, and they proceeded to the breakfast room.

Hill’s breakfast offerings did not disappoint.

~~oo~~

The wedding took place a month later in the parish church, still decorated for the Christmas season though it had passed.

Mr. Bennet saw no reason to spend good money to apply for a special license and hasten the marriage, and that necessitated the reading of the banns.

Secretly, he wanted to know the man who would marry his daughter a bit better before they wed. With that in mind, Mr. and Mrs. Bennet visited the Darcys in London, attended one of his concerts, and ate dinner with him at Darcy House.

Much to his surprise, Mr. Bennet grew to truly like Landini, and he wholeheartedly approved of the match.

All their friends in Meryton attended the wedding and offered their congratulations to the happy couple, although a few tongues wagged about the Bennets connecting themselves in such a way to a foreigner.

Knowing the people as she did, Mary knew what they thought, but she cared not a whit. She married the one whom her heart chose. He was her soulmate, and she was his.

The End

Available at Amazon.com!

IN WANT OF A WIFE

Laura Hile[2]

Chapter 1

Mrs. Bennet lowered her wine glass. “I simply must tell you, Colonel Fitzwilliam, how splendid you look in regimentals.”

Confound it, was Darcy’s mother-in-law fluttering her lashes like a schoolgirl? She couldn’t be flirting with his cousin. The woman was not only years too old for Fitz, but she was clad from head to toe in mourning.

The combination was disconcerting, to say the least.

“I have always admired gentlemen in red coats,” she added.

As always, Mrs. Bennet must talk. This meant sharing every foolish thought that came into her head.

“Would that include hunting pink?” The words were out before Darcy could stop them. He encountered a quelling look from his wife.

Mrs. Bennet gave a trilling laugh. “Good gracious, no. What can you be thinking, Mr. Darcy? Everyone knows that sort of coat is scarlet, not pink.”

“I stand corrected,” said Darcy humbly.

Colonel Fitzwilliam gave an ill-concealed choke of laughter.

“My military son-in-law—who is married to my youngest daughter—is with a regiment in the north. I daresay you have heard of him, Colonel Fitzwilliam. Wickham is his name, and he is a very fine officer. He is a credit to us all.”

Darcy saw Fitz’s smile vanish. Oh, he had heard of Wickham, but not in the way Mrs. Bennet supposed. “As you say, ma’am,” Fitz said stiffly.

A glance down the dinner table confirmed that Darcy’s sister had not heard Wickham’s name. She was deep in conversation with Mary Bennet.

“It is a great pity that he is stationed so far away,” continued Mrs. Bennet. “We do not see him nearly as often as we would like.”

After the ladies retired to the drawing room, Fitz rounded on Darcy. “If ever a man were the devil incarnate! Why must that woman bring Wickham up?”

“Nothing can cure Mrs. Bennet’s fondness for him. I have tried.”

Fitz refilled his glass and Darcy’s. “Are Wickham and his wife to join you at Pemberley for Christmas?”

“Not then or at any other time. Mrs. Bennet spouts a myriad of silly ideas, but she knows better than to make that particular request.”

“Come now, hasn’t she pleaded with you to change your mind?”

“She is not such a fool. It goes without saying that she herself is angling to come for Christmas.”

“Not a welcome proposition?”

“Last year was—unavoidable.”

Darcy had no intention of repeating that debacle. The widowed Mrs. Bennet fled from Longbourn House long before it was necessary, and this meant a full three months at Pemberley. The experience was unnerving, both for Darcy and his new wife.

“Bad luck for you, the way Bennet passed just before Christmas.”

“On the contrary,” said Darcy. “If he had done so before we were wed, Elizabeth and I would have had to wait the year.”

“I suppose. A shame about Georgiana’s come-out, though.”

“A year’s delay makes no difference. The fact that Wickham is married and cannot attempt another elopement is gratifying.”

“I’d not thought of that.” Fitz cocked an eyebrow. “Speaking of marriage, have any suitors come calling?”

“No one remotely appropriate.”

“So, the fortune hunters are out in full force, are they? No wonder you’re keen to return to Pemberley.”

“Elizabeth and I are very much looking forward to it.”

“Without dear Mama and the sisters. Puts your wife between a rock and a hard place, I expect.”

“Mrs. Bennet’s lodgings in Meryton are comfortable, but in her eyes, they are altogether unsatisfactory. We cannot have her in London whenever we are here, which is the dearest wish of her heart.”

“And yet, here they are.”

“There are only so many polite refusals we can offer.”

Fitz leaned back in his chair. “The solution is simple, my dear. I marvel that you haven’t thought of it.”

“Pray enlighten me.”

“Marry her off.”

Darcy gave a crack of laughter. “Mrs. Bennet? To whom?”

Fitz spread his hands. “To a fortune hunter, of course.”

“She is anything but wealthy, which is perhaps a very good thing. You are single, and thus are kept from temptation.”

“Me?”

What else could Darcy do but laugh? “I beg leave to inform you,” he said, “that I do not fancy you for my step-papa.”

“Ha,” cried Fitz. “I am not so desperate as all that. Even so, she must have some money.”

“Only what is settled on her daughters.”

“Then she must snare a gentleman with her beauty.”

“A knacky notion,” said Darcy dryly.

“Now you must admit, for a woman of her age, she is remarkably well-preserved. At one time she must have been very pretty. She comes out of mourning soon, does she not?”

“What difference does that make?”

“Black is not an attractive color for a woman.”

“Fitz, Mrs. Bennet spends money like water. The reason her daughters have so little is that she ran through every penny of Longbourn’s yearly income.”

“Then she must marry a rich man.”

Darcy quirked an eyebrow. “She talks everlastingly.”

“Then you must take care to find one who is deaf.”

Darcy threw back his head and laughed. For the remainder of that evening, it was all he could do to keep from grinning. A husband for Mrs. Bennet? Impossible.

oOo

Never mind that London was filled with locations of interest to visitors; Elizabeth’s mother was caught up with only one sort of outing: shopping. The next morning, while Darcy’s sister was busy with her lessons, Mrs. Bennet and her daughters were intent on once more scouring the shops.

Elizabeth was apologetic. “I’d so like Mama and my sisters to have something pretty for Christmas. I hope you do not mind the expense, dearest?”

“Not at all. Anything to help your mama catch a—” Darcy stopped.

Elizabeth caught the amusement in his voice. “To catch what?” she asked merrily. “Surely not a cold?”

Darcy leaned in. “A husband. According to Fitz, that is the solution to all.”

Elizabeth’s musical laughter was a delight. “Mama, marry? Has he any suggestions?”

“Not a one.”

“Poor Mama. What an idea!”

Darcy dropped a kiss on Elizabeth’s cheek. “Shopping shall surely cheer her up. What you spend today is not to come out of your allowance, is that understood?”

“You are the best of husbands, Fitzwilliam. How do you spend your morning?”

“I am off to my club.”

She twinkled at him. “Seeking refuge from a busy household in gaming?”

“Not White’s, but the Alfred.”

“With the gentlemen scholars. I see. How unfortunate that we shall have the carriage!”

“It is a fine morning. I do not mind walking.”

Sometime later, as Darcy was strolling along Albermarle Street, he heard his name.

“Good gad,” the voice added, “is that really you?”

He turned to see a dark-haired fellow of about his age. His hand was extended in greeting. “Knightley?” said Darcy.

“Which one? Applies to both of us, don’t you know? Hallo, old boy. I say, you’re looking well. You remember my brother George, of course.”

Darcy shook hands with John Knightley’s companion. “I do indeed,” he said politely.

“Imagine, meeting you like this,” said John. “It has been an age. What have you been doing with yourself?”

“I have married,” Darcy began.

“So has George! To my wife’s sister! And we are beset by in-law troubles, let me tell you.”

Darcy saw George Knightley wince. Apparently, his brother had put his finger on a sensitive spot. “You have all my sympathy,” Darcy told him. “I find myself in a similar situation.”

“Do you now?” said John. “Extraordinary. I say, have you eaten? Do join us.” He gave a sidelong look to the passers-by and lowered his voice. “We shouldn’t converse about this on the street.”

Darcy fully intended to refuse the invitation. What desire had he to hear of the Knightley brothers’ hardships? Why then was he nodding his head? “I am bound for the Alfred Club, which is just there. I would be honored to host you both for a meal.”

“Capital,” cried John. “We are in desperate need of advice.” He linked an arm through Darcy’s and bore him along the pavement.

Like it or not, Darcy was destined to become a confidant.

Chapter 2

The sirloin served at the Alfred Club was excellent, and so was the port. A table in a secluded corner was ideal for private conversation. It was amusing to observe the differences in the two brothers. As soon as the plates were cleared away, Darcy signed for the waiter to withdraw.

John Knightley brought out a notebook and pencil. “Now then,” he said gleefully, “we get down to business.”

Darcy now remembered that John’s profession was the law. “Business,” he repeated.

“But of course. You were a dab hand at solving our troubles at school. I daresay you can help us with this one.”

“I trust we do not interrupt your plans for the afternoon,” added his brother politely.

“Ha. What can be more important than finding a solution to a dashed awkward crisis?”

“It is hardly a crisis, John.”

“I say that it is. Barring a deadly outbreak of influenza, you are washed aground, brother-dear, without recourse of any kind.”

“John, really.”

John Knightley faced Darcy. “George not only lives with our dear papa-in-law, but he lives in the man’s house. Meanwhile, our family estate sits empty. A scandal, isn’t it? Donwell Abbey collects cobwebs, while poor George is left high and dry in Highbury.”

John gave a burst of sardonic laughter. “High and dry in Highbury. That’s rather good.”

His brother did not laugh. “As usual,” he said, “you exaggerate. I walk over to Donwell several times a week. I am, after all, magistrate in that parish.”

John waved this aside. “Our troubles are compounded, Darcy, by the fact that our father-in-law is illness-mad. He’s convinced that he’s dying of old age, or is about to succumb to a wasting disease—brought on by the wrong sort of food, or the weather, or being subjected to a foul draught. Does he become sick? No such luck! Woodhouse lives on, as healthy as ever. He positively enjoys having everyone dance attendance upon him.”

“To be fair,” George pointed out, “he lost his wife when my Emma was little more than an infant. His wealth has given him leisure to indulge his fears. My brother makes him out to be a tyrant, but Mr. Woodhouse is a gentle, kindly soul.”

“Yes, but he drives everyone to distraction! Any change to his household is pernicious. Worse, he never travels. Not even to London.”

“My father-in-law was the same,” said Darcy slowly. “He lived much of his life in his library, away from his noisy family.”

“If only Woodhouse would do likewise,” cried John. “But no, he must meddle in the health of every person he encounters. If Emma dares to serve cake to guests, he apologizes and then urges them not to eat it. If it begins to snow, he is convinced that the roads will immediately be impassable. Disaster lurks round every corner.”

“To be honest,” said Darcy, “I do not see how I can advise you.” He turned to George Knightley. “Your wife is comfortable in her old home. Naturally, she will not wish to leave it. I take it the house is large enough?”

“It is,” said George.

“If Mr. Woodhouse were to give his blessing, would she be willing to remove to your estate?”

“Absolutely.”

“What my brother does not mention,” said John, “is that Emma is expecting. Of course they would like to raise their children at Donwell; who wouldn’t? But not if our dear papa-in-law raises a stink.”

“You are giving Darcy the wrong idea. I offered to live at Hartfield of my own free will.”

“Otherwise, Emma wouldn’t agree to marry you.”

Darcy could see an argument brewing. “So, we must therefore come up with a reason for Mr. Woodhouse to change his mind.” He looked again to George Knightley. “Your wife is the only woman in the house?”

“What does that have to do with anything?” complained John.

Darcy was betrayed into a smile. “A great deal. For the past fortnight, my London house has been filled with women. It is difficult for my wife’s mother to remember that she must defer.”

“Instead of being the one to give orders?” said John. “I see.”

“It is the same with us,” said George. “When John’s family stays at Hartfield, Isabella takes up her former role as mistress of the house. This is particularly irksome to Emma.”

John threw up a hand. “Just a minute,” he cried. “There was something you said earlier, Darcy; what was it? About your father-in-law. Did you say that he lived in his library? Is this true?”

“He did, yes.”

“As in, formerly but not presently?”

“My father-in-law is deceased.”

John gave a crow of delight. “Your mother-in-law is a widow? I say! George, did you hear that? It’s the solution to everything!”

“What is?” said George.

John gestured to Darcy. “He has a widow, and we have a widower! What could be simpler than to marry them to one another?”

Darcy broke out laughing. “For pity’s sake, Knightley, no! My cousin had a similar suggestion, but it will never work.”

“But it will. Absolutely it will. What old Woodhouse wants is a wife!”

George was looking thunderstruck. “At his age?”

“Listen, it’s perfect. You wish to remove to Donwell, and so does Emma. The new Mrs. Woodhouse will become Hartfield’s mistress. She will be the one to drive you from the house. And unless Woodhouse enjoys being henpecked, he’ll have to agree!”

“But Mr. Woodhouse has no desire to marry,” said George.

John waved this aside. “Nonsense. He simply hasn’t thought of it. Therefore, we shall cause him to do so. And I don’t think it shall be so very hard.”

Darcy could not help laughing. “He has all my sympathy. I should warn you. For years, my old father pushed the idea of marriage at me. I resisted every effort.”

“Ha,” said George. “I assumed that I would die a bachelor.”

“You will die,” said John, “with a son who has no proper feeling for Donwell—because he has been raised at Hartfield. And when my wife inherits, he will feel wronged and maligned. Is this what you want?”

“You are so dramatic,” complained George.

“Someone has to be. Now then, Darcy, tell us about your widowed mother-in-law. Is she very ugly?”

“Not at all. She is quite attentive to her appearance and is mindful to follow the latest fashion.”

John lifted an eyebrow. “Has she lost her figure?”

Darcy gave him a measured look. “As to that, I have no opinion.”

“Well said,” remarked George.

“Is she the quiet type? Dutiful and reserved?”

“On the contrary,” said Darcy, “she enjoys talking. I should say it is one of her favorite activities.”

“John, enough,” said his brother. “You know full well that Mr. Woodhouse will hate the idea of marriage.”

“What’s the difference? He hates everything! How can we go wrong?”

Darcy could think of a number of ways but decided not to voice them.

“Give the woman some credit,” said George. “She has no reason to marry him.”

“Actually, she does,” said Darcy. “A rather time-honored reason: money.”

“Oho!” said John. “Fortunately, Woodhouse has more than enough.”

“She will likely laugh the idea to shame,” said George. “Any reasonable woman would.”

“I wonder,” said Darcy. “Her husband’s estate was entailed away, and she now lives the life of a lodger. It is especially grievous because she has two daughters to see established.”

“Woodhouse won’t mind. He likes having females about.”

“Yes, but if Mrs. Bennet does meet your father-in-law, she will think first of marrying him to one of them.”

John regarded Darcy with a fascinated eye. “How old are they?”

“You have children?”

“Yes,” said John. “Five.”

“The Bennet daughters are certainly younger than your wife.”

John turned to his brother. “Is that all you can do, George? Laugh?”

“This will never work. Not ever. We cannot force Mr. Woodhouse to propose. I salute you for a valiant and imaginative attempt, but no.”

Darcy knew he should agree with George Knightley and firmly change the conversation. And yet, something about this outlandish idea held appeal. Great heaven, why? Was it the port? He’d had only two glasses!

“While Mrs. Bennet is a silly woman,” Darcy heard himself say, “she is certainly good-hearted.”

“A point in her favor,” cried John. “So is Woodhouse.”

“She sets a generous table and is hospitable to guests. There was nothing stingy about Longbourn House while she was its mistress.”

“Better and better! Did you say she was sickly?”

“Not at all. She would take precious good care of Mr. Woodhouse’s health. But as your brother says, success is highly unlikely.”

George Knightley was now contemplating the contents of his wine glass. “And yet,” he said slowly, “although failure is certain, the two should be given the chance to meet. Then we’ll know.”

“Ha. You’re asking the man who laments the half-mile to Randalls to make a sixteen-mile journey to London?”

George did not reply. Suddenly he raised his eyes to meet Darcy’s. “Join us for Christmas,” he said. “All of you: Mrs. Bennet, her daughters, your wife—your entire family. Then we’ll know.”

Chapter 3

“Christmas?” scoffed John. “Why Christmas? Apart from the fact that it is only a month away—which I applaud—I cannot see the appeal.”

“Of all the holidays, Christmas is the most sentimental,” said George. “If there is a chance of their hearts softening toward one another, it will happen then.”

“How so?”

“Consider the wonder of the Christmas story: a young couple in desperate straits, through no fault of their own, who must depend on God’s intervention and provision.”

“In other words, a miracle. That’s what we’ll need to pull this off.”

George ignored his brother’s interruption. “The King of Kings, born in a lowly stable,” he said. “The promise of redemption, of life and hope.”

“Yes, yes,” said John. “We know all that.”

“Peace on earth, goodwill to men,” said Darcy quietly.

“Exactly. Moreover, there was, as you recall, no room at the inn. This drives home the sense of loneliness and isolation.”

“That’s romantic?” complained John.

“The word I used was sentimental. I do not expect Mr. Woodhouse to fall in love.”

John gave a snort of derision. “You can say that again.”

Darcy saw George eye his brother. “I see how it is. You’re put out because Christmas was not your idea.”

“Hardly,” cried John.

Darcy turned to his friend. “What your brother says has merit. No room at the inn could strike a chord with Mrs. Bennet. I have heard her liken herself to a stray cat who has no place to call home.”

John’s lips twisted into a smile. “Mind what Darcy says there, George. That’s what you are: a stray cat.”

“My point is this,” said George. “Christmas brings cold weather and wood fires and the fellowship of shared conversation.”

“It can also bring snow; have you thought of that?”

“We must therefore take care that Mrs. Bennet remains at Hartfield once the snow begins to fall. Your wife can see to that, Darcy.”

Darcy passed a hand over his eyes. “My wife. She’ll think I’ve run mad, spending Christmas away from Pemberley. She could very well be right.”

“George’s Emma will dislike it too,” said John. “As for Isabella, well. Once she finds out what we intend for her father, I’ll be in the suds and no mistake.”

“Then we must take care not to say too much,” said George mildly. “This isn’t precisely matchmaking. We’ll simply allow a friendship to develop of its own accord.”

“If they do not loathe one another at first sight. . .”

“How is this? It was you who came up with the idea, John. You cannot now play the role of advocatus diaboli and seek to dismantle it.”

“Oh, very well,” said John ungraciously. “I daresay you are right.” He raised his glass in mock salute. “To Christmas at Hartfield, gentlemen. May it bring about a solution to a dashed awkward dilemma.”

oOo

George Knightley knew better than to put off telling his wife about the change in plans. When he arrived home on the following day, he sought her out.

“Guests for Christmas?” she said absently. “But of course. John and Isabella’s summer holidays were taken up with sea-bathing for the children. We have not seen them nearly as much as we would like.”

Here was a promising beginning!

“Fortunately for us, the season for sea-bathing is over. They cannot cry off.” George paused and then added, “Will you mind too much if they stay not at Hartfield, but at Donwell?”

“At Donwell! Father will be disappointed.”

“Now that the children are older, they will not be in anyone’s way there.”

“As if they are a bother!”

“To your father, they could be. I’d dislike seeing them scolded for romping about and making noise.”

“Father would never!”

George gave her a look.

Emma sighed heavily. “You have a point. I’m afraid Father will not understand.”

“They have divided their holidays between Donwell and Hartfield before. Besides,” he added, “I have invited other guests to spend Christmas with us here.”

“Have you indeed?”

The expression on Emma’s face told George that he had put a foot wrong. What she said next confirmed it. “Do I know them?”

“Darcy is an old schoolmate of John’s; Cambridge, you know. His family estate is in Derbyshire. Pemberley, I believe it is called. He’ll be bringing his wife and sister and, er, his widowed mother-in-law and her two daughters.”

His widowed mother-in-law? Perhaps he shouldn’t have included that detail. Deceiving his wife was more challenging than he realized.

“Goodness,” said Emma. “So many?”

“Yes, well. . . that cannot be helped. I daresay you’ll enjoy them, as the wife and her sisters are about your age. We can look them up in Debretts; your father would like that.”

“Leave it to him to discover that we are related in some obscure way,” said Emma tartly.

This next part would be more difficult. “I—am considering hosting a ball at Donwell. What do you think? John is keen on the idea.”

“John? He despises everything about a ball.”

“He is interested now.”

“But—”

“You needn’t take any of it on, my dear. Mrs. Hodges will arrange everything, provided that a fleet of servants are hired on. I am more than willing to do this.”

“A ball at Donwell,” said Emma. “In my condition.”

“You needn’t dance if you are unable.”

“Of course I am able! It is early days yet. I am hardly an invalid.”

“A ball is just the thing to celebrate Christmas, don’t you think? Our neighbors will love it.”

“Indeed, they shall. But what about you?”

Emma’s eyes saw rather too much.

“I am sorry,” George said contritely. “I should have told you about our guests before issuing the invitation. It sounded like such a good idea when we were together.”

“You and John, agreeing to host a ball at Donwell, a thing that has not been done for ages. Will wonders never cease?”

“Sometimes,” offered George, “old dogs can learn new tricks.”

“Especially when there are up to something,” said Emma.

Now why should she say that?

It now occurred to George Knightley that there was much he did not know about being a husband. Isabella was a compliant creature and would fall in with John’s plans. Would Darcy’s wife be as suspicious as Emma?

May heaven help us all might not be a proper prayer, but it was certainly heartfelt.

oOo

Darcy decided that he should begin with news that was small and pleasant. After that, he would move on to the larger subject of Christmas.

“I was thinking,” he said to his wife. “It might be advantageous for your mother and sisters to extend their stay by a few days.”

Elizabeth lowered her teacup. “Advantageous? For whom?”

“It would allow time for more gowns to be ordered. Er, for Christmas.”

There. That was not so bad. Elizabeth would like this news. After all, hadn’t shopping been her idea?

“This is quite a change. You were itching to pack them off early tomorrow morning.”

“Well, yes,” he admitted. “It now occurs to me that because they are coming out of mourning, they each might need a new ball gown.”

“A new ball gown?” Elizabeth observed him narrowly. “Why?”

Darcy spread his hands. “Every woman enjoys looking her best.”

“Yes, and this is very generous of you. However, you ought to consider their life in Meryton. Of what possible use are new ball gowns?”

“Come now, your mother’s social circle is not as constrained as all that.”

“There will be a Christmas assembly, of course, and invitations to dine with various neighbors. None of these require new clothes.”

“They might,” said Darcy lamely. “One never knows.”

Elizabeth narrowed her eyes at him. “What are you up to?”

“Why, nothing.”

“Fitzwilliam,” she said. “You cannot expect me to believe that.”

Darcy was betrayed into a smile. “I might as well tell you. It is useless to hide anything from you, even if it is an agreeable surprise.”

“A surprise,” repeated Elizabeth.

“We shall be spending Christmas together this year. Your family and ours.”

“At Pemberley? But I thought—”

“Not at Pemberley, my love. We have been invited to spend the week in Surrey.”

“Where? Whom do we know in Surrey?”

“A school friend of mine. We were at Cambridge together.”

“Which friend? It is not like you to spend Christmas with strangers, Fitzwilliam.”

“John Knightley and his brother are not precisely strangers. We shall be staying at the Hartfield estate, or perhaps at Donwell Abbey.”

“Donwell Abbey!”

“It is their family estate. George mentioned hosting a Christmas ball there.”

Elizabeth lowered her voice. “Have you said anything to Mama?”

“Well, no,” he said. “You are the first. New gowns are definitely in order. I trust there will be no objection?”

“Are there unmarried gentlemen living near Donwell Abbey?”

“I did not inquire, but for your mother’s sake I certainly hope there are.”

There was a pause. “Are you planning to match Georgiana with one of the brothers?”

Darcy nearly laughed aloud. “Alas, no,” he said, “for they are married—to a pair of sisters, as it happens. I daresay you’ll like them.”

“Do you?” she countered.

Darcy had no answer for this.

“Christmas,” said Elizabeth slowly, “but not at Pemberley, and shared with people I’ve never met.”

“You could look them up in Debretts.”

“I think I shall.”

“As for Pemberley, we’ll depart Surrey just after St. Stephen’s Day. It is a short distance to London, and once here we’ll arrange for your family’s return to Meryton. We should arrive at Pemberley well before Epiphany.” He paused to smile. “I trust this is satisfactory?”

“I’ll—inform Mama. She will be delighted.”

“If you should like to visit the shops this afternoon, you are welcome to use the carriage. As charming as you are in half-mourning, my love, I believe you would like something new.”

“Thank you, I would. However,” she added, “I suspect that you have not told me the whole, Fitzwilliam. There is more to this plan of yours, is there not?”

Darcy leaned in to kiss her cheek. “All in good time, my dear.”

When he stepped back, he found Elizabeth studying him with disconcerting intensity. “Whoever he is,” she said slowly, “I hope he is worthy of Georgiana.”

Darcy could not help but laugh. “It is nothing like that, truly.”

Elizabeth did not seem satisfied, but she said nothing more.

Darcy breathed a long sigh of relief. He had done his part. This plan of Knightley’s had better work!

Chapter 4

As expected, Mr. Woodhouse was not pleased about the plans for Christmas. The weeks passed, and while he did not precisely complain, he frequently sighed. He was sighing now, for goodness’ sake!

George Knightley had all but abandoned hope of matching his father-in-law with any woman. Who would have him? The man would try the patience of a saint!

Mr. Woodhouse now waited in his overstuffed chair before the fire, drumming anxious fingers against the chair’s arm. “Dear oh dear. So many guests,” he said in his gentle way. “Why did you invite so many, Mr. Knightley?”

“We’ll have only five. Darcy wrote to say that one of his sisters-in-law is spending Christmas elsewhere. With a married sister, I think.”

“Why could they not all do likewise?”

“Because we invited them, Papa,” said Emma mildly. “You enjoy when friends come to see you.”

“Yes, but these are not friends. New faces, new names. How shall I remember them all?”

“There are not so many.” Emma counted on her fingers. “Mrs. Bennet, Miss Mary Bennet, Mr. and Mrs. Darcy, and Miss Georgiana Darcy. I am looking forward to meeting them.”

“They should arrive this afternoon,” added George.

Mr. Woodhouse glanced toward the windows. “Is it snowing? The weather is so changeable at this season. Such a distance they must travel! It is so much safer to remain at home.”

“It is quite pleasant out. A matter of sixteen miles will mean little to Darcy.”

“Home is the best place to celebrate Christmas. And I do not see why Isabella and Mr. John Knightley must stay at Donwell. I miss seeing the children.”

Here was another favorite theme.

Emma spoke up. “John and Isabella will come for after-dinner tea, Papa. We’ll have cards and music. John told me that Miss Darcy is musical.”

“That reminds me,” said George. “Is the pianoforte in tune?”

Mr. Woodhouse drew himself up. “Most assuredly. I am particular about that kind of thing. Not that our Emma plays as much as she should.”

“Mrs. Weston is the better performer, Papa. I expect Miss Darcy will be too.”

“Poor Miss Taylor,” said Mr. Woodhouse. “I wish she were here again. What a pity it is that Mr. Weston ever thought of her!”

“Come now, Papa. Would you deny her the pleasure of a husband and a house of her own?”

“But where is the advantage? This house is three times as large. Moreover, our pianoforte is much superior to Mr. Weston’s. Poor Miss Taylor is very much missed.” He gave another sigh. “You do not play for us as often as I would like.”

“Why trouble Emma when we have Mrs. Elton among us?” said George. “She considers herself to be Highbury’s most proficient musician.”

Emma broke out laughing.

“Pray do not encourage her, Mr. Knightley,” cried Mr. Woodhouse. “Mrs. Elton plays Mozart with such energy; my poor ears cannot bear the noise.”

“If Mrs. Elton should come and attempt to play,” said Emma gently, “I shall remind her. But you know that she is not one to take a hint.”

“My dear Emma, we cannot be rude.”

“Not even for the sake of your ears?”

“Not even then.” Mr. Woodhouse sighed again. “I am afraid I am sometimes very troublesome.”

As there was no answering this observation, George hastened to change the subject. “Not only shall we have the ball at Donwell, but also the society of two unmarried young women.”

“The matchmaking mamas will turn out in force,” said Emma. “Am I right in thinking that Miss Darcy is an heiress?”

“John knows more than I do, but I believe so.”

“Mrs. Gilbert will certainly present her sons. I wonder; does Mr. Coxe have any hope? I cannot see an heiress married to a lawyer.”

“Oh, Emma,” said Mr. Woodhouse. “I wish you would not make matches and foretell things, for whatever you say always comes to pass. Pray do not make any more matches.”

“I have done with all that, Papa. Even so, it will be amusing.”

“Marriages break up one’s family circle grievously. Poor Miss Taylor! I wish she were here again.”

“Speaking of the family circle. . .” Emma rose to her feet.

She returned with a book. “What were you telling me earlier? About the Bennets being related to your mother’s side of the family?” She presented Debretts to her father.

Mr. Woodhouse opened it and began turning pages. “So it is, my dear,” he said eagerly. “Mr. Knightley, what do you think?” He pointed to a page.

George obediently examined the entry.

“A distant connection to be sure,” said Mr. Woodhouse. “But it appears that the Bennets are our cousins.”

“So much for marriage breaking up the family circle,” quipped George, before he could stop himself. “Your uncle’s alliance appears to have added to the family. Our guests are therefore not strangers after all.”

oOo

The village of Highbury was quite picturesque, a fact that did not escape Mrs. Bennet’s notice. “Tell me again who lives here, Mr. Darcy.”

“George Knightley and his wife, and her father, Mr. Woodhouse.”

“Mrs. Knightley is the lady of the house?”

“She is, but the estate belongs to her father. He is a widower.”

“A widower. I see.”

Mrs. Bennet lapsed into silence as they passed through the village. “A lovely location,” Darcy heard her say. “Yes, quite charming.” She turned to him. “Is the estate entailed away?”

“Not to my knowledge, ma’am. I believe John Knightley’s wife will inherit.”

“A fine thing for her, I am sure.” Mrs. Bennet looked to Mary, and her lips compressed into a line. “You would wear that old thing.”

“Do you mean my gown? What is wrong with it? It is suitable for travel. Furthermore,” said Mary, “it is covered by my cloak. No one shall see it.”

“And that bonnet. If Lydia were with us, she should never have allowed you out of the house. So dowdy!”

“It is not! Besides, who is there to see me?”

“Eligible gentlemen are everywhere, and a lady should always be mindful of her appearance. One must make an impression, and as you know, first impressions are just everything. For instance, would Mr. Darcy have noticed our Lizzy if she were not fashionably attired?”

As if Darcy had fallen in love with Elizabeth because of her clothes! What outrageous thing would this woman say next? However, Darcy had the good sense to keep his thoughts to himself.

“I have no one to impress,” said Mary flatly.

“Do you not? I wonder.”

Mrs. Bennet’s tone was innocent, but her expression told a different tale. What new idea had found its way into her head?

“Mama,” said Elizabeth. “You are not to be making matches for Mary. We have come to celebrate Christmas.”

“If there are marriageable gentlemen here, does this mean our Mary should keep to the shadows? You are out of mourning, my dear. I suggest you make the most of it. This could be your moment.”

“My moment for what?” said Mary.

The coach made a turn and paused for the opening of the iron sweep gate. Mrs. Bennet pressed against the window in order to see. “Bless me, is this Hartfield?”

“I assume so, ma’am,” said Darcy.

“Why,” she cried, “it is very like our own dear Longbourn.”

And so it was. The Highbury mansion was built of the same mellow red brick, with three rows of tall, mullioned windows. White columns and a pediment adorned the entrance. Here was a dignified house for a country gentleman.

Great heaven, was Mrs. Bennet blinking back tears? Darcy saw her hunt out a handkerchief and then blow her nose. “Dear, dear Longbourn. How I miss it!”

The fact that Hartfield was in better repair than the Bennet’s former residence Darcy kept to himself. “The gardens,” he observed, “are immaculate.”

“How right you are! Look there, Mary. I know how fond you are of gardens. Are these not fine?”

Mary gave a noncommittal response. Mrs. Bennet clicked her tongue.

“Mama,” said Elizabeth. “There is nothing to admire at this season.”

“Oh be quiet, Lizzy. Anyone can see that there is nothing shabby genteel about the grounds. Ned, as you recall, was neglectful of his duties in the garden. It was only through continual reminders that Longbourn was kept up. I wish the Collinses joy of him.”

Darcy was mindful to conceal a feeling of triumph. She liked Hartfield; that was something. Would it follow that she would learn to admire its owner?

“Seeing a gentleman’s house,” said Mrs. Bennet, “makes a great deal of difference, you know.”

Elizabeth turned to Darcy with laughing eyes. “It certainly did for me.”

oOo

The arrival of the Darcys was soon followed by that of the Eltons. George Knightley was not taken in, and from the twinkle in Emma’s eyes, he knew that neither was she. Mrs. Elton had obviously seen Darcy’s coach pass through the village, including the all-important coat of arms emblazoned on its door. What more was needed than to fetch her husband and come running?

“Such distinguished guests for Christmas,” she remarked, after she and Mr. Elton were introduced and seated. “Miss Darcy, what a delight it is to have you among us!”

“Mr. John Knightley has told us that you are musical,” added Mr. Woodhouse.

A look of apprehension crossed Georgiana Darcy’s face.

Mr. Woodhouse kindly intervened. “Another time, perhaps,” he said. “No doubt you are fatigued from your journey.”

“Why, you must certainly play for us, Miss Darcy,” cried Mrs. Elton. “I hope we shall have many sweet little concerts together during your stay.”

Miss Darcy was now blushing. “I—that is—”

Mrs. Elton waved the girl’s objections aside. “I live for music. I simply cannot do without music. It is a necessity of life to me. Mr. Elton knows that I have always been used to a very musical society, both in Bath and at Maple Grove.”

Mrs. Elton’s expression changed. “Speaking of Maple Grove. . .” She turned to her husband. “What a delightful Christmastide is before us! But we cannot stay; we must be off at once. Mr. Elton, I have just now recalled a message that must be sent to my sister. You shall not mind the expense of an express.”

“But Mrs. Elton,” he protested.

She lowered her voice, but George was near enough to hear. “Hervey simply must join us for Christmas.”

“Hervey?” Mr. Elton whispered back. “Hervey Suckling? What do we want him for?”

“We simply cannot allow him to be ensnared by Miss Tupman. So ignoble! It will be much better if he is here with us.”

George had a sudden curiosity to know more of the ignoble Miss Tupman, but Mrs. Elton did not elaborate.

She abruptly rose to her feet, which prompted George and Darcy to do likewise.

“We shall certainly arrange a card party at the vicarage,” she said. “That is, if Mr. Woodhouse is feeling well enough to join us.” She turned to him and added, “My dear sir, you mustn’t get up on my account. There is no reason to stand upon ceremony among friends.” She gave a trilling laugh.

Soon she and her husband were gone. George breathed a sigh of relief.

“Not get up?” cried Mrs. Bennet as soon as the door was closed. “I like that. As if you are an elderly man, Mr. Woodhouse, which anyone can see you are not.”

Mr. Woodhouse gave a start of surprise. This was not what he was accustomed to hearing!

George Knightley hid a smile. On the whole, he was impressed. Darcy’s wife was lovely and so was his shy sister; Emma was clearly delighted with them. Miss Mary Bennet did not put herself forward, which was no bad thing. By Darcy’s account, her garrulous mother would more than make up for what she lacked. Mrs. Bennet certainly seemed good-natured.

Nor had Darcy led him astray about her appearance. For her age, Mrs. Bennet was quite fetching. If she were a day over forty-five, George would be surprised.

At the moment, Mrs. Bennet was looking thoughtful. “So that is your vicar,” she said at last. “If a certain clergyman had been even half as good-looking, I daresay Mr. Darcy would be doomed to disappointment. And I would be living at Longbourn.”

“Mama, really,” cried Mary Bennet.

Mrs. Bennet’s only response was to smile.

Chapter 5

Mr. Woodhouse seemed fond of society, but his horror of late hours, large dinner parties, and troublesome food surely made hosting guests a challenge. Darcy had never encountered so much concern over matters of health, not even in Mrs. Bennet! At dinner, which was served rather early, Mr. Woodhouse felt obliged to caution his guests.

“My dear Mrs. Bennet,” he was now saying, “let me propose your venturing on one of these eggs. An egg boiled very soft is not unwholesome. Serle understands boiling an egg better than anybody.”

This was hardly a conventional topic for dinner conversation! How would Mrs. Bennet respond?

Mr. Woodhouse warmed to his subject. “You need not be afraid. They are very small, you see. One of our small eggs will not hurt you.”

Mrs. Bennet gave him a kindly smile. “Mary,” she called down the table, “you must mind what Mr. Woodhouse says and take an egg.”

Darcy saw Mary sigh, but she reached for the dish of eggs. Obviously, compliance was easier than disputing with her mother.

Later Mr. Woodhouse struck up a conversation with Darcy’s sister. “My dear, let Emma help you to a little bit of tart—a very little bit. You need not be afraid of unwholesome preserves here. I do not advise the custard.”

Georgiana kept her composure, but Darcy could not miss the twinkle in her eye.

Even he did not escape the man’s gentle solicitude. “What say you to half a glass of wine, Mr. Darcy? A small half glass put into a tumbler of water?”

George Knightley began to protest, but Mr. Woodhouse would not be deterred. “I do not think it could disagree with you, sir,” he said.

It was all Darcy could do to keep from laughing. He dared not look at George. Thank heaven John was not here!

After dinner, Mr. Woodhouse went into the drawing room with the ladies, leaving Darcy and George Knightley to linger over their port. Before long the door banged open, and John Knightley came in.

“Sorry for the delay. Difficult for Isabella to leave the baby, you know. Mother-love and all that.”

John poured out a glass of wine for himself. “This,” he announced, “is very welcome. Tea might be the order of the day in the drawing room—although I daresay it is hard on the digestion—but this puts heart into a man.”

“A small half-glass, put into a tumbler of water, will not harm you,” quipped George.

John gaped at his brother. “Did our dear papa say that?”

“I’m afraid so. To Darcy.”

John cast his gaze to the ceiling. “You see how it is. The man is impossible! How did your mother-in-law respond?”

“With equanimity.”

“Did she indeed? Could romance be about to bloom?”

It was now Darcy’s turn to sigh. “My mother-in-law is seeking a husband for her unmarried daughter, whose fortune is modest. Are there any younger gentlemen available?”

“A few,” said George. “It depends upon your requirements. As to character, my rector is a good fellow.”

“But Mr. Elton is married.”

“Thank heaven for that!” cried John. “Donwell is in a different parish, Darcy. George would never have given the living to someone like Elton. How he can sit under the man’s smug sermonizing, Sunday after Sunday, is beyond me.”

“Yet another motive to remove to Donwell,” said George lightly.

“At any rate,” said John, “I expect the news is all over the village by now, including the fact that your sister is an heiress. Now you’ll see the parade.”

“The Eltons came running,” said George. “No doubt Mrs. Elton was desperate to be first.”

“And then, to gloat about it while she condescends to share the news with each of the neighbors,” said John. “I see how it is.”

“Actually,” said Darcy, “I would like to know something about Hervey.”

“Who?”

“The brother who has been summoned for Christmas. By express, no less.”

“So, you overheard that?” said George. “Mrs. Elton’s sister is married to a man named Suckling, the owner of Maple Grove.”

“That place,” scoffed John. “Mrs. Elton crows everlastingly about it, as if it were the Taj Mahal. Suckling’s father purchased it and then promptly died, rescuing his progeny from being labeled as what they are: upstarts. They are known to be an old established family. After living at their precious Maple Grove for a mere handful of years!”

“You are so crude, John,” complained George. “Hervey Suckling must be a younger brother. Unmarried, I presume.”

Something Elizabeth had said came to mind. “I’ll stop you there,” said Darcy. “Is Mrs. Elton intending to match him with my sister?”

“Of course she is,” cried John. “Plain as a pikestaff! Why else would she suddenly want this fellow to come for Christmas, if not to hob and nob with an heiress? Mrs. Elton’s family is nothing to boast of. Her father was a Bristol merchant, for pity’s sake! Yet Mrs. Elton parades about as if she were one of the mighty of the land.”

“The nouveaux riche are often so,” agreed George. “But we are straying from our purpose. What should be our next step?”

“Have we established that you and your brother approve of Mrs. Bennet?” said Darcy.

“I’m not marrying her,” said John. “That is up to old Woodhouse. Any port in a storm is what I say.”

“We should cause them to spend time together,” said George slowly. “Which activities would bring this about?”

“Oho,” cried John. “Enticement indeed! Henry Woodhouse is an active fellow. He gets up from his chair. Then he sits down again. Then he talks about healthful practices such as walking. At length he convinces himself to take a turn about the gardens. An abbreviated turn, naturally; he calls it his winter constitutional. Vastly romantic.”

Darcy could not help but laugh. Who knew matching two older people could be so difficult?

“As to romance,” said George, “I suppose we ought to hang mistletoe. There is some growing at Donwell.”

“Why are you looking at me?” said John. “I’m not climbing into a tree for any! My vote is for Christmas punch, lots of it. Or egg-nog that is heavily laced with rum.”

“That could be problematic,” said Darcy.

“What if poor Hervey comes calling and drinks too much?” added George.

“So, we pray for snow to keep callers away. Snow, snow, beautiful snow. Sleigh bells ring, and away we go.” John’s smile widened. “And if we have enough snow, we can take out the sleigh. Squeeze Woodhouse and Darcy’s mother-in-law into it.”

“Have you a sleigh?” said Darcy.

John turned to his brother. “Do we?”

“Yes, an ancient one that belonged to our grandfather. Mr. Woodhouse would never consent to ride in it. Nor, for that matter, would I.” George pushed back his chair. “We ought to go into the drawing room.”

“We wouldn’t wish to worry our dear papa with a prolonged absence.”

“The real worry,” said George, “is what our wives might be thinking.”

John rose to his feet. “Best not to bring that up! I daresay Emma suspects something.”

“So does my wife,” said Darcy. “If she guesses what we intend. . .”

“Panic stations, gentlemen!” cried John. “Adversity reveals genius! We must brazen it out together.”

“So says the lawyer,” grumbled his brother.

Darcy followed them out of the dining room. “Is that what Horace was?”

“Poet or lawyer; what difference does it make?” said John.

Darcy and George Knightley shared a look. “A word once uttered can never be recalled,” quoted George glumly. “Horace was right about that too.”

oOo

The men came into the drawing room together, and John was introduced. If he paid particular attention to Mrs. Bennet, no one appeared to notice.

A footman placed the backgammon table beside Mr. Woodhouse, and Mrs. Bennet smilingly brought forward a chair. Were they about to play together?

Darcy exchanged a look with George Knightley. “What’s all this?” he heard John whisper.

“Mary,” called Mrs. Bennet. “Mr. Woodhouse would like to play backgammon. Do oblige him with a game.” She began placing the checkers into position.

Mary was seated at the opposite end of the drawing room. “Thank you just the same,” she said politely, “but I prefer a book.”

To her credit, Mrs. Bennet took Mary’s refusal in stride. “Perhaps another time,” she said pleasantly. “I should be delighted to be your opponent, sir.”

Mr. Woodhouse did not appear to be slighted. On the contrary, he was smiling.

“We must come up with ways to entertain your family while you are with us,” he told Mrs. Bennet. “What say you to a drive to see Donwell Abbey?”

“But that’s almost a mile!” cried John.

George Knightley broke out coughing; his brother’s mouth snapped shut.

“How delightful!” said Mrs. Bennet. “That is, if you consent to come with us, sir.” Her smile was unmistakably coy.

“It has been years since I have visited Donwell,” said Mr. Woodhouse.

“Not so very many years, surely. You speak as if you are an old man. Anyone can see that you are not.”

Mrs. Bennet had said something like this before, with pleasing results. Old Mr. Woodhouse was not immune to flattery.

“Do you know,” he said suddenly, “I think I might. The distance is not so very great. It would give me an additional opportunity to see the children. Provided, of course, that it does not snow.”

“That would be simply lovely.”

“My goodness,” said Emma Knightley. “A drive to Donwell. This is a surprise.”

Was it Darcy’s imagination, or did she exchange a look with Elizabeth? He glanced quickly away. But not, perhaps, quite quickly enough.

Chapter 6

The following day, Donwell Abbey was visited and duly admired by each of the guests. Emma looked about with longing eyes, but it was Mrs. Bennet who displayed the most interest. Her excitement for the coming ball was palpable. Apparently, she had ordered a new gown and was anticipating its delivery from London.

“To think that this wonderful mansion is yours, Mr. Knightley,” she said again and again.

How could George reply to this?

Fortunately, Mrs. Bennet continued talking. “And how good you are to consider dear Mr. Woodhouse’s comfort and well-being. My Mary is of a similar disposition, you know. She is always thinking of others.”

George did not see much evidence of this, but he said nothing. There was no longer any doubt that Mrs. Bennet intended her daughter to become the second Mrs. Woodhouse. After dinner, he said as much to his brother and Darcy.

“What care we for that?” said John. “For our purposes, one wife is as good as another.”

“But surely not a young woman,” protested Darcy. “A male heir would diminish your wife’s portion and prevent your son from inheriting Hartfield.”

“What male heir? Oh.” John’s brows descended. “Confound it. I’d not thought of that.”

“Mrs. Bennet is the better option,” said George. “Moreover, Mary Bennet is rather solemn.”

“That’s a kindly way to put it,” muttered John.

“Curious, is it not? That a young woman should be so much older than her years, whereas her mother behaves as if she were a girl?”

“It suits our purposes admirably,” said John. “One way or another, Mrs. Bennet has become a fixture at old Woodhouse’s side.”

Music from the pianoforte drifted in from the drawing room. The performer was obviously Mary Bennet.

“She’s at it again,” said John. “She ought to have taken up the harp instead. Easier on the ears. If she should attempt Gluck’s Che Farò even one more time, I’ll go mad.”

Darcy finished his port and set the glass aside. “We ought to go in.”

“Why? There is no one remotely of interest in there.”

“Mr. Coxe and the Gilberts have come,” said George. “You might enjoy observing them as they jostle for preeminence.”

“Delightful,” scoffed John. “Young idiots.”

“To her credit, Darcy’s sister is markedly unencouraging. Also, the carriage has returned with Miss Bates and her mother.”

John sighed heavily. “What a treat is before us, gentlemen! Miss Bates never stops talking, and about what? Commonplace village gossip, as if I were eager to hear it all again.”

“She is good-hearted.”

“Says who? The woman repeats herself constantly, and she smiles too much. So silly, so satisfied, so endlessly prosing! Moreover, she is adept at dropping hints, by way of thanking everyone for their generosity.”

“It is not like you to be so unfeeling,” said George quietly. “Miss Bates is neither young, nor handsome, nor rich. With every passing year the smallness of her income decreases. Is it any wonder that she is grateful for philanthropy?”

“Philanthropy for herself,” grumbled John.

“You are in a mood, I see. There is no pleasing you.”

“Can you blame me? Admit it; you have no desire to kick your heels in the drawing room.”

“What about tea and seed cake?”

John’s head came up. “Serle’s seed cake? My dear George, why did you not say so before?”

As they came into the drawing room, Mary Bennet finished the song and then closed the instrument.

“Blissful silence,” whispered John to George. He crossed the room and found a seat near the window. Soon he was enjoying a generous slice of cake.

“My sweet,” called Mrs. Bennet, “be a dear and play a Christmas carol. Do sing for us as well. We would so enjoy it.”

She turned to Mr. Woodhouse. “What say you to While Shepherds Watched?”

George saw Mary Bennet purse up her lips, but she opened the music book and then propped it on the rack. Her singing voice was reedy and thin. Did her mother think to impress Mr. Woodhouse with such a performance?

Presently Miss Bennet had trouble with the turning of a page, and the book closed of its own accord. She gave a cry; her playing faltered. The silence was instantly filled by Miss Bates.

“My dear Mr. Woodhouse,” she cried, “what an excellent carriage you have! And how clever is the use of a sheepskin. I should never have thought of such a thing, but you are so clever, sir.”

George drew a long breath. Miss Bates did smile rather too much, and tonight her voice held a shrill note. Why was this?

“It is impossible to feel cold with such precautions,” she went on. “One is so fenced and so guarded from the weather, that not a breath of air could reach us.” She gave an awkward laugh. “It is a very cold evening, but in your carriage, sir, we knew nothing of the matter.”

By this time John had finished his cake. He rose to his feet and strolled across the room to join George.

Meanwhile, there was a quiet commotion at the pianoforte. “How difficult it is to play while singing!” said Miss Darcy. “I am never able to do it. Please, allow me to accompany you.”

Mary Bennet gave her a grateful look and made room on the bench.

Miss Darcy spread her fingers over the keys, competently played the opening measures, and then paused. “Since it is Christmas,” she said in her gentle way, “I suggest that we sing together—all of us.”

George felt his brows go up. An adroit rescue and a kindly one!

Mr. Coxe and the Gilbert brothers jumped to their feet and crowded round the pianoforte. Miss Darcy began again, and everyone sang:

While shepherds watched

Their flocks by night

All seated on the ground. . .

While the others continued singing, George gave his brother a dig to the ribs.

“What?” whispered John.

“While shepherds washed their socks by night? Really, John!”

“Didn’t they?”

“You are as bad as your young sons.”

John merely laughed and resumed singing.

Presently the carol was finished. “What a fitting way to welcome the season!” cried Mr. Woodhouse. He turned to Mrs. Bennet. “And how tired you must be after such an eventful day!”

George heard his brother give a snort. Mrs. Bennet’s eyes sparkled, and her girlish smile was bright. She looked anything but tired!

“You must go to bed early, my dear Mrs. Bennet,” said Mr. Woodhouse. “I recommend to you a little gruel before you go. You and I will have a nice basin of gruel together. My dear Emma,” he called, “suppose we all have a little gruel.”

“I’ll gladly partake,” cried Miss Bates. “And dear Mama as well.”

“And Mary too,” said Mrs. Bennet. “Come, my dear,” she called. “A nice basin of gruel will do you good.”

Mary Bennet’s expression was laughable, but she consented. Whether she would drink any was another matter!

The true marvel, however, was how instantly Miss Bates was persuaded. She had never taken gruel before. Why now?

oOo

After the guests departed and the drawing room was empty, Emma took him to task.

“How could you? Poor Miss Bates!”

George leaned against the mantelpiece. “Is she ill?” he said mildly. “I observed nothing out of the ordinary.”

“How is that possible? You, who are one of her oldest friends! Did you not see how jealous she was?”

“Jealous? Of whom?”

“The Bennets, of course. How could you invite them here? The Darcys are wonderful; they shall always be my friends. But Mrs. Bennet? George, she does nothing but flatter, and it has put Miss Bates in a quake of anxiety.”

“I am sorry,” said George. “Is Mrs. Bennet so very bad?”

“Of course my father is taken in,” continued Emma. “Any man would be.”

“Is he? My dear, it is not as if Mrs. Bennet is a beauty.”

“That shows how much you know! She certainly is. And she is cheerful and talks with enthusiasm on the subjects that Papa prefers. He is charmed.”

“Surely not.”

Emma brought her hands to her hips. “But he is. He told me so himself.”

George felt a surge of hope. As tempting as it was to confide in Emma, he knew this was not the time.

“Darcy tells me her greatest concern is finding a husband for Miss Bennet.”

“She is very welcome to Mr. Coxe. Although can you not see that he has eyes only for Miss Darcy?”

“And her fortune.”

“Georgiana is the dearest girl. Any gentleman would be delighted to marry her.”

George put his arms around Emma and drew her close. “Not me. There is only one woman for me.”

Emma pressed herself against his chest and gave a great sigh. “Do you suppose Mrs. Bennet expects Mary to marry my father?”

“She might,” said George fondly, “but I expect it will not happen. Mary Bennet scarcely speaks to him.”

“She is unfailingly polite.”

“Yes, but a mother cannot compel a daughter to like someone, let alone marry him. Do not forget that your father must propose.”

“I should hope not! Why would he think of such a thing? Mary Bennet is young enough to be his granddaughter.”

George pulled away to look a question.

“In theory, anyway,” Emma amended.

“Perhaps Mr. Coxe will come up to scratch.”

“Who would wish to marry him?”

George shrugged. “Miss Bennet might. You never know.”

“If only she were not placed alongside an heiress, who is not only beautiful but also extremely kind and talented.”

George could not hold back a smile. “Did you see Mrs. Elton’s face when she called this morning? And heard Miss Darcy play?”

Emma’s dimples appeared. “There was nothing like it. Georgiana is the much better performer, and yet she gives herself no airs.”

“Curious, is it not?”

For the moment, Emma appeared mollified. George gave a sigh of relief. His old father was right: a gentle answer did turn away wrath, especially when it came to dealing with women!

oOo

Meanwhile, in a deserted passageway upstairs, Darcy was encountering a little trouble of his own.

“Fitzwilliam, how could you?” whispered his wife.

He was mindful to keep a gentle smile in place. “I beg pardon?”

“How could you encourage a creature like Mr. Coxe to dangle after Georgiana?”

“Is that what he was doing? Making a fool of himself is what I would call it.”

“He is what you would call a money-grubbing cit.”

“He isn’t even that, my love. As a country lawyer, he hasn’t much to offer.”

“And our Georgiana does!”

“Is she taken in by him? I thought not, but you know best.”

“She is not. However. . .”

“Elizabeth, it shall not harm Georgiana to learn how to repress suitors. She will face her share of them this spring.”

“I suppose you are right,” she said slowly. “The man is not at all handsome.”

“Thank goodness for that. Who knows? He could fancy Mary instead.”

“Mary? What has she to offer him?”

“A fine mind and an excellent morality. Moreover, she is not penniless. A country lawyer would be a fool to turn up his nose at a thousand pounds.”

“Which he shall not have until Mama dies.”

“Well,” Darcy admitted. “There is that.”

Elizabeth brought her hands to her hips. Her dark eyes bored into his. “Why did we come here, Fitzwilliam?”

Darcy was beginning to wonder this himself!

“To meet the incomparable Mr. Suckling, of course,” he replied. “According to Mrs. Elton, he should arrive tomorrow. We are in for a treat.”

“Oh, you!” She gave his arm a thwack.

Was this a good sign? Darcy rather hoped so.

Chapter 7

The next morning, John rode over from Donwell. Darcy saw him cross the drawing room to speak with his brother. At length they joined the others.

“I have come,” said John, “to invite the ladies to Donwell today in order to talk over the arrangements for the ball. Mrs. Bennet,” he added, “would you oblige us and remain behind with Mr. Woodhouse?”

“I should be delighted,” said she. “Mary will join me, of course. We shall have a charming afternoon, I am sure.”

“Actually,” said John, “Miss Bennet is needed to choose the dancing music.”

“Nonsense. The musicians will do all that. They know which tunes are the most popular.”

“Please, Mama,” said Mary. “I would very much like to go to Donwell with Elizabeth and Georgiana and Emma.”

“For that matter, so would I,” said Mrs. Bennet tartly. “However—”

George Knightley intervened. “To be frank, ma’am, we men are in need of your protection. You see, Mrs. Elton has promised to call.”

Darcy broke out coughing to cover a laugh.

“You are the most experienced hostess among us,” George added gravely.

“Are you able to prevent her from playing the pianoforte?” faltered Mr. Woodhouse. “Mrs. Elton will do it and with such energy. The noise is almost unbearable.”

“Upon my word! She insists on playing, even when you request otherwise?”

“Mrs. Elton is not one to take a hint,” said Emma Knightley.

“And we cannot be rude,” added her father.

“Of course you cannot. You are kindness itself, Mr. Woodhouse.”

“As you see, we quite rely on you, ma’am,” said John. “I expect you are a dab hand at depressing pretension.”

“I am well up to the task, Mr. Knightley. However, Mary is needed here.”

Darcy now joined the conversation. “This is an excellent opportunity for Mary to further her friendship with the Knightley women. Do you not agree?”

To her credit, Mrs. Bennet did not immediately dismiss Darcy’s suggestion. At length she said, “Very well, Mary may go. It is no trouble to spend the day with Mr. Woodhouse. He is the kindest of men.”

“I—am glad to hear you say so,” said Emma Knightley.

“Oh my dear, it is very true. I have, most unfortunately, been accustomed to a sharp wit and merciless teasing. How my nerves have suffered! But here at Hartfield, my nerves have not plagued me at all. It is a wonder.”

Darcy could not help but notice Elizabeth’s astonishment.

“If only my evening gown were to arrive today,” added Mrs. Bennet, “I should be anxious for nothing. Now then, if you’ll excuse me, I’ll just speak to your housekeeper about refreshments.”

“Not cake,” protested Mr. Woodhouse. “Cake is not good for the digestion. It is sure to disagree with people.”

Mrs. Bennet responded with a warm, genuine smile. “You are very right, sir. However, if our intention is to repress Mrs. Elton, I can think of nothing better. Cake will do the trick. You, of course, are too wise to partake. But is she?”

To Darcy’s great surprise, Mr. Woodhouse gave a giggle. “Not the double-frosted cake, my dear.”

A gleam came into Mrs. Bennet’s eyes. “Ah,” said she. “Then that is precisely the kind we shall serve.”

oOo

The good understanding between Mr. Woodhouse and Mrs. Bennet continued into the afternoon. Darcy and the Knightley brothers remained in the drawing room as chaperons. Not one of them dared to say a word, and the pair talked on.

They spoke of childhood memories, a thing the present generation could not appreciate. Then the story of Mrs. Woodhouse’s final illness was poured out into Mrs. Bennet’s sympathetic ears. Later, she detailed her continual attempts to keep Mr. Bennet in good health.

“Would he eat the proper diet, Mr. Woodhouse? Mind his sleeping habits? Stroll about in the fresh air, as you are mindful to do when you take your daily constitutional? No. Mr. Bennet remained in his library, hour after hour, with his books and his pipe.”

“I wonder what Mr. Perry would say to that?”

“If only we had such excellent medical advice! Mr. Jones, who is what Meryton has to offer, is not at all reliable, in my opinion. But would Mr. Bennet have listened to your Mr. Perry? I think not.”

“We gentlemen,” said Mr. Woodhouse gently, “are sometimes quite stubborn.”

“There is that,” she agreed. “The irksome truth is that Mr. Bennet was never ill, until at last he was. And after he passed, I was the one who paid the price for his demise! He went to his eternal reward in the heavenlies, at least I hope he did. . .”

The opening of the drawing room door put an end to this fascinating confession. Darcy saw Mr. Woodhouse consent to receive the callers, after sharing a twinkle with Mrs. Bennet.

Presently the housekeeper returned to announce, “The Reverend Mr. Elton, Mrs. Elton, Mr. Suckling, and Mrs. Rudolph Suckling.”

John looked out from behind his newspaper. “Mrs. Who?” he whispered to Darcy.

It appeared that young Hervey had brought along his widowed mother. Or perhaps it was better said that she was the one who brought him. Darcy was not taken in by her insincere smile. This sort of woman was everywhere to be found in London society.

Hervey Suckling was small and thin. Dark hair hung to his shoulders, framing a pale face. The effect was rather startling.

Introductions were made, but it was Mrs. Bennet who said, “Do be seated, if you please. We shall have refreshments brought in at once. Serle has made her famous cake.”

“A double-frosted cake,” added Mr. Woodhouse.

Mrs. Suckling looked this way and that before choosing a seat. Was she searching for Darcy’s sister?

While tea and cake were being handed round, she rose to her feet and wandered to the windows. “Your park is rather small,” she observed. “I expect it is better worth looking at in the summer.”

“I daresay you are right,” said Mr. Woodhouse. “Nevertheless, we bid you welcome, ma’am.”

He then turned to Mrs. Elton. “Tea should not harm you,” he said earnestly, “but I beg you not to partake of the cake. It is very sweet and will certainly disagree with you.”

Darcy saw her exchange an amused glance with her husband. “I thank you for your consideration, dear sir, but I never experience troubles of that kind.” She accepted the generous slice that was offered.

Was the size of her portion by Mrs. Bennet’s design? Darcy rather thought it was.

Meanwhile, Mrs. Suckling had resumed her seat. She too had a large slice of cake. “We do not like to leave Maple Grove at Christmas, but our upstart neighbors have become Too Much. I simply had to bring my Hervey away.”

The housekeeper came in and approached Mr. Woodhouse. Darcy heard him say, “We are.”

Presently the door opened again, and she came in to announce, “Mr. William Coxe.”

“Hallo-allo,” said he. “Greetings and salutations! I was in the neighborhood and thought I’d pop by.”

Mrs. Suckling eyed the newcomer with obvious dislike. What an odious woman!

Chapter 8

If William Coxe was disappointed to find Darcy’s sister absent, he was wise enough to conceal it.

The Sucklings were introduced. As Mr. Coxe found a seat and received his serving of cake, Darcy saw Mrs. Elton whisper something to Mrs. Suckling.

“And so,” said she primly, “you are Highbury’s lawyer.”

Mr. Coxe made a little bow. “I am, ma’am,” he said cheerfully. “We younger sons must make our way in the world.”

“Most unfortunately,” grumbled Hervey, around a mouthful of cake.

Mrs. Suckling gave her son a quelling look. “A career in the army is what we had planned for our Hervey. His brother is eager to purchase a pair of colors. Quite an expensive undertaking, I must say. A thousand pounds, all told.”

“Mama,” he protested, “what do I want with the army? I am an educated man.”

Mrs. Suckling gave an impatient huff. “My son has an inclination for artistic endeavors.”

His chin came up. “I am a poet.”

She waved this aside. “As a second choice, we would like a position for him in one of the embassies, as secretary to a great man.”

John spoke up. “I am an attorney, ma’am. Perhaps we have an opening in our London office.”

Mrs. Suckling’s upper lip curled. “Our Hervey is worthy of a better opportunity than that.”

Not unnaturally, John took umbrage. “An inexperienced chap, secretary to a great man? I’d like to know who would take him on! No one that I know.”

“Yes, but you are only a lawyer. My eldest son and I do not look with favor upon a career in the law.”

“Nor should I,” cried Hervey.

“Oho,” said Mr. Coxe. “Everybody hates lawyers until they need one.”

“Mr. John Knightley’s being a lawyer is inconvenient,” said Mr. Woodhouse. “I have nothing against lawyers, but he is not free to come to Hartfield as often as we should like.”

Mrs. Suckling pursed up her lips.

Having dismissed the servants, Mrs. Bennet now caught the drift of the conversation, and with it, Mrs. Suckling’s contempt. “And what is so wrong with lawyers, I should like to know?”

“Hear, hear,” muttered the irrepressible John.

“It is a respectable profession for a gentleman. My own father was an attorney.”

The man had not been a gentleman, but Darcy was not about to argue with Mrs. Bennet.

Mrs. Suckling gave her a withering look. “It is indeed a pity that the women of the house are out; I came especially to be introduced to them. I have been meeting the inhabitants of your little village. Just today, we encountered Miss Bates.”

“Our resident philanthropist,” quipped John.

“Is that so? She is very odd in her appearance, to be sure,” said Mrs. Suckling. “Is she an abolitionist? Honestly, these crusading women care nothing for what they wear.”

“Miss Bates?” cried William Coxe. “Are you kidding me?”

“I daresay she is a Methodist,” said Mrs. Suckling. “She was noisy enough to be one; always talking! Such enthusiasms are disagreeable to those in polite society.”

Mr. Cox would not be silenced. “Miss Bates, a Methodist? Her father was our vicar.”

“Who obviously had evangelical leanings, as he produced such a daughter.”

Mrs. Elton was looking rather harassed. “My dear Knightley,” she said to George, “I have a favor to ask. Would you be so kind as to invite our guests to your lovely Christmas ball? They would very much enjoy it.”

Darcy saw George give a very slight bow. “But if course,” he said politely. “It would be our pleasure.”

Mrs. Elton then rose to her feet, and the Sucklings did likewise. Having received what she came for, Mrs. Elton’s business at Hartfield was finished.

And so too, Darcy noted, was their cake.

When the drawing room door closed behind them, John gave a huff of relief. “What a mountebank!”

Darcy burst out laughing; he could not help it.

Mr. Woodhouse turned to John in wonder. “What do you mean?”

“A bogey to frighten children, that’s what Mrs. Suckling is. All huff and swagger. Who made her the queen?”

“She took that office for herself, apparently,” said George.

“And now you have invited her to our ball. Famous.”

“I do not see how I could avoid it. It does not matter.”

“She’ll look down her nose at all of us, and then return to Maple Grove and boast to her upstart neighbors about attending a ball at Donwell Abbey. I’d like to see her dance.”

“Then I suggest you ask her,” said George lightly.

“Me, give countenance to that top-lofty creature? Never.”

Still talking, John and George went out. Darcy went looking for his book. He sank into an overstuffed chair with a sigh of pleasure.

Mrs. Bennet and Mr. Woodhouse sat together before the fire. “What do you mean, you do not dance?” Darcy heard her say. He peeked over the top of his book.

Mr. Woodhouse appeared taken aback. Now why was this? Surely Mrs. Bennet’s intention was to make him dance with Mary.

Great heaven, was the man blushing?

“It has been many a year,” he faltered.

“My dear sir, country dances are as they ever have been. I am not intending to foist a quadrille on you. As if anyone could enjoy that, especially after all these years! So many elaborate patterns to keep straight!”

“I remember quaking in my boots,” he confessed.

“So do I. But you can certainly manage to dance a reel.”

Darcy hid a smile. According to George, Mr. Woodhouse had no intention of attending the ball, let alone dancing at it.

“Not if it snows, my dear Mrs. Bennet. It is, as you know, the season for snow.”

“Not necessarily.”

“So unsafe for travel. I could not believe the date chosen by the Knightleys. Christmas Eve!”

“It is festive,” said Mrs. Bennet. “Entirely appropriate for a Christmas ball.”

“Yes, but my dear, you have not consulted an almanac. There is to be no moon! We shall have carriage accidents everywhere along the lane.”

“Then you must ask Mr. George Knightley to put you up for the night. For you must attend, sir. Would you have everyone saying that you are an old stick and are too elderly to enjoy a festive evening?”

“I fear I am an old stick, my dear,” Darcy heard Mr. Woodhouse say.

“Nonsense. At most, you are middle-aged. You ought to go, and you ought to dance.”

Mr. Woodhouse gave a long sigh.

“At Donwell, you can be sure of excellent fires and plenty of good cheer,” said Mrs. Bennet. “A little dancing, in moderation, is considered healthful.”

“Do you think so?”

“I do. And if your Mr. Perry calls tomorrow, I intend to ask him about it. I expect Mr. Perry shall agree with me.”

That scotched Mr. Woodhouse! Darcy hazarded another look. The man was gazing at her with wide eyes.

With a smile, Darcy returned to his book. Hats off to Mrs. Bennet! He had pegged her for a simpleton, but clearly the woman was no fool.

If Mr. Woodhouse could be convinced to dance, would Mrs. Bennet agree to stand up with him herself? This would require serious strategy.

However, having come so far, he and the Knightleys had no choice. They must see the thing through.

Chapter 9

George Knightley came into the bedchamber and cast his coat over the back of a chair. “How was your day at Donwell, my love?”

“Enlightening, to say the least.”

There was no mistaking the edge in Emma’s voice. Here was danger!

“Is the house not being run well?” he said mildly. “Are there things about the ball that need my attention?”

Emma faced him fully. “What have you been up to, George?”

He unfastened his neckcloth and sent it to join the coat. “Why, nothing. Mrs. Elton brought the Sucklings today, but you already know that.”

“Nothing? I do not believe that for one minute! It is laughably obvious that you have a scheme in mind, you and John.”

George worked to preserve an innocent face. “Why do you say that?”

“Mary and her mother were to act as my father’s protectors?”

“Mrs. Bennet did a capital job in fending off the formidable Mrs. Suckling. Er, as John would say.”

“Do not be obtuse. You know exactly what I mean. Your plan was to have Mary and my father spend time alone together.”

“Not alone, Emma. Never that. I must say, it was a novel experience, acting as chaperon.”

Now why had he said this?

Emma’s chin came up. “When I think,” she cried, “of how you lectured me about the evils of matchmaking! And now you are doing it yourself!”

There was no sense in denying it. “So you’ve cottoned onto that?”

“Of course I have. It would be impossible not to.”

George sat on the edge of the bed. “It is not matchmaking in the classic sense; not as a romance novel would portray it. We’ve planned no compromising situations to force a marriage or anything like that.”

“So you admit that you have planned! My poor father!”

“I think he is rather enjoying himself. They have much in common, more than we knew.”

“Papa and Mary Bennet? They have nothing in common! She is much too young!”

George choked back a laugh. “Oh, I agree. Darcy and I had a different match in mind.”

“And John. He is in on this too.”

“Well, yes. A marriage alliance was his idea in the first place.”

“Why am I not surprised? If it is not Mary Bennet, then it must be Miss Bates.”

“Actually,” said George.

Emma went on talking. “She is unfailingly kind, but no. Miss Bates would never do.”

“Right again.”

“If it isn’t Miss Bates, then—good gracious! You cannot mean Mrs. Bennet. Was that why she remained behind today? Elizabeth thinks so, but I could not agree. The idea!”

“There is always Mrs. Suckling,” George pointed out. “She, too, is a widow.”

“Oh!” cried Emma. “From what you have told me, I marvel that you can jest about such a thing!”

“Wait until you meet her. She’s worse.”

Emma took a turn about the room.

“It is not worth fretting about,” he said. “Ten to one it will not work. I said as much to Darcy.”

She whirled to face him. “Elizabeth told me that her husband was behaving suspiciously. And I knew that you were. I had no idea you could be so conniving!”

George got to his feet and moved to take Emma’s hands. “My love,” he said solemnly, “should your father marry Mrs. Bennet, consider what it could mean. Not only for us, but also for our child.”

“That we might live at Donwell? Is that what this is about? I cannot abandon my father to a miserable fate.”

“Will it be miserable? Observe your father and Mrs. Bennet together. She is a pleasant companion. Ask yourself whether your father will be well looked after.”

“I cannot see that at all. I would rather have Miss Bates, but the idea is too awful.”

“Poor Miss Bates should be lost as mistress here. Consider. For years Mrs. Bennet has run a household of similar size. She likens Hartfield to her former home at Longbourn.”

“Yes, but—”

“Furthermore, she would guard your father’s health even more devotedly than he does.”

“No one can do so more than I.”

“That is very true,” said George, “And yet, Mrs. Bennet will have a vested interest. When he passes, she will be sent packing.”

“As if John and Isabella would do such a thing!”

“She does not know that.”

“So we take advantage of her fears? George, that is dreadful.”

“Is it? Consider the outcome. If your father were content to marry again, would you be happy to live at Donwell?”

Emma’s voice dropped to a whisper. “You know I would.”

“Well then. Perhaps it is time to abandon working at cross purposes. The first obstacle—which I daresay could be insurmountable—will be to convince Mrs. Bennet that she should be the future mistress of Hartfield instead of Mary.”

“She is rather blind to that. I wonder why?”

“Darcy claims it is habit. She has dedicated her life to marrying off her daughters. By comparison, everything else is unimportant.”

Emma gave a great sigh. “Papa will never marry to please himself. He will not even think of it.”

“Then perhaps he will marry to please Mrs. Bennet; to rescue her from what he considers to be an unhappy future.”

He saw Emma smile slightly. A good sign! “You and your chivalry,” she said. “Did you marry me for a similar reason?”

“I married you to please myself. However, I did agree to live here in order to please you and your father.”

“This match could take years to accomplish, and we have only days.”

“All is not lost. According to Darcy, Mrs. Bennet has convinced your father to attend our ball.”

“George, she hasn’t!”

“Indeed she has. And also, to dance a reel.”

“Papa, dance? I cannot believe it.”

“Mind, she wants him to dance with Mary. Perhaps you and Elizabeth can come up with a way to change her mind. The three of us have reached an impasse.”

“That is hardly a surprise, given the outrageous nature of your plan.”

“This is why we need you, the more intrepid matchmakers, to take the lead.”

“If your plan did not involve Donwell, I wouldn’t.”

“Nor would I. Your father is not as indifferent to Mrs. Bennet as he pretends. Observe him closely, and you’ll see what I mean. You are right; she is quite pretty.”

“As if that matters!”

“But it does. Your father would hardly be a man if it did not.”

oOo

In his own bedchamber, Darcy was soldiering through a similar confrontation with his wife.

“Mama, marry Mr. Woodhouse! And you planned this?”

“I cannot take all the credit,” he said modestly, “but yes.”

“You know it is Mary whom Mama thinks and plans for, not herself. I expect the idea has never occurred to her.”

“Then we must suggest it.”

“Fitzwilliam, how? You know how stubborn Mama can be.” Elizabeth gave a sharp sigh. “I knew you were up to something.”

“I was a fool to think that I could hide anything from you.”

“Mary will not do for Mr. Woodhouse; she is much too young. But Mama will never see it. All she sees is his fine estate and generous income.”

“What do you think of arranging a different match for Mary?”

Elizabeth wrinkled her nose. “With whom?”

“You suggested William Coxe.”

“The lawyer? Fitzwilliam, I was teasing. The man has eyes only for your sister.”

“Everyone does. Until you rescued me from bachelorhood, I faced the same dilemma.”

This brought a smile. “That, sir, is a poor excuse for snubbing us all.”

“It is, rather. Perhaps you and Emma Knightley can put your oar in, so to speak.”

“To do what, pray?”

“Promote Mr. Coxe. Encourage Mary to converse with him.”

“As if that will cause him to propose!”

“An interest would be enough. Recall how your mother responded when your cousin wished to court Jane.”

“Mr. Collins, do you mean? How is he helpful?”

“Your mother prevented him from pursuing Jane because Charles Bingley had an interest in her.”

Elizabeth lapsed into thought. “I see what you mean,” she said at last. “A hint of interest might be enough to dissuade Mama. You do realize that if we were staying longer, she would send for Kitty.”

Darcy laughed softly. “There is that. Mr. Woodhouse is a kindly old fellow. He is a pleasant companion and merely acts the part of an invalid. Your mother would be happy here.”

Elizabeth sighed heavily. “She would indeed. This house and grounds are exactly what she likes.”

“Are we forgiven, then, for trying?”

Elizabeth’s dimples appeared. “I hate to admit it, but the match does make sense. Do you think Mr. Woodhouse can be brought to propose?”

“That,” said Darcy, “is a long shot. Then again, the entire project is.”

“I’ll speak with Emma tomorrow. You are right; it is high time we put our hand in. The three of you shall never accomplish this on your own.”

“Yes, dear,” said Darcy humbly.

Chapter 10

It was only a matter of time before the Sucklings were introduced to Miss Darcy. This took place on the following day, when she and Mary walked to the post office with her brother and George Knightley. As the weather was fine, they strolled through the village past Highbury’s parish church.

Mrs. Elton and her guests came bursting from the vicarage. Had they been on the watch? There was no mistaking the look of triumph shared between Mrs. Elton and Hervey Suckling’s mother.

Hervey edged nearer to Georgiana Darcy, but Mary stolidly remained by her side. Had Elizabeth or Emma foreseen this possibility and given a warning? Mary linked her arm through Georgiana’s and sent a defiant look in poor Hervey’s direction.

Presently the party turned back and walked together along High Street. Mr. Coxe came out of his office. “Hallo-allo,” he called from the doorway. “Splendid day, is it not?”

George thought it was cold enough for snow, but he did not mention this. Mrs. Suckling was not pleased to see the cheerful Mr. Coxe.

George fell into step beside Darcy. “That woman,” he said quietly. “She is accustomed to lording it over everyone she encounters. This is not how a gentlewoman behaves, but I expect she neither knows nor cares. And I thought Mrs. Elton’s manners were lacking.”

This drew a laugh from Darcy.

It was obvious that Mrs. Elton was studying Georgiana. Presently she called, “Miss Darcy, what say you to a card party? I expect you are proficient at any of our favorite games.”

“Not at all, ma’am.”

“But of course,” cried Mrs. Elton. “How foolish of me! You prefer music! Therefore, instead of a card party, I shall arrange a musical evening at the vicarage. How you shall delight us all!”

Darcy spoke up. “Perhaps another time.”

“But sir! You cannot deny us the pleasure of hearing Miss Darcy play and sing!”

“I can and I do,” he said firmly. “My sister is occupied with preparing for the Christmas ball.”

“Oh yes, the ball. I had quite forgotten.”

George saw her share a glance with Mrs. Suckling. “But after?” Mrs. Elton went on. “Do promise that you will spend an evening with us, Miss Darcy. We should so enjoy it.”

She gave a trilling laugh, but no one else joined in; particularly not Darcy.

oOo

Later that afternoon, Mrs. Suckling and her son came to Hartfield and were brought into the drawing room. Hervey Suckling was big with news. “I have a poem for Miss Darcy,” he announced.

This created a little stir. Emma signed for tea and sandwiches to be brought in. George settled back to observe. The callers might be irksome, but they were never dull.

Shortly thereafter, who should arrive but William Coxe? Elizabeth surrendered her seat on the sofa beside Mary. Here was more evidence that she and Emma were at work behind the scenes.

“I saw them through my office window,” George heard Mr. Coxe confide to Mary. “I came at once, just to annoy the old cat.” He gave a sidelong glance to Mrs. Suckling. “It’s plain where her ambition lies.”

“Did you arrive in time to hear?” said Mary. “Her son has brought a poem for Miss Darcy.”

“You don’t say. He wrote it himself?”

“Apparently.”

Presently Hervey took up a position before the hearth. He unfolded a page and shook back his lank hair.

“Gad,” muttered Mr. Coxe. “It’s like he’s a blasted Red Setter. Why the devil hasn’t he tied it back?”

George saw Mary bite back a smile.

“Thoughts Upon Meeting Miss Darcy,” announced Hervey.

“I should think,” said Mr. Coxe quietly, “that a tribute would be private.”

So did George!

Neither he nor William Coxe had reckoned with the artistic temperament. Hervey Suckling’s voice fairly throbbed with emotion.

He saw Miss Darcy’s face more fair,

He knew her of broad lands the heir,

Forgot his vows, his faith forswore,

Miss Tupman was belov’d no more.

Here Hervey paused to share a look with his mother. After another toss of the head, he continued.

’Tis an old tale, and often told;

But did his fate and wish agree,

Ne’er had been read, in story old,

Of maiden true possessed of gold,

So kind, so beautiful, as she.

There was a short silence.

“But-but that is from Marmion,” cried Mary Bennet.

That scotched Hervey!

But to George’s surprise, the budding poet was not at all embarrassed. With a smile, he shook back his hair. “I adapted it.”

“Isn’t that rather like stealing?” said Mary.

“Not at all,” he replied loftily. “True genius is to further polish that which cries out for refinement.”

Mr. Coxe’s eyes narrowed. “You consider yourself a genius?”

Hervey’s tone sharpened. “I consider genius to be the refiner’s fire of the intellect.”

William Coxe did not bother to conceal his contempt. Later, when tea was served, he spoke again to Mary. George gave a sidelong look to Mrs. Bennet. Would she notice this development?

“That fellow has never done a lick of work in his life. So his poem is cribbed from Marmion, is it?”

“Please disregard my outburst, Mr. Coxe. I ought to have verified my suspicion before saying anything. But the provocation was too great. I simply could not help it.”

“This is hardly a court of law. It isn’t as if you have perjured yourself.”

“Yes, but I prefer to be certain of the facts before accusing anyone.”

“An unusual viewpoint, but a wise one. This Suckling’s a rum fellow; I rather fancy putting his nose out of joint. Any chance old Woodhouse has a copy of Marmion lying about?”

“I have no idea. It does not seem likely, but I will ask Emma. The passage could take some time to locate. As I recall, Marmion has six cantos.”

“No need to worry about that; I am a dab hand at research. Comes with the profession.”

“I would not like to distract you from your work.”

Mr. Coxe shrugged. “A capital diversion from the musty old tomes. Jurisprudence tends to be rather dry. But first, we must obtain Marmion. The question is, where?”

“Does the village have a subscription library?”

William Coxe’s head came up. “We do indeed. Miss Bennet, it is you, not Suckling, who is the genius.”

George saw Mary’s cheeks grow pink. Was it with pleasure? Did Mrs. Bennet notice this exchange of smiles?

Huzzah to Elizabeth and Emma! Their work was bearing fruit! Now if only Mrs. Bennet would transfer her interest to Papa Woodhouse.

It was all George could do to keep from gleefully rubbing his hands.

oOo

Later that night, when the gentlemen joined the ladies in the drawing room, Darcy was privileged to overhear his wife. Few women could put the screws to Mrs. Bennet with such finesse!

“A future like Miss Bates? Do you mean me? Certainly not. I shall live with you or with Jane.”

“Not entirely, Mama. What happens when Kitty and Mary find husbands?”

“Then I shall live with them as well. It shall be a give-and-take.”

“That depends upon whom they marry,” said Elizabeth. “If their husbands are not as prosperous—as is the case with Mr. Wickham—perhaps there will not be room.”

“Of course they will be prosperous. The idea!”

“It is a possibility.”

“The Wickhams cannot offer me a home only because he is in the army. And you are quite wrong, Lizzy, about living like Miss Bates and her mother. I do have an income, though it is a fraction of what we enjoyed at Longbourn. It is vastly more than what Miss Bates has.”

Elizabeth kept silent.

“Well, it is!”

Darcy saw his wife draw a long breath. “Speaking of potential husbands,” she said lightly, “have you noticed Mr. Coxe’s interest in Mary?”

“The lawyer? I saw him talking to her. It signifies nothing.”

“Perhaps he likes her.”

“Gracious, no. Why should he? But it makes no difference. What has he to offer her? I expect he lives in rooms above his office.”

“They were smiling and laughing.”

“Were they? That is certainly a first for our Mary.”

“I suspect you were too preoccupied to notice.”

“Very possibly. Mr. Woodhouse was telling the most amusing tale from his boyhood, about a goose stealing bread from his hand. Did you know that geese have teeth?”

Elizabeth gave a gurgle of laughter. “Do they?”

“According to Henry Woodhouse, yes. His poor hands carry the bite marks to prove it.”

“A hardship indeed.”

“Speaking of hardship,” said Mrs. Bennet, “my new ball gown has not arrived. So vexatious! My poor nerves!”

“There is always tomorrow morning. Besides, does it matter what you wear? You are not known here. One of your other evening gowns will do as well.”

“Wear a gown that is two seasons old? When Mrs. Elton and Mrs. Suckling will be dressed in the latest fashion? Never! They will look down their noses at me. See if they don’t.”

“Does their opinion matter?”

“It does to me, Lizzy. I simply must wear my precious gown made by that London modiste. And I shall not have the bad taste to look down my nose at them.”

Darcy saw his wife conceal a smile.

“Well,” amended Mrs. Bennet. “Perhaps only a little. There is no harm in that.”

Chapter 11

The next morning, George Knightley found himself on duty as chaperon. What a laughable assignment! Over the top of his newspaper, he watched Mrs. Bennet pace the length of the drawing room. She paused at the windows that overlooked the carriage drive. “Oh, heavens,” he heard her say. “What am I to do?”

“Does it snow, my dear?” called Mr. Woodhouse. “This is a most unfortunate season for a ball. I have told Mr. Knightley again and again, but does he listen?”

George hid behind the newspaper, trusting it to shield him from his father-in-law’s notice.

“If we have snow tonight,” he continued, “all will be lost.”

“I am not worried about the weather,” Mrs. Bennet assured him.

“You cannot expect me to believe that. You have strayed to the window a dozen times. What other reason can there be?”

She came across the room and resumed her seat. The backgammon table stood between them, and she absently began to lay out the checkers.

“The sorry truth is that my poor gown is lost. Elizabeth’s and Mary’s were delivered, but mine? It shall never come in time. This makes no sense because the others did. Do you suppose highwaymen have apprehended it?”

“Surely not. There are many hours before the ball. It is best, you know, not to imagine the worst.”

George bit his lip to keep from laughing. Henry Woodhouse always imagined the worst!

There was a small silence. “I expect you are right,” said Mrs. Bennet. “This is a happy place, Mr. Woodhouse. I have been happy here. I should not fret over a delivery.”

“A wise decision. Worry does our health no good. Then too, when something is wanted, it is often delayed. You know what they say about the watched pot.”

“A watched pot never boils,” quoted Mrs. Bennet. “My dear father used to say the same. Mind, I have not boiled water for years. I have, however, had my share of waiting an eternity for tea to be brought in.”

Mr. Woodhouse laughed gently. “I entirely agree. In fact, we ought to have tea now. Yes, a nice cup of tea should do us good.” He gave a tug to the bell pull. When Ruth came, he gently made the request.

“Yes, Hartfield is a happy place. I believe a large part of that is because of you, Mr. Woodhouse. And your sweet daughters, too. What a blessing to have them safely married!”

“And yet, marriage does break up the family circle.”

“On this subject,” she said smilingly, “we shall always disagree.”

“How I would like to have my daughters living here,” he said earnestly. “With both of them singing and laughing, as when they were girls. We have plenty of room.”

“One cannot hold back the passing of time, Mr. Woodhouse. How I wish we could!”

“I find it to be rather lonely. So quiet.”

“It has not been so recently. I fear we have entirely disrupted your peace.”

“I do not mind that, not at all.”

“How kind you are! My late husband—” Mrs. Bennet hesitated, and then said, “I should not speak ill of the dead. But he often complained about the noise and bother of a family.”

The tea tray was brought in, and Mrs. Bennet poured out. By now she knew just how to amend Mr. Woodhouse’s tea. George, hidden in his corner, was thankful to be overlooked.

“Do you know,” said Mrs. Bennet, “my Lizzy said an unexpected thing. ‘Mama,’ she told me. ‘You could be happy here, in this house.’ At first, I was inclined to disagree, for who enjoys being advised by someone who is so much younger? But she is right. I shall be sorry to leave on Monday.”

“As soon as that? My dear Mrs. Bennet, you must stay on! To have traveled so far, in such a dangerous season, and not stay longer is nonsensical.”

“I am at the mercy of Mr. Darcy. He is eager to reach Pemberley before Epiphany. On Monday, we travel to London and then on to Hertfordshire.”

“So far.”

“It does not seem far to Mr. Darcy, but you are right. It is a distance. Quite a distance.”

“You ought to stay on; it is no trouble. We have plenty of room. Your Mary should not be deprived of the company of Mr. Coxe.”

Mrs. Bennet lowered her teacup. “Why do you say that?”

Henry Woodhouse smiled. “I am an old man, but I have eyes. It is obvious that Mr. Coxe likes her.”

“Does he? Lizzy said the same thing, but I could not believe it. So few gentlemen have an interest in Mary. None, actually. What are his prospects?”

“His profession is the same as your father’s—a country lawyer—so you would know better than I.”

Mrs. Bennet sipped her tea, thinking.

“When your two youngest do marry,” said Mr. Woodhouse, “what shall you do?”

“Why, I’ll divide my time between them. Not Lydia, for her husband is in the army and they move about, usually in search of cheaper lodgings. Her sisters are well able to host me.”

“I do not like to think of you, moving from place to place.”

“According to Lizzy, I am destined to become like Miss Bates, living in rooms in Meryton.”

“Alone?”

“I suppose so. I haven’t an aged mother, as Miss Bates does. That sort of thing can be troublesome. On the other hand, having someone to care for does give purpose and meaning to life.”

“I expect I am troublesome to Emma. Her home, as you know, should be at Donwell.” There was a pause. “I do not like to think of you living alone.”

George Knightley held his breath. This was becoming rather delicate. If his presence was noticed now, all would be lost!

“I suppose I shall have to get a dog. And I do not want a dog. They are so injurious to one’s clothing.”

Mr. Woodhouse lowered his voice. “What about taking on a husband instead?”

“Those are injurious to one’s clothing as well, although in a very different way.”

Mrs. Bennet clapped a hand over her mouth. “Good gracious, did I say that?”

Far from being scandalized, Mr. Woodhouse began to giggle.

George Knightley shrank deeper into the overstuffed chair. To have to listen to all this was unnerving!

“It is your fault, sir. I am never so unguarded in my speech as when I am with you!”

There was a smile in Mr. Woodhouse’s voice. “As you see, I am very troublesome.”

A sound on the carriage drive caught George’s attention. Cautiously, he lowered his newspaper. A closed van was approaching the house. What were the chances?

He gave a deprecatory cough. “I believe we have a delivery, ma’am.”

Mrs. Bennet jumped to her feet. “My gown? Oh, glory, could it be?”

“There, you see, my dear? All that worry was for naught. Do sit down and finish your tea while your parcel is brought in.”

She did so. “I must confess, I can scarcely sit still. It is so wondrously exciting. But you are right, tea will do me good. Let me just refresh your cup.”

The pair sat quietly together until Mrs. Bennet was summoned. They shared a smile before she went out.

oOo

At length, however, it became clear that all was not well. George heard bells peal and the sound of much scurrying about. Presently Mrs. Bennet returned to the drawing room and resumed her seat beside Mr. Woodhouse. She dabbed at her eyes with her handkerchief.

“Are you pleased with your gown?”

She gave a great sigh. “Not at all. The less said about that, the better.”

“You cannot expect me to agree, not after raising two daughters. What happened?”

“It is nothing less than a disaster! My sweet gown! It is the most beautiful creation, but I cannot wear it.”

“What is wrong with it?”

“I blush to tell you, sir.”

“Do not leave me in suspense, or I shall imagine the worst.”

Mrs. Bennet needed no further encouragement. “What I ordered was a lovely shade of deep burgundy. Burgundy, mind you. But instead, the gown was made up in scarlet. I am accused of being a silly woman,” she went on, “and I daresay I often am. But even I know that a widow, only a fortnight out of mourning, should not wear scarlet!”

A smile played about Mr. Woodhouse’s lips. “Is it so very bad?”

“My dear Mr. Woodhouse, it is worse. And when I think of the money that Mr. Darcy laid out, and how beautifully it is made—! Why, my heart is fairly broken!”

“It cannot be as bad as that. Let me see it.”

“It is too, too scandalous.”

“Won’t you show it to me? Please?”

Mrs. Bennet paused, studying him. “Very well,” she said. “If you insist.” She reached for the bell pull. “I’ll have the box brought down.”

“No, I mean put it on.”

She broke out laughing. “My dear Mr. Woodhouse, why? It isn’t as if I shall ever wear it.”

“You must allow me to be the judge of that.”

An odd expression crossed Mrs. Bennet’s face. “Very well,” she said suddenly. “I shall. Then you’ll see.”

Chapter 12

Emma, John, and Elizabeth Darcy were to gather in Hartfield’s library at eleven in order to share a pot of tea—or so George had told the housekeeper. The real reason was for the conspirators to meet.

Without preamble, George announced, “You will never believe what is going on in the drawing room.”

“After the outcry over that gown,” said Emma wearily, “I am ready to believe anything. Honestly, it was as if someone had died.”

“Weeks of careful planning, ruined,” grumbled John. “All because of a devilish shade of silk.”

George could not hold back a grin. “I wouldn’t say ruined. It so happens that he is going with us to the ball.”

“Who is?” said John.

“Our dear father-in-law. Moreover, he is thinking about dancing.”

“Oh, surely not,” said Emma. “He would never.”

“I expect you know best. But it is certainly a step in the right direction.”

“A step,” groaned John. “Ha-ha.”

“But Mama says she cannot attend the ball,” said Elizabeth. “She refuses to wear something that is several seasons old, and the new gown is too scandalous.”

“Not necessarily,” said George. “Mr. Woodhouse insisted that the color is ruby, not scarlet.”

“That,” said John, “is splitting hairs. What is there to discuss? The gown’s inappropriate, and she won’t wear it. Our plans are doomed.”

“Not according to Mr. Woodhouse. He made her put it on—”

Emma gave a gasp.

“Above stairs in her bedchamber,” amended George. “Her intention was to prove that it would not do, that it was too daring. Ha.”

“Why do you say that?” said Elizabeth.

George swallowed down a giggle. “When she came in, I thought the poor fellow’s eyes would pop from their sockets. Your mother is a beautiful woman, Mrs. Darcy. That ruby color suits her down to the ground.”

“It makes no difference what the color is called,” said Emma. “How could Papa excuse it?”

“All too easily. He showed her the ruby ring he wears. And he mentioned a set of rubies kept in a vault or some such place.”

“Not the hideous parure of Grandmama’s! Who would wear those antiquated pieces?”

“Mrs. Bennet would. That gown would show them off admirably. Pigeon’s blood red, they call that color.”

Emma was aghast. “Did he promise the rubies to her?”

“Your father knows better than to do that. But he wanted to, oh, he did. And she was flattered by his interest.”

“So she is now scheming to entrap him.”

“I wouldn’t say that,” said George. “Curious, is it not? For someone who has been driven to marry off her daughters, she has been incredibly blind. The idea that she could become the next Mrs. Woodhouse has only just occurred to her.”

“Huzzah!” cried John. “The battle is won!”

“If this is the case, who is with them now?” said Emma tartly. “We daren’t leave them unattended, not if she is wearing a scandalous gown!”

“At the moment, that task has fallen to Darcy,” said George. “No doubt he is squirming in his seat.”

John jumped to his feet. “Why should you and Darcy have all the fun? I demand to have my share!” Out he went.

oOo

Darcy came into the library a few minutes later.

“Well?” said Elizabeth pleasantly. “We have heard that Mr. Woodhouse has decided to attend the ball. What else?” She poured out a cup of tea and passed it to him.

Darcy settled into the chair vacated by John. “You will never guess his reason. He is to lend your mother countenance.”

“At her age?”

“He believes his social credit will be enough to carry the day. If he does not censure her, no one else will dare to.”

“Could Mama be scheming to entrap him?”

“I rather doubt it,” said Darcy. “Her first thought was to have Mary wear the gown, but Mr. Woodhouse put a stop to that. As to schemes, the man has a few of his own.”

“Such as?”

“He has decided to dance, so that she will not sit against the wall with the matrons.”

“They will set all the tongues to wagging.”

“I expect so.” Darcy turned to Emma. “Apparently, when your father was young, he was very fond of dancing.”

“What has that to do with anything?”

“Just this: We have all heard Mrs. Bennet say that he is not an old man.”

“Nonsense. Of course he is old.”

“She has given him a powerful inducement to prove that she is right. Moreover,” said Darcy, “when she objected and said that no one would ask her to dance, he stepped right up.”

“Now that,” said Elizabeth, “was by design.”

“I cannot see why he would be taken in,” said Emma. “For years Miss Bates has given a stream of compliments.”

“For his generosity and courtesy, yes,” said George. “That sort of thing wears thin. But Mrs. Bennet praises him as a man. There is a difference.”

The library door banged open. “I am hereby relieved of my duties, thanks to Miss Darcy and Miss Bennet,” said John.

He drew up a chair and sat. “They are to take turns at the pianoforte. Mrs. Bennet has gone up to have what she calls a little lie-down. I take it she means to have a nap. Old Woodhouse has agreed to do the same. Er, not together, of course.”

“Has he proposed?” George wanted to know.

“It is far too soon,” protested Emma.

“Not yet, but I daresay he is thinking about it. We can thank the gown for that.”

“A proposal,” said Emma, “is mere speculation.”

“Is it? It appears that your father did not know Mrs. Bennet’s Christian name. So she told him. And he used it.”

“Er,” said Darcy, “what is her Christian name?”

“Fitzwilliam!”

Darcy spread his hands. “I have never heard it. How should I? Your parents were always very formal.”

“Her name is Jane,” said Elizabeth.

“Apparently, friends and family used to call her Janie,” added John, “but no one has done so for years. Until old Woodhouse, that is.”

“Behold, the height of passion,” quipped George.

“Do not laugh,” said Emma. “You recall how difficult it was for me to stop calling you Mister Knightley.”

“You cleared that fence soon enough. Now you abuse my poor name with regularity.”

“Only when you deserve it.”

“Did Mama call him Henry?” demanded Elizabeth. “How did he respond to that?”

“He fairly kicked up his heels. Wondered how long it had been since a pretty woman has done so.”

Darcy bit his lips to keep from chuckling. Poor Mr. Woodhouse!

“I hope you appreciate my sacrifice,” continued John. “It was deuced awkward, having to sit there and listen to all of it.”

“I expect Mama was rather thrilled,” said Elizabeth. “My father never gave compliments of that kind.”

John heaved out of the chair. “So there we are. I ought to return to Donwell, if only to get the mistletoe into position. I daresay it will inspire a few kisses tonight.”

Emma passed a hand over her eyes. “The thought of that is rather—goodness, I should not use the word disgusting, but there it is.”

“Confound it, Emma,” cried John. “They’ll have to kiss. It is part and parcel of deciding to marry.”

Darcy coughed to cover a laugh.

oOo

Later that evening, the Knightleys and Mr. Woodhouse waited in the entrance hall. The carriage would make two trips to Donwell Abbey. Darcy’s wife, sister, and the Bennets would not depart until later.

Since he had nothing else to do, Darcy stood beside George and listened to Emma Knightley. She had the most to gain by the proposed match, and yet she was protective of her father. Darcy could hardly blame her for that.

“You are determined to attend?” she asked Mr. Woodhouse again.

“Yes, my dear. Doubtless there will be too much noise and merrymaking. However, Donwell is a large house. I should be able to find a quiet nook or corner.”

“Mind, there will be a crush of people. I worry that someone might knock against you, causing you to fall.”

“Bah,” he said mildly. “I might as well put my walking stick to use.” He then gave a pat to a pocket of his frock coat. “As you see, I have my dancing gloves at the ready.”

“But Papa,” she protested. “Is that wise?”

“Surely I am able to walk through a reel, my dear. Mr. Perry claims that walking is healthful. I shall simply be doing that, but with musical accompaniment.”

She gave a great sigh. “I fear it will be too lively for you.”

“Emma,” he said. “Everyone sees me as an old stick. Worn out and past any enjoyment. Well, I am not. One cannot wait until life has no struggles to decide to be happy.”

“I—suppose.”

Mr. Woodhouse shrugged into his overcoat and buttoned it up. “Besides, this is Christmas Eve, my dear. It is only fitting that we are merry.” With a word of thanks, he accepted his hat from the footman.

Emma adjusted the position of his muffler. “Happy Christmas, Papa.”

George Knightley offered an arm to his wife. “A happy Christmas indeed.”

“George,” she whispered. “He’ll fall. Is it icy out?”

“I think not. It is frightfully cold.” He opened the door and looked out. The sound of horses and wheels drifted in. “And here we are. Mr. Woodhouse, would you care to lead the way?”

There was a sprightly hop in Mr. Woodhouse’s step. He did not employ his walking stick.

At the threshold, he turned back. “Yes, it is cold, but there is no snow. And as Miss Bates has reminded us, our carriage does have sheepskin. Although,” he added with an impish twinkle, “dear Janie Bennet will need more than that to keep warm.”

“Papa!”

Mr. Woodhouse gave a gentle chuckle and went out into the night.

oOo

The carriage made the return from Donwell in less than an hour. As Darcy expected, his mother-in-law was the last to descend to the entrance hall. She would certainly turn heads tonight!

“Now Mary,” said Mrs. Bennet as she came, “if an eligible gentleman shows interest, you must exert yourself. It does no harm to show more affection than you feel.”

“Georgiana and I shall bear one another company,” said Mary primly, “lest any unwelcome strangers encroach. As for fixing a gentleman’s interest, I should say that the same applies to you.”

“Bless me, why?”

“As if you did not know,” said Mary.

Mrs. Bennet changed the subject. “After all the trouble I have been through, it would be a great shame to trip over my hem and tear it.”

She crossed the hall to examine her image in the long looking glass and gave a touch to her hair. Here was no ruffled cap, but a tasteful garland of leaves fashioned in ruby silk.

“I have never worn such an exquisite gown,” said Mrs. Bennet. “Mary and Miss Darcy,” she added kindly, “you also look well. Yes, very well indeed.”

She accepted her cloak from the footman. “I must say, Lizzy, you are beautifully dressed tonight. The bodice of that gown fits you like a glove.”

Darcy was in hearty agreement. He could say the same for Mrs. Bennet—but he did not dare!

He averted his gaze and took hold of Elizabeth’s gloved hand. “Happy Christmas, Mrs. Darcy,” he whispered.

“Fitzwilliam,” she whispered back, “what on earth are we doing? Are we wrong to encourage this match? I cannot bear for her to be unhappy.”

“Not at all, my love. Your mama is as merry as a grig.”

“That is what worries me.”

“She is well able to fend for herself. You and I shall have all we can do to guard Georgiana from young Suckling’s advances.”

“Oh, heavens. I’d forgotten him.”

“It is better said that he should not forget me. Let him push one of his paltry poems onto her or arrange a private tête-à-tête, and he shall feel my wrath.”

Elizabeth gave a delicious gurgle of laughter.

Chapter 13

George Knightley looked about his ancestral home with approving eyes. Holly and candlelight, ivy and the Christmas rose; these combined beautifully to add a festive air. Seldom had Donwell been in finer form. How many years had it been since the ballroom’s enormous chandeliers were lit? This ball was very overdue.

Great fires roared in each hearth, further emphasizing the Christmas season. George could see that his brother had been busy. Suspended over the ballroom’s mantlepieces were generous sprigs of mistletoe.

Guests were now arriving, and the ballroom hummed with conversation. What was it about the holiday season that lifted the spirits? Mr. Woodhouse’s courtship notwithstanding, it was an excellent idea to host this Christmas ball.

The man himself now occupied a seat before the fire, which was hardly a surprise. The chair opposite held his walking stick. Obviously, this was reserved for Mrs. Bennet.

The party from the Highbury vicarage had many an exclamation over the beauty of Donwell. George saw Darcy follow Hervey Suckling like a shadow. There would be no flirtation with Miss Darcy tonight.

George was mindful to greet each of his guests, with many a surreptitious look to Mr. Woodhouse. He ought to be standing with the rest of his family, but the temptation to observe his father-in-law was too much. He watched as Mrs. Suckling approached the hearth where Mr. Woodhouse sat. Her evening gown, a vibrant orange creation, was no doubt in the latest mode.

Without a thought, Mrs. Suckling firmly set the walking stick aside and settled into the reserved chair. George knew that Mr. Woodhouse was too well mannered to reprimand her.

However, when Mrs. Bennet arrived, he surrendered his seat and brought forward another chair for himself. He sat close beside her, rather to Mrs. Suckling’s irritation.

Oho! Had the widowed Mrs. Suckling decided that Henry Woodhouse was fair game? Was she casting her hat into the matchmaking ring? If so, she had another think coming! Janie Bennet looked remarkably well this evening. That gown erased years from her figure—and she knew it.

Presently the musicians tuned their instruments, and a wave of excitement filled the ballroom. La Belle Assemblée March signaled the dancers to take their positions.

There would be no surprises here. By arrangement, Emma and George would open the ball, with Darcy and Georgiana as second couple. Hervey Suckling’s disappointment was unmistakable. Darcy’s wife stood smilingly beside Hervey until he relented and took her as partner. Mr. Coxe led Mary into the set.

The second dance, chosen by George, was a gentle Scotch reel. With many a smile, Mr. Woodhouse and Mrs. Bennet took up their positions. Bonny Highland Laddie was the perfect choice.

As expected, there were many smiles. Yes, the pair created quite the sensation. Mrs. Elton’s expression was sour and so was Hervey’s, for Mr. Coxe had stolen a march on him with Miss Darcy. Politeness demanded that Hervey take Mary Bennet as partner, but he was not happy about it.

At the end of the dance, Mr. Woodhouse and Mrs. Bennet retired to their seats before the fire. The Earl Breadalbain’s Reel was requested by Emma. As planned, Darcy danced with her—right beside Hervey and Miss Darcy. Darcy’s stern gaze was unsmiling, and George saw Hervey stumble several times.

Presently there was a short interval. John strolled up, wearing an expression George recognized. “You look unusually pleased,” he remarked. “How is Mr. Woodhouse faring?”

“Nicely. I have no idea where he is now, but I did see him eyeing the kissing bough. You can thank me later.”

Emma came rushing up. “Where is Papa? I cannot find him anywhere. Do you suppose he has fallen?”

Isabella joined them in time to hear this. “Not at all, dearest,” she said. “Because of the snow, I had Mrs. Hodges order the carriage.”

“Snow?” cried Emma. “What snow?”

“Haven’t you noticed? It has been snowing for the past hour. It is only a very light snowfall. However, Papa and Mrs. Bennet were eager to return to Hartfield before the lane became impassible. I thought it best to put them into the carriage and send them off.”

“Alone?”

“Not alone, Emma. With the driver and a footman.”

John began to laugh. “Well played, my dear. An excellent maneuver.”

“Isabella, how could you? It is Christmas Eve.”

“Well, yes, it is,” said John. “I daresay they never went near the kissing bough, if that is what you are worried about.”

“Do you know what happened to me on Christmas Eve?” cried Emma. “Do you?”

“Unless you tell me, no. Dash it all, I’m not a blasted mind reader.”

“It was all your fault.”

John folded his arms across his chest. “Oh, certainly. It always is.”

“Exactly one year ago tonight, you bundled me into the carriage at Randalls—with Mr. Elton—because of the snow. It was stupidly done, John.”

“What can be the objection? You arrived home safely enough.”

“Mr. Elton and I were alone in the carriage. And he proposed.”

“Elton did?” John gave a shout of laughter.

“It was dreadful. The worst experience of my life.”

“Did he try to kiss you?”

George began to chuckle; he could not help it. Emma gave his arm a thwack. “He went on and on about his passion for me. I was never more shocked. He was supposed to be in love with poor Harriet.”

She turned on George. “It was no laughing matter! And now, Isabella has done the same thing. My father and Mrs. Bennet are alone in the carriage.”

“What harm can come?” said George. “There is no danger from the cold, you know. They, er, have sheepskin.”

“How can you make jokes at a time like this? He’ll propose, that’s what.”

“And he’ll probably kiss her, too,” added John. “Naturally, she’ll feel obliged to say yes.”

“Not unless she wishes to,” said George. “Er, did Elton kiss you?”

“Oh!” Emma fairly stamped her foot. “He did not! It was a miracle that I did not strike him! For if ever there was an odious, ill-timed proposal—!”

Darcy spoke up. “I believe that honor belongs to me. My first proposal, made when Elizabeth was ill with a headache, was roundly refused—and deservedly so.”

“Mrs. Bennet certainly does not have the headache,” scoffed Emma. “She has been smiling and laughing, as if she hadn’t a care in the world.”

“Well now, here is another black mark to add to my account. The Christmas punch has been hard at work.”

Emma rounded on him. “What did you do to the punch, John?”

“I amended it a little. And the egg-nog, too.”

“John!”

He spread his hands. “A little extra rum never hurt anyone.”

“You and your wretched schemes!”

“Come now, Mrs. Knightley,” said George mildly. “It is high time for the dancing to resume. What say you to taking a celebratory turn together? For unless I miss my guess, you shall shortly become the acting mistress of Donwell in more than name only.”

He saw Emma take in his meaning. “Why, yes,” she said slowly. “Yes, I suppose I shall.”

Her lips curved into a smile, and the shine returned to her eyes. “Very well, Mr. Knightley, I accept. Provided that you have not imbibed multiple servings of John’s horrid punch.”

“Fortunately, I have been too occupied to do so.” Smiling, he bowed over his wife’s hand and led her into the set.

oOo

George Knightley and his wife had arranged to stay the night at Donwell Abbey, which was just as well. It was very late when Darcy and his family returned. The Highbury mansion was quiet. News of an engagement would have to wait until the following morning.

Even then, it was evident that something had transpired during the fateful drive through the snow, for Mr. Woodhouse and Mrs. Bennet smiled and laughed more than ever. There would be a bountiful Christmas dinner that afternoon, but not a hint was dropped about anything more.

For a woman of Mrs. Bennet’s temperament, Darcy thought such restraint was rather remarkable.

After everyone was seated at the table and the Christmas blessing said, Mr. Woodhouse rose to his feet. Mrs. Bennet, seated at his right hand, smiled up at him.

“This shall come as a surprise to you, my beloved family and friends,” he said in his formal way. “In keeping with the festive nature of the Christmas season, I have made bold to ask for Mrs. Bennet’s hand in marriage. To my delight, she has agreed to become my wife.”

He looked so pleased and in such good health that even Miss Bates made no objection.

“Hear, hear,” said George Knightley, and he lifted his glass.

Mr. Woodhouse coughed gently. “I suppose, given the celebratory nature of the occasion, that a small glass of wine is in order.”

“I’ll say,” cried John. “What better than to toast to your health? But not,” he added, “if we must douse the wine in a tumbler of water.”

Toasts were made and the dinner service began. It was a fine Christmas meal with all the trimmings: beef and plum pudding, mince pies and a big bowl of wassail. Could there be a better complement to such happy news?

All that remained was to work out the practicalities, and these occupied most of the evening.

“An announcement in the London papers is fairly useless,” remarked John, “although it should be done. I expect everyone in Highbury will get word of it before sunrise tomorrow.”

“Of course Mrs. Bennet must stay on,” said Mr. Woodhouse.

“Not here, Papa,” said Emma. “It would not be proper.”

Mr. Woodhouse blinked. “Well then, until we are able to be married, Mrs. Bennet and her daughter must live at Donwell.”

“Without a hostess?” said Isabella. “Only think how dreary that will be.”

“Not at all, my dear. You and the children may certainly remain. It will be no trouble.”

“While John returns alone to London? I’d rather not.”

“I regret to be disobliging,” Darcy put in, “but Mrs. Darcy and I must journey to Derbyshire as planned.”

“Of course you must,” said George. “We are well able to work out a solution. I take it you will be married by license, Mr. Woodhouse?”

“As weather allows, yes. It has been remarkably pleasant for this time of year.”

“In spite of the blessed snowfall of last night,” muttered John.

“I suppose,” said Mrs. Bennet, “that Mary and I can hire rooms in the village. Kitty can remain with the Bingleys for a time.”

“That will never do.” Mr. Woodhouse looked down the long table to his daughter. “Isabella insists that the air of Berkshire Square is better than what one normally encounters in London. Perhaps the solution lies there.”

“It is about time you gave Berkshire Square its due,” grumbled John.

“Furthermore," said Mr. Woodhouse, “I expect Isabella will like having help with the children.”

John spoke again. “We already employ three nurserymaids.”

“And dear Janie, no doubt you should enjoy shopping for bridal clothes.”

“In London, do you mean?” said she. “I most certainly shall. How like you to be so thoughtful!”

“Then it is settled. Until we are able to exchange our vows, Mrs. Bennet and Mary shall live in London with the John Knightleys.”

“Hang it all,” cried John. “Live where? With us? Why us?”

“My dear brother,” said George, “since this undertaking was your idea, it is entirely fitting that you have a hand in its conclusion. I can think of no better place for Mrs. Bennet to reside than in Berkshire Square.”

“Good gad. Who knows how long that shall be?”

“Less weeks than you deserve,” said Emma tartly.

“Weeks!”

“Let us therefore pray earnestly for a mild winter,” said George. “Or, barring that, for an early spring thaw.”

“May heaven help us all,” muttered John.

Darcy could not hold back a smile. What an opportune ending to a difficult dilemma! Mrs. Bennet and Mr. Woodhouse could not be more delighted.

The same could not be said for poor John Knightley. Until the marriage took place, he would be feeling rather put out.

Thanks so much for reading.

To learn about new releases and such,

Subscribe to my newsletter or follow me at Amazon

Would you like more Mr. Darcy?

One can never have enough of our favorite hero!

May I suggest this one?

SAINT NICHOLAS DAY

Wendi Sotis[3]

Chapter 1

~Saturday, 30 November 1811 –London

“My lady, you cannot know the depth of our appreciation for your extraordinary efforts on behalf of our cause,” Mrs. Cooper beamed at Aunt Adelaide. “The two charity balls you host every year help to provide the Children of Saint Nicholas Orphanage with clothing and food, as well as funding our school. Our children’s education and occupational instruction facilitate in their eventual gain of valuable employment. Why, as you know, some of our children find positions among even the most prominent households of England. The children and I cannot thank you enough.” The headmistress cleared her throat and finally took a breath before turning to the other occupants of her office. “Mr. Darcy and Miss Darcy, your participation in the Saint Nicholas Day celebration is also valued.”

Fitzwilliam Darcy bowed his head briefly. Georgiana smiled.

It need not be said aloud; Mrs. Cooper assumed their assistance with the event was due to their aunt’s forcing the obligation upon them. If she knew the truth, she would not project such an air of disinterest every time her gaze landed upon him—which was exactly why he did not wish her to know. He despised sycophantic performances.

Aunt Adelaide responded, “It has been my pleasure to continue my dear departed sister-in-law’s beloved tradition these past few years.” Her gaze held a touch of sorrow when they met Darcy’s, then settled on Georgiana.

Aunt Adelaide took Georgiana’s hand in hers. “Never forget, my dear, that your mother was the most important friend this orphanage ever had—beginning when she was only a little older than you are now.”

Darcy sighed. Although he had always suspected he would not be able to forever dissuade his aunt’s bristling reaction to the way Mrs. Cooper behaved towards them, he had hoped it would at least be another year or two before he was required to acknowledge the part he played in all this. Judging by the tension in his aunt’s bearing, he had a feeling the time had come too soon.

Aunt Adelaide refocused all her attention onto Mrs. Cooper. “It occurs to me that you may not be aware of the history behind the Saint Nicholas Day event and the semi-annual fundraising balls, Mrs. Cooper, since you have been headmistress of the Children of Saint Nicholas Orphanage for only these past three years. I, however, remember the first year as if it were yesterday.”

Mrs. Cooper furrowed her brow, clearly confused.

His aunt’s gaze wandered towards the window, but Darcy suspected she saw only her memories play out before her. “Lady Anne Fitzwilliam, who later became Lady Anne Darcy…” A great deal of stress was placed upon the surname. “…was my particular friend for many years. When Anne’s father insisted that his children become involved with a charitable endeavour of their choosing, it only took one visit for her to see it was a worthy cause. Being of service to the Children of Saint Nicholas instantly became her life’s passion.” His aunt chuckled. “Of course, Anne’s being the daughter of the Earl of Matlock certainly aided in the garnering of enthusiasm for her fundraising projects from our contemporaries.”

Darcy almost laughed aloud when Aunt Adelaide looked pointedly at Mrs. Cooper, who had by this time paled significantly. “This orphanage was an entirely different place before being touched by Lady Anne Darcy’s inspiration. For instance, when she first came here, only boys were permitted to attend the orphanage’s school, but Lady Anne firmly maintained that girls should be educated, as well. I believe, to this day, most of the servants who have worked at the Darcy’s households were former pupils here.”

Aunt Adelaide looked expectantly at Darcy. He nodded, hoping the expression he shot towards his aunt before she turned away had communicated his discomfort with any further disclosures.

Truly, he held nothing against Mrs. Cooper for her attitude towards him. The woman had no way of knowing Darcy was the orphanage’s main benefactor. His aunt might be trying to make certain the proper credit was given, but if Darcy had wished for recognition, he would not have insisted on making his donations anonymously through his solicitor over the past five years, since his father had died, and through his aunt before that. What mattered was only that Mrs. Cooper cared deeply for the children and was an excellent headmistress.

Lady Adelaide raised an eyebrow at Mrs. Cooper. “I am certain once Miss Darcy is old enough—or when Mr. Darcy marries—the fundraising balls will again be hosted at Darcy House.”

Mrs. Cooper face reddened. She cleared her throat. “You are correct, Lady Adelaide, I was not aware of this history… Oh! But yes, indeed, Mr. Darcy and Miss Darcy, it must be such a delight to continue your mother’s legacy. The Children of Saint Nicolas will be forever grateful for your mother’s generosity, and, of course, your own.”

Gratified that the headmistress’ response was not as toadying as she sometimes became when speaking to his aunt, Darcy bowed his head in answer.

“Well, then,” Aunt Adelaide said, seeming satisfied with the progress she had made. “On to more pressing business. I understand Mrs. Gardiner’s son has met with an accident, and therefore, she will not be joining us during this last week of preparations.”

“Yes, her eldest son has fractured his collarbone,” Mrs. Cooper answered. “Mrs. Gardiner wishes to tend to him herself.”

“The poor boy.” Aunt Adelaide frowned. “Mrs. Gardiner will be sorely missed at our festivities this year, but we all can understand her concern for her son. However, there is still so much to do, and little time remaining. We will need to recruit a volunteer to replace her, but honestly, I do not know where we will find someone at this late date.”

“There is no need, my lady,” said Mrs. Cooper. “Mrs. Gardiner sent for two of her nieces to collaborate with you in her place. They arrived in London last evening from their father’s estate in Hertfordshire. I am to speak with them as soon as we are finished here.” She gestured towards the window. “Would you like to meet them?”

Darcy glanced out the window, spotting the figure of a young lady playing blindman’s bluff with a group of boys and girls to one side of the orphanage’s small garden.

His heart lurched in his chest. Even with a handkerchief tied around her face, he recognized her form as easily as if he had known her all his life.

Miss Elizabeth Bennet.

Adding credence to this identification, he spotted another lady sitting nearby, reading a book aloud to a few younger girls—the same lady he had recently gone to such lengths to separate from his good friend, Bingley—Elizabeth’s elder sister, Miss Jane Bennet.

The uneasiness filling his chest nearly overwhelmed him.

Just as he was about to tell his aunt they could make do without the assistance of Mrs. Gardiner’s nieces, he realized that, in fact, they could not. Whilst many of the ladies of the ton were willing to convince their husbands to make monetary donations, which of course was greatly beneficial to their cause, most did so only to ingratiate themselves with the Countess of Matlock. They would not lift one finger to assist them in the preparations.

Besides, what legitimate justification could he admit to aloud that would convince his aunt to exclude the Misses Bennet?

None! None at all.

Aunt Adelaide’s tone was melancholy when she responded to Mrs. Cooper. “My goodness, it is almost as if I have travelled back thirty years… as if I am watching Anne and myself in the very same garden.” She continued with a touch of mirth, “I would have been the one playing tag.” To Georgiana, she said, “Your mother would have been the one reading.” She turned to the headmistress. “Yes, I would very much like to meet them. Immediately.”

Darcy slowly released a breath. After all he had done to protect his heart from Elizabeth Bennet’s influence whilst in Hertfordshire, would he and his sister end up collaborating with her on this project?

Heaven help him! He must find a way out of it this year.

Chapter 2

“Come, children! It is time for your lessons,” Miss Smith called out from the doorway leading into the orphanage.

Elizabeth tugged the blindfold down to her neck. “Well, now that you have learned the game, tell me… do you like it?”

All seven children acknowledged they did.

“Good. Enjoy your lessons. We shall play again another time.”

The oldest girl, Betty, said, “Enjoy lessons?” she shook her head. “It’s time for mathematics.”

Some of the other children groaned.

“Ah, I see there are skeptics among you.” Elizabeth smiled. “You must think as I do. Learning is a challenge, not a chore, and we should never be intimidated by a challenge, for they only motivate us to better ourselves. Knowledge can make all the difference in our lives, but it is up to you to apply what you learn. For example, almost anyone can be a maid or footman, but if one wants more responsibility—and higher wages…” She wiggled her eyebrows. “…you must remember that only a person who can read, write, and do their figures can elevate themselves to become a housekeeper, shop clerk, or butler.” She looked around at the children she had been playing with. “Your teachers are doing you a great service by schooling you. If you are willing to learn what they teach, your futures can be full of opportunities.” She hesitated to let that sink in. “Now, off with you. And mind Miss Smith!”

The children rushed off towards their teacher, where the children to whom Jane had been reading already waited.

“That was a nice speech,” said Jane from behind her.

Elizabeth glanced up from untying the kerchief from her neck and raised an eyebrow. “Let us hope it is more effective with them than it was with Kitty and Lydia.”

Jane smiled politely.

Of course, Elizabeth had not included the servant references when speaking on the same subject to her youngest sisters. But… genteel society was so strange. Single ladies were expected to suppress any original thoughts and ideas they might have so they could be judged by prospective suitors on their appearance alone. Then, once they married, those same ladies were required to miraculously possess all the knowledge they needed to assist them in running a household.

Society was full of hypocrites!

Elizabeth refused to tolerate these concepts. She could never fall in love with a gentleman who preferred she should hide her intellect, and she would not marry without affection. However, since that was not the way the world worked, she also accepted she was probably destined to remain single, which only meant she would strive to become the best spinster-aunt her four sisters’ children could ever have.

As the children filed into the building, an older woman approached them and introduced herself as Mrs. Cooper, the orphanage’s headmistress. Jane and Elizabeth followed her inside for their appointment.

Passing through the door to Mrs. Cooper’s office, Elizabeth was surprised to find two ladies already seated. A gentleman stepped forward from a little library alcove behind the door.

“Mr. Darcy!” cried Elizabeth.

What on earth was he doing there?

Out of the corner of her eye, Elizabeth noticed Jane shift to peer behind the gentleman, into an empty space. Disappointment radiated from her sister as her shoulders sagged.

Really, Elizabeth could not blame her for expecting Mr. Charles Bingley to be in attendance, as well. All those months in Hertfordshire, the two gentlemen were rarely seen apart.

Elizabeth sighed. When at Longbourn, just a few hours prior to receiving their Aunt Madeline’s express letter asking them to hurry to London, Jane had received a missive from Miss Caroline Bingley. In it, Caroline announced her brother was to end his lease on Netherfield Park. Caroline also shared her suspicion that Mr. Bingley would soon marry Miss Darcy, his good friend’s sister. But Elizabeth had already determined that Mr. Darcy was ultimately responsible for these circumstances, since she knew Caroline could not have instituted a plan like that by herself, even with the help of her sister, Mrs. Hurst. In order to convince Mr. Bingley completely, she suspected it would also require additional urging from his good friend, Mr. Darcy.

After all Mr. Wickham had told her about Mr. Darcy—a man who would deny his own father’s final wishes—she could certainly believe him capable of doing everything in his power to separate two people in love when the match did not suit his expectations for his friend.

All of this would not have been a problem if Jane had not fallen so deeply in love with Mr. Bingley this past autumn. Ever since she had received Caroline’s letter two days ago, Jane’s constitution had been in a continual state of decline.

Elizabeth was pulled from her recollections when Mr. Darcy bowed.

The Bennet ladies curtsied in response. Elizabeth might loathe the man, but she would still follow the rules of etiquette, though she would do no more than what was strictly required.

Mr. Darcy said, “Mrs. Cooper, please, allow me…” and he went on to present his aunt, Lady Adelaide Fitzwilliam, with whom Aunt Madeline had previously explained they might end up working.

Lady Adelaide was a refined, attractive woman of about her mother’s age, whose graceful manner announced her status of Countess of Matlock with every look and gesture. At the same time, somehow, she did not project even the slightest hint of condescension. Her salt-and-pepper hair was intricately arranged and topped off with the most elegant-looking bonnet Elizabeth had ever seen.

Lady Adelaide said, “I am sorry to hear about Master Edward’s injuries. Please send my regards to Mr. and Mrs. Gardiner and ask your aunt to inform me if there is anything I can do to make their son’s recovery easier.”

With the reserve usual for Jane upon meeting someone new, she practically whispered her thanks.

Elizabeth said with gratitude, “You have done so much already, my lady. We had only just arrived in London yesterday when little Eddie received your basket, full of books and puzzles. I wish you could have seen his face light up with joy to receive his very own copy of the full set of volumes of Gulliver’s Travels. Whenever Eddie’s family or nurse have not been on hand to occupy his attention, Jane and I have been taking turns reading to our cousin to keep him amused.”

Lady Adelaide bowed her head, and then furrowed her brow. “What is the prognosis?”

“Eddie is a brave little boy,” Elizabeth said in a more serious tone. “The physician visited this morning and is encouraged by his progress thus far, but he will have a lengthy recovery.”

Once the conversation lagged, Mr. Darcy turned to introduce his sister.

Miss Darcy rose. The three young ladies curtsied and smiled politely as Elizabeth said, “Miss Darcy, it is a pleasure to meet you.”

She remembered from previous conversations in Hertfordshire that Miss Georgiana Darcy was about the same age as Lydia, sixteen. She was taller than any of Elizabeth’s sisters. Other than her height, she was quite dissimilar to her brother, and the opposite in colouring—blonde where his hair was a chocolate-brown, and his eyes were dark, whilst his sister’s eyes were hazel. A lovely girl, her features were enhanced with intelligence, innocence, and good humour. Her manners were perfectly unassuming and gentle, and there was a natural timidity about her. She appeared nervous to be meeting someone new, enough that she visibly trembled and could barely meet Elizabeth’s gaze.

Jane mumbled a greeting that was barely audible. Miss Darcy did exactly the same.

Elizabeth gaze darted back and forth between Jane and Miss Darcy several times. At least upon first meeting, the two seemed very much alike in temperament.

Through the years, Jane had worked hard to acquire the ability to converse with strangers, but she accomplished this only after taking a few moments to calm herself first. Elizabeth had been told by others that, during this initial period, Jane appeared indifferent, but the truth was she felt deeply. Her elder sister could get by, but she was simply not in the habit of expressing her feelings in the presence of anyone but her family and closest friends.

However, under the current circumstances—experiencing duress whilst meeting the girl whom, according to Miss Bingley’s assertion, was to marry the very gentleman Jane loved—her sister had reverted to her old ways.

Honestly, Elizabeth could not fault her.

But… regarding Miss Darcy! How could this be the young lady that Mr. Wickham had described to Elizabeth as being even more proud and arrogant than her brother?

What Mr. Darcy had said to her during their dance at Netherfield only four days ago popped into her mind, “Mr. Wickham is blessed with such happy manners as may ensure his making friends, but whether he may be equally capable of retaining them is less certain.”

She had scoffed at Mr. Darcy’s comment at the time, and yet, just now, she would almost attest to the fact that Mr. Wickham had been purposely deceitful when speaking about the young lady who appeared before her. Mr. Wickham could not have been more wrong about the girl with whom he claimed to have been so well acquainted. In fact, he had declared the Darcys were once like family to him.

As a result of these musings, Elizabeth found herself questioning everything Mr. Wickham had told her of the Darcy family… or of anyone else, for that matter.

She glanced up at Mr. Darcy and found he was already looking at her. He quickly looked away.

Had Mr. Darcy’s comment about Mr. Wickham been an attempt to warn her about the man?

Remembering herself, she wracked her brain for something more to say to Miss Darcy. She was about to mention she had heard about the young lady’s accomplishments from her brother and Mr. Bingley’s sisters, but she stopped herself. Jane was in such a fragile state; she, too, was now trembling. Mentioning the name Bingley might make this meeting inordinately more difficult for her.

Mr. Darcy saved her from having to say anything by holding chairs for both Jane and Elizabeth. He then moved to stand to the side, near the window.

Mrs. Cooper began, “Miss Bennet, Miss Elizabeth, thank you for joining us, and for answering the call for volunteers. Has your aunt explained what is expected of you?”

“A little… but she is quite distracted at present,” Elizabeth answered, “While we have been assisting Mrs. Gardiner in her efforts for years from afar, our part has always ended before this stage in the preparations. In fact, Mr. Darcy, you might have noticed I was embroidering instead of playing cards with the others one evening at Netherfield whilst Jane was ill.” She glanced at the gentleman, who mumbled something in acknowledgement. “You might have perceived that I was embroidering the flowers displayed on the blouses the girls wear here at the orphanage.”

He seemed surprised, and she guessed he had not.

“The embroidery is the last step in finishing the blouses…” She returned her gaze to Lady Adelaide. “Unfortunately, when Jane became ill, we fell slightly behind.”

Jane coloured a little before adding, “I apologize for the delay, but we should be finished with the last two blouses by tomorrow evening. After church services, Lizzy and I will take turns reading to Eddie whilst the other is embroidering.”

Elizabeth sighed in relief, less concerned about her sister now that she had spoken two complete sentences.

A knock on the door caused Mrs. Cooper to excuse herself before she rushed from the room. Elizabeth assumed it must be an urgent matter if the staff felt the need to interrupt their meeting.

Once the door closed again, Elizabeth asked Lady Adelaide, “Was Aunt Madeline correct in telling us that our assistance is needed in sewing handkerchiefs? We should be available to help with them on Monday.”

“That would be ideal,” said Lady Adelaide. “There is much to do before the sixth of December—it is next Friday! Years ago, we wished to hold a Christmas dinner for the children, but our families, and many others in Town, traditionally spend the holidays at their country estates. Now, our fundraising ball is an institution—it is the final ball before most families return home for the holidays,” she explained. “Will you both be able to join Georgiana and me at Matlock House on Monday morning?”

Miss Darcy almost whispered, “All of the supplies are at our house, Aunt.” She glanced at her brother.

Mr. Darcy said, “Yes… please, feel free to gather at Darcy House at any time.”

“That would be more convenient,” Lady Adelaide agreed. “Shall we meet there at eleven o’clock, then?”

Elizabeth had been thinking they could simply acquire their own materials and thread and make the items at the Gardiners’ home, just the two of them. How would Jane react to being forced to spend time with Miss Darcy?

Astonishing Elizabeth, Jane spoke up and wholeheartedly agreed to the plan.

“Be prepared to remain all day.” Lady Adelaide rose, as did the younger ladies. “If I shall be unavailable to visitors for the next several days, I had best leave now and make a call or three today. I will see you all Monday morning.”

After a flurry of curtsies from the young ladies, and a word from Mr. Darcy, saying he would return in a moment, the gentleman escorted his aunt from the office.

Miss Darcy looked completely lost without her relations present.

Seeking not only to make Miss Darcy more comfortable, but to learn more of her character, Elizabeth said, “Jane and I have never attended a Saint Nicholas Day celebration.”

Miss Darcy’s voice was barely audible. “It is a special day for the children… partly due to the name of the orphanage.”

“It is the Children of Saint Nicolas Orphanage, is it not?” Elizabeth asked with a gentle smile, hoping Miss Darcy would say more.

Miss Darcy simply nodded.

Jane said, “I am eager to witness the children’s reactions at such an event.”

Elizabeth agreed aloud. Privately, she was comforted Jane had spoken again.

Just as Elizabeth was about to ask another question to further draw the younger lady out, Mr. Darcy returned, as did Mrs. Cooper, who apologized profusely for her absence.

After updating Mrs. Cooper as to their plans for Monday, Mr. Darcy turned to Jane and herself. “Your carriage is ready, ladies. As is ours, Georgiana.” He held out his arm to his sister.

Elizabeth was irritated by his assumption that they were departing, for she had seen through the window that several children were making their way out of doors. She would have enjoyed spending time with this group like Jane and she had done with the last.

However, she now resigned herself to the fact they would go.

Chapter 3

Of course, Darcy’s own equipage was of a higher quality, but the Gardiners’ coach was well-designed and elegant in its own way. It was refreshing to see Gardiner did not indulge in the overly ornate and flashy style frequently attributed to “new money” and wealthy tradesman trying to prove themselves to society.

They stopped next to the Gardiners’ carriage. Elizabeth met his gaze with the usual fire sparkling from her soul. He reached out to hand her up, and that pleasant something that had raced through him every time their hands had touched during their dance at the Netherfield ball darted up his arm, continuing directly to his heart. He had to stifle a gasp.

Next, he handed up Elizabeth’s sister, whose appearance distracted him from the sensations lingering after Elizabeth’s touch. Jane Bennet did not look well. Whatever ailment she suffered from now, she appeared different than she had after her illness at Netherfield. Mrs. Hurst’s and Miss Bingley’s opinions of the lady recurred to him, but this was more than the disappointment of not having the opportunity to move upwards socially, as they had insisted Miss Bennet’s ambitions had been in pursuing Bingley.

No, this was something more like the way Georgiana had appeared in the days after Wickham had broken her heart.

This shocking realization rolled through his mind as he closed the door and bowed to the ladies. He watched their coach pull away.

Could he have been wrong about the depth of Miss Bennet’s feelings for his friend?

His sister touched his sleeve.

Startled, he looked down at her. There was a twinkle in her eyes he had not seen in a long time. He could not help but return her smile.

Georgiana had always teased him when he became lost in his thoughts, but she had not done so since they had returned from Ramsgate. Did this mean, after an exceedingly long four months, her heart was finally beginning to heal?

He patted his sister’s hand and led her to their coach, waiting behind where the Gardiner’s carriage had been.

Georgiana looked much better now, months after her disappointment, but her state of mind was still so wounded.

Bingley had that same look about him a few days ago, when Darcy and his friend’s sisters had convinced Bingley of Miss Bennet’s indifference to him.

While he thought he had been saving Bingley from a dreadful marriage, had Darcy truly been doing him an unconscionable disservice?

As he handed Georgiana into the coach and followed her in, he made up his mind on how to proceed. He would spend time with the ladies whilst they prepared for the orphans’ feast, that way he could keep an eye on Miss Bennet and make a final determination on her state of health.

After all, his anxiety could be over nothing. Perhaps her condition could be blamed on something as simple as not traveling well the previous day.

Yes! It was more than likely that Miss Bennet would appear in much better health on Monday.

At least, Darcy hoped so, for if he was wrong about Miss Bennet’s feelings for Bingley—good heavens! Had he been liable for causing them both to suffer maladies of the heart similar to what Georgiana had been experiencing?

He would not wish that upon anyone.

He closed his eyes and sighed quietly.

The vision of a pair of fine eyes gleaming with humour and intelligence flashed across his mind—the very same eyes he had not stopped thinking about since he met the lady to whom they belonged—Miss Elizabeth Bennet.

It would be better for him if he did not spend time with her over the next few days, but for Bingley’s sake, he would muddle through.

Chapter 4

Lady Adelaide bustled into her husband’s study.

The earl looked up from whatever it was he was reading and took off his glasses. “What is it, my love? You seem about to burst with some sort of news.”

“Yes! Concerning Darcy. Oh, Arthur, it is dreadful.”

He stood quickly. “Has there been an accident? Is he ill?”

Lady Adelaide placed a hand on her chest. Still trying to catch her breath, she only shook her head.

His concern deepened. “Has something happened to Georgiana?”

“No, no… it is nothing of that sort.” She waved her hand. “I saw them today. Both are in good health.”

Lord Arthur breathed out a sigh of relief and came around the desk. He took hold of his wife’s shoulders. “And yet, your nerves are all in uproar. Please, take a seat. Shall I call for tea?”

“Nothing for me, thank you, for I have been visiting. I feel almost drowned in tea. Though I would be happy to serve you, if you would like.”

“No need.” He gestured towards a comfortable chair near the window.

She settled into it.

He took the chair across from her. “Now, tell me this dreadful news about Darcy.”

Lady Adelaide straightened her back and announced, “I believe Darcy is in love.”

Her husband blinked a few times in quick succession. “But, Addie,” He tilted his head. “Have you not introduced him to young ladies for years, trying to find someone he is interested in marrying? Why would his falling in love be dreadful, as you have proclaimed?”

Oh, could he not simply trust her judgement on these matters?

From the very beginning of their life together, her husband’s entire family had displayed their obsession with marrying from within the right circles. Her father-in-law, especially, God rest his soul, never considered whether interests or characters suited when it came to marriage. The late earl had spent his last few years lecturing Adelaide about what he perceived as his grandchildren’s interest in prospective mates he did not feel were worthy enough to become a part of the Fitzwilliam family. Of course, this was based upon rank and fortune alone. Then, whilst on his death bed, her husband’s father had called Adelaide in and forced her to promise to make certain that all his yet unattached grandchildren would marry well.

Adelaide cleared her throat. “Perhaps I should elaborate.”

“Please do.” Her husband pressed his lips together, but the corners turned upwards slightly.

Goodness, what must she do to get him to take this matter seriously?

“This morning, I met Darcy and Georgie at the orphanage. You remember Mrs. Gardiner and her husband?”

He smiled. “Yes, they are good people. Mrs. Gardiner is as deeply involved with the orphanage as you are, is she not?”

She nodded. “Do you remember I told you their son suffered an accident? We sent him a basket of items to help keep him occupied during his convalescence.”

He acknowledged he did recall, and Adelaide continued, “Since Mrs. Gardiner is engaged with her son’s recovery, she has tasked her nieces to assist with preparing for Saint Nicholas Day celebration in her stead, but as it turns out, the Misses Bennet are from Hertfordshire.”

“And?” He raised his brows and shrugged. “Is Hertfordshire a problem?”

Goodness, did he not remember where his nephew had been this autumn?

“Apparently, the Bennet estate is in the very same neighbourhood where Darcy was whilst Georgie stayed with us.”

“Ah, ha! Now we are at the crux of the matter. Let me guess… the nieces were previously acquainted with Darcy, and one of them has caught Darcy’s interest?”

Finally, he understood! “A perfect assumption, my dear. During our meeting with the headmistress of the orphanage, Darcy could not keep his eyes off the younger sister, Miss Elizabeth Bennet.”

There was no response to this revelation.

She continued. “Do you not remember, during Georgiana’s stay here, how we were so amazed that the only time our niece smiled was when she was reading her brother’s letters? You wrote to Darcy, directing him to write more often.”

He nodded.

At least it was some sort of reaction.

“Well, I have since heard from Georgiana’s very lips that her smiles were prompted by his spending a great deal of time writing excessively about a lady, because he had never written of any lady unknown to her before.”

“And…?”

She almost huffed out a breath when her husband did not seem to understand the significance of a gentleman’s writing to his sister about a lady, but she managed to control herself. After all, a countess did not huff.

“At today’s meeting… oh, my dear, you should have seen Darcy’s expression when he first saw her through the window, not to mention the way he reacted when she entered the room—and every time she spoke! I have never seen him behave in such a manner.” She shook her head. “Can you imagine Darcy gazing upon a woman with puppy-eyes whenever she was not looking in his direction?”

He rubbed his chin. “I admit I cannot picture it.”

“So… you must speak with him, Arthur.”

He chuckled. “Why would I do such a thing? Every man has a right to choose his own wife.”

“But her uncle is in trade…”

Her husband furrowed his brow. “I thought you said this young lady’s father owns an estate in Hertfordshire?”

“Well, yes, he does. However, I spent the remainder of the afternoon making calls about Town, to see what information I could discover about the family. I found nothing—absolutely nothing at all! Can you imagine such a thing?”

“If we are to banish from our acquaintance anyone who does not frequent Town, your cousin Roger will have to be shunned at once.” His eyes lit up before adding, “Along with my sister Catherine, who should be at the very top of that list. You know how she always takes considerable pride in occupying the lead in all matters.”

Adelaide raised one eyebrow at him, and this time, she did huff. One could only take so much. “Of course not, Arthur.”

He sighed, accompanied by an exaggerated look of disappointment that almost made her laugh.

“Then tell me,” her husband said, “was this young lady’s behaviour offensive in any way?” He frowned for real now. “Please do not tell me she was rude to you, my dear?”

“Not at all.”

“Then there is nothing to it. Darcy is his own man and has proved repeatedly he has a good head on his shoulders. Pemberley has flourished under his management, and he has almost always made excellent choices for where to invest. He is a gentleman in every sense of the word. I fully trust him to make his own decisions.” He leaned back against his chair. “If Miss Elizabeth Bennet is a gentleman’s daughter, then in my mind they are equals. There is no reason for me to try to talk him out of it.”

“Even though her uncle is in trade?” Lady Adelaide reminded him.

His eyes twinkled as he said, “Mr. and Mrs. Gardiner’s manners are more genteel than some of our acquaintances from the ‘best’ families. In fact, I would rather spend time with Edward Gardiner than many of the gentlemen I know, regardless of his being a tradesman.” He smiled. “If this girl is Darcy’s choice, I have no problem with it.”

“But your father…”

“I know what he made you promise, Addie—I was there. As long as Darcy does not marry one of the maids under his employ, you have done an excellent job in that respect.”

She blinked. She had always assumed her husband believed the same as his father had. Could it be that all these years, she had been mistaken?

Feeling as if a great weight had been lifted off her shoulders, Adelaide breathed out a sigh of relief. “Well, then. If you have no objections to the match, Arthur, neither shall I.”

In fact, perhaps she could help Darcy and Miss Elizabeth along.

“I know I am the most brilliant master of charm…” His eyes twinkled. “…but you gave in to my persuasion a bit too easily just then. I suspect you genuinely like Miss Elizabeth.”

She looked off into the distance for a moment, then back to him. “Something about her reminds me of myself when I was that age.”

Her heart melted under his affectionate gaze.

He leaned across the space between their chairs and pressed his lips gently to her forehead. “If this is the case, my love, I certainly cannot blame Darcy for his interest in her.”

Chapter 5

~Two days later – Darcy House

The clacking of hooves on the road prompted Darcy to jump out of his seat and move towards the window. Peering through the sheer curtain, he recognized a neighbour’s carriage.

Disappointment flooded through him.

Good Lord, he was becoming a love-sick fool.

Love-sick? The thought surprised him. He tried to laugh at it, but it seemed false. Hmmmm…

But no; he was not in love with Elizabeth Bennet!

It was true that trying to determine whether Bingley’s heartache could be eased might set Darcy back a few steps in his recovery from this infatuation. However, it was of little matter. He would surely conquer it in the end. Although his efforts at purging her from his mind had been a completely futile endeavour thus far, it was also true that only a handful of days had passed since he danced with her at the ball at Netherfield. He imagined it took more time than that.

Still, it shocked him when he recalled that he had danced with her voluntarily. Oh, who was he trying to deceive—himself? He had been eager to dance with Elizabeth, an occurrence that had never taken place in his lifetime before then. In fact, looking back, there had been a deep-seated fear in his chest as he voiced his request, for Elizabeth had refused his invitation to dance twice before, though neither had been at a ball.

Who would have guessed that the lady who caught his eye had already been involved with his mother’s—and his—favourite charitable institution?

If he had been more observant at Netherfield, perhaps he would have recognized the design she had been embroidering, for he knew it well. Alas, any time he had looked in her direction, his attention had always been lured away by the gentle arch of her neck as she worked, the way his heart took flight when her lovely eyes shifted to meet his gaze, and the trace of her intoxicating scent that floated in the air.

A new clattering of wheels distracted him from these ruminations. Without thinking, he stepped to his right so he could see further down the street.

A delivery cart this time.

He must put an end to this nonsensical behaviour!

Determination coursed through his veins. He straightened his spine and forced his feet to carry him away from the window.

His plan was simple: After determining whether Miss Bennet genuinely cared for Bingley, he would separate himself from the Bennets completely. He and Georgiana would head north two days after the fundraising ball, so they could spend Christmas at Pemberley. That would distance him from Elizabeth, and he would work towards forgetting her. Once at home, he would busy himself with running the estate. It would require an absence from Elizabeth’s presence of only a full week for him to expunge the lady from his mind completely. At most, a month; possibly two.

Darcy took a deep breath and released it slowly.

He had kept a tight rein on his emotions his entire life. With so much experience, he should have no problem accomplishing it again.

And if his investigation proved Miss Jane Bennet did genuinely care for Bingley?

Before leaving London, he would contact his friend and inform him Miss Bennet was staying at the Gardiners’ home. Of course, that meant Darcy would see Elizabeth now and again over the course of his lifetime, but it would all work out. He would not return to London until he had completely rid himself of this senseless obsession.

However, if Darcy decided that Miss Bennet did not hold any true affection towards Bingley, Darcy’s own future life would be much easier. He would never mention his meeting Miss Bennet to Bingley at all. As a result, Darcy would never see Elizabeth again.

Darcy inhaled sharply as his chest filled with an ache which had become familiar to him over the past few days, ever since leaving Netherfield. He had even asked his doctor to examine him, but he was declared to be in good health. It was an oddity, for certain, but Darcy concluded something in the Hertfordshire waters must have affected him. It might take a little while to wear off. Once he was at Pemberley, he would be well again.

The sounds of horses and wheels on the street drifted up to him once again just as the clock on the mantelpiece began to ring out the hour. He forced himself to stay where he was, far from the window.

It was probably his aunt. She was always precisely on time.

However, he really should go to the parlour to greet Aunt Adelaide and offer support to his timid sister, who, in all probability, was uneasy in her anticipation of expecting the Misses Bennet. Really, it had been selfish of him not to think of offering moral support and encouragement to Georgiana sooner, especially since her companion was still away, visiting family.

Additionally, if he expected his plan to work, he should be there to judge Jane Bennet’s appearance when she arrived.

Darcy paused with his hand on the door latch, inhaled a bracing breath, straightened his shoulders, then opened the door and headed towards the stairs.

He would not pay any particular attention to Elizabeth. He would not.

Chapter 6

Lady Adelaide took a sip of tea, then turned back to her sewing. “We have sent some men to the country to gather greenery for the decorations, but I am unsure whether Georgiana and I can finish them in time.”

Elizabeth almost laughed aloud, for she had never heard a more obvious hint in her life. “We are willing to do anything necessary to lend a hand, my lady.”

“Lizzy and I usually assist our sisters in making ornamentations for Longbourn.” Jane agreed. “We enjoy the activity.”

“Jane means that we, along with our sister Mary, assemble the trimmings, whilst our sisters Kitty and Lydia plan how best to re-dress their bonnets for the holidays using the ribbons we purchased for use on the wreaths.”

Miss Darcy, in a chair across from Elizabeth and next to Lady Adelaide, suddenly looked up from her work, her forehead furrowed.

“You see, fashion is our youngest sisters’ priority.” Elizabeth winked at Miss Darcy. “Through the years, Jane, Mary, and I have learned to purchase plenty of extra ribbon for their use.”

Miss Darcy grinned.

From behind her, Elizabeth heard a teacup being placed into a saucer.

Looking over her shoulder, she found Mr. Darcy had not vacated the room as she had assumed he had done. Instead, he was sitting near the window, behind the sofa Jane and Elizabeth shared. In his hands—my goodness! Was he really finishing the edge of a handkerchief?

Noticing where her gaze had settled, he coloured. “I… uh… when I was a boy, I requested my mother teach me to sew… to assist and expedite the creation of the children’s gifts.”

Whilst Elizabeth had never known a gentleman who sewed, she did know a few other males who had learned, though most were boys destined to join the navy. The orphanage was a worthy cause, and she could not blame the younger Mr. Darcy for wishing to spend time with his mother as she performed her charitable activities. In fact, knowing he had not just sat nearby watching his mother work improved her opinion of him, although his lurking behind them now made her uncomfortable.

Trying to make both him and herself feel more at ease, Elizabeth smiled at him. “There is plenty of light in this part of the room.”

He blinked several times in a row, then nodded. After waving away the footman who had rushed to assist him, Mr. Darcy rose and moved his belongings, settling into the chair next to his sister. Immediately, he returned to his sewing with renewed vigour.

Silence fell over their little group, allowing Elizabeth’s mind to wander.

Mr. Darcy was acting strangely today—perhaps the reason was his reluctance to reveal he was to be a part of the sewing project? And yet, if he had wished to hide his knowledge of needlework, why had he remained in this room with the ladies? Yes, all the supplies were here, but she was certain that if he wished to work in private, he could have arranged for enough materials to be brought to him in another chamber before they had arrived. She and Jane would never have been the wiser.

An image of the way he appeared upon their arrival appeared in her mind. Mr. Darcy seemed unable to tear his gaze away from Jane. The longer the gentleman stared at her sister, the paler he had become—eventually becoming almost as colorless as Jane herself. Afterward, he had barely said a word to anyone.

Why had he become so distressed over Jane’s appearance?

She almost gasped when a possible explanation hit her squarely in the chest.

Elizabeth was almost certain Mr. Darcy had conspired with the Bingley sisters to separate their brother from her sister… but after his behaviour this morning, she had to wonder whether the reason he had interfered was because he himself had feelings for Jane.

If Elizabeth had continued to believe all Mr. Wickham had said of Mr. Darcy, it would be easy to accept that an attraction for Jane might fuel his wish to separate her from Mr. Bingley. However, she was now suspicious of everything Mr. Wickham had told her.

As if to prove this to herself once more, her gaze fell upon Miss Darcy. That young lady must have sensed her attention and looked up. Miss Darcy smiled brightly. Elizabeth returned the gesture and returned to her work.

Elizabeth had already decided she liked Miss Darcy very much. She was truly nothing like what Mr. Wickham had described.

Jane was partial to her, too, which was practically unfathomable, considering what had been said about her in Miss Bingley’s letter. Most ladies would hold a grudge in a situation such as this, but Jane was too good to hold Miss Darcy responsible for her own heart’s shattered condition.

Her gaze skimmed over Mr. Darcy once again, who was still busy working. She had always assumed the reason women did so well in accomplishing this sort of activity was due to their thin fingers, but she allowed herself a moment to admire the refinement of his stitching, even though his hands were so large and strong.

Forcing her attention to return to the handkerchief she held, she finished the final edge, then lifted a new square of fabric from the box on the table.

It had always been easy to dislike Mr. Darcy, but after the way he reacted to Jane this morning, it was vital she re-evaluate her opinion of his character, for her sister’s sake. If Mr. Darcy were genuinely interested in Jane, he might eventually make her an offer, and if his income really did exceed ten thousand a year—which she did not doubt now that she had seen his townhouse—their mother would never rest until Jane accepted him.

The time they would spend together preparing for the Saint Nicolas Day celebration would be the perfect opportunity to re-examine Mr. Darcy’s temperament and integrity.

Yes, it was decided. She would watch him closely and spend as much time conversing with him as possible. Then, if she found her previous opinion of him had been accurate, she was sure she could convince her father to deny his permission for Jane to marry him.

Conversely, if she had been wrong about Mr. Darcy’s character in the past, and her more recent observations were correct, she would have to humbly eat all the words she had ever uttered about the gentleman to her family and neighbours over the past few months, and she would give them her blessing—but only if it was what Jane wanted.

She glanced back and forth between them. While not as tall as Miss Darcy, Jane’s height surpassed most women, though she had a delicate frame. Mr. Darcy was also taller than most men and more muscular than was common, as well. Jane was the sweetest lady on earth, and that aspect of her character would soften his tendency to brood. The two were opposite in colouring—Jane fair where Mr. Darcy was dark—but both were exquisitely handsome. Each of their appearances complimented the other’s nicely; in fact, she would imagine that, with Jane on Mr. Darcy’s arm, whenever the couple entered a room, all heads would turn so they could enjoy the striking prospect they would make.

Nausea rose within her. It took a great deal of strength to suppress the shudder that passed down her spine.

Exactly what was it bothering her so much about these thoughts? Was it the likelihood she would have to admit she had been wrong about the gentleman, or could it be the possibility that Jane might become Mr. Darcy’s wife?

Chapter 7

Darcy inhaled swiftly when a tingling began at the back of his neck. Knowing from experience what would happen next, he anticipated—and even welcomed—its progression. Before long, the phenomenon expanded and altered, approximating a gentle warmth that swelled throughout his person, eventually encompassing his entire soul.

It could only mean one thing: Elizabeth’s gaze was upon him.

How odd it was he could always sense it.

Heaven help him—how he had keenly felt the absence of this sensation since he had returned to London.

Darcy fought the urge to look up, working diligently on the handkerchief in his hands instead. He could not give her any false hopes.

The first time he had experienced this feeling was in Hertfordshire. It had surprised him to realize her attention was the cause, but what shocked him more was when he suddenly understood the reason he had not noticed it sooner—most times, he had already been watching her before she looked at him. In fact, any time they were at the same gathering, he had trouble keeping his eyes off her.

Nevertheless, his purpose for remaining with the ladies today was not to watch Elizabeth’s every movement and hang upon her utterances, as his traitorous heart longed to do. His plan was only to observe her elder sister so he could decide once and for all whether she was worthy of Bingley.

The coveted sensation ended abruptly, and with it came a mixture of relief and disappointment.

From the corner of his eye, he watched as Elizabeth repositioned herself and leaned forward gracefully to reach for a new handkerchief to sew. So lovely. After smoothing the fabric, she pinned the edge with precise movements, then her fingers moved delicately to stitch the cloth.

It had been so thoughtful and considerate of her to acknowledge that he knew how to sew without passing judgement. Then, she had actually invited him to join the ladies. True, it was his house, but still, most ladies would be horrified to learn a gentleman of his stature would engage in what was traditionally considered women’s work. Meanwhile, Elizabeth had simply accepted it and moved on.

Additionally, she had already made a connection with his sister. A few moments ago, Georgiana had displayed a genuine smile towards her, and after knowing her such a brief time.

Such an occurrence could be deemed a miracle.

Miss Elizabeth Bennet was a treasure.

Suddenly realizing he was raising her up onto an even higher pedestal in his mind, he diverted his eyes to the ceiling.

His obsession with this lady had to end. Today!

Perhaps sitting with the ladies was not such a good idea after all. If he could not compel himself to learn more about Miss Bennet instead of Elizabeth, then he should leave.

A movement at the door to the corridor caught his attention. Horton entered and approached him, saying softly, “You have a visitor, sir. In your study.”

Saved by the butler!

Without asking who it was, Darcy jumped up from his chair, lay his project on the seat, then bowed to the ladies and excused himself. Escaping the room quickly, he headed towards his study.

Disappointment washed over him when he opened the door to find his attorney waiting. It was unusual for him to have forgotten any appointment. With the reminder came a renewed awareness of the many matters of business they needed to review. It would be hours before he could return to Elizabeth.

Irritated with himself, he corrected the thought to before he could return to his observation Miss Bennet for Bingley’s sake.

Chapter 8

Now that Elizabeth was not obligated to watch Mr. Darcy’s reactions every time Jane moved a muscle, she could relax. However, after a few minutes, the silence in the room began to weigh on her.

“Miss Darcy, can you tell us more about what to expect at the Saint Nicholas Day celebration?”

An excitement came over the young girl as she lowered her work to her lap. Elizabeth noticed she had become much more comfortable with Jane and herself as the day wore on. “For me, much of the enjoyment of the tradition comes in the preparation, but, oh, to watch the children’s faces when they open their gifts and see the delicacies they will consume! It is one of my favourite days of the year. Our kitchen staff is, even now, busy making chocolate for the children.”

“Will we be present when they receive the gifts?” Jane asked.

Miss Darcy nodded. “We will distribute the gifts ourselves. Our kitchen will also make other special treats, whilst Aunt Adelaide’s kitchen staff will prepare the feast. The footmen from both houses will serve the children in full livery that day. It is very special for them.”

“It sounds wonderful!” Elizabeth exclaimed. “How will we know which gifts belong to each specific child? I do know a few of their names, but not all.”

Miss Darcy glanced at the countess. “We have already transcribed the names of the children onto cards I painted earlier in the year. Tomorrow, when we bundle up the clothing and handkerchiefs, we will pin the appropriate card to each package’s ribbon. The children will also have a place card on the table before them, identical to the card attached to their gift, so we will only need to match up the names. After the children return from depositing their gifts in their rooms, their special meal will be served.”

Miss Darcy’s face blanched for a moment. “Oh, but please, do not misunderstand the way I said the last. My brother always makes certain the Children of Saint Nicholas receive the best meats and groceries year-round. He has hired a superior cook to work there, as well. However, it is only on certain days of the year—holidays and the like—when there are particular treats included.”

“As is typical for us all, is it not? I am certain the children appreciate all the efforts made on their behalf,” Elizabeth said, surprised and impressed to learn that Mr. Darcy was much more involved with the orphanage than she had originally thought. Did he truly take on the expense of the cook’s salary and providing the food for the children? It was beyond anything she had ever expected from him. A sudden sense of shame filled her for doubting his good intentions. “I will enjoy seeing the children’s faces light up when they sample these culinary delights.”

“You will be able to taste them yourself,” Miss Darcy answered. “There is a separate table at the head of the room where we will dine with the teachers and headmistress.”

Elizabeth responded, “Though Jane and I have been involved in the sewing for years, we have never attended the celebration. You must be used to witnessing it all, for you have been attending since you were young, have you not?”

Miss Darcy paled again and looked down at her lap. “This will only be my third year.”

Just then, several maids entered the room with a tea cart and a rolling table covered with finger sandwiches.

“I do not know about you ladies,” Lady Adelaide said, “but I am growing a bit fatigued, and could do with a short respite.” She rose and collected the finished handkerchiefs from everyone, taking them to a larger table upon which were piles of clothing for the children.

Jane began a conversation about painting with Miss Darcy, whose countenance brightened with the change of subject.

Elizabeth stood and crossed the room to join Lady Adelaide. “I am sorry if I upset Miss Darcy with our conversation. It was not my intention.”

Lady Adelaide smiled warmly. “Of course not, my dear. There was no way for you to know it would be a sensitive subject.” She took a deep breath, then began again. “You see, my dear friend, Georgiana and Fitzwilliam’s mother, never regained her health after Georgiana was born. For as long as I knew Lady Anne—which was since we were quite young—her health had never been strong.” She raised her eyebrows. “Though I must say Anne’s spirit was robust enough to get her through many illnesses, by means of her determination alone.” She smiled, wistfully. “I must admit, at times, your sister’s quiet grace and innate goodness reminds me of her…”

The countess looked up at the wall, but Elizabeth guessed she was seeing something quite different than the painting of a landscape before her.

A sudden thought occurred to Elizabeth: Was it the similarity between Jane’s and Lady Anne Darcy’s behaviour that attracted Mr. Darcy?

Her heart fell in response.

Remembering herself, Lady Adelaide continued, “I took over Anne’s position in the preparation for the Saint Nicholas Day celebration that year since her doctor recommended an extended laying-in before Georgiana arrived. However, Anne was used to being occupied. She became restless and insisted upon doing some of the needlework for the orphans’ gifts whilst she remained in bed. I would visit in her bedchamber and consult with her about my plans for Saint Nicholas Day, as well. Her mind longed to be active and useful, even if her body was required to remain sedentary.

“Unfortunately, my dearest friend only grew weaker during her confinement. It was on Christmas Eve, only four months after Georgiana was born, that she passed away.” Lady Adelaide closed her eyes, bowed her head, and paused for a long moment.

Blinking away tears, she raised her chin. “After her death, George Darcy—previously an amiable gentleman, a loving husband, and a doting father—became a bitter and disagreeable man literally overnight. Unfortunately, that was the person Georgiana came to know as her father. He insisted his wife’s involvement with the orphanage had weakened her, and it was the true cause of her death. Though I must say, for my brother-in-law, the mourning period never really ended, when the usual year was finished for his children, George forbade Fitzwilliam from becoming involved with the orphanage again.

“Decorating Pemberley and the London townhouse for Christmas had been a passion of Anne’s, and it would have been an agreeable reminder of their mother for her children to do the same every year, but other than attending church, my brother-in-law prohibited any celebration of Christmas. He also put an end to the tradition that they return to Pemberley for the holidays, as they always had in the past. Instead, the family remained in London, and George secluded himself in Anne’s chambers for days. There were no treats or gifts for the children, and no gatherings with other family were permitted.”

The countess shook her head and sighed whilst she straightened the piles of clothing unnecessarily. “In remembrance of my beloved sister-in-law and dearest friend, I accepted the reins for the orphanage’s fundraising. Fitzwilliam honoured his mother’s memory and did decorate for Christmas, but only in Georgiana’s private chambers, where his father never entered.” She smiled. “Meanwhile, all throughout school, my nephew saved up a portion of his monthly pocket-money and donated it secretly to the orphanage, through me. The only time my nephew has ever acted against his father’s wishes was regarding this issue, because he knew very well his mother would have wanted him to do so. Perhaps it was wrong, but my husband and I encouraged him. Even his grandfather did, when he was alive, for he always believed the orphanage was a worthy cause.” She straightened her shoulders. “And though my husband and I continue to host the fundraising balls since my brother-in-law died—which also occurred on Christmas Eve, coincidentally—I am only acting as the face of the planning—for my nephew does not want to receive any credit for it. But in truth, the orphans’ well-being has become his project, and he is as enthusiastic about it as was his mother.”

Over the past few days, Elizabeth had learned so much about Mr. Darcy, but to discover he was the principal, yet confidential, benefactor of the orphanage was astonishing. And so personal.

The countess finally met Elizabeth’s gaze. There was a strange twinkle in her eye. “Of course, I plan to continue to be involved with the orphanage, but I am hoping once Fitzwilliam marries, his wife will take over my position. The effort really should be headed up by Mrs. Darcy.”

Lady Adelaide looked at her with such expectation in her eyes.

Not knowing how else to respond to such a statement, Elizabeth only nodded.

Elizabeth’s stomach growled. Her face heated with a blush.

“Well,” Lady Adelaide smiled. “Perhaps it is time we join the others for our repast.”

Elizabeth followed her across the room to the seats they had occupied earlier. As they partook in their tea, she remained quiet, contemplating all the countess had revealed to her.

During a lull in conversation, Lady Adelaide gestured to the pile of unfinished handkerchiefs. “I believe we can finish these by the end of the day. Tomorrow morning, Mrs. Annesley, Georgiana’s companion, is scheduled to return from visiting her relations. She will help us in the next phase of our preparations. As soon as we finish bundling the gifts, we will assemble the decorations. Does that sound reasonable?”

Everyone agreed.

A few minutes later, they resumed their work, and conversation quieted. Elizabeth’s mind wandered again to all Lady Adelaide had divulged. What could she have been about in revealing so much information to her?

Had she sensed Mr. Darcy was interested in Jane, and that Elizabeth had reservations about the match? If they did marry, did the countess assume Elizabeth could convince Jane to take over her role in the orphanage fundraisers? But Jane was as enthusiastic about their work here as was Elizabeth, so why would Lady Adelaide suspect Jane would require persuasion?

Their tête-à-tête had been very strange, indeed.

Chapter 9

~The next day – Darcy House

Darcy paced his study, the same chamber in which he had spent most of the previous afternoon and part of the evening with his attorney.

Yesterday, his being overly aware that Elizabeth was just a few yards away had distracted him from business, causing the meeting to last longer than it should have. However, the fact that he managed to remain in his study proved his strength of will had not completely abandoned him, which was certainly beneficial to his mental state.

Though, all these efforts might have been undone, for, when the ladies had remained so late to finish the handkerchiefs, he had not been able to stop himself from inviting them to linger long enough to partake in a light supper, realizing it was only good manners to do so.

Darcy shook his head. That was not entirely accurate. While it was true the invitation had been the polite thing to offer, looking back, he could not deem it merely good etiquette. Even though he himself had been hungry at the time, he had been more starved for Elizabeth’s company than for food.

However, during supper last evening, he had, once and for all, determined Miss Bennet was, in fact, emotionally invested in her relationship with Bingley. Therefore, Darcy had no further reason to be present while the ladies prepared the gifts for the children.

Oh, who was he trying to deceive? He had no good motive to spend time with Elizabeth any longer.

Except for one, which he formed in the middle of the previous, sleepless night.

At first light this morning, he had written to Bingley and asked him to meet him here at half past eleven. It would be rude to simply send him in to help the ladies without offering his own assistance, as well. Additionally, he did enjoy preparing for the celebration at the orphanage; he had been involved whenever he could over the years.

A few minutes ago, when he heard the ladies make their way into the parlour, it had taken a great amount of self-control not to rush down the corridor to greet them. However, he could not simply send Bingley into the parlour without providing some sort of warning—he had to make certain his friend was up for it.

A knock on the door startled him from his ruminations.

Feeling restless, Darcy opened the door himself. “Good morning, Bingley. Thank you for coming.”

Bingley’s lips turned up at the corners, but the smile did not reach the poor man’s eyes. In fact, his eyes… Darcy had never seen such deep sorrow.

Dismay filled his soul. How had Darcy and this man’s sisters believed they were in the right about what they had done to this kind-hearted soul?

Darcy could correct this. He would do so this very minute.

“What did you need to speak to me about, Darcy?”

Bingley had come straight to the point, with none of his usual, cheerful chatter, which proved beyond any doubt that Bingley’s condition was worse than Darcy could have guessed.

Darcy cleared his throat. “Georgiana and I, along with others, are preparing gifts for the Saint Nicholas Day celebration at the orphanage.”

“Is it that time of year already?” Bingley lifted a paperweight on Darcy’s desk and examined it, then looked up quickly. “Do you need my help with something? It would do me a great service if you put me to work, Darcy. I will do anything.” His face reddened. “I know I sound desperate, but I am having some difficulties keeping busy enough...” his voice trailed off.

Darcy almost chuckled. When Caroline Bingley had informed Darcy that they would need to work together to keep her brother occupied so his mind would not stray to thoughts of Miss Jane Bennet, it had been well within range of Bingley’s hearing. That woman was such a fool.

“Well then, perhaps you can help bundle the gifts for the children. We could use your assistance.”

Bingley looked relieved and attempted a smile once again. “I am certain I could tie a bow well enough to suit even your meticulous expectations.”

Darcy did laugh aloud this time. “Shall we remove to the parlour, then?” He motioned towards the door.

Bingley nodded, and yet Darcy hesitated, hoping Bingley would ask the question he always did before they went anywhere together. It would seem odd if he warned him Miss Bennet was present for no apparent reason. Or perhaps not. Since he was not certain, he felt it best to allow the subject to come up naturally.

“Who will be in attendance?” Bingley asked.

There it was.

Darcy turned and watched Bingley’s face closely as he said, “My aunt, Lady Adelaide, and Georgiana, of course. My sister’s companion, Mrs. Annesley joins us… and two ladies with whom you can claim an acquaintance. Miss Bennet and Miss Elizabeth.”

Bingley froze, then backed up a step. He looked from the closed door back to Darcy. “Are you serious, Darcy? Ja—Miss Bennet is here, in this house? At this very moment?”

Darcy nodded. “Apparently, the Bennets’ aunt is the same Mrs. Gardiner who volunteers at the orphanage. Since she is unexpectedly engaged just now, the Misses Bennet have travelled to London to take her place.” He took a deep breath, bracing himself to make his confession. “I must say I have concluded it is possible your sisters and I were wrong about Miss Bennet’s motives. Either way, we should not have convinced you to abandon your estate in Hertfordshire. That we would warn you of our suspicions was appropriate, but it was reprehensible of us to practically bully you into staying away from the lady. I apologize.”

Bingley’s eyes widened.

Darcy continued, “Not much time has passed since you left Netherfield. Renew the acquaintance, if you wish… but please, Bingley, take care. Keep in mind our uncertainties as you make an informed decision about how to proceed.”

Bingley nodded. “I do wish to see her again.” As he smoothed a stray lock of hair away from his forehead, his friend’s hand shook.

“Then come with me and you shall,” Darcy said, and led the way towards the parlour.

It must have been difficult for Bingley to stand still and listen to his speech whilst knowing the woman he loved was just down the corridor. He found he understood Bingley’s predicament completely. He was living it.

When the thought occurred, it hit him squarely in the chest, and he made an abrupt stop.

I am not in love.

“You, Darcy? In love?” Bingley asked with a bit too much humour in his voice for Darcy’s liking.

Good heavens, had he uttered that thought aloud?

Darcy glanced over at the footman standing outside the parlour door, in time to see him snap his jaw shut and redirect his gaze straight ahead.

Darcy groaned internally. The footman had definitely overheard their conversation. This news would spread all over the household in a matter of minutes if he did not get it under control immediately. The last thing he needed was the housekeeper wishing him joy.

He cleared his throat. “I said I am not—”

Bingley gasped, “Of course! It is Miss Elizabeth, is it not? How could I not have noticed whilst we were in Hertfordshire? But now, thinking back, it is so obvious.”

Darcy refrained from speaking his explanation: Whilst they were at Netherfield, Bingley had been so occupied with Miss Bennet that he had not been in the mindset to notice his surroundings at all. This statement would not have the desired effect; in fact, it would convince Bingley—and the footman—that Darcy did believe himself in love, when, in fact, he knew very well he was merely infatuated with Miss Elizabeth Bennet.

He was definitely not in love.

“There is nothing wrong with admiring a beautiful woman, Bingley. Please, do not read too much into it. It will come to nothing.” He cleared his throat. “Let us join the others.”

As Darcy preceded Bingley into the room, he focused upon Miss Bennet so he could monitor her reaction to his friend’s entrance. Her gaze moved from Darcy to Bingley, and almost instantly, it was as if life was breathed back into her entire being. Light suddenly glowed from her eyes. Colour returned to her face.

There was no doubt left in his mind—Miss Bennet cared for Bingley as much as Bingley cared for her.

He glanced back at his friend. Unlike moments ago, Bingley’s smile embodied every aspect of his person. He stood there dumbfounded as he drank in the sight of the lady he loved.

Darcy thought it strange that, with all that was happening in the room, Elizabeth was staring at Georgiana. His sister’s wide eyes were moving quickly back and forth between Miss Bennet and Bingley. Meanwhile, Georgiana looked quite pleased with what was so clearly taking place before her.

Elizabeth’s smile widened, and then she turned her gaze upon Darcy. Her eyes shone with tears. They were so full of appreciation, his breath caught.

Allowing himself a moment to enjoy the warmth she directed towards him, he closed his eyes. But then shame coursed through him, and his eyes flew open. The part he had played in separating this couple was unpardonable, and yet here he was, basking in the glory of Elizabeth’s gratitude towards him? He should not profit from her misinterpretation of his motives.

Elizabeth noticed his change in demeanor, furrowing her brow and tilting her head slightly to the side as if asking him what the matter was.

How could even that expression be so attractive on this lady?

Aunt Adelaide coughed loudly, diverting his attention.

Although he could tell his aunt was quite entertained with the tender scene the reunited lovers were playing out before her—for anyone with intelligence must be able to recognize what was occurring—she was plainly reminding him he had forgotten his manners.

Clearing his throat, he re-introduced her to Bingley, for of course she had met him before.

Darcy was glad Aunt Adelaide seemed amused his friend could barely look away from Miss Bennet long enough to be polite.

Chapter 10

Elizabeth had carefully observed Miss Darcy’s reaction during Jane and Mr. Bingley’s reunion. Contrary to Miss Bingley’s claims, she determined there was not a hint of significance present in the young lady’s looks towards her brother’s friend. This was a great relief because she knew Jane would feel forever at fault if she thought Miss Darcy’s heart would be broken because of her own interest in the gentleman.

While it was a balm to Elizabeth’s heart to see Jane so happy again, uncertainties plagued her.

Yesterday, she had been surprised by how low her mood had sunk when the butler notified Miss Darcy that her brother would not be rejoining them.

The same happened this morning; when he was not present to greet them. The depth of her displeasure shocked her.

Was it only that she was not able to continue her observation of his interactions with Jane? It is what she told herself, over and over, all day yesterday. Additionally, as she lay awake last night, examining all that had been happening, it was the only thing that she could come up with. But somewhere deep inside, she knew it was not the true reason. Especially since she felt such relief last evening when he joined them later for supper.

And just now, when he entered, her heart took flight, even before she had noticed who he brought with him.

Another thing that confused her: when Mr. Darcy led Mr. Bingley into the room, it had been evident to her that it had been arranged so Mr. Bingley and Jane could reunite. Why would he do such a thing if it were his intention to offer for Jane?

Had she been mistaken about what caused the interest he had been displaying in her sister?

For some strange reason, that single thought brought her more pleasure than seeing Jane and Mr. Bingley enjoying each other’s company once again.

But… why?

It bothered her that, whilst Mr. Darcy had seemed pleased by the reunion at first, several moments later, an expression of agony descended over his features.

Could it be that Mr. Darcy sacrificed his own happiness to promote his friend’s?

It pained her to think it possible, but if it was the case, she was glad he had done so. Jane would never have been genuinely happy with any man except Mr. Bingley.

Additionally, she now decided that a match between Mr. Darcy and Jane would not have suited, for joining their reticent dispositions would have been a disastrous combination in the end.

No… Jane had fallen in love with someone outgoing, who owned a hearty sense of humor, which was perfect for her since his lively nature would lessen her reserve. Mr. Darcy would do better with a wife who possessed a temperament opposite to his, as well.

Someone like me, she thought.

Good heavens! Where had that come from?

Had her heart been secretly hoping Mr. Darcy would fall in love with her? Was this why she had become sick to her stomach every time she thought of Mr. Darcy with Jane?

She gulped in a breath and looked around her.

Jane and Mr. Bingley had naturally fallen into their old habit of talking privately, as they often ended up doing in Hertfordshire. Miss Darcy and Mrs. Annesley were doing the same. From the corner of her eye, she could see Mr. Darcy had not done much since he had entered the room; he was now standing near the window with the cup of tea his sister had offered him, observing the others, as he often did.

However, Lady Adelaide was watching her, and Elizabeth could not help but wonder whether her previous thoughts had been displayed upon her face.

Forcing a smile for the countess, Elizabeth put down her teacup. Thank goodness it had been almost empty, or the trembling in her hand might have spilled it. She rose and made her way to the other end of the room, where the gifts for the orphans were stacked, and busied herself with straightening the papers upon which all the names of the children were smartly written in Aunt Madeline’s handwriting, along with their particulars.

Every fibre of Elizabeth’s being ached to submit to a sudden urge to turn and glance at Mr. Darcy, in order to discover how she would react.

No! She refused to look directly at the gentleman. She must appear as she normally did, and furthermore, she must give herself time to think.

Could it have been simply a stray thought flitting its way across her mind?

Last evening, the group had worked late to complete the sewing. Soon after they had finished, the ladies found that Mr. Darcy had concluded his business meeting and could join them for a light supper before they returned home. Elizabeth had been shocked to experience a great degree of relief—and delight—when he joined them at the head of the table. To be able to hear the deep timbre of his voice and to see the twinkle in his eye when it met hers had truly been a pleasure.

Why did his company affect her so unexpectedly?

While it was true that, from their first meeting, she had thought Mr. Darcy to be the most attractive gentleman she had ever met, she had been disappointed when he was deemed a proud, disagreeable man by everyone in the neighbourhood, especially her.

As if struck by a lightning bolt, Elizabeth suddenly knew for certain that her vanity had probably played a part in her bitter judgement against him when she overheard his comment at the assembly ball, stating Elizabeth was not handsome enough to tempt him. He had injured her pride. She had held that remark against him during most of their acquaintance thus far.

And yet, the entire time, she had been drawn to him, watching him at every opportunity, paying special attention to everything he did or said. She had told herself this was due to his true nature being so challenging to puzzle out, but currently, she could judge her difficulties more clearly.

The reason for her trouble in sketching his character was that she had been observing him through prejudiced eyes: his disposition was truly nothing like what she had been attempting to prove to herself. In essence, she had tried to force his honour and integrity into a template several sizes too small.

Over the past few days, she had grown to understand the gentleman much better.

Perhaps these odd emotions she was experiencing could be that simple? Naturally, now that she saw him in a different light, she could appreciate his good qualities.

Of course! She had not fallen in love with Mr. Darcy! She was only glad to find his character was not as flawed as she had been trying to make herself believe.

Determined to prove this new theory to herself, she glanced at him over her shoulder.

Her breath hitched when he turned, as if he had somehow detected she was looking at him.

Mr. Darcy met her stare.

Elizabeth’s face heated. Heart fluttering against her ribs, her stomach flipped over, then back again.

She quickly returned her gaze to the papers in her hands, barely seeing them.

Good heavens! Her poor heart was doomed, for if, upon their first meeting, Mr. Darcy had deemed her not good enough even to dance with, it was certain he could never fall in love with her.

Why had she allowed her guard to lower so she might feel something for this man other than dislike?

To save herself some heartache, she must avoid spending time with him at all costs.

Chapter 11

Darcy stared across the room at Elizabeth’s profile.

What had just happened between them? It was only a glance, really, but when their gazes met, his heart had lurched in a bewildering manner. It was the only way he could describe it, for, though it had been quite pleasant, he had never felt anything quite like it in his life.

He looked away from her only when Aunt Adelaide stood.

One of his aunt’s talents was to easily command attention without delay, and this was no exception. All conversation immediately quieted.

Through his peripheral vision, he watched as Elizabeth moved to the seat she had occupied earlier.

“We have only this one day to assemble all of the gift packages,” his aunt said, “and then we must move on to constructing the decorations for the orphanage, in addition to the centerpieces that shall be placed on the supper tables at the ball next week, and if at all possible in the time allotted, I would like to prepare a few decorative pieces for the Gardiner household, as well.” She took a breath. “Since we seem to have finished our refreshments, it is time we begin.” She gestured towards the girl who had been helping to serve tea. “My personal maid, Sarah, came along with me today, and she will assist me. The remainder of you will pair up, for two sets of hands are necessary at each station for this task.”

She looked at Elizabeth’s sister. “Miss Bennet, I have assigned Mr. Bingley to be your helper.”

Both appeared quite content with the arrangement, as did Elizabeth, which pleased Darcy to no end.

“Georgiana, you and Mrs. Annesley shall work together.”

For a moment, his heart took flight, for there were only two of them left—Elizabeth and him—but suddenly that lady did not seem as delighted as she had a few moments ago.

Darcy’s gut tightened. Would she rather be paired with someone else?

“Darcy, you will work with…” His aunt looked around the room. “Oh, of course! Miss Elizabeth.” She hesitated, arching her right eyebrow slightly.

Darcy’s breath caught. He knew the expression; his cousin Richard had pointed it out repeatedly through the years, whenever his mother was trying her hand at matchmaking. It was her attempt to make it look as if her decision to pair them up for the day was quite innocently done.

But that could only mean—if his aunt were resolved to have him spend an entire day in close quarters with Elizabeth, it implied Aunt Adelaide hoped for a match between them. Which also suggested his uncle already consented, for Aunt Adelaide would never do such a thing without her husband’s support.

Had his attraction to Elizabeth been that noticeable?

It must have been… to his aunt, at least.

He let out a long breath. It was a curious matter. He never would have expected it, but it looked as if the Fitzwilliam side of the family actually hoped he would choose Miss Elizabeth Bennet as his future wife.

Most importantly, Georgiana enjoyed Elizabeth’s company. It had been a torture last night, after everyone had left, when his sister could not stop talking about the lady. Georgiana liked her so much, she had even sought his permission to ask both the Bennet ladies to call her by her Christian name, though really, she did not need his approval to do so.

Therefore, in essence, there was no one left to worry about, for he knew his father’s side of the family would accept anyone he selected. The few Darcys who were still living were not as concerned with connections as the Fitzwilliams had always been. His Fitzwilliam cousins would not object if their parents did not. His only other kin was Lady Catherine de Bourgh, and he was well prepared for her reaction. It was guaranteed Aunt Catherine would not sanction a match between him and anyone other than her own daughter, though both he and his cousin Anne had told her many times that neither desired to marry the other.

Oh, but of course! Elizabeth and her family would have to acquiesce. How could he forget?

He almost laughed aloud.

Yet, he anticipated no trouble in convincing her parents, for he was certain a gentleman of his stature would be welcomed into the fold with pleasure.

Nonetheless, when his aunt made the announcement that they would be working together just now, he did notice that Elizabeth had paled significantly.

That did not bode well for him.

Would Elizabeth rather avoid spending the day with him?

If that were the case, he was certain she would not wish to dedicate an entire lifetime to him.

Could it be possible the prospect of becoming his wife might actually be disagreeable to the only woman he had ever considered worthy to offer the position?

Becoming a bit dizzy at the possibility of what this could mean, he locked his knees and placed a hand on the back of his sister’s chair to steady himself. If his aunt were not still standing, he might allow himself to fall into the sofa, situated along the wall behind him.

He had never contemplated such a possibility before. Ladies of the ton had always behaved as if he—or at least his wealth and connections—were a desirable prize. He had spent his entire adult life avoiding most ladies’ attempts at competing for his attentions. It had never been the other way around.

How did he remedy the situation?

His aunt continued speaking without a trace of recognition of her nephew’s personal crisis.

“For those who are not already aware, my maid, Sarah, is a former resident of the orphanage. In fact, tomorrow, we shall have additional assistance—three maids from my household and everyone who can be spared from their work at Darcy House, all brought up at the Children of Saint Nicholas Orphanage, who have found gainful employment as a result of their education. The footmen we sent to the country to gather the greenery for the decorations were hired from there, as well.”

Darcy had always evaded acknowledgement of his part in the orphanage’s success, for he was not involved for the purpose of gaining admiration. It was simply an excellent cause.

Though, perhaps if Elizabeth was aware he not only supported the orphanage, but also hired many of the men and women who were trained there, it might influence her opinion of him for the better?

Apparently, his aunt thought so, or perhaps she would not have mentioned it.

He nodded in response to his aunt’s subtle praise. “It is their wish to be involved in the preparations. Those who were raised at the orphanage comprehend the import of festive occasions such as this in the children’s lives.”

Elizabeth said, “The way I understand it, most of those employed by my aunt and uncle—even some of the men who work in my uncle’s warehouse—also grew up at the orphanage. Our kitchen maid and the groomsman at Longbourn, as well.”

She glanced at Darcy for a moment. The prettiest of blushes graced her cheeks before she quickly turned her attention to her sister.

His heart skipped a beat; as usual, he could not look away from her.

Yes, this must have been how his aunt recognized he felt deeply for Elizabeth, even while he denied it to himself all this time. However, he could reject these sentiments no longer.

This was not infatuation, as he had been trying to convince himself. He was completely enchanted by her.

It was amazing how quickly one’s expectations for the future could change.

Had Elizabeth recognized his feelings for her, as well? Is that the reason she flushed just a few moments ago?

Was it also the cause of her hesitation to collaborate with him? Was she afraid to encourage his interest?

Determination filled his heart. The question of whether the remainder of his life would be filled with happiness or marred by misery depended on his finding a way to persuade Elizabeth to care for him.

Chapter 12

“I was examining these piles of clothing earlier,” said Elizabeth, desperately trying not to meet Mr. Darcy’s gaze. There was no telling how she would react to being in such close quarters so soon after she had realized her feelings for him. Her face was heating now in anticipation, and she was not even looking at him.

Do not think of it, Lizzy!

Moving her hands from one pile to the other to distract him from her face, she continued, “It looks as if each blouse, a skirt, or a pair of trousers for the boys, of course, along with two pairs of wool stockings, are marked with a slip of paper with the child’s name. We need to match them up and add two handkerchiefs for each child.”

Mr. Darcy added, “We should also retrieve the card labelled with the same child’s name, which will eventually be pinned to the final bundle.”

Elizabeth moved to the first pile again and handed to Mr. Darcy the blouse which was marked with the name “Karen Smith.” Elizabeth then shifted to search through the second pile for the same name attached to a skirt. After she passed off the stockings and a couple of handkerchiefs, Mr. Darcy made his way to the table his aunt had assigned to them. Elizabeth searched through the stack of cards, which Georgiana had painted so beautifully, looking for the correct name.

When she re-joined him, she realized their table was rather small. Mr. Bingley and Jane were standing nearby, watching Mr. Darcy fold the cloth into a neat stack that was longer in one direction than the other.

Mr. Darcy instructed, “Through the years, we have found this to be the best size and shape.”

“Can I give it a go?” Mr. Bingley asked. “This way, you can instruct me if I make a mistake.”

“Certainly.” Mr. Darcy ran a finger across the table top. “Do you see the lines painted here and here, Bingley? They are your guides.”

Elizabeth glanced around. Each group was using a similar table, which were higher than most of the tables around the room. Even Mr. Darcy did not need to stoop to work there. Did the late Mrs. Darcy have them constructed for this purpose, though they were only to be used twice a year?

It was too personal a question to ask, but she did think of another she could pose aloud. “Why are we to roll them into a cylinder?”

She realized it had been a mistake to voice her question when Mr. Darcy looked up from what Mr. Bingley was doing and caught her gaze. The intensity of the feelings that coursed through her when their eyes met sent her heart into a flutter.

She blinked, then forced herself to look away so she could continue. “Why not tie them together whilst they are folded into a square?”

“Years ago, my mother and aunt discovered that configuration does not hold everything together as securely. Some parts may become separated.”

Elizabeth nodded. The family had a great deal of experience with this event and were well prepared. “I imagine the guides on the table also make the packages seem as if they are of equivalent size, no matter how large or small the clothing.”

He smiled slightly. “As much as possible. The parcels for the older children are usually thicker, though we try our best to roll them more tightly, so they are as alike as possible.” He turned to his friend, who had finished his attempt. “Well done, Bingley.”

Mr. Darcy directed the next to the ladies. “Whilst gentlemen might have more experience with tying knots with the string, we have also found ladies usually tie the ribbon with a proficiency that gentlemen do not have.” He paused. “Miss Bennet, would you care to tie the first one?”

Jane agreed to do so.

Mr. Darcy took a ribbon from a basket holding many different coloured strands and handed it to her. “Tie this the long way whilst Bingley continues to hold it in place, so the parcel does not unravel. Then I will show you how to secure the string. Both are useful items for the children.”

Elizabeth chuckled. “To my knowledge, there may not be many boys who would consider a ribbon as valuable.”

“They can use them as bookmarks or gift them to a favourite teacher. Many of the children also have siblings.”

“I had not considered it in that sense. Your family has put a great deal of thought into this.”

“Not only my family, Miss Elizabeth. All of our helpers have influenced the event—your aunt and uncle, for instance. There are others who sew, but for whatever reason cannot contribute time to the event itself.” He grinned. “For example, the Bennet family’s support has gone unacknowledged all these years.”

As her face heated once again, she returned her attention to Jane and Mr. Bingley. Their efforts had caused them to become quite physically near, and she realized she and Mr. Darcy would end up being as close to each other as they were.

Goodness, how would she manage to get through this day?

When Jane finished crafting a pretty bow, Mr. Darcy lifted a length of string. “I am aware of your knowledge, Bingley, but ladies, have you ever tied a single-strand woven knot? It is also called a turkshead knot.”

“I am not certain.” Elizabeth looked at Jane, who was shaking her head.

He moved the string, braiding it in on itself.

After Mr. Darcy progressed, Elizabeth perked up. “I see we do know how to create a turkshead knot, though we did not know what it was called. Our father taught it to us when the ribbon holding our reticules frayed too often. Braiding the ribbon in this manner makes it much stronger, and it is decorative, too. It is convenient, as well since there is no need for more than one ribbon.”

“It is said that sailors who miss their ladies sometimes use this knot to construct bracelets and other items to gift to their loved ones when they arrive home,” Mr. Darcy said, his attention still on weaving the string around one end of the package. She assumed it was because he now knew he did not have to teach them how to braid it that he quickened his pace. “I have also noticed you use it on your bonnets, at times, Miss Elizabeth. I did not know whether you tied the pattern yourself.”

“Yes, I do,” she said, a bit breathlessly. A gentleman of his stature had actually paid attention to the adornments on her bonnets!

Mr. Darcy told Jane and Mr. Bingley he believed they were now well prepared to move to their own work station. Elizabeth stepped up to the opposite side of the table, facing him, as their counterparts had done. She picked up another length of string and began to tie the same continuous knot around the other end of the parcel.

Mr. Darcy said, “We will accomplish much more today since you have this knowledge.”

It would be rude not to look at him. She braced herself, picturing her feet planted firmly in a soil soaked with disinterest before raising her head.

Her determination to display no emotion was uprooted instantly by the brightness of his smile.

Elizabeth’s heart melted and nature took control. She reciprocated the gesture.

His smiled widened, and with it, dimples appeared in his cheeks.

Mr. Darcy had dimples! How was it she had never noticed them before? But then, he had rarely, if ever, smiled when they were in Hertfordshire.

Philanthropy seemed to bring out the best in him.

As they bundled the gifts for one child after another, they did not speak much, and she assumed it was because they had too much to accomplish. Strangely, it was not awkward in the least; it was a companionable silence.

Although they were on opposite sides of the table, the top was small enough that they were constantly bumping into or brushing up against each other. Each time it happened, Elizabeth became aware of a pleasant tingling that moved up her arm and spread throughout her entire being. No matter how many times it happened, it did not lessen in intensity.

The cause of this sensation? It had to be a reaction to Mr. Darcy.

No matter what she did to try to prevent it from happening, it continued. She would shift her body, giving him more room, then suddenly, he was closer, and it would occur once again.

At one point, she could have sworn he modified his stance to be closer to her—on purpose!

She quietly observed Mr. Darcy. He did not immediately divert his attention from his work; in fact, he seemed enthralled by it. It felt as if she had been staring at him forever before the movement of his hands stilled and he looked up.

He cocked his head to the side. “Is something wrong?”

What should she say? Her mind was a blank, so she only shook her head.

The longer he held her gaze captive, the more the light in his eyes softened, and the more fiercely her heart beat. For the smallest instant, she could have sworn his gaze flicked to her lips.

No, it could not be. Her mind was playing tricks on her. Being this close to him for such a long time was almost maddening.

“Are you well, Miss Elizabeth? Your colour is heightened. May I suggest you sit nearby and hold the roll while I tie the ribbon and string alone for a few minutes?”

“I am fine.” She would not admit it was being on the receiving end of his intense look that was causing her blush. “I was just thinking… perhaps I could work on the second turkshead knot for each gift at a different table to give you more room, sir.”

He frowned, and now his colour rose a tad. “I am afraid it would not be beneficial since I need to hold the roll whilst you tie the ribbon.”

“Ah, yes…” she answered. “It was only an idea.”

As they both began working again, he took a step to his left, further away from her.

She felt the loss immediately and glanced up.

Was it her imagination, or did Mr. Darcy appear disappointed, too?

You are reading too much into this, Lizzy! Elizabeth thought.

Chapter 13

As the maids wheeled in the tea cart, Aunt Adelaide made an announcement that they all deserved a respite. Their group must have been hungry since the chamber became suddenly quiet and Darcy was left to his own thoughts.

He had taken a seat across from Elizabeth, hoping to give her the space she needed. Earlier, he had been enjoying the closeness between them, their camaraderie and cooperation whilst working towards a common goal close to both their hearts. He could even say it been mesmerizing—for him, at least.

Therefore, it had been quite the blow to hear her suggest they work at different tables. Moving further away from her, he found he sorely missed the lack of her presence, even though she was only a few additional inches away from him. Truly, it was ridiculous! The announcement of tea had been a blessing since he could barely concentrate on what he was doing.

He could not dwell on this setback—he had to devise a strategy. He must do something, say something, that might impress Elizabeth.

In the past, he had heard her mention more than once that she loved to laugh. Perhaps he should prepare a few amusing tales to mention over their work?

He wracked his brain. Nothing came to him. Why was it that when he wished to entertain, it became impossible?

His train of thought was interrupted by the melodious sound of Elizabeth’s voice. “Jane, was there any news from home in Kitty’s letter?” She hesitated. “Oh, but I do not suppose you had a chance to read it yet.”

Miss Bennet glanced at her sister, then met Bingley’s gaze, and an almost palpable warmth built up between them. “It came as we were leaving our aunt and uncle’s house, so I slipped it into my pocket.”

Bingley smiled. “I have been wondering if there was any news amongst my new neighbours. Would you share it with us?”

Bingley was looking at her with an intensity leaving no doubt in Miss Bennet’s mind as to his interest in whatever she had to say.

Miss Bennet looked almost ready to swoon for a moment before looking away.

Excellent job, Bingley. Mayhap Darcy should give that intense look a try?

Miss Bennet broke the seal. “My sister Kitty informs me—oh! this is for your sake, Lizzy. Mr. Gibbons has received the shipment you and Papa were waiting for.”

“Good. I have been looking forward to procuring a new book for ages,” Elizabeth replied, then met Aunt Adelaide’s gaze. “I had no idea we would soon be in London, so Papa allowed me to place an order.”

Ah, books! At least there he could be of assistance. “Please feel free to borrow anything from our library here at Darcy House,” he offered immediately. “I could take you on a tour of our collection later today.”

Elizabeth coloured, looked down at her lap, then back up again. “Thank you, sir.”

Although he enjoyed watching her blush, he wished he did not cause her to do so this frequently. It could not bode well for him.

Miss Bennet slid her finger down the page and smiled. “The new baby has arrived at the Claussen farm at Longbourn—a boy, who will go by the name of James. Mrs. Claussen and the child are well.”

“Wonderful news!” Elizabeth exclaimed. “I hope Mary remembered to bring them a basket.”

“She did.” Jane nodded. “Kitty and Lydia went with her.”

Elizabeth raised an eyebrow in response.

Darcy could imagine why. Her youngest sisters were flighty, to put it nicely. Having them tag along would be of no assistance to Miss Mary, who had a more sober disposition. On the contrary, he expected their being present had caused more work for her.

Miss Bennet continued. “Apparently, Miss King has inherited a fortune from a relation on her mother’s side, a great-uncle whom she never knew existed.”

“What a happy circumstance for her!” replied Bingley. “She lives with her father’s brother, does she not?”

“She came to live with him several years ago, after her parents died.” Miss Bennet looked down at the letter once again. Her smile faded. “As soon as the news spread, Mr. Wickham immediately began courting her.”

Darcy’s eyes darted to his sister, who had frozen with her teacup halfway to her mouth. He watched all colour drain from her face.

Good Lord! He should have anticipated that rascal’s name might come up.

“George?” Georgiana whispered. Her voice became stronger when she met Elizabeth’s gaze. “George Wickham?”

Elizabeth’s eyes widened at Georgiana’s panicked tone. She nodded. “He is a lieutenant in the militia stationed near Meryton.”

“Please…” Georgiana took a deep breath. “You must warn Miss King away from him!” Tears welled in her eyes. “George Wickham is a bad man… and since Miss King has a fortune, he will do anything to encourage her to marry him. If there is a chance her uncle will not approve the marriage, Wickham will persuade her to elope with him.” She sobbed. “He is very convincing. Please help her?”

Georgiana began trembling so violently, tea splashed from the teacup onto her hand. The tea had recently been poured—surely it was burning Georgiana’s tender skin. She did not seem to notice.

Darcy rose quickly. Aunt Adelaide, who was sitting next to Georgiana, reached over and took the cup and saucer from her hand.

The only sound in the room was the clank the cup and saucer made when his aunt awkwardly placed them onto the side table. He had never known the countess to be heavy-handed before.

Georgiana looked up at him accusingly. “After all that happened to me, Fitzwilliam, how could you not caution our friends about Wickham’s evil nature?”

Darcy opened his mouth to speak but faltered.

His aunt gestured to her maid, who scurried from the room, gathering the other servants with her as she went.

Elizabeth rose from her seat, knelt before Georgiana, and dabbed at his sister’s hand with a napkin. “Your brother did warn me—or at least he tried.” She glanced up at him. “But it was such a confusing message, I am sorry to say, I ignored it. If I had been a better sister and neighbour, perhaps I would have forewarned others.”

“I apologize, Miss Elizabeth,” Darcy forced out. “It was a delicate subject; it was not… proper to discuss the details of this circumstance with such a new acquaintance.”

From the corner of his eye, he could see Bingley was nodding. Bingley, at least, had been cautioned so he would keep a close watch on his own sister, since she had a fortune of ten thousand, in case they were ever forced into company with Wickham.

“Of course. It is quite understandable.” Elizabeth shook her head. “And to be fair, none of us native to the neighbourhood had enough of a dowry to tempt a fortune hunter—or it was true whilst your brother was in the area.”

Georgiana, who was doing her best to restrain her tears, looked up at him again. “Please, Brother. Miss King’s uncle must be told enough to protect her.”

Elizabeth furrowed her brow and met his gaze. “Jane and I shall write to my father. We shall say something vague, but enough to convince him to speak to Mr. King so he will shield Miss King. We will not name the lady involved.”

Which was exactly what he should have done the instant he saw Wickham in the neighbourhood, but he had been too angry—and if he were honest with himself, too fearful that if cornered, the scoundrel would spread falsehoods that would destroy his sister’s reputation.

Elizabeth truly was the better person. She offered to protect Georgiana, even without knowing all the particulars of the circumstances. What an amazing lady! However, he should explain to Elizabeth the situation more thoroughly, so she did not jump to any false conclusions about how far his sister had fallen.

Fallen. Such a word! He did his best to suppress the shudder passing down his spine.

“Thank you, Liz—Miss Elizabeth,” Georgiana whispered and looked across at Elizabeth’s sister. “And you, Miss Bennet.”

Elizabeth raised her eyebrows. “Have we returned to formalities?”

A new surge of tears fell from Georgiana’s eyes. “After hearing what happened, what I almost did, I did not think you would wish to…” Her voice caught.

“It sounds as though we were all fooled by the man’s deceitful charm, Georgie.” Elizabeth smiled sweetly. “I, for one, could never blame you.”

Georgiana closed her eyes and nodded.

Had Elizabeth developed feelings for the scoundrel, as he had feared when she defended him the night of the ball at Netherfield?

Darcy stared at his aunt.

The countess had been able to recognize his feelings for Elizabeth before he understood them himself. Could Wickham also have done so, targeting Elizabeth’s gentle heart on purpose to take revenge upon him, as he had with Georgiana?

A wave of nausea passed through him.

“Miss King will be safe; of that you can be certain.” Elizabeth stood and turned to him. “Mr. Darcy, is there somewhere Jane and I can compose a letter? We should send an express to my father at once.” She hesitated. “And if you do not mind, we would like to seek your advice on what we might say.”

What a generous soul—to ease his sister’s mind, she would allow him to confer with them so he could be certain his sister’s reputation would not be tarnished.

He nodded and escorted the two ladies from the room, leaving his sister well cared for by their aunt and Mrs. Ainsley. Behind him, he heard Bingley excuse himself. After exchanging a look with Miss Bennet, his friend moved off towards the rear of the house, probably to the billiards room, entrusting the females to deal with any emotional outbursts that might occur.

Darcy gestured, directing the ladies forward.

Chapter 14

“How lovely,” Elizabeth found herself saying softly.

Mr. Darcy had brought Elizabeth and Jane to a small, but truly exquisite chamber. An elegant mahogany desk was the focal point of the room. The piece was feminine, judging by the paintings in the porcelain inlaid around the circumference of the desk. An impressive French door was centered in the outer wall, the light from which illuminated the entire desktop. The door opened onto a balcony with a staircase that led down to the townhouse’s gardens. It was no surprise in Mayfair the courtyards would be much larger than the one her aunt and uncle kept behind their home.

“This was my mother’s study. Though Georgiana prefers to pen her correspondence in her private sitting room, I am told the staff keeps it fully stocked in case she does decide to use it,” Mr. Darcy stated.

He seemed a bit off, but she could not blame him after what had occurred.

Besides, she had already deduced he had been especially close to his mother. Perhaps his sewing lessons had taken place in this very room, and memories were assaulting him, as well?

Elizabeth did not realize she was looking at him until he met her gaze, his expression full of reminiscence. He blinked hard and it was gone. Mr. Darcy took hold of a chair from along the wall and placed it next to Elizabeth’s, then held it whilst Jane situated herself upon it.

Purposely diverting her attention from him, she searched for the supplies she needed and wrote:

Dearest Papa,

All is as well as it can be at the Gardiners’. Eddie’s condition is improved slightly, as expected, so please do not be alarmed by my sending this letter by express. However, there is a serious matter concerning what Kitty has communicated to us about Miss Emily King’s situation, of which her uncle must be made aware directly.

Whilst in Town, Jane and I have learned that Mr. Wickham is a scoundrel of the worst sort and should not be trusted, especially when it comes to a lady who has just come into an inheritance. We have it on good authority Mr. Wickham has attempted to convince at least one young lady of fortune to elope with him in the past when her family did not approve the match. Please believe me when I say, in all seriousness, this is not idle gossip. We both trust the source of this information completely.

I beg of you to warn Mr. King without delay! He should be put on his guard against George Wickham’s advances immediately.”

Elizabeth blotted the ink, then passed the letter to Jane, who nodded her approval. Unwilling to read aloud what she had written, she then handed it to Mr. Darcy.

After looking it over, Mr. Darcy nodded. “It is appropriate. From the little my sister has told you, Miss Elizabeth, you have understood the situation clearly enough, but… Miss Bennet, Miss Elizabeth, I wish to point out… my sister…” He closed his eyes and sighed.

It pained Elizabeth to see an expression of such anguish cross his features as he searched for the proper words to express his sister’s situation.

He began again, “Since you have befriended Georgiana, I think you should know more about what happened. The elder Mr. Wickham was our father’s steward. He was a good man, and a good friend to my father. As a result, the younger Wickham was brought up closer to my family than most steward’s sons would have been—almost treated as a member of the family. In compensation for his father’s many valuable services, my father funded his son’s education. In fact, since we were close in age, we were at school together. However, to say I was appalled at the son’s behaviour there would be an understatement. The details are unfit for any ladies’ ears—I will only say George Wickham is not a man of honour.”

He paced to the French door and looked out the window, continuing to speak without looking at them. “After my father died, Wickham proved the consistency of his tarnished character by pressing me for more than he was due. For example, after he had gone through most of his inheritance, he demanded to be presented the living he had originally refused, for which he had already been fully compensated. Following that episode, I had thought all contact between us was at an end. My mistake was…” He shook his head. “I was so unsure of how to warn such a young girl about the murkiness of the man’s character without tarnishing her sensibilities, I said nothing to Georgiana. We simply never spoke of him again.

“However, last summer, Georgiana went to Ramsgate, where she happened upon Wickham. Remembering only that Wickham had been a close friend of the family when she was younger, she trusted him. Unbeknownst to either of us, Georgiana’s former companion, a Mrs. Younge, had conspired with him—their goal being to separate Georgiana from her dowry.”

He turned to look at Elizabeth and Jane. “In spite of her chaperone’s devious motivations, I want to make it perfectly clear that Georgiana did nothing more than allow herself to believe she was in love with a deceitful man. And in her inexperienced state, at the age of fifteen, my sister agreed to marry him.” His nostrils flared. “Wickham—along with Mrs. Younge—knowing quite well I would recognize his motivations for what they were, also knew I would never allow such a match to take place. Wickham made excuses, convincing her an elopement would be more beneficial than having to wait for the banns to be read. Thank goodness the scheme was terminated the moment I arrived in Ramsgate to visit my sister.” His shoulders slumped a bit as he said the last.

This information was horrifying. Poor Georgiana! Elizabeth’s most recent suspicions about Mr. Wickham had been correct, but she could not have imagined him as bad as he turned out to be.

Elizabeth cleared her throat. “We thank you for confiding in us, sir, though there was no need. We would have never assumed our friend had done anything so wrong. Please rest assured we will not share the details of this information with anyone.”

As Jane’s mumbled her agreement, Elizabeth finally looked away from Mr. Darcy.

Oh! She was glad Jane was seated since she looked almost as if she might faint as a result of hearing this tale.

“Thank you, Miss Elizabeth,” Mr. Darcy bowed. “You possess a high quality of character; it is unmatched amongst society.” He seemed have forgotten Jane was in the room until he added almost as an afterthought, “As do you, Miss Bennet.”

Elizabeth blinked. Unsure what to do with such high praise directed mainly at her, she forced her attention away from pondering it further… for now anyway. But suddenly, it dawned on her Wickham could very well be trying to convince Miss King to elope at this very moment.

“We should send this letter as soon as possible. Do you suggest I say anything further?”

He hesitated. “Inform your father, since there is little proof Wickham has changed, there is a high probability he is also running up a tab at all the shops in the village. Knowing him as well as I do, I predict what he has already spent will far exceed what he could possibly earn as a lieutenant in the militia. Additionally, I do not think he would have pursued a career if he were still in possession of any of the four thousand pounds he received from my father’s bequest.”

Elizabeth tilted her head to the side. “Excuse me for asking, sir, but I thought I remembered your saying your father passed away not long ago?”

Mr. Darcy answered, “It is five years.”

Her jaw dropped open. “How could anyone go through four thousand in such a short time when they have no other responsibilities, such as an estate to manage?”

He sighed once again. “If anyone can, it is Wickham.”

Jane covered her mouth with her hand.

Obviously, this was becoming too much for her sister. If doing so would not necessitate Elizabeth would be left alone with Mr. Darcy, she would ask her to step out of the room.

Elizabeth squeezed her sister’s hand, then quickly added a few lines to the letter, suggesting her father discreetly check into Wickham’s debts with the shopkeepers. After asking her father to keep them informed, she signed and sealed the letter.

She rose and handed the missive to Mr. Darcy.

He took it. “I will send a man to Longbourn with this at once.”

“Please reconsider, Mr. Darcy.” Elizabeth shook her head. “Whilst it is kind of you to think of the expense to our father, sir, you must understand he has a sharp mind. If he learns the messenger is in your employ, he might suspect your sister of being the young lady referred to within the communiqué. I think it best we send it as an express through the post.”

“You would know your father’s reaction better than I.” Mr. Darcy nodded. “My man will take this to the post immediately, then.”

“Thank you, Mr. Darcy,” Elizabeth said. “Shall we return to the parlour, sir? Or…”

“Yes, please do. No matter what difficulties may arise, it does not change the fact that the Saint Nicholas Day celebration must be held on Saint Nicholas Day, which is Friday. It cannot be delayed; therefore, we must continue our task. The decorations will likely take about a day to assemble, and then we shall go to the orphanage to put them on display. If you will get started without us, I will find Bingley. We shall rejoin you shortly.”

Chapter 15

~The next day – Gracechurch Street

Watching Jane comfort little Jenny Gardiner was awe-inspiring. Judging by the little girl’s reaction, a mishap with a glove was the worst thing that could happen to a three-year-old, but Jane managed the child’s outburst of tears with proficiency… which would come in handy since it seemed her elder sister would have children of her own sooner than they had both suspected only days ago.

All throughout the day yesterday, Mr. Bingley left no doubt about his regard for Jane. Her sister, in turn, must have taken their friend Charlotte’s advice to heart, for she had given Mr. Bingley as much encouragement as a lady could without making a spectacle of herself, practically glowing every time he looked upon her. It would surprise Elizabeth if there was not an announcement of an engagement between them before the church bells at Meryton rang in the new year.

Elizabeth looked away to confirm Jenny’s two brothers were still safely feeding the ducks in the small pond.

It was a beautiful morning—warmer than it had been since they arrived in London. Being confined to the house for the past few days, Elizabeth had welcomed the exercise of escorting the children for a stroll to the churchyard grounds down the street from the Gardiners’ home whilst their injured eldest brother slept late after a difficult night.

Now soothed by Jane’s reassurance, little Jenny ran off to play with her brothers. Jane stepped up to join Elizabeth.

“Getting in some practice?” Elizabeth quipped.

Jane blushed. “I often wonder whether I would be an adequate mother.”

“Oh, Jane! You will make the ideal mother; of that I am certain.”

“How can you be so sure?”

“While I do love our parents dearly, we both must concede that we have daily proof at home of what we should not do. Mama and Papa allow our youngest sisters to run wild at times and cannot be bothered to make the effort to subdue their unruly behaviour. You, Mary, and I have better sense than Kitty and Lydia, but we are not their parents, and since Mama has told them repeatedly that they do not have to listen to us, therefore, they do not. Our aunt and uncle make much better models of proper parents, and you and I have chosen to learn from them, instead. During your every interaction with children, you are firm, yet gentle and patient. By nature, you are everything Aunt Madeline is, and more.” She paused to smile mischievously. “With you as their mother, and Mr. Bingley as their father, your children will be the most beautiful, kind, loving, and polite boys and girls who have ever lived.”

“Thank you, Lizzy.” Jane blinked away the tears that had welled up in her eyes. “I believe you will be an exceptional mother, as well.”

Elizabeth noticed Jane did not dissuade her from pairing her with Mr. Bingley. Very interesting! “I am determined to be the best aunt I can be. I will spoil your children as often as you will allow.” She spoke the next in a more subdued tone. “Though I doubt very much that I shall ever have children of my own.”

“You will if Mr. Darcy has anything to say about it,” Jane said under her breath whilst looking off towards the lawn where the Gardiner children were now playing tag.

Elizabeth’s heart lurched. “Mr. Darcy? Whatever could you mean, Jane?”

Jane smiled. “Charles has told me that Mr. Darcy cares deeply for you.”

Two things about what she heard hit her at once. While she wanted to know why Mr. Bingley would ever say such a thing about Mr. Darcy, it would have to wait. Even more extraordinary at this moment was…

“Charles?” Elizabeth gasped.

A grin spread across her sister’s lips, wider than any Elizabeth had ever seen.

“Jane! What have you not told me?”

“I am sorry, Lizzy—I know it was selfish of me, but I wished to keep my news to myself for one evening. Yesterday, as we all moved towards the dining parlour for supper, Mr. Bingley asked me to marry him. I accepted.”

“So soon! But then, the moment I saw you together again, I knew it would be so.” Elizabeth took her sister’s hands in hers. “No wonder you were beaming all throughout supper, and more so on the carriage ride to the Gardiners. I thought it was simply that you were glad to see Mr. Bingley again.”

“I was glad to see him. And now… oh, Lizzy! I am so happy,” Jane declared. “I wish everyone could be as happy as I!”

“But, with so many people about, when did he find time to propose?”

Jane stared at the clear, blue sky, all starry-eyed. “It was in the corridor, on our way to supper. You all had gone before us, but he held me back.” She sighed. “It was very romantic…”

“Romantic?” Elizabeth chuckled. “Mr. Bingley behaved romantically in Mr. Darcy’s corridor?”

“Where it happened does not matter. It was his words and all of his looks I will always remember.”

A nanny Elizabeth recognized as being employed by a family two doors down from the Gardiners arrived with two young boys. Elizabeth glanced over at their charges. The Gardiners’ children asked the newcomers to join them in their game of tag. The nanny settled herself on a bench across the pond as the children continued their game.

Elizabeth turned to Jane. “I hope you wish to share more with me.”

Jane looked as if she would burst if she did not. “Charles said he had long been in love with me, though he had been uncertain about my own feelings, for he felt undeserving of me. However, while we were apart these past few days, he realized he wished to spend forever with me, so he could not help himself from taking full advantage of the opportunity of meeting with me again. He asked if I would agree to never part from him for as long as we both shall live.”

Elizabeth sighed. “You are correct, it was romantic.”

Jane nodded vigorously. “Charles will ride to Longbourn the day after the ball to ask Papa for consent. I am hoping he can return the same day to let me know…”

“Do not fret, dearest Jane. Papa will happily give his consent and blessings. Mama will be so thrilled at the prospect of having you settled at Netherfield, only three miles away from Longbourn, we will probably hear her response all the way from London!”

Jane giggled, then her eyes widened. “Oh! But Lizzy… I almost forgot. What I said about Mr. Darcy…”

“Yes?” Elizabeth held her breath. That gentleman had been very attentive towards her and kind to the extreme whilst they finished packaging the gifts the previous day. And yet, though her opinion of him had greatly improved, he was no less of a mystery to her. There were a few times she thought he might be flirting, which had confused her to no end! However, internally, she explained it all away as wishful thinking.

“Charles told me he expects it will not be long before Mr. Darcy proposes to you.”

Elizabeth huffed. “What in heaven’s name would cause him to presume such a thing? Of all people, Mr. Bingley should know that I am ‘not tempting enough’ for Mr. Darcy even to dance with.” Her face heated. “After all, those two gentlemen were speaking directly at the time Mr. Darcy declared it quite forcefully.”

“Based upon that incident, I did suggest it was possible Charles was mistaken, but he insisted he was not. He believes the comment was voiced only because the gentleman did not wish to dance that evening. Neither of them had any idea someone had overheard him, and I must say that Charles was terribly upset when he heard it was. You should know it seems his sister’s unfortunate incident had taken place not too long before his coming to Hertfordshire. Although he had not wished to leave her, his aunt and uncle felt his protective behaviour towards Georgiana was not beneficial towards her recovery, and so they ordered him to accompany Charles to Hertfordshire, as he had previously planned. So, you see, Mr. Darcy was not himself on the day of the assembly ball. Apparently, since that comment had been expressed, Mr. Darcy’s opinions steadily grew more complimentary towards you, Lizzy.”

Jane smiled impishly this time. “Then, yesterday, Mr. Darcy said something to Charles that made him expect there was more to his interest than he had previously thought.” Elizabeth suspected Jane knew exactly what Mr. Darcy had said, but she did not repeat it. “Charles observed him whenever he could during the day and declared to me that he has never seen his friend behave in such a manner towards any other lady. He is adamant Mr. Darcy is in love with you.”

Elizabeth attempted to calm her racing heart by taking a deep breath, but it was of no use. Jane had caused hope to grow within her soul. This was not good—not good at all!

“Lizzy, perhaps it was because Charles kept looking at Mr. Darcy, but I spent a good part of the day observing you, as well. Your opinion of the gentleman has altered drastically…” Jane held Elizabeth’s gaze steadily. “It is obvious to me you care for him.”

Was it evident to everyone?

Barely able to breathe, Elizabeth took a moment to recover enough to speak. “You are correct.” She swallowed the lump that had formed in her throat. “Upon further acquaintance, my estimation of Mr. Darcy has changed. After a great deal of thought and very little sleep these past few days, I have examined my past interactions with him under a different light. I have decided my previous attitude was prejudiced against him, partly due to my pride suffering a blow when I overhead what he said at the assembly ball. My wounded vanity allowed—even encouraged—my judgement to be easily swayed by all the horrid things Mr. Wickham said about Mr. Darcy and his sister. But one of the things Wickham was most adamant about when he spoke to me was that Georgiana was selfish, pompous, and disagreeable.”

Both ladies shook their heads.

Elizabeth continued, “Following our first meeting with her, and my realization that she was, in fact, an amiable and delightful young lady, I began to question all my preconceived notions about her brother, as well. In fact, I have very quickly come to think highly of Mr. Darcy.”

“I was wondering why you did not seem as upset as I thought you would when you heard about Mr. Wickham yesterday.”

“I had already puzzled out that he was a spiteful man. Though I must admit I did not think he would be quite so bad as what we did learn about him, I knew any one capable of saying such ghastly things about such a sweet girl would not hesitate to lie about anything else.”

“Lizzy…” Jane hesitated. “Charles would like to wait a while to make our plans in hopes that we may have a double wedding, as you and I have always hoped for.”

It took all of Elizabeth’s resolve to keep her mouth from dropping open. “You two certainly discussed quite a lot during that brief time in Mr. Darcy’s corridor.” Elizabeth could not help but laugh—more to ease her own anxiety than anything else—but her tone quickly turned serious again. “But Jane… you must know that simply wanting something to happen will not make it come about.” Elizabeth sighed. “I am sorry, but I shall have to disappoint both you and Mr. Bingley. Please, do not delay planning your own wedding while you wait for something I believe is quite impossible to occur.” Suddenly, worry overtook Elizabeth. “Mr. Bingley would not mention anything of his suspicions regarding Mr. Darcy’s feelings towards me to our parents, would he?”

What a disaster that would be! There was no telling how their mother would react.

“I am sure he would not, but I will ask him to make certain he keeps those thoughts to himself.”

Elizabeth let out a long breath. “Thank you.”

The church bells began to ring the ten o’clock hour. It was time to return to the Gardiners’ and prepare to leave for the Darcy’s townhouse.

Chapter 16

The parlour at Darcy House looked quite different this morning. All the usual furnishings had been placed along the walls and three long tables were now in their place. To one side of each table was a pile of greenery the footmen must have brought back from the country yesterday or earlier this morning. Several maids and footmen were almost finished creating a long garland which Elizabeth assumed would be placed on the banister of the main staircase at the orphanage. When finished, they would make a second one for the rear staircase, and then assist the others with their assignments.

Their own group—Jane, Mr. Bingley, Mr. Darcy, and herself—would be responsible for the centerpieces for the children’s and teacher’s tables, then they would move on to build similar centerpieces for the ball’s supper tables. Lady Adelaide and her maid, Sarah, would make garlands for the hearths in the orphanage’s main rooms. Georgiana and Mrs. Annesley were already busy fashioning a large wreath which would hang on the main entrance door.

Upon their arrival, Lady Adelaide informed them the children, teachers, and other staff at the orphanage were also busy today creating trimmings for their private rooms, but as was tradition with the feast, the public chambers’ ornamentations were to remain a surprise until the day of the Saint Nicholas Day celebration.

Since Aunt Madeline was so busy with her son’s injury, Jane and Elizabeth had left Longbourn with every intention of constructing decorations for the Gardiners’ home, so it was helpful they had packed the thick leather work gloves they always wore to make the adornments at home every year.

Elizabeth and the perplexing Mr. Darcy went to work bending the greenery around a wire frame, which according to that gentleman, had been fashioned years ago by Pemberley’s carpenter.

As Jane paired up with Mr. Bingley, Elizabeth smiled knowingly at him. His grin widened.

“You heard the good news?” Mr. Darcy asked.

“I have.” Deciding to take a leap of faith he would not think her comment too inappropriate; she was determined to probe for more information. “You know, Mr. Darcy, there was a time I suspected you would not have approved the match.”

His colour rose slightly as he stilled unnaturally. His brow furrowed and the look of guilt that settled across his features confirmed she had been correct. “Let us say that I have come to my senses. I am now happy for them both.”

His comments were encouraging.

“I am sorry if you might think my question is rude, but I find I must ask.” She hesitated. “What changed your mind, sir?”

He busied himself with his work for several minutes as Elizabeth helped. So much time passed she did not think he would answer at all, but then he looked up and said, “If my sister had not experienced what she did last summer, I might not have recognized the discomfort they had both fallen into once Bingley and Miss Bennet had been separated.”

“Which is why you were watching my sister so closely…” Elizabeth said, suddenly understanding what she had witnessed.

His eyes widened. “I had not realized it was so obvious.”

Elizabeth busied her hands. “Perhaps not to others, but I was feeling rather protective over Jane, for when we met again in London, it was only one day after she had received a letter from Miss Bingley—especially once we were tasked to collaborate with your sister. But that was before we became acquainted with her.”

“Caroline had told me she wrote to your sister, but I am sorry, I do not understand… what does Georgiana have to do with anything she could have said in her letter?”

Elizabeth blinked at him, then whispered, “Miss Bingley wrote saying a marriage between Georgie and Mr. Bingley had been arranged—by you.”

He was shocked, then a spark of anger lit in his eyes. “That is not true.”

“As I have deduced.” She nodded. “And yet, I am certain you can imagine why I was concerned for Jane’s state of mind.”

“Yes, of course, but why would Caroline say such a thing? And to involve my sister in her scheme…”

“It is my opinion that she recognized Jane’s affection was genuine. Jane is truly the most selfless person alive, Mr. Darcy—most of all, she wished Mr. Bingley should be happy. If he genuinely cared for Georgiana, Jane would have earnestly wished them joy, no matter how her heart was breaking.”

“Do his sisters care about Bingley’s—about anyone’s—welfare at all?” he mumbled.

Elizabeth almost asked why he was surprised but decided she had said enough about Caroline Bingley. “What matters most is, once you recognized Jane truly did care for your friend, you rectified the situation.”

He blushed deeper this time. “How did you know?”

“That bringing them together again was your doing?”

He nodded.

“It was written all over your face the moment Mr. Bingley walked into this room the first time.” She nodded at the doorway.

He took a deep breath. “After watching their reaction to seeing one another, I was inundated with guilt for playing a part in separating them. They both might have been miserable for the rest of their lives if we had not met again to work towards this cause.” He gestured around them.

Was that the reason he had displayed pain? Oh, this meant he had never thought of Jane for himself at all!

She was almost overwhelmed by the relief washing over her. “At least it will have a happy conclusion. Look at them…” she gestured in Jane and Mr. Bingley’s direction.

Mr. Darcy tied off the end of the branch they had been working on and glanced further down their shared table. “They seem quite distracted.” A smile spread across his face as he met her gaze.

“Perhaps we should work twice as fast to compensate,” Elizabeth suggested, “for even on a normal day, they forget what they were about and become inattentive to everyone and everything except one another… and this is no ordinary day for them.”

He chuckled, and his dimple appeared again, stunning Elizabeth.

Nodding, he answered, “I expect that, after she has accepted him, they might get nothing done at all.”

He was so handsome, his eyes twinkled with warmth, good sense, and humour.

She forced herself to look away from him or else she would not be able to function, either.

Why had she allowed herself to get to know this version of Mr. Darcy? And how was she supposed to protect her heart if he continued to behave in such a charming manner?

Chapter 17

~ 1811 6 December - Saint Nicholas Day

As Darcy waited for his carriage to be brought around to the front of the house, his mind kept wandering to review the happenings of the previous day.

With an heroic effort, the group had managed to finish constructing all the decorative items they had set out to accomplish, even those for the Gardiners’ home. After an early supper, the group bundled into carriages and carts and headed to the orphanage.

The group arrived after the children had already been abed, just as Saint Nicholas would have done. The two maids and the man-of-all-work employed at the orphanage helped the servants from Darcy House and Matlock House unload the decorative pieces that would brighten the children’s days into the new year. Under Aunt Adelaide’s, Georgiana’s, and Mrs. Cooper’s watchful eyes, the servants got to work immediately, attaching the garlands to the stairways and hearths, and the wreath to the front door. Meanwhile, Darcy and Bingley had followed Elizabeth’s and Miss Bennet’s directions on where to place the centerpieces on the tables in the dining hall, covering them with cloths, which the maids would remove before the feast today.

On a more personal note, the entirety of the previous day had been permeated with difficulties regarding his quest to win Elizabeth’s heart. Disappointment reigned whenever he thought she was avoiding his gaze, but then she would grace him with a glance, and oh! The warmth glowing from her eyes in those moments was encouraging, to say the least, and a new wave of confidence would blossom in his chest. However, the constant fluctuation between hope and despair had been almost maddening.

Finally, the carriage arrived, returning Darcy to the present. Georgiana, Bingley, and Darcy climbed aboard without delay. After a brief stop at Matlock House to collect his aunt, the others in the carriage conversed as Darcy once again became distracted by his thoughts of Elizabeth.

The children’s celebration today, along with the ball on Tuesday, would be his last chances to secure her approval—at least in the near future, since he and his sister were scheduled to return to Pemberley for Christmastide.

The offer Bingley had made last evening to join him at Netherfield for the holidays had been tempting, for he was certain Georgiana would like to spend more time with Elizabeth and Miss Bennet. But Wickham was at Meryton! It was too risky to expose Georgiana to the knave ever again.

His course of action was clear. Over the next few days, he would need to step up his game… become more direct.

He had to make certain Elizabeth understood his intentions towards her, without leaving any room for doubt.

Chapter 18

The noise coming from the corridor outside the dining room increased along with Elizabeth’s anticipation. At last, the doors flew open, and she could not help but smile as she watched the children’s faces light up with delight.

All of the children were dressed in their Sunday best, and their excitement was contagious. Everyone—maids, footmen, and the orphanage staff, along with the ladies and gentlemen present—were aglow, their joy shining brighter than the candles illuminating every corner of the room.

The children took their seats, gaping with wide-eyed wonder at the beautiful place cards Georgiana had painted for them, and then at the fine China arrangements they would use for this meal, which were carefully transported from both Darcy and Matlock Houses.

Once the children were all seated, the headmistress rang a bell. Silence fell across the crowd, so complete, one could hear a pin drop. The minister stood and led them in a prayer of thanks, then he told tales of how Saint Nicholas had helped children and the poor.

When he was done, the minister smiled and nodded to Lady Adelaide. In turn, the countess, who was sitting at the head of the table, across from the headmistress, said softly to those surrounding her, “It is time to distribute the gifts.”

Elizabeth remained seated whilst watching Mr. Darcy from her peripheral vision, leaving to him the choice of who she would be paired up with again today. Whilst the past few days, working together so closely had been a memory she would cherish forever, she was afraid she had read too much into his looks and words. Yesterday, they worked together so efficiently, it was as if they had been collaborating their entire lives. He had even finished her sentences on several occasions when she had been too distracted to complete her thought aloud after glancing up at his handsome face.

There was no longer any doubt in her mind: she was in love with Mr. Darcy. The problem? While he seemed to appreciate her company, she had no idea he could ever feel the same emotion towards her.

Mr. Darcy helped his aunt and sister rise whilst Mr. Bingley held Jane’s and Mrs. Annesley’s chairs.

Once all others had drifted off, Elizabeth began to rise herself and turned to find Mr. Darcy standing behind her, displaying a broad grin.

Her heart soared. He had waited for her after all.

“This is my favourite part of the event,” he said.

Elizabeth glanced towards the children’s tables, noting their wide eyes and expectant expressions. “I can understand why.”

As the members of their group moved towards the crates filled with the gift packages, the maids and footmen from Matlock and Darcy Houses began to pass out a packet containing a new slate and chalk to each child.

Apparently, the clothing gifts were grouped by table, so at least it would be a bit easier to figure out which gift belonged to which child. They made their way around the room, passing out the packages to the eager children. All were so grateful. Afterward, the children lined up and left for their rooms to put away their gifts, though they returned promptly. Before long, the three-course meal began. Judging by the wide-eyed expressions of both the children and the staff, this was not their usual fare. Elizabeth had to admit the food was superb, but since it had been overseen by the chef employed by the Earl of Matlock, she had not expected anything less.

As the dessert course was served, along with chocolates for the children, Mrs. Cooper called the attendees to attention. Once quiet had settled, she removed a sheet covering a large trunk. Opening it, she revealed paper, pencils, toys, puzzles, games, and books, adding to the orphanage’s collection already available to all the children after their chores and schoolwork were done every day.

Tears welling up in her eyes, Elizabeth turned to Lady Adelaide. “How very kindhearted of you, my lady!”

Lady Adelaide smiled. “I agree, but it was not me who provided these luxuries…” her gaze moved past Elizabeth.

Elizabeth turned. Judging by the blush that infused Mr. Darcy’s cheeks, she knew immediately he was the benefactor. “It is very generous of you, sir.”

He waved a hand as if chasing away a fly. “Their parents would have done the same for them, had they lived.”

Elizabeth shook her head. “I am sorry to disagree, but these children were not from wealthy families, sir. Your involvement has provided them with a secure community, nourishment of the mind, soul, and body, the likelihood of independence in the future, and even the opportunity for leisure. What your family has done here should not be dismissed so easily.”

Mr. Darcy blinked several times in a row, then said softly, “It was all my mother’s and aunt’s doing. I have only continued the practice once I could.”

“But you did not have to,” Elizabeth said. “Although these children are obviously appreciative, I understand they have no idea exactly who they should be grateful to, Mr. Darcy, and so, I will thank you for them.”

Mr. Darcy stared into her eyes for a long moment, then his gaze moved down to her lips. Elizabeth almost thought he was going to lean in and kiss her, but it quickly passed.

He took a deep breath. “If you wish to thank me, Miss Elizabeth, you may do so by granting me the honour of the first set at the ball on Tuesday.”

“Perhaps the second set might be more appropriate?”

Shaking his head, he did not release her from his gaze. “I was thinking specifically of the first.”

“But sir, do you know how people would see that?”

One of his eyebrows twitched. “That I wish to acknowledge you are a very special lady… particularly since I have never danced the first set at any ball.”

“Never?”

“Never.” He leaned in a bit closer. “I must enquire… is the supper set spoken for?”

“You know very well it is not, Mr. Darcy, since your aunt has only just handed me a dance card a few minutes ago. Do you wish to reserve the supper set instead of the first set?”

He shook his head. “I meant in addition to the opening set.”

Elizabeth closed her gaping mouth before saying, “Sir, if we dance together twice in one evening, I am sure you know even better than I what society will assume.”

He nodded once.

Elizabeth’s heart skipped a beat. Could he really like her? That much?

Oh, no, she could not believe it. Her mind was jumping to conclusions.

She had seen for herself he did not enjoy balls. Perhaps he did not understand the ramifications. “It is my opinion you might regret the notice your attentions will garner.” She looked down at her hands in her lap.

“If I do feel any remorse, it will be of my own doing. However, I do not believe I could ever regret dancing with you three times in one evening.”

“Three times?”

“Yes. I was about to request the final set, as well.”

She gasped aloud this time.

“Miss Elizabeth,” he said her name as if it were a caress, “You should know that, if you would permit it, I would sign every line on your card.”

She could barely find the sense to ask, “Mr. Darcy. I am at a loss… please… what is the meaning of your statement?”

He smiled, displaying his dimples, and her heart was again lost. “This morning I realized I may never have another opportunity to spend this much time with you if I do not act quickly, so I have decided to take a page from Bingley’s book and use it as my own.”

Good heavens. Could this be real?

She could not catch her breath. “Mr. Darcy, are you certain you have not had too much wine?”

He lifted his glass. “I have barely taken two sips thus far.”

“Then, perhaps you really are unaware of how what you are saying might be perceived?”

“I will say the same again, if, by chance, you missed some of it.”

She blinked at him several times. Was he merely flirting, or was he honestly saying what she thought he was saying?

The look in his eyes spoke volumes.

“In fact,” he said, “I asked my aunt to bring the dance cards for you and Miss Bennet here this evening for this very purpose.”

Good heavens, had he planned this?

In that case, she would be a fool not to accept.

She raised one eyebrow ever so slightly, then retrieved her dance card from her reticule. “Well, then. I can do nothing else but accept your request, Mr. Darcy—all three.”

His smile widened in triumph then reached out to take the card, his gaze not leaving hers for what seemed like much too long—and too short, at the same time. Their fingers brushed, and a shiver passed through her at the same moment his eyes lit up.

Did he feel that too?

He took something from his breast pocket.

Goodness, he even brought his own pencil!

Chapter 19

~Tuesday, 10 December 1811 – Matlock House

Darcy passed Bingley as they paced in the opposite direction from the other. When they reached the wall of the hidden alcove near the archway leading into the ballroom, they turned and passed each other again. Every time they neared the window, both men glanced down at the front entrance, where carriage after carriage deposited their charges.

In the past few years, Darcy had been grateful his involvement with the orphanage was not more widely known, for it meant he had no reason to be hanging about the receiving line, but today was a bit different. Though he would have despised greeting all the guests, he also wanted to see Elizabeth the moment she arrived.

If he were successful in winning her, perhaps next year, this ball would be held at Darcy House instead, and he would be the one welcoming everyone… with Elizabeth on his arm, as his wife.

He felt the corners of his lips turn upwards as he imagined such a scene. Him, standing at the head of the receiving line, Elizabeth resting her hand in the crook of his elbow, and Georgiana standing next to her. It would be Elizabeth’s voice greeting everyone who entered their townhouse as he simply bowed his head in welcome. She would know exactly what to say to everyone, how to make them comfortable, emitting a chuckle at their witticisms at times, and remembering to ask about those in each family who were not able to attend the ball for one reason or another. Eventually, the uneasiness of all the attention being paid to him would become almost overwhelming, as it always did, and Elizabeth would instinctively recognize his state. Feeling a pressure on his forearm, he would turn towards her, and he would become captured by the affection sparkling in her eyes. She would smile up at him, raise an eyebrow slightly in such a way that almost drove him mad. His intense need to escape would disperse, for there was nowhere he would rather be than by Elizabeth’s side. Once she was satisfied that he would be well, Elizabeth would wink at him, discreetly of course, and then turn away to greet the next group of guests.

He shook his head, clearing his dream of the future from his mind.

At this moment, Elizabeth was not his wife, and she might never be if he did not convince her to marry him.

Therefore, such was his goal this evening.

Bingley stopped at the window with a jolt. At first, Darcy speculated at whether Bingley’s sisters and brother-in-law had arrived, for Bingley had confided earlier that he had not yet mentioned the Bennet ladies’ presence in Town to them at all. Darcy wondered what excuse he had given to head off to the Earl’s residence before them. He almost laughed at anticipating their reaction when they saw their brother and Darcy dancing the opening set with Miss Bennet and Elizabeth.

Darcy hastened his steps to come up next to his friend. His heart skipped a beat, for what he found there was not the Hursts’ coach, but the Gardiners’.

Miss Bennet stepped down first, then Elizabeth. They quickly disappeared through the entryway directly below the gentlemen’s feet.

Darcy and Bingley faced each other.

“It will take a minute or two for the footmen to take their wraps,” Bingley said.

Darcy added, “And they will need to make their way through the receiving line.”

He started pacing once again, but now, Darcy’s path was more circular so he could peek out into the corridor. It was a ridiculous display. Had anyone else been there, Darcy would have forced his behaviour into strict control, but as it was, Bingley was conducting himself in exactly the same manner.

Upon his fourth pass, Darcy stopped abruptly. Bingley took note and dashed up beside him.

Elizabeth wore the same gown she had worn to the ball at Netherfield Park, a cream-coloured silk that fit exquisitely. At the Netherfield ball, Darcy had been unable to tear his eyes from her even more than usual. Tonight, it would be a nearly impossible feat.

He decided that, after they married, he would hire the modiste who designed this gown to become Elizabeth’s personal seamstress.

The pearls in her hair perfectly matched the shade of the gown, contrasting beautifully with the deep brown of her hair. The light from the multitude of candles in the foyer’s chandelier highlighted the mahogany undertones in her locks. The effect was exquisite, making it difficult for him to breathe.

He pulled on his gloves and moved into the corridor, glancing at Bingley, who appeared as deeply entranced by Miss Bennet as he was by Elizabeth. “What say you to joining them in the receiving line?”

Bingley did not answer. He simply stepped forward and led the way towards the ladies.

Darcy followed without delay, renewing his determination to win this woman for his wife this very evening.

After their greetings were out of the way, he offered Elizabeth his arm.

She took it, glanced around them, then smiled up at him impishly. “Mr. Bingley’s behaviour, I understand, but yours… it seems you insist on making a spectacle of yourself this evening, sir.”

“If my aunt and uncle had not required my presence earlier in the day, I would have offered to escort you and your sister here in my carriage personally,” he said matter-of-factly. “I wish to introduce you to my uncle and cousins.”

She looked around the antechamber. Her colour rose when she again met his gaze. “Are you certain you still wish to dance three sets? I would not hold it against you if you changed your mind. I could obtain a new card…”

An uncomfortable tingling on the back of his neck had already told him all eyes were on them. Furrowing his brow, he said, “What matters to me is your opinion, not theirs. My wishes have not altered in the slightest, but if the attention causes you discomfort, I will make a change.”

Just then, the couple before them moved away from his aunt and uncle. Darcy and Elizabeth stepped forward, followed closely by Bingley and Miss Bennet.

Darcy presented Elizabeth to the earl, who glanced at his wife with a twinkle in his eye telling Darcy he knew exactly what was going on. Surprising everyone, Aunt Adelaide leaned in to kiss the air next to both of Elizabeth’s cheeks as if they were dear friends, then she did the same when greeting Miss Bennet. Lady Adelaide took over the introductions, presenting his eldest cousin, Albert, and his wife, Deborah. Darcy then introduced his cousin Richard, who was looking quite smart in his colonel’s full-dress uniform, sans his sword.

“Miss Elizabeth,” said Richard, “as soon as you obtain a dance card, I would like to be the first to sign it, for I would enjoy spending some time with the lady who can cause my cousin to smile like that when he is about to enter a ballroom. It is simply unheard of.” He paused and looked again at Darcy, then mock-whispered to her, “You may not know this, but usually my cousin’s frown deepens the closer he gets to the doorway.”

Elizabeth’s laughter tinkled. “There is no need to elaborate, for I have witnessed the phenomenon myself, Colonel Fitzwilliam—at the assembly ball at Meryton, then again at the ball at Netherfield Park.” She looked up at Darcy in a way that caused his heart to melt. “I cannot account for the change in his demeanor tonight.”

“Can you not?” Darcy held her gaze, then turned to meet his cousin’s astonished stare with a wide grin. “I am afraid you are too late, Richard. You will not be the first to sign her dance card.”

The flicker in Richard’s eyes was very like the one his father had sported a few moments ago. “How interesting.”

“Nor the second.” Elizabeth cleared her throat. “The countess kindly provided my sister and I with our cards in advance. Mr. Darcy and Mr. Bingley have already had access to it.” Almost hesitantly, she handed her card to his cousin.

Richard looked down, blinked several times in a row, then laughed quite loudly. “It appears that my cousin would like very much to monopolize your time this evening, Miss Elizabeth, but I am resolved to have you all to myself at some point.”

Monopolize? Well, yes! He would stand by his declaration that, if he could have managed it, he would have reserved every one of her dances, but as it was, he was practically skimming the pond of scandal.

Richard reserved the third set, after Bingley. As he returned her card, he said, in all seriousness, which was rare for his cousin, “You must be quite an extraordinary lady, Miss Elizabeth.”

She bowed her head slightly in thanks. “I shall look forward to our dance, colonel.”

Chapter 20

Do not blush. Do not blush! Elizabeth chanted in her mind as she took yet another deep, calming breath. She attempted to examine the scene painted directly on the wall above Mr. Darcy’s head to keep her mind off what was going on around her, but she could not concentrate.

Everyone in the entire ballroom was staring… but not at the earl and countess, who were certainly the most elegantly dressed couple at the ball this evening, and not at their sons, who lined up next to them with their partners. Although Caroline Bingley stood out, wearing the most shocking shade of orange, the peacock feathers bouncing above her coiffure were more numerous than an actual bird would dare to display all at once, and that lady was glaring at Elizabeth with a mighty scowl, even her appearance had not caused the current stir of interest from the crowd.

Instead, all eyes were firmly attached to Elizabeth, who was standing across from Mr. Darcy, as they waited for the remainder of the line to assemble.

At first, when Mr. Darcy had escorted her to the floor, there had been only a ripple of whispers running through the crowd as they gawked at him, but soon after, all eyes turned to her, and they had not neglected her since. She hoped the novelty of having Mr. Darcy dance the first set was temporary, for if this continued every time they danced—three sets, which also included sitting down for supper together—she expected it would be an exceptionally long evening, indeed.

The music began, and they made their first moves.

It was the very same song as their first of their set at Netherfield had been, so naturally, that evening recurred to her, along with the way she had teased him. He had not spoken for the entire first dance—which, most likely, would have lasted the entire thirty minutes together if she had not demanded they have some sort of conversation.

However, tonight, his silence was not as awkward, or at least not in the same way. His gaze communicated a great volume of sentiments, and she found that trying to identify what they were—and what they meant—was consuming her attention completely. The remainder of the world ceased to exist.

When the required movements finally brought him close to her, Mr. Darcy said, “I am debating whether to ride along with Bingley when he journeys to Hertfordshire.”

The dance demanded they draw apart.

When they came together again, all she could manage was, “Oh?”

What a brilliant conversationalist you are, Lizzy! she scolded herself inwardly.

He nodded then responded at his next opportunity, “Whether I travel with him depends upon you, Miss Elizabeth.”

“How could I have any influence over your travel plans?” she asked as they joined hands once again.

“May I speak to you privately at some point this evening? In place of the second dance of this set, perhaps?”

They returned to their starting positions whilst Jane and Mr. Bingley went through their required movements. Mr. Darcy’s gaze never left her for a moment, and the force of his look caused a shiver to pass up her spine.

What could he possibly wish to speak to her about? His sister, perhaps? But why would he require privacy to speak to her about Georgiana?

Unless—Oh! Mr. Bingley planned to go to Longbourn to ask permission to marry Jane. If Mr. Darcy’s intent to go with him depended upon speaking to her in private first…

Surely, it could not be!

There was only one way to find out.

She nodded her permission for a private audience across the space between them.

The light in his eyes intensified.

Good heavens!

When the music ended, he bowed as she curtsied, then he walked across, took her hand, tucked it into the crook of his arm, and escorted her from the ballroom. They proceeded down a corridor, away from the people and noise. For a fleeting moment, she hoped no one saw them leave the crowded rooms together, but her mind was so occupied with what he might have to say to her, she decided she did not care.

Before long, he opened the door to a family parlour, beautifully decorated for the holidays. He closed the door behind them, then drew her to the center of the room. He took her hand from his arm but did not release it.

Her heart raced.

She expected him to begin speaking immediately, but he hesitated. An expression of alarm crossed his visage.

He cleared his throat. “Miss Elizabeth… you must allow me to tell you...” Mr. Darcy paused to take a deep breath, then began again. “I have long considered you the most intelligent and handsomest lady of my acquaintance. Over time, my admiration grew until…” He hesitated again. A deep vulnerability surfaced in his expression. After searching her eyes, pure affection took its place. “I love you, utterly and completely. Please, Miss Elizabeth Bennet, will you do me the honour of becoming my wife?”

Tears stung her eyes and her throat thickened. She breathed, “Yes. Yes, I will. I will marry you, Mr. Darcy.”

The smile that lit his face was the most handsome she had ever seen. She could not help but return it, matching his enthusiasm.

If this was a dream, never did she want to awaken!

He pulled a red velvet bag from his breast pocket and tipped it into his hand, revealing an exquisite diamond and emerald necklace. “Will you accept this as a token of my affection?”

She nodded. “It is lovely.”

He moved behind her and fastened the gold chain around her neck. It was the perfect length for the neckline of her gown, and it did not interfere with her cross at all. His fingers lingered against her skin for just a moment, then he removed them and leaned in, his mouth close to her ear, whispering, “It was my mother’s, and it belonged to my father’s mother before her.”

If that were the case, she wondered if some of those in attendance would recognize it. Perhaps he was even counting on it? After all, last evening, he had said he wished she could dance with no one other than him.

As he came around and stood before her, he maintained a small distance between them.

“There is a matching ring I would like to gift you at our wedding.”

Our wedding. It sounded divine!

“I am honoured.”

His gaze briefly moved to her lips. “Elizabeth…” he breathed. “May I kiss you?”

She nodded. “It seems almost required, Fitzwilliam.”

He inhaled deeply before asking, “Since we are betrothed?”

Elizabeth’s smile widened. “In addition to…” She glanced upward.

Hanging from the chandelier was a cluster of mistletoe.

“I wonder who could have placed it there?” He asked, slyly.

She chuckled. “I have a feeling it was the same person who carefully situated me under it.”

His eyes twinkled with mirth, then they darted to her lips once more.

She raised her chin. He bent forward, his arms coming up to surround her. She raised her hands to his chest and closed her eyes.

The first was the softest of kisses, followed by a few more that became increasingly impassioned. He suddenly pulled away and leaned his forehead against hers, whispering, “I love you, Elizabeth.”

She pulled back a little, so she could look into his eyes. “I had always promised myself I would never marry unless I felt the deepest love. I do, Fitzwilliam.”

He blinked several times in quick succession, then pulled her towards him again, swooping in for another kiss, after which he informed her, “Then I am truly blessed.”

Epilogue

~Friday, 13 December 1811 – Longbourn Estate, Hertfordshire

Darcy tore his eyes away from his lovely fiancée—his fiancée!—and looked down at the wreath he and Elizabeth were almost finished constructing. Apparently, it was a tradition to remove the painting above the hearth in the parlour at Longbourn and place one there every Christmastide.

Bingley and Jane were at the next table making a similar wreath for the entrance door to the house, and Georgiana was helping her future sister Mary assemble a decorative piece for the banister leading above stairs.

When he had arrived here yesterday, he had, at first, been surprised there were few ornamentations already displayed, until he remembered Elizabeth had said it was Jane and she who made them, along with their sister Mary. Mary Bennet had fashioned a few trimmings, but the bulk had not yet been done.

“Thank you, again, Miss Darcy, for your kindness in assisting us,” Mary said, then shot a hard glance at her younger sisters, Kitty and Lydia, who were sitting at a small, round table, happily attempting to tie the perfect bows to adorn their bonnets and paying no attention to the rest of them.

Georgiana replied something about it being a pleasure, then looked at the younger girls, as well. She then exchanged a smile with Elizabeth, for the proceedings were going exactly as Elizabeth had predicted.

Could that have only been a handful of days ago?

So much had happened since then. The entire world had changed—very much for the better—or at least it felt that way to Darcy.

The ball had gone splendidly, and everyone in attendance had contributed funds to the children’s welfare. Aunt Adelaide had even talked a couple of young debutantes into volunteering some time at the orphanage.

At supper during the evening of the ball, Elizabeth had suggested Darcy and Bingley delay their trip to Longbourn for a day, so the ladies could prepare their trunks and travel with them. Then Elizabeth cautioned she should speak to her father before Darcy asked Mr. Bennet for permission to marry his daughter. It was highly irregular, but Elizabeth insisted upon it, stating with the deepest blush he had ever seen grace her features that she feared her father might not be as receptive to his entreaty if Darcy went to him first. The statement made Darcy quite uncomfortable, and he could not help but begin to agonize over the prospect.

The morning after the ball, Elizabeth and Jane had received a letter from their father explaining that Miss King was safe. Her uncle had already recognized Wickham’s unworthiness and put an end to the courtship.

Additionally, Wickham had heard about Mr. Bennet’s efforts to make an accounting of his debts with the shopkeepers in Meryton, and the scoundrel had left the area, abandoning his post with the militia. With his cousin Colonel Fitzwilliam’s assistance in hurrying things along, the authorities were now looking for him. Once found, Wickham would be charged with desertion, at the very least.

Since Darcy had no reason to keep Georgiana away from Meryton any longer, they accepted Bingley’s offer of spending Christmastide at Netherfield, after all.

Darcy was amazed—and relieved—when his friend informed him that his sisters and brother-in-law would not be joining them. Apparently, since Caroline and Louisa had been so verbose in expressing their disapproval of his engagement to Jane Bennet, he only informed them that he would not be present at the Hursts’ estate this holiday season.

Upon their arrival at Longbourn yesterday, as Elizabeth predicted, after she spoke to her father first, Mr. Bennet had given his blessing to Darcy and Elizabeth’s engagement. The gentleman had also, though much more cheerfully, accepted Bingley’s request for Jane’s hand.

Distracting Darcy from his ruminations, Mrs. Bennet bustled into the room. “Good morning, Miss Darcy, Mr. Darcy, Mr. Bingley! It is such a fine day, is it not?”

Darcy glanced out the window at the overcast sky. It had rained all night, and with so much mud on the roads, they had barely made it there from Netherfield this morning. Obviously, Mrs. Bennet did not refer to the weather, but to the fact that her two eldest daughters were now engaged to be married, and Darcy had to agree it was the finest day of his life thus far.

Elizabeth was to become his wife!

Upon their arrival yesterday, Mrs. Bennet’s reception of Bingley had been nothing short of celebratory, but her greeting towards Darcy had been quite cold. After Mr. Bennet met with him, followed by his meeting with Bingley, the patriarch made an announcement to the family of not one, but two engagements… in the span of mere seconds, Mrs. Bennet’s opinion of Darcy had altered dramatically.

Darcy had almost laughed at the absurdity—until he noticed Elizabeth’s unease. The remainder of the evening had been spent assuring her he was quite satisfied.

Again, Darcy was pulled from his memories by Mrs. Bennet. Catching Darcy’s then Bingley’s eye, their future mother-in-law now said, “I hope you all will join us for supper. Cook has returned from market, and I am told she has procured the makings of Mr. Darcy’s favourite meal for this evening.”

Darcy bowed his head. “Thank you, Mrs. Bennet. We shall.” He would endure anything to spend a few more hours with Elizabeth.

Georgiana smiled and nodded.

“And for tomorrow’s supper, we shall have Mr. Bingley’s favourite.” Mrs. Bennet smiled broadly.

Darcy hoped it would be dry on the morrow so that perhaps they could take a stroll through the garden off to one side of the house, and he could spend a little time with Elizabeth in quiet conversation.

Mrs. Bennet donned leather gloves and got to work on a side table. Her back was to the remainder of the room, her body positioned in such a way that what she was doing there was not visible.

At Elizabeth’s, Jane’s, and Mary’s surprised expressions, Darcy quirked an eyebrow at his future wife.

Elizabeth whispered to him, “It is just… Mama has never helped us before—or at least, not since we were small children.”

A few minutes later, Mrs. Bennet went scurrying out of the room.

The ladies exchanged curious glances as Mrs. Bennet’s voice sounded out from the corridor towards the front of the house—the words too muffled for Darcy to make out—followed by the clatter of furniture being moved.

Just as Jane and Bingley had finished their wreath, the commotion in the corridor quieted.

Bingley asked, “Darcy, would you help me hang this from the front door?”

Darcy looked down at their own wreath. It was a suitable time for a respite. He nodded to Bingley.

Elizabeth and Jane removed their gloves and preceded them into the hallway. Darcy saw a workman bringing something into Mr. Bennet’s study.

“Mr. Hill was carrying my father’s library chair which turns into a ladder,” Elizabeth said softly. “He must have hung up whatever decoration it my mother had been working on.”

When the little group arrived in the foyer, Elizabeth opened the front door, and the gentlemen attached the wreath to hooks already fastened there.

As they returned to the entrance hall, Elizabeth looked upwards. Her lips spread into a dazzling smile.

Darcy’s eyes followed her gaze. “Ah…” he said. The mystery of what Mrs. Bennet had been constructing was now at an end. He chuckled. “I assume this gives Bingley and I permission from your parents?”

“From my mother, at the very least. And I must say, I concur.”

Jane and Bingley both looked up, then, surprising Darcy, a blushing Jane Bennet took a step forward, standing directly under the large ball of mistletoe suspended from the center of the chandelier in the entry vestibule, her attention fastened to Bingley’s face.

Elizabeth cleared her throat. “Fitzwilliam, perhaps we should step outside and… ah… better examine how the wreath looks with the door closed?”

Darcy waved Elizabeth through, then closed the door behind them. He took two more steps before realizing Elizabeth was no longer beside him. Turning to face her, she caught his gaze with twinkling eyes before she looked up. Above her head hung an even larger ball of mistletoe.

Stepping closer, Darcy whispered, “Your mother thought of everything.”

Elizabeth nodded. “Do not be surprised if, by suppertime, there is at least one sprig of mistletoe in every room of the house.”

He chuckled. “She wishes to make certain Bingley and I cannot change our minds.” At her confused look, he continued. “If I kiss you in front of others, you would be compromised, would you not?”

He took another step closer.

Elizabeth did as well, then nodded.

He stepped closer. “I shall indulge her, for I have no intention of retreating. But first…” he took her into his arms. “…how about one in private?”

“Only one?” Elizabeth raised an eyebrow.

He might have laughed, but the urge left him when she stepped up onto her toes and pressed her lips to his. “Now that I have kissed you,” she muttered, “you may—”

He interrupted, occupying her lips with an alternative activity.

After they parted and recovered themselves, Darcy opened the latch on the front door, and they passed indoors, finding Jane and Bingley had vacated the entryway.

Elizabeth stepped under the mistletoe hanging from the chandelier, saying, “I do think this will be the best Christmas ever, Fitzwilliam.”

“I agree.” He stepped closer and, once again, brushed his lips against hers. “Though, I will also predict that, from this point forward, every Christmas will be even more joyous than those that came before.”

THE END

Other Books by Wendi Sotis

Available at Amazon.com!

KITTY’S CHRISTMAS

Barbara Cornthwaite[4]

Chapter 1

From Kitty Bennet to Mr. Bennet

Dear Papa,

I can scarcely believe that I have been staying at Pemberley for two months already! I have enjoyed myself beyond anything I could have imagined. Mr. Darcy’s sister, Georgiana, is only half a year younger than I am, and she is becoming very dear to me. Mr. Darcy intends to bring her out this winter, and he and Lizzy are going to be in London for the season. I almost wish I were not already out, for Lizzy said she would have given a ball for both of us. That is, if I were going to London with them, and if I were not already out. And that is why I am writing to you, Papa, to ask if I may go with them. Mr. Darcy and Lizzy wish me to stay with them, and I would so like to go! You may safely trust me now to be in society without disgracing myself. I have seen how silly Lydia was to take up with a man like Mr. Wickham and behave so badly. She has written to me several times to say that if I go to visit her, she will find me a husband, but I do not wish for a husband of her choosing! I am always glad to say that you will not allow me to stay with them.

Lizzy says she will keep a close eye on me in London, and Mr. Darcy says he will stand guard over me, with his sword, if need be—which is very silly, as no fortune hunter would think me a prize! However, it is very nice of him to say so.

Please, Papa, may I go?

Your loving

Kitty

From Mrs. Bennet to Mrs. Phillips

My Dear Sister,

I was going to come and see you today to tell you my news, but the rain is very bad, so I am sending you this note instead. Lizzy and Mr. Darcy are going to London for the season to launch his sister into society, and they are taking Kitty with them! As I told you so many times, Jane and Lizzy being so advantageously married will throw Kitty and Mary into the path of other rich men, and now you see I am right! To be sure, Mary will be a little more difficult to marry off, which is perhaps just as well as I would be desolate without any of my daughters at home! But Kitty is very pretty, and even if she has not as much spirit and good humor as Lydia, she might do very well for herself.

Mr. Bennet has agreed to let her go, which I was a little afeard of as he once said that he would never let her anywhere near Brighton—and you know, London! But he said he trusted that Mr. Darcy would take care not to let her into a scrape that he would need to rescue her out of. My only worry is that Lizzy will be so taken up with getting Georgiana a husband that she will neglect my dear Kitty. However, she will have more chances to catch some gentleman’s eye in London than anywhere else.

No doubt Lady Lucas has already told you of Charlotte’s expecting to be confined for a second time in January. Poor child to have that odious Mr. Collins as a father! But I could hardly say so to Lady Lucas. How sorry I am for Lady Lucas. She once thought that Mr. Collins inheriting Longbourn was the greatest of good fortune for Charlotte, but now when I mention Pemberley and Bingley’s new estate (I can never remember the name of it. Crabtree Hall? Or Canbee or Cumbry? I do not know) she becomes very quiet. I am sure she misses lording it over me!

If the rain has eased tomorrow, I will come and see you.

I am, etc.,

Fanny

From Mr. Bingley to Mr. Darcy

Darcy—

Jane tells me that you are going to London for the season. I had some thought to come as well—Jane and I are agreed that it would be delightful—but (as your wife has no doubt told you), she is now in an interesting condition. The hiring of a house and all its attendant worries, besides the social whirl of London in the winter would be too much for her, I fear.

I wondered if I might beg your compassion on someone whilst you are there. Do you remember me introducing you to Caldicot a year or two ago? I was up at Cambridge with him, and we met him in Bond Street. A very good fellow—one of the Caldicots of Peterborough, you know, but a third son. He took orders two years ago and has a curacy in some poor place in London—Shoreditch, I think. At any rate, I gather he is a trifle worn down by life. His sister died last year, his parish is a poor one, and he has devoted a great deal of energy to some charitable society or other. Rather a far cry from our revels at Cambridge! At any rate, I would be greatly obliged if you would look in on him—invite him to dine, or take him with you on some excursion.

Yours, etc.,

Bingley

From Kitty Bennet to Lydia Wickham

Dear Lydia,

I am sorry to hear of your troubles in finding good lodgings. As you say, the desirable places are always very expensive. I do not think I can take it upon myself to ask Jane or Lizzy for money to help you at this time; you must ask them yourself.

Yes, it is true that I am going with Lizzy and Mr. Darcy to London for the winter for Georgiana’s coming out. We have been preparing her clothes for a month! You have never seen such beautiful dresses! Mr. Darcy is a very good brother—nothing is ever grudged her. I would think she would be spoilt, but she remains very sweet and obliging. Remember how we used to bicker over every little thing? One cannot imagine Georgiana bickering with anyone. She is very shy, however, and I think she is not looking forward to her coming out as you or I would! She dreads going to a ball. Lizzy helps her, I think, to be more sociable, and Mr. Darcy told me that he thinks my going to balls with her will make it more bearable for her. He really is a very good man, Lydia, in spite of what we used to think. I am pleased to be of some help to him by befriending his sister.

I am to have four new gowns! Lizzy is making me a gift of them. I will tell you all about them when they are finished.

Much love,

Kitty

From Elizabeth Darcy to Jane Bingley

Dearest Jane,

I hope you are feeling better. I wish with all my heart you were to be in London this winter, but as you would be unable to be attending balls and parties much, I suppose it is for the best.

We are all settled in the house in Town now. Kitty is agog at everything she sees. It is not new to Georgiana, but I think she is enjoying seeing London through Kitty’s eyes. We have seen Mr. and Mrs. Gardiner, of course, already—they came to dine last evening. I am thankful to have their society in this great metropolis. Fitzwilliam has many friends in Town, of course, but they are as yet unknown to me. It is a daunting thought that I must be exhibited to them all shortly!

We go to Astley’s tomorrow, and Kitty is all anticipation. I hope she may sleep tonight. Oh, tell Charles that Fitzwilliam called on his friend Caldicot today and invited him to dinner on Tuesday next. He said that Caldicot seems a serious, sensible gentleman, which I am afraid will disappoint Kitty. She has said nothing about it, but I am sure she hopes to meet a handsome earl (or at least a baronet) and be swept off her feet and married within half a year. A sober clergyman will not excite her interest. At least she will not be rude to him; you would hardly credit how she has improved! You saw some reformation of her manners, I know, when she was staying with you last spring, but now you would not know her for the same girl who used to go with Lydia into Meryton every day in hopes of meeting officers!

She has expressed an interest in improving her mind (I think Georgiana’s education has put her to the blush several times), and I told her that both reading and writing would help her. I suggested that she write to you every week; it will amuse you while you are confined at home, and the practice in writing will be good for her mind.

I must go. Write soon, if you feel well enough.

Lizzy

From Kitty Bennet to Jane Bingley

Dear Jane,

Lizzy says that writing to you will help me improve my mind, so I am determined to write to you every week. Not very much has happened, yet, except that we went to Astley’s Amphitheater last week. We saw a trained pig and a horse that could make tea, and there was a man who rode a horse while standing on its back! I cannot tell you everything I saw for I cannot remember the half of it.

Our first ball is tomorrow night! Mr. Darcy is hosting it to present Georgiana. It will not be a very large one, because he said he would not distress Georgiana with so many strangers, but there will still be a hundred guests! My dress is all ready—a satin slip with an over-dress of green sarsenet. Georgiana says that it enhances the hazel color of my eyes. Lizzy is lending me a string of pearls to wear with it, and I daresay I shall have a famous time. Georgiana keeps telling me how glad she is that I will be there, too. It does make one feel happy to be useful, does it not? It is splendid that I can be useful while doing something I am longing to do anyway!

I probably should have waited to write until after the ball so I would have something to tell you. Oh! We had a visitor at dinner last night, a Mr. Caldicot. He is the vicar at a church in some unsavory district in London. He said it was not far from Cheapside, but he does not know the Gardiners. He was very dull, I must say, but also very courteous. Lizzy said he comes from a very good family, so no doubt that accounts for it. Mr. Darcy asked him many questions about some charitable society he is part of for poor children who work as crossing boys or chimney sweeps. It was all very sad and there were tears in Georgiana’s eyes when he described some of the scenes he has been called to. I hope our next dinner guest will be more lively! It is a shame that his good looks and youth should be combined with such a dreary personality. I wonder if his oldest brother is not yet married? That is no doubt an unworthy thought.

I will write you again after the ball.

I am yours, fondly,

Kitty

From the Rev. John Caldicot to Lady Caldicot

Dear Mama,

Thank you for the gift you sent for the Society for Ill-Used Children. I know you said it is a small gift, but a small gift goes a long way here. The charity school goes on. You asked about Jemmy, whom I told you about in my last letter. Alas, he is no longer on earth. He was knocked down by a carriage and lived only a few hours. You will not wonder, with such sad events as this, that I am loathe to go into society much.

I was invited to the home of the Darcys for dinner last night—a friend of Mr. Bingley, whom I knew at Cambridge. He is a very worthy man, in Town for the season with his wife, sister, and sister-in-law. I have some hopes that he will contribute to the Society—he asked a great many questions about it. But the two young ladies no doubt thought I was a very dreary fellow. One of them, a Miss Bennet, was quite pretty, but I could see her eyes travel to the clock frequently during dinner, and especially while I was speaking! I had a sudden, unaccountable wish that she could have seen me before I took orders, and how I was sought after by all the young ladies of the county, even as a third son! Proof of my vanity, no doubt.

I must close this letter—someone has come to enquire about placing a new child at the school. We shall have to rent another, larger room soon.

Your loving son,

John

From Kitty Bennet to Jane Bingley

Dear Jane,

We have had our ball. Lizzy said it could not have been a greater success. Georgiana looked very pretty, and I think I did, too. I was asked to dance every dance! Lizzy told me that this probably had more to do with me being Mr. Darcy’s sister in law than my own beauty. I think she is afraid I will be puffed up. I am determined not to be, however. Now that Georgiana is out, we shall be attending balls very often. Lady Hampshire is to give one next week, and we will be there.

I hope Mr. Arnot will be there, too. He was the best of all the men I danced with, and from what Lizzy said, he is very eligible. I did not have supper with him, however. Mr. Darcy arranged that I should have the last two dances before the supper with Mr. Fontaine, who was perfectly civil and respectable, but not exciting in the least. I was afraid that Georgiana would have to converse all through supper with some stranger, which would make her wretched, but her cousin, Col. Fitzwilliam, took her in and sat with her. She did very well all evening; I think if I did not know her and saw her for the first time at the ball, I would only think her a sweet, quiet girl and not a proud one. Lizzy is very happy it went off so well, and Mr. Darcy is pleased, too. He does not say much about it, but he smiles very often. At one time I could not imagine why Lizzy would want to marry him, but if a man ever smiled at me the way Mr. Darcy does at Lizzy (and the way Mr. Bingley looks at you), I would be lost.

Your slightly envious sister,

Kitty

From the Rev. John Caldicot to Lady Caldicott

Dear Mama,

Yes, I did receive an invitation to Lady Hampshire’s ball. I was not inclined to attend, but if you wish me to, I will. As you say, there is no profit in secluding myself from all society except those in my parish, and you are further correct in saying that my urchins (and their elders) are not the only miserable people in London, and that I might be of some use to those outside Shoreditch. I do think, however, that a ball is an awkward place to attempt give spiritual comfort. On the other hand, if I am known among good and wealthy people, they may become interested on the Society. I do not mean that it would only be good for the Society to have some of their surplus wealth, but that it would do the rich good to give to charity and have an interest in the welfare of the masses of poor children in their city.

At any rate, you have convinced me to attend the ball. I will spend the evening in the card room, no doubt, as dancing is not something I desire to do just yet.

Your loving son,

John

From Lady Caldicot to Lady Hampshire

My Dear Isabel,

I have John’s word that he will attend your ball this week. He tells me, however, that he is planning on doing nothing but talking to the other guests and playing cards! Do make him dance! Of course I am pleased that he is not one of those coxcombs who think of nothing but fashion, gaming, and debutants (which would be hard for him to do as a vicar, I admit), and of course I am gratified by his devotion to that Society of his. However, I think grief for his sister, as well as being thrown over by that minx, Chloe Athenbury, has made him bury himself in his parish work to the exclusion of almost everything else.

I have determined that what he requires is a wife. He needs someone to look after him and give him balance. He will be unfit for anything, even his profession, if his toil is so completely unremitting. Will you be so kind as to look out a wife for him? I trust your judgement. He needs a gentlewoman, but one that will not object to his little waifs. I daresay it is better if she comes without a fortune. I do not know where you might meet with such a girl, but I imagine you will.

I am, in friendship, yours, etc.,

Margaret

From Kitty Bennet to Jane Bingley

Dear Jane,

At last I have been to a really big ball. There were three hundred people in attendance, so the newspaper reported the next day. Everything was so very elegant, and some of the dresses—! You would not credit it, I daresay. I was not asked to dance every dance, but I did dance a good many. Mr. Arnot was there, and he asked me for the first two dances and was very agreeable. Georgiana and Lizzy danced, too, and so did Mr. Darcy.

Mr. Darcy knows Lord Hampshire, so Lady Hampshire was very affable to Lizzy, Georgiana, and me. She came over to us once between dances and asked how we did and all about our stay in London. She asked Georgiana how she was enjoying her first season. Georgiana was trying her utmost to be friendly, but I could see she was uneasy. I made a little remark about something Georgiana had said, and, as I was hoping, Lady Hampshire turned to me and asked about my family—asked as if she were truly interested, not as if she was merely vulgarly curious. All at once Lady Hampshire saw a gentleman passing by and she reached out and plucked his elbow and said, “John, my dear fellow, you must dance! Here is a young lady, Miss Bennet, who will be desolated if you do not ask her to stand up with you for the next two.” She winked at me to show that she was merely teasing him—can you imagine Lady Hampshire doing such a thing! Well, you do not know her, so I do not know what you could imagine, but I would have thought her too haughty to be on such familiar terms with me.

And when I looked at the gentleman’s face, it was another surprise, because it was Mr. Caldicot that had come to dinner the week before—the morose clergyman I told you of. He looked startled at Lady Hampshire’s command, and there was a moment when he seemed quite annoyed, but he was a gentleman in his manners and was very civil. Poor fellow, there was nothing else he could do with Lady Hampshire standing there smiling at him, and me (I am afraid) looking all too conscious. I suppose I ought to have said something to let him know that he need not, if he did not want to, but how could I say I did not want to dance when I had just been dancing? And if I refused him, I would not be able to dance the rest of the evening!

So Mr. Caldicot did the only thing he could do and asked me to dance the next two with him and I did the only thing I could do and consented. He was a more agreeable partner than I had thought he would be. We conversed very amiably about London and music, and he danced very well. I must say he is rather wasted as a clergyman. He did not go on and on about his charitable society, which I had been afraid that he might. I did ask him about a little girl he had mentioned when he came to dinner, who was sick, and he said she was getting better.

After that, I danced with a Mr. Kenton, who took me in to supper, and flirted outrageously with me the whole time we were eating. That was not very enjoyable. I suppose I must be getting more sensible, as such attentions give me no pleasure anymore. Lizzy told me later that she was pleased to see that I did not encourage him. I suppose I would have done so even a year ago.

All in all, it was a marvelous ball. Georgiana was not quite so nervous as she was before, and I trust it was helpful that Lizzy and I helped her to think of things she could talk about with her partners. I hope she will be even less frightened at her next ball.

Your loving sister,

Kitty

From Lady Hampshire to Lady Caldicot

My Dear Margaret,

I followed your instructions and forced your reticent son to dance. I hinted to him more than once that I expected him to do so, but he spent the first half of the ball talking to various male friends of his—no doubt cultivating them for donations to his Society! Finally, before he could escape the ballroom altogether, I found a pretty, unaffected girl (a relative by marriage of Mr. Darcy of Pemberley in Derbyshire) and compelled him to dance with her. He appeared to enjoy those two dances, but it did not prompt him to ask anyone else, and he vanished into the card-room as soon has the dances were finished. I watched the girl—Catherine is her name, but she is known as Kitty—at supper and throughout the rest of the evening as I had opportunity. I was very pleased with her. She went in to supper with Frederick Kenton, that silly friend of my son’s who flirts with every girl in sight, but she did her best to dampen him. She was neither shy nor forward; she was impressed but not overwhelmed by the grandness of the ball. I think John could not do better.

I cannot too obviously throw them together—indeed, I do not know precisely how I can contrive for them to meet again, but if it is ever in my power, rest assured that I will do so.

Faithfully,

Isabel

From Lady Caldicot to Lady Hampshire

Dear Isabel,

If I mistake not, that is the very girl John wrote to me about a week ago, after he had dined with the Darcys. He did not think her perfection, of course, or fall in love at the first sight of her, but he called her pretty and said he wished she would admire him—or words to that effect. If they do not meet soon, I may have to come to Town myself and conspire to have them encounter each other frequently. There is no telling if she will like John, of course, but I believe that he could easily be brought to like her.

I am anxious to hear of any progress there might be in that direction.

In hope,

Margaret

From the Rev. John Caldicot to Lady Caldicot

Dear Mama,

I attended Lady Hampshire’s ball last week as you bid me. I must say that it was refreshing to be in a place of such beauty and elegance, with people whose manners are what I was accustomed to for so many years. I do not wish you to think that I consider myself above those I serve in my parish, but I found it similar to coming home from the Grand Tour: there is a comfort in coming home and hearing English spoken again after being surrounded by foreign languages all the time on the Continent. Likewise, there was a comfort in being able to converse with those I have most in common with. I also was able to talk to several gentlemen and ladies of means about the Society, and I trust some seeds were sown that will bear fruit in the days to come.

I did dance once—Lady Hampshire constrained me to do so! The young lady was Miss Kitty Bennet, that I told you I met at Mr. Darcy’s house when I dined there. I am thankful to say that she was not flirtatious or timid, but was able to converse sensibly and even asked me about one of the little girls I had told of at that dinner. It might have been worse.

I have been thinking again what might be done for some of the children beyond the charity school. It is all very well that they learn to read and write and are introduced to the idea of their Maker, and they have at least bread and tea at the school. But what will happen when they are too old for the school? Beyond a few that I have found apprenticeships for, I sometimes fear that I am only preparing them for a life of educated poverty. Most of their parents earn a few shillings when they can and sink below the law when they cannot. I know of many improvements which could be made to the district—shutting all the gin shops would be the first thing!—but I fear there is nothing I can do, myself, in time to help the poor children who are even now lying on rags to sleep not far from my door.

Your loving son,

John

From Lady Caldicot to the Rev. John Caldicot

My Dear John,

After spending two hours in the company of your cousin James today, and weary of his affectations and selfishness disguised as drollery, I read your letter. You are refreshing, my dear. I do hate to think of you toiling so unrewarded in that degenerate place (only you will say that you are rewarded), but I have no doubt that even with all your cares, you are the happier man. You are not answerable for righting the wrongs of all the world, or even of Shoreditch. To do what you can to help even one of these poor souls is all that is required of you, and you are doing that. Give thanks that you are able to do such a noble thing. I know you will not forget that you are a shepherd of the souls of these people, not the steward of their health and education. Do the work you were ordained to do and do not be tempted to neglect it for the sake of what seem to be more urgent and immediate needs. I have no doubt you will be guided into what you ought to do.

With much love,

Your Mama

Chapter 2

From Lady Hampshire to Elizabeth Darcy

My Dear Mrs. Darcy,

I was pleased to make your acquaintance at the ball last week and would be glad to know you further. If you would visit me tomorrow morning, I would be most grateful.

Yours with esteem,

Isabel, Lady Hampshire

From Elizabeth Darcy to Jane Bingley

My Dear Jane,

I was surprised yesterday to receive an invitation from Lady Hampshire to visit her this morning. She graciously noticed us at her ball last week, paying particular attention to both Georgiana and Kitty when she had no apparent reason to. I was also surprised that the invitation was extended only to me and did not include the girls. All became clear, however, when I went today to visit her.

Jane, she thinks that Kitty and Mr. Caldicot would be a good match! Evidently his mother is a bosom friend of hers and has charged her with finding him a wife! Moreover, there is some reason to suppose that he likes Kitty in a distant, detached way. Her object in seeing me was to discover if there was some way of throwing them together. Not that (she was careful to assure me) she wanted either of them to be forced together against their inclination, but she had reason to think that they might come to admire each other on their own, if only they could be in each other’s company more often.

I am going to help. I could, of course, invite Mr. Caldicot again for dinner—I told you of his coming when we first arrived in London, did I not?—but I think he was so serious and earnest that Kitty saw only the clerical side of him. Since she has never demonstrated a burning passion for vicars, it is doubtful if that trait alone would attract her. Therefore, I must think of some other way. Lady Hampshire will also do all she can, but she must tread warily. She says that if Mr. Caldicot suspects her of matchmaking, he will run far and fast.

I am thankful to hear that you continue well, and I am sorry for the problem with the kitchen-maid. You and Charles have shown more patience with her than I could command.

With much love,

Lizzy

From Kitty Bennet to the Rev. John Caldicot

Dear Sir—

I write to you in haste at the bidding of my sister, Mrs. Darcy, to beg your assistance. We have in our care a little crippled girl who was injured and who seems to have no home. We are reluctant, after hearing what you have told us, to give her over to the parish for help, and beg you might write, or come, and advise us about what to do.

With humble entreaties,

Catherine Bennet

From Kitty Bennet to Jane Bingley

Dear Jane,

We have had such an adventure! On Tuesday, Lizzy, Georgiana, and I were in the carriage, going through Westminster. The road was crowded with horses and carriages and our own carriage was moving slowly. I was looking out the window, as Lizzy had just said that we might see the river if we looked quickly, and I saw a young child being tormented by other children. They were all in a group, kicking her as she was on the ground—terrible sight! Without even thinking I lowered the window and called to them to stop, but they did not hear me. Or at any rate, they did not regard me.

Lizzy bid the coachman to stop and see if he could render assistance to the little girl. The wretched children fled at his approach, leaving the little girl behind. She was about four or five years old and had a crippled leg. She had been struck on the head and was bleeding and insensible. We took her into the carriage and at length she opened her eyes and was able to speak, but when we asked where she lived, she said she had no home or family. We could scarcely believe that to be so, but the coachman knocked on the door of the nearest house and asked if the child belonged to them. The woman who answered it recognized the child but said she begs on the street all day and sleeps wherever she can.

Well! We did not know what to do. The coachman said she was the responsibility of the parish, but Mr. Caldicot had told us when he came to dinner about how the parish can do almost nothing for children like these. I said that I wished Mr. Caldicot was there to tell us what we had best do with her, and Lizzy said that we ought to take her home with us and put her in the charge of one of the servants while we wrote a note to Mr. Caldicot asking for his advice. The coachman plainly did not think we ought to do anything with the child ourselves, but he said nothing and we took the little girl back to the house. We asked what her name was when she was able to talk, and she said she was Annie.

After I wrote a note to Mr. Caldicot, we gave her a bath. That is, one of the housemaids bathed her, but I was there too, as she was so frightened that she cried for me whenever I tried to leave the room. Jane, I do not think that child had ever had a bath! One of the other maids was sent to buy her some clothes, as her own were more ragged than anything I have seen in the whole of my life. Her poor leg is badly bent; Sarah (the maid) said that it was probably broken when she was younger and it never mended properly.

When the girl was clean, we gave her some food, and she ate a prodigious amount. Georgiana said she had never seen any child eat so much. Of course, I do not think Georgiana has seen many children eat. Her brother is so much older than she that they were never in the nursery together, and she was never allowed to have playfellows from the village, as we were. She says she does not know what to do with children, although it was plain to see that she had much compassion for little Annie.

We did not know how long it would take for Mr. Caldicot to write and advise us, or to come himself, but he arrived on our doorstep three hours later, apologizing for his tardiness! He asked us a great number of questions about how we had found Annie, and what things had been done for her. He said that we were very right not to give her up to the parish, but he was in a quandary about what should be done for her instead. I asked about the Foundling Hospital, but Mr. Caldicot said that Annie was too old to be admitted there. Finally he asked if we could care for her a little longer, until he might find a family who might be willing to take her in. Lizzy said that we would, and also that she was sure Mr. Darcy would be able to contribute to Annie’s support. Mr. Caldicot looked much happier at that, and he said that if Mr. Darcy was willing to sponsor the child, as it were, he had no doubt he could find a family who would care for her.

Sarah made a wry face when Lizzy said that Annie would be staying a little longer, but she is too good a servant to be impertinent and she said nothing. Lizzy ordered a bed to be made up in one of the unoccupied servants’ rooms, and the little waif looked utterly bewildered at having a bed to sleep in.

This is the longest letter of my life, but I wanted you to know all about our adventure.

Your affectionate sister,

Kitty

From Kitty Bennet to the Rev. John Caldicot

Dear Mr. Caldicot,

I fear you may think it very forward of me to write to you, but my sister Mrs. Darcy says it is not improper for even a single female to write to a clergyman about the welfare of a child when it is a case of charity. I write, of course, about Annie. I know you said that the indigent children who come under the care of the Society are often trained for domestic service, or the boys apprenticed to respectable trades. I cannot help but wonder what Annie might do. She hobbles about so painfully that I do not think she could be a maidservant. Do you think she might become a needlewoman? They do not have to move about so much as a maid would.

I am glad we came across Annie that day in our carriage. I did not know how many poor children suffer in the great city of London, but now my eyes are opened indeed. Whenever I go out, I see them, sweeping the streets or selling flowers or apples. I think at one time I might not have noticed them, but now I do, and wish I could do more to help them.

I remain, respectfully,

Catherine Bennet

From the Rev. John Caldicot to Kitty Bennet

Dear Miss Bennet,

Of course it is entirely proper that we should correspond about little Annie. I honor you for the sentiments expressed in your letter, and if there is anything you might do to help the children who have been brought to the Society’s attention, I will inform you.

As to your particular enquiry, I do think perhaps Annie might learn to be a seamstress, and if she shows an inclination for the work and is taught well, there is no reason why she might not be able to support herself satisfactorily. Indeed, if she were to be patronized by the Darcys and other members of the gentry, she would no doubt be in great demand. In a few years, perhaps, we shall look out for someone who could instruct her.

I thank you for your note; it was a refreshing change from the letters I usually get: it is heartening to have someone write and offer help instead of asking for it.

I remain, etc.,

John Caldicot

From Lady Hampshire to Lady Caldicot

My Dear Margaret,

You asked me to apprise you of any further developments with Miss Bennet and your son. Beyond asking Mrs. Darcy—Miss Bennet’s sister—to do whatever she could to further the match, I have not had any occasion to bring the two young people together. However, Fate (or perhaps I should say Providence) has arranged matters better than I could have.

Mrs. Darcy called on me yesterday to tell me that she and her sister rescued a crippled little creature named Annie from being tortured by a pack of wild urchins when they passed the melee in their carriage a week ago. Miss Bennet said she wished she could ask Mr. Caldicot what they ought to do with the little girl, and Mrs. Darcy told her to write him a note asking him to call. Clever creature! The little waif is temporarily installed at the Darcys’ home under the care of one of the servants while John finds a more suitable permanent place for her.

Mrs. Darcy told me that Kitty has been much involved in the care of the little girl. (Much to the disgust of the servants, I think, who feel that anyone connected with the great name of Darcy should confine their charity to more aloof actions. You know what some servants are—more anxious that their masters be thought great than that their fellow-creatures be cared for!) There have been one or two letters written between John and Kitty, I take it—all very formal and confined to information about the child and her future. Mrs. Darcy will do what she can to have Kitty be the principal correspondent in the matter.

I am going to propose to John that I give a charity Christmas ball in aid of his Society. I believe I will ask for Miss Bennet’s help in the endeavor, and if nothing comes of it, you may call me a pigeon.

Faithfully,Isabel

From Kitty Bennet to Jane Bingley

Dear Jane,

I have been so busy with little Annie that I quite forgot that we were to attend a ball last night and was surprised to have Georgiana ask me at breakfast if I was to wear my new pink gown or the green one again. The ball was a good one, except not so grand as Lady Hampshire’s. Mr. Arnot was there, and we danced again. He took me in to supper and we had a very agreeable talk about London. However, as we were eating, I began to feel a trifle guilty to think of the poor people in London who, at that moment, might be cold and hungry while I was dancing and eating fine foods.

Lizzy said much the same thing as we drove home in the carriage, but Mr. Darcy said that it was just as much an act of kindness for me to talk to that very homely Miss Linnet who was only asked to dance once all evening as it was to give a hungry person some food. It did give me hope that I am beginning to be a kind and unselfish person, although of course I am not very good just yet.

I met Mr. Arnot’s mother at the ball. She appeared to be rather arrogant, but perhaps she is only shy, like Georgiana. She said she would invite us to dinner one day, and I hope she will. I wish you could see Mr. Arnot! He is very handsome and agreeable, and he smiled at me in a way that makes me venture to hope that he likes me a little bit.

Your loving sister,

Kitty

From the Rev. John Caldicot to Lady Hampshire

My Dear Lady Hampshire,

I take my pen to thank you once again for the dinner to which I was invited last evening, and the opportunity to explain the Society’s work to your guests. As to the idea about which you spoke to me briefly, that is, to give a charity Christmas ball in aid of the Society, I think it a very fine idea. I am not (you will doubtless remember) the sole authority in charge of the Society, but I will write to the head of the committee immediately and I may say that I expect the committee will approve of it. I will attend the ball, of course. Further, I think your idea of having some of the children at the charity school attend as well, to be a good one.

I do entreat you not to trick them out in expensive fashions as if they were the children of a duke—you have not the slightest idea what difficulties that would engender after the ball was finished! Of course you will not let them attend in rags, either. Perhaps some simple, good garments would be best. I will leave it to you. Perhaps you will write to Mr. Alfred White, as he is the schoolmaster and would know which children ought to be invited.

I beg you will excuse the brevity of this missive, but I must finish writing my sermon for tomorrow’s service.

I remain your humble servant,

John Caldicot

From Mrs. Bennet to Mrs. Gardiner

My Dear Maria,

I had hoped to hear from you before now as to how my daughters get on in London, especially how Kitty does. I have been waiting for all these weeks with no word from you or my brother. However, I never complain.

Kitty does send us letters, to be sure, but they are very short, and she says nothing of suitors, which is what I am most anxious about. I hope you have been keeping a watchful eye on Kitty. I do not mean to say that Lizzy and Mr. Darcy would let her run into any danger, but you know they must be very taken up with his sister, Georgiana, and her coming out, and may not notice what she is doing, as she may not herself, so unspoiled as she is.

It is very dull here with all of my daughters gone. Mary is here, of course, but she is always so very severe. Even if there were officers here now, I do not think they would come to visit us.

I hope if you see Kitty that you will tell her to write more often and tell me who she dances with, and which men are the most eligible. I do wish Mr. Bennet would take me to London so that I could help her to get a husband. I do not think the Darcys are doing all they can in that regard.

However, I never complain.

Your devoted sister,

Fanny

From Kitty Bennet to Jane Bingley

Dear Jane,

I am sorry for the long silence, but we have had such a busy time these two weeks past.

First of all, Mrs. Arnot called on us, and invited us to dine. I was in such a quake, not knowing what to wear and afraid I might say the wrong things. However, Lizzy said that as long as I conversed upon unexceptionable subjects, she had no fears that I would be taken in dislike by the Arnots. I wore my new pink dress, and Mr. Arnot said, when he greeted me, that I looked extremely well. Mrs. Arnot was gracious, but Mr. Arnot (the elder one) was very quiet. I believe, indeed, that he is quite a reserved gentleman.

The dinner was extremely elegant. We had white soup, roast lamb, ham, and cheese-cakes, and half a dozen other things I have forgotten. I was seated beside my friend, Mr. Arnot, and we conversed very amiably upon a number of subjects. I told him about little Annie, and he was very much surprised. He said he hoped we would not be taken in by some trick or a scheme plotted by her people. I told him that she had no people, and he said that he would not be astonished if some of them appeared now that she had a connection with the Darcy family. I assured him that no one would claim anything, as Mr. Darcy had made enquiries when she first came to stay. He did not look convinced, but I hope that he will be proven wrong in time.

When the ladies retired after dinner, Mrs. Arnot spoke very often to Lizzy and Georgiana, and not at all to me. I was inclined to be affronted, but perhaps Mr. Arnot has told his mother so much about me that she had no questions to ask, and instead wished to know Lizzy and Georgiana better. She talked to me a little when the gentlemen joined us again.

When we arrived home again, I asked Lizzy if I had behaved well, and she told me I had. I asked her if she thought Mrs. Arnot approved of me, and she said, “As well as any other girl from Hertfordshire with a thousand pounds in the four per cents.” I did not quite know what she meant by that, but after thinking it over I think she meant that Mrs. Arnot cares little for the wealth of any prospective daughter-in-law, which is a good deal in her favor, is it not?

I had thought to spend the next day resting, as my nerves were a little tried by the ordeal, but at two o’clock the knocker was heard, and it was Lady Hampshire, calling to see if I would ride in her carriage with her for a little while. I find that ladies sometimes do so with their intimate friends, and of course it was a great honor to have her ask me. So I ran to get my bonnet and pelisse and was taken up into her barouche-landau. We drove around Pall Mall and Green Park and some other places that I cannot remember the names of, and she asked me about my home in Hertfordshire and my sisters (only I did not say very much about Lydia). After a while she told me that we were going through Shoreditch and she pointed out the church that Mr. Caldicot is the vicar of.

Seeing his church made her say, “Oh, by the bye, I am giving a Christmas charity ball in aid of that Society of his. I was thinking only this morning that I will need someone to help me, and it occurs to me that you would be the perfect person to do so. Would you help me?” I told her I would be eager to do so. She said that she would call on me tomorrow and tell me exactly what I must do.

Will you think me very bad if I confess that my first thought was that Mrs. Arnot could not help but think well of me if she learns that I was selected by Lady Hampshire to help with her ball? I ought, of course, to have been grateful to contribute in any way to help children like Annie.

When I came home, I went to see Annie (as I usually do in the afternoon, when Sarah is assisting the upper house-maid to light the dressing-room fires and help in the laundry-room) and found that she was not well. She had become feverish, and Mrs. Morris, the housekeeper, did not want to give her any fever powders.

I found Lizzy and told her what Mrs. Morris had said, and she went to Mrs. Morris and told her that anyone under Mr. Darcy’s roof, whether they be family or servant or guest, ought to be given the same care as Mr. Darcy himself if he were ill. Lizzy is so very tactful; she managed to convey all of this without offending Mrs. Morris or making her resentful. I’m sure I could not have done it half so well.

By the next morning, in spite of our care, Annie was worse, and Lizzy sent for the medical man. Mr. Darcy even came to see her and looked very grave. We were in a flutter of apprehension of all day—for a little mite of a crippled orphan that we did not even know existed three weeks ago! I would not have thought it possible. Finally, at eight o’clock that night, her fever broke, and she was much easier. Today she has been much more lively. Sarah—the maid who has been tending to Annie most of the time—said that children usually recover very quickly from a fever. She has many younger brothers and sisters and knows more about children than I do.

My Aunt and Uncle Gardiner have invited us to dinner next week, and I shall be very glad to see them. I hope they do not think that we are neglecting them, only it has been so busy here since we came to London, and we have not seen them above three times.

I am very sleepy and must close this letter now and go to bed.

Your affectionate sister,

Kitty

Chapter 3

From Lady Hampshire to Lady Caldicot

My Dear Margaret,

Plans are going forward for my Christmas ball. I received a list of suitable children from the schoolmaster of John’s charity school and have taken it upon myself to clothe them for the ball and give them a few lessons in deportment. I have had Kitty Bennet here this afternoon to discuss plans, and she suggested that the children learn to dance a little—simple steps could be learnt, and the children could be partnered with their possible patrons for one or two dances. I thought this an excellent plan, and I think we might ask John for the use of the vicarage parlor for the lessons, as it is close to where the children live.

I shall not attempt to bring the whole lot of them here: I tremble at the thought of several coaches filled with street urchins arriving on my doorstep, to the dismay of the neighborhood and giving rise to rumors about the decline of my intellect. The school might be used for such a purpose, I suppose, but perhaps Miss Bennet would not feel as comfortable in those surroundings. More to the point, she might not encounter John if we only go to the school. I will see if I may contrive to supervise the proceedings. I will have to do something, at any rate … I have no notion about teaching anything, and I daresay Miss Bennet does not, either. I shall have to look up Miss Stephens, the girls’ old governess, and ask her advice.

Yours in conspiratorial friendship,

Isabel

From the Rev. John Caldicot to Lady Caldicot

Dear Mama,

I have just ushered out the last of the little charity school pupils who are preparing for the Christmas ball. The quiet that has descended on the vicarage is remarkable. I must find a better name for this little group of persons—I used to call them my urchins or the poor little wretches, but since you bid me see them first as souls for which I will give an account, I find I cannot name them thus. Perhaps you will have an idea what I should call them.

I daresay Lady Hampshire has told you of her Christmas charity ball; I have never known her to be zealous for any charity before. I venture to think this shows your influence on her, Mama, for which you may be commended. She is full of plans; she is not only giving the ball at her own house and inviting all those she think may have open pockets, but she has thought of inviting, clothing, and giving dancing and etiquette lessons to some twenty of my urch—children. Such an undertaking! She is nothing if not energetic. She has also asked if she may use the vicarage parlor to teach the children their lessons, and as I had no better place to offer her, they came today for their first lesson.

She has recruited the help of Miss Kitty Bennet, who seems to appear wherever I go. I would be tempted to suspect the young lady of setting her cap at me except that she takes no pains to talk to me, and her civility is that of a kind young woman to a sober parson who is but doing his duty. I suppose it is only natural. I overheard her asking Lady Hampshire if a certain family was invited to the ball, and I did not miss the smile on her face when the answer was given in the affirmative. No doubt there is a young man of that family with whom she wishes to dance. She did not smile similarly when she learned that I would also be of the party!

It is a scant month before the ball, and the ladies have undertaken (with the help of an old governess) to teach the children some lessons in polite behavior as well as dancing. I fear it may be beyond their powers. I had lent them my parlor for the endeavor but was soon called to lend my assistance as well, as a fight broke out between two of the boys, and they would not listen to the entreaties of the three women to desist. The old governess was the firmest of the three, but as she did not threaten any violence to the little fellows, and used proper English to rebuke them, they had no idea what she was saying and paid not the slightest heed to her. I was able to stop the brawl by using such terms as the boys understood, although I fear Miss Bennet looked rather shocked (lest you also be shocked, let me hasten to add that my words were not profane but only ungenteel). I took the precaution of carrying my cane into the room with me, and although I would not have beat any child with it, the scamps children in this district are accustomed to being dealt with in that manner, and give respect to one who carries such an instrument.

I could not but admire the patience of Miss Bennet, who surely has not been accustomed to teaching children, unlike the governess and Lady Hampshire (who has never been a teacher, but is, at least, a mother). She asked me, after the children were bundled out, how I was getting on in finding a home for little Annie (who has been ill but is now recovered). I had to tell her that I was as yet unsuccessful. She looked at the governess and said it was a pity we could not persuade Miss Conrad to undertake the work, as Annie would grow up to have manners equal to any lady in the kingdom. She meant it in jest, but it has started an idea in my mind. Think of all the retired governesses in the land! Many are not very old, but they have been set aside for younger women and are lucky if they have any kind of annuity from the last family they served. Could I not find two or three of these worthy ladies and give them a monthly sum to care for such children as Annie? I entreat you to let me know your thoughts on the subject.

And now, dear Mother, I must go and preside over a funeral. I have performed the service so often in the last twelvemonth that I could say the words in my sleep. “In the midst of life we are in death: of whom may we seek for succor, but of thee, O Lord, who for our sins art justly displeased?” I do hope that those gathered may be reminded to look to the Almighty for help, instead of relying only on the weak and fallible one who stands before them as their vicar.

Your loving son,

John

From Lady Caldicot to the Rev. John Caldicot

My Dear John,

Your letter rebuked me, although I know you did not mean it so. I had told you not to forget that your poor children were souls and not bodies merely, but I fear I myself would have called them waifs or wretches without any compunction whatever. I was going to suggest you call them little darlings, but I fear some might take it as mockery. I will turn my mind to the problem.

The idea about governesses is a good one. I suppose you would wish them to be in London, so that you may more easily give them their allowances and you can keep watch over how the children get on. I should ask the governess who is helping you if she knows of any others who might be willing to do such a thing.

Miss Bennet seems to be a young woman of substance. I have not said anything to you, my dear, about matters of the heart, after your disappointment, and I do not mean to importune you on the subject now. I only wish to say that I beg you will not let yourself be soured on the idea of love. You would make an excellent husband, and a wife would lighten your cares—if you choose wisely.

Your loving

Mama

From Lady Hampshire to Lady Caldicot

Dear Margaret,

I think I must set up as a matchmaker, for I am having great success. Yesterday we were having a dancing lesson with the children, and I conceived the idea of making John and Kitty demonstrate the steps for the children. John might have rebelled, but Miss Bennet was willing, and he knew he would appear churlish if he refused—he was trapped by his own civility. Once they were dancing, he enjoyed himself, and when he made a mistake, he laughed with her (and the children) at himself with very good grace. I noticed that he looked at her very often afterward.

I cannot say what she is thinking—she is too much a gentlewoman to betray what she feels by coy glances. I may need to do a little judicious promotion of his good qualities to her. If she could see him on the hunting-field, mounted on that fiery steed of his, she would no doubt fall swooning at his feet in a trice. A pity that I cannot contrive that!

Yours, etc.,

Isabel

From Kitty Bennet to Jane Bingley

Dear Jane,

It is only two weeks until the Christmas charity ball. Mr. Arnot is to be there. I saw him at the concert we attended two days ago. We heard a famous soprano who sang in Italian. Georgiana understood what the words meant, and I was ashamed that I did not. Of course, Lizzy did not either, but she can read French, which I cannot. I fear I have not improved my time as I ought.

I have had to remind Lizzy that she needs to issue a dinner invitation to the Arnots, as they invited us to their house. It seems she had forgotten. So very unlike her, especially when she knows that Mr. Arnot might be a very good match for me! Did I tell you that they will be at the Christmas ball? I wonder if he will make me an offer at the ball. Would it not be romantic? Perhaps after we dance, he will take me aside, or outside the house altogether, and declare his love while the moon shines on us and the sounds of music from the ball come through the windows.

Although having now imagined it, I wonder if I know him well enough to engage myself to him. He is a gentleman, and his father is worth about two thousand a year. He appears to have correct opinions about politics—not that we discoursed at length about such a topic—and he likes eating fish but does not like quinces. He likes a jig better than a waltz, and he thinks Town is more amusing than the country. Is it enough? I do not know what he thinks about serious matters at all.

And yet, does anyone know these things? How often did you and Mr. Bingley converse on weighty matters before you agreed to marry him? I know far more about the thoughts of Mr. Caldicot on serious matters than I do Mr. Arnot. He really is a noble soul, Jane (Mr. Caldicot is, I mean). I really think he ought to be married. A wife might make him less—I was going to say less serious, but that is not quite what I mean, for I do not think he should be more frivolous. I suppose I think he should not be so constantly serious. I told you that we are giving the children dancing lessons for the ball, and he and I were called on the demonstrate some steps for them. He turned the wrong way and bumped into a table and burst out laughing—we all did, I fear. But the laughter changed his face entirely, and I forgot he was a clergyman. If he looked like that more often, he would have no difficulty in obtaining a wife.

He even ventured on a mild witticism. He said, “I ought to have heeded my own sermon. I spent ten minutes last Sunday on the text, ‘Ponder the path of thy feet.’”

When we said farewell at the end of the lesson, he apologized again to me for his mistake. I said, “If Mr. Bunyan put you into The Pilgrim’s Progress, he might have named you ‘Mr. Turns-the-Wrong-Way’.”

He laughed, but I have since wondered if my little joke was not a bit irreverent.

Ah, well, no doubt I am thinking too much about it. If Mr. Arnot asks, I daresay I will accept him.

Annie is perfectly well now.

With much affection,

Kitty

From Elizabeth Bennet to Jane Bingley

Dear Jane,

Kitty reminded me that I must ask the Arnots to dinner. I was hoping she would forget, but I think their son, one James Arnot, has fascinated our sister. He is not a bad man, as men go, and his fortune is fair, but I think him a somewhat shallow and careless gentleman. I’m sure it was on Kitty’s account that we were asked to dine with them a month ago. He does seek out Kitty whenever they are in the same company, and smiles at her a great deal, but I see no signs of an ardent attachment. I fear that he would not hesitate to transfer his attentions to another girl who had more money coming to her, if her connections were as good as Kitty’s.

And I must entertain the whole family—the mother who is supercilious to anyone who does not move in the highest circles, the father who has little conversation and no wit, and a younger son who is now down from Cambridge. One can only hope that he is not stuffed with self-importance over his newly-acquired learning. I earnestly hope that Mr. James Arnot will be dissuaded by his parents from making an offer for Kitty, for I fear that in her present state of mind, she would accept him.

Oh, that she would transfer her affection to Mr. Caldicot! I have ventured to say to her a few words in his praise, to which she heartily gives assent, but I do not think it has ever entered her head that he might be a suitor. Of course, he has not said anything to Kitty directly, and he may never do so, and therefore I have restrained myself from proposing that she look on him as a possible husband. It has not been easy, Jane, and I hope you will admire the self-control I have exercised in this regard.

I do wish you were here to lend me your aid in this matter! I am tempted to tell Georgiana about our matchmaking plot, but I think the secret would be a burden to her. She and Kitty have become good friends, and I think the friendship has been beneficial for both of them. I would not wish to mar it by a lack of openness.

Ah well, I must write the invitation to the Arnots—something I have been putting off for the last half-hour. I think I will ask the Gardiners to come as well. If the Arnots are repelled by Kitty having relations who are in trade, so much the better!

Resignedly,

Lizzy

From Lady Hampshire to Lady Caldicot

My Dear Margaret,

Yesterday I summoned Kitty to come and see the ballroom, on the pretext of asking her what she thought of my plans for decorations. There was not the slightest chance of my changing what I had determined, of course, but it is so difficult to find any other means of talking to her alone! I managed to tell her that John was extremely sought after as a dancing partner when he first came upon the town, and very nearly smiled at the incredulous look on her face. I hope at least that she may henceforth be aware that he was not born a clergyman. I was tempted to say more in his praise, but she is not a simpleton and might become suspicious if I say too much.

I did ask her to write to John for me and ask him if the children should dress at their homes for the ball, or if they ought to dress elsewhere—for example, at the vicarage. That is one of the advantages of being Lady Hampshire: one may be imperious and demand that people do the most ridiculous things, like write your letters for you, and no one will refuse you.

Your co-conspirator,

Isabel

From Kitty Bennet to the Rev. John Caldicot

Dear Mr. Caldicot,

Lady Hampshire desires me to write to you and ask about the children being dressed for the ball. She wonders if it will not be difficult to deliver the clothes to the various homes, and thinks perhaps the garments might be soiled or stolen before the ball. Would it be better to have the children be dressed at another place? If so, would the vicarage serve, or would it be too inconvenient for you? She tasked me to say that it would be a great kindness if you would reply to me rather than her, as she is so very busy and may overlook a communication from you.

If I might, I will also venture to ask your advice about little Annie. When the doctor came to see her during her illness, he happened to remark that it might have been better to amputate the leg when it was broken. Annie heard him (I cannot think what he was about to say such a thing in her hearing!), and she told me later that she is so glad no one thought of cutting off her leg, else she would never go to heaven. I told her that she was mistaken, and was amused at the strange ideas children get.

I mentioned this to Sarah, the servant who cares for Annie, thinking she would find it as diverting as I did. However, she was not at all surprised, and in fact, seemed to agree with the sentiment—that someone who is missing a limb might be kept out of paradise! I do not feel myself qualified by any means to correct this error, and am exceedingly puzzled as to what to do. I feel that Annie, at any rate, ought to be better taught about heaven. I know you are very busy, but perhaps you could come and talk to her? Or if you cannot, you might possibly tell me what I ought to say.

I remain, respectfully,

Catherine Bennet

From the Rev. John Caldicot to Kitty Bennet

Dear Miss Bennet,

You may tell Lady Hampshire that she was perfectly right to think of such a thing—I fear that a bachelor like myself is ill-equipped to foresee difficulties like this. The children had better be dressed here at the vicarage. They will be taken from here to the ball, so they may as well dress here.

As to your other question, I have encountered that strange belief on occasion—the idea that anyone missing a limb is barred from eternal life—usually among the poor and illiterate. It is an infernal idea—quite literally spawned by the Tempter of Souls—to torture those who are infirm in body, giving them reason to doubt that they might reach heaven on that account! You may tell Annie (and the maid, if you can contrive it), that nowhere in Holy Writ is there any condition for entrance into the kingdom of heaven except faith. “A bruised reed He shall not break,” and the care of the Almighty for the lame, the broken, and the orphan seen throughout the Scriptures ought to set that pernicious myth to rest.

As for explaining to Annie about faith, the sermons of the Rev. Septimus Atkins, rector of the parish where I was born, have been a help to me in this. Some of his sermons were collected and published not long ago. He often addressed how children ought to be taught eternal truths. If you think it may be a help to you, you are very welcome to borrow the book. I will also attempt to visit Annie, if you wish it.

I hope you may not think I have forgotten about getting a place for Annie to live. I have a little more to arrange but will soon be able to reveal all my plans.

Yours, &c,

J. Caldicot, or Mr. Turns-the-Wrong-Way

From the Rev. John Caldicot to Lady Caldicot

My Dear Mama,

I have come to believe that you may be right about my finding a wife, as you mentioned in a letter to me not long ago. And because I have frequently mentioned her in my letters, you will doubtless be very little surprised if I tell you that Miss Kitty Bennet has stolen my heart. I remain in some doubt of hers, however. She is so very different from Chloe Athenbury! That young lady had the face of the goddess Diana and knew it—knew also how to draw in unsuspecting youth to worship at her temple, and (I see now) reveled in it. Miss Bennet has a very pleasing face, but she will never be called a great beauty. However, she has a kind heart, great good sense, and (if her care for a crippled orphan girl is any indication) a considerable capacity for love.

I am afraid that in her mind I have been labeled The Vicar, and she no more sees the man beneath the vestments (so to speak) than she would a footman under his livery. I suppose there is nothing for it but to try my chances. I hesitate, however, hoping against hope to find some way to appear as a romantic hero in her eyes.

It is a little humbling to realize that I am not as content in my single state as I had imagined I was. And that is all to the good, is it not?

I would not object to your prayers.

In loving affection,

John

From the Rev. John Caldicot to Lady Hampshire

My Dear Madam,

As you are a dear friend of my Mama, and you are also my godmother, I beg leave to ask you a very impertinent question. I have noticed your kind attentions to Miss Catherine Bennet and suspect that she might confide in you. Therefore I am making bold to ask: do you think Miss Bennet has formed an attachment to any particular gentleman? I have thought of paying my addresses to her, but if her heart is already given to another, I will not importune her on the subject.

I half suspect you of matchmaking between the two of us, and I beg your pardon if I am wrong. If I am correct, you have done what I thought it was not possible to do, and that is to find the perfect wife for me—if only she will agree.

Yours faithfully, etc.,

John Caldicot

Lady Hampshire to the Rev. John Caldicot

My dear John,

To your suspicion of my matchmaking, I have nothing to say. You may imagine me affronted by the question or too sly to admit to it—either way, I will not make any comment on the subject.

In answer to your question, I do not know if Miss Bennet’s heart belongs to anyone. I have not heard her name linked with anyone else’s—which I no doubt would have if there was a noticeable attachment (she is Mrs. Darcy’s sister, after all). That is no guarantee, however. Miss Bennet does not wear her heart on her sleeve, as the saying goes, and it is perfectly possible that she is smitten with someone I do not know of. However, there is reason for you to hope, I think.

She could not do better than you, my dear boy, and I greatly hope to see the two of you united in matrimony before long.

Your loving godmother,

Isabel, Lady Hampshire

From Lady Hampshire to Lady Caldicot

My dear Margaret,

He is caught! John wrote to me today to ask if I knew if Kitty’s affections were engaged to anyone. I had the pleasure of telling him that I knew of no one in particular. If only we could be sure of the young lady. Her sister, Mrs. Darcy, is doing all she can to further John’s cause, but of course she cannot make her like him! I would not think that a country miss with no fortune would balk at marrying a Caldicot, especially one as handsome and good as John is. But there is no telling what she may do. At least we may be confident that she will not mislead him into thinking she likes him if she does not.

I am, etc.,

Isabel

Lady Caldicot to Lady Hampshire

My Dear Isabel,

Yes, John wrote to me (he must have written the same day he wrote to you), to tell me that “Kitty” had captured his heart! I consider it a great triumph, and am very grateful to you, my dear friend, for your part in it. As you say, if only we could be sure of the young lady! I dare to hope that the Christmas charity ball might be such an occasion that will foster romance. I suppose you cannot contrive to have them dance together again? But I forget—John’s heart is already captive and no doubt he will seek her out himself.

Dear me! I little thought that at my time of life I would derive such enjoyment from matchmaking. I have not been so diverted since—well, I do not know when I have been so diverted! If we succeed in uniting John and Kitty, I propose we form our own charitable organization: The Society for Uniting Lonely and Worthy Bachelors with Unexceptionable Young Ladies!

Yours in a fervor of plotting,

Margaret

Chapter 4

From Kitty Bennet to Jane Bingley

Dear Jane,

The house here in London is so beautifully decorated for Christmas, which is but a week away. Sprigs of holly adorn the mantles over the fires in every room, and Mr. Darcy, to my great surprise and Lizzy’s delight, ordered that a kissing bough with mistletoe be hung at the top of the stairs. Do you remember how stern Mr. Darcy seemed always to be when we first were acquainted with him? If you had told me then that this very correct and cold gentleman would one day be seen passionately kissing Lizzy under mistletoe when they thought no one else was present, I would not have believed it. (I beg you would not tell Lizzy that I saw them. It was quite an accident, and I was so astounded at the spectacle that I had not the wit to retreat immediately. Fortunately, they were too distracted with each other to notice my stealthy withdrawal from the scene when I came to my senses.)

You must be impatient to hear about how the dinner with the Arnots went off. It was not the Arnots alone: Aunt and Uncle Gardiner were there, too. I suppose it went well—there was no lack of conversation, no one argued about politics, and Georgiana did very well playing and singing for the assembled guests. Mrs. Arnot talked a little to me, although not as much as to Lizzy and Georgiana. Mr. James Arnot was seated next to me at dinner.

I had hoped that Mr. Arnot and I might be able to talk over more important things than the trivialities that seem to make up most of our conversations. However, I somehow found it difficult to bring up serious subjects. He asked me how I contrived to amuse myself when I was not attending balls and dinners, and I began to tell him about helping with the charity ball (which I think I told you he will attend). I described my efforts to teach the children to dance, and somehow I mentioned that we practiced at the vicarage where Mr. Caldicot resides.

I was astonished when he burst into laughter and said, “So Chloe Athenbury drove him into madness, did she?”

I was at a loss to know what he meant, and told him so.

“Oh,” he said, “only that he wanted to marry Miss Athenbury a year or so ago and she—well, I must not say she jilted him, precisely. Only I am hard pressed to find another word that means nearly the same thing.”

“But why?” I asked.

“Mama says that Miss Athenbury first saw him on the hunting field and at balls, and thought him a man of fashion. He looked quite the dashing gentleman, I understand. His cravats were legendary. I suppose she assumed that he was worldly-wise enough to be ambitious.”

“She thought he would be ambitious as a clergyman?”

“But of course, Miss Bennet. She thought he would in due course seek a larger and more important parish—or at least get a comfortable living and retain a curate to do all the real work. She did have some qualms, evidently, about marrying a younger son, but then he is a Caldicot! He would always move in the highest circles.”

“But you say he was not ambitious,” I prodded.

“No, silly fellow. Much too religious to seek preferment and take his place in society. All that skill in the ballroom, and now he spends his days teaching ragged orphans to dance!” He laughed much harder at this than I thought was necessary. When at last he ceased his chuckling, he looked more sober and I thought he might at last give Mr. Caldicot some praise for his devotion to duty. Instead, he murmured something about “such a waste of a life.”

I must say, Jane, I was taken aback and even a little angry. How could anyone think Mr. Caldicot’s life is more wasted than Mr. Arnot’s? I bit my tongue before I said the words that came into my mind, and fortunately Mr. Arnot turned the subject and did not expect me to pronounce my own judgement on how Mr. Caldicot spends his days.

The rest of the evening was pleasant enough, but my spirits did not quite recover after this conversation. I am sure Mr. Arnot said no more than the rest of society thinks, and I must not think too hardly of him for his opinions. I daresay I might have said the same thing six months ago. Only I am afraid that my estimation of Mr. Arnot has been sunk a little, and it makes me feel rather low.

Poor Mr. Caldicot! He does so much good and is so busy—to the point of weariness, I am sure. And then to be disdained by the young lady who won his heart and be sneered at by those who ought to admire his example—it does not seem just. Lizzy and Lady Hampshire have both praised him highly to me, and I cannot but agree.

Today was the last lesson for the little children who are to come to the ball. I must say they have certainly learned much in the last few weeks! They can bow and curtsey as well as any gentleman’s children, they can dance very prettily, and they can be shown a table laden with sweetmeats without either brawling over them or consuming them all within a few moments.

I did have one embarrassing moment, however. As we were leaving, Mr. Caldicot lent me a book to help me in my talks with little Annie. “Thank you, Mr. Turns-the-Wrong-Way,” I said—which is a small joke between us about a wrong turn he made in a dancing lesson.

He laughed a little and said, “I suppose there are worse nicknames. I could be Mr. Boring-Sermons.”

“Oh no,” I returned. “You are more likely to be called ‘the Jolly Vicar,’” for that phrase popped into my head as something familiar and it did seem complimentary. But oh, Jane, I suddenly recalled where I had heard the phrase before. I am sure you remember when I was staying with you and Mr. Bingley last year and we were invited to dine with those neighbors of yours—I have forgotten their names. One of the daughters played for us after dinner and that very provoking son of theirs requested her to sing ‘The Jolly Vicar,’ but her mother said it was not a song to be sung in company. I was curious, then, and when I chanced to see the words later on, I could see what the mother meant—it is quite ribald and scandalous. And here was I suggesting that Mr. Caldicot could be given the nickname of such a disreputable parson!

Mr. Caldicot raised his eyebrows at me, and then I realized what I had said. I could feel myself blushing furiously and said without thinking, “No, no, you are more likely to be called Friar Tuck’”—which was hardly an improvement! I only meant to say that he is not a villain, but for such an earnest parson as Mr. Caldicot is, the comparison to a self-indulgent, intemperate priest was singularly inappropriate! I did not see how Mr. Caldicot took my declaration, for I was afraid to make things even worse by saying more, and bid him a hasty farewell.

I daresay he has already forgotten what I said, but I hope to form the habit of thinking before I speak! It does not matter so much with Mr. Caldicot, but I tremble to think what the consequences would be if I had made a similarly ungenteel reference when speaking to the Arnots!

This letter is far too long, Jane, and I will not inflict such a tome on you again. You are very patient to read through all my ramblings!

With much affection,

Kitty

From the Rev. John Caldicot to Lady Caldicot

Dear Mama,

I find that I lead a more solitary life than I knew, for I have no one to tell of the excellencies of Kitty Bennet except for you. I have no one else to confide in. No doubt this is a good thing, for if she will not have me, I will not be discomfited by sympathetic eyes gazing upon me. It is therefore your lot to bear the brunt of all my musings.

I will sound ridiculously besotted when I tell you that Kitty is the most adorable young lady I have ever met. Today she came for the final lesson of the little children for the ball. The best behaved of the boys had the privilege of dancing with her, and more than once I caught myself staring at her and wishing I could cut in on their dance. Fortunately, I think no one noticed my rapt expression.

When she left, and I gave her a book I had promised to lend her, she teasingly compared me with “The Jolly Vicar”—that vulgar ditty which fatuous young men think hilarious. It took her only a moment to recall the coarse nature of the song and then she blushed adorably and hastened to correct her blunder by then comparing me to Friar Tuck! A moment more and she realized that her second comparison was hardly more felicitous than the first. She was covered in confusion and turned away in great embarrassment and I had much ado to restrain myself at bursting into laughter. Truth be told, I really think that if we had not been surrounded by the governess, my housekeeper, and twenty children, I might have declared myself then and there.

I go tomorrow to the Darcys’ and lay before them my plans for engaging former governesses to care for some of the homeless girls of my acquaintance, including the famous Annie you have heard so much about. I doubt very much I will be able to have a private audience with Kitty, but I cannot help hoping that I will.

Your love-struck son,

John

From Elizabeth Darcy to Jane Bingley

My Dear Jane,

I acknowledge the justice of the comment in your last letter when you wrote that I report very little of how Georgiana is getting on in her first season. I expected, when we came to Town, that Georgiana would take up all my attention, and I considered Kitty chiefly as a friend and companion for Georgiana. I little thought that most of my plans and thoughts would be on Kitty’s behalf.

Since you ask, Georgiana is doing very well. She has earned the reputation of quiet and sensible elegance. The older matrons all approve of her, and she is finding her way in London society. Fitzwilliam is thankful that no eligible suitors have made serious attempts to attach her thus far. I may say that I have no worries about her—which is probably why I have been thinking and writing so much more about Kitty.

Mr. Caldicot came yesterday to lay before us his plan for using former governesses to care for children such as Annie. He asked if we knew of any such governesses who would like the work. I noticed that he looked at Kitty often. I could not blame him: she was in very good looks, and I may say she became quite animated when discussing the possibilities of the scheme. She expressed regret that we had never had a governess and therefore could not recommend anyone for the position but did offer to do what she could to look out suitable houses for the governesses and children, otherwise known as “coteries” (a title which Kitty and Mr. Caldicot devised for these little households). Can you imagine the Kitty we knew only a year ago doing such a thing?

Mr. Caldicot also went up to visit little Annie, which I thought very kind of him, and he spoke to her for a full fifteen minutes. Kitty was there, as well, and I asked her later what Mr. Caldicot had conversed with Annie about. Kitty said they talked mostly of the things they like to eat! I was afraid the vicar might read the poor child a sermon, but Kitty said they chatted away in the friendliest manner, and only at the very end did he offer a little prayer for her.

“It was very touching to hear him,” Kitty said. “One can see how he cares for the children.”

One can only puzzle over her blindness to his eligibility! Then again, I was quite blind to Fitzwilliam’s good qualities for a long time, so I cannot blame her much. I cannot help but hope that the Christmas ball will bring some kind of understanding between them.

Oh, Jane, I do wish you were here! Not only because I long to see you, and because I wish I had your help in opening Kitty’s eyes to the splendid suitor under her nose, but because I wished to tell you to your face that you will become an aunt shortly after I do. I will tell Mama (and Kitty) after Christmas, but I could not bear that you should not know it first.

With joy,

Lizzy

From Kitty Bennet to Jane Bingley

Dear Jane,

Tonight is the Christmas charity ball! It is early afternoon now, but I must begin getting ready soon. I am going to the vicarage to help get the little children dressed and ready for the ball. I had thought that Lady Hampshire would be there to help as well, but then of course as she is giving the ball it would be quite impossible for her to spend some of the afternoon at the vicarage. However, Miss Stephens (the former governess who has been helping us) and two other former governesses that Mr. Caldicot has found, will be there to assist.

I am wearing my pink gown tonight, and Lizzy’s own maid is going to dress my hair. I cannot help but wonder if Mr. Arnot will think me pretty, and if he will ask me to dance the first dance, and if he will be sure to be my partner before the supper so that he may sit by me there. I also wonder if it really matters to me if he does all those things. I do not even know what I think of him. At one time I wished him to make me an offer, but now I am not certain. I hope he will not ask tonight, at any rate! I suppose I have all these musings because Mr. Arnot is the only young man (apart from various coxcombs and other ineligible men) who has seemed to want to attach me. I am not—oh, dear, I have just seen the time and must fly! I will post this directly and will write more tomorrow!

In haste,

Kitty

From Mrs. Ellen Blessington, housekeeper at the vicarage, to her sister Susan

Dear Susan,

Such a rumpus there was tonight at the vicarage! I told you of this charity ball that Mr. Caldicot is taking some of his urchins to, on account of which they have been invading the vicarage once a week for weeks on end! There was no reason they could not have done their practicing at the school, and so I told Mr. Caldicot, but it seems that the lady who is giving the ball wanted it done at the vicarage. The lady usually came to help teach, with an old governess and another young lady, a Miss Bennet. At first, I thought Miss Bennet must be trying to fascinate Mr. Caldicot—why else would she do such a thing? But after a bit I could see that she no more thought of him than if he had been sixty years of age. However, I could see that he noticed her!

At all events, tonight is the big ball, and the children all came here to dress. I was not happy about it, as this required much time washing them, pressing the clothes, and getting the children dressed. Mr. Caldicot, to do him justice, apologized at the end, saying that he hadn’t realized just how much work it would be for me. Miss Bennet, who came to assist at the proceedings, was already arrayed for the ball and could not help to wash the little urchins—she offered, but it would have been the ruin of her dress. She looked quite grieved at having not thought of such a thing, but there wasn’t much she could have done about it, save coming in old clothes and getting dressed for the ball here. And I couldn’t have put up her hair for her the same as whoever did it—a first-rate lady’s maid, I should say.

At last all the children were washed and dressed, and I must say they looked quite presentable at the end. Lady Hampshire had sent two carriages and Mr. Caldicot had hired a third to transport the children to the ball. We were bundling the children into them when a man who was far from sober came along down the street. I recognized him by sight—having seen him in various stages of drunkenness all around this district.

Well, he comes up to the carriage that I was handing a little girl into and says, “That’s my niece you have there!” Only of course it came out as “Thashs my neesh you ‘ave there.” And he grabbed the little girl by the arm.

“Oh, sir,” I said, trying to be very firm although I can’t abide men when they are the worse for drink and it always makes me quake. “She’s going with these children for a few hours, and she’ll be back before long.”

But he paid no heed to me and grabbed the girl’s arm. The wee thing—she couldn’t have been more than about six or seven—looked all of a tremble, and I felt as if I couldn’t move or do anything, when Mr. Caldicot was suddenly right beside me. I hadn’t seen him come up, but he must’ve seen the man coming.

“Now then, Jack,” he said. “Leave Lucy be. I’ll see her safe home.” He was that commanding, Susan, as I thought the man must back down and move along. But this is the kind of man who likes nothing better than a fight when he’s in his cups, and he wanted to fight.

“It’sh my neesh! I’ll ‘ave her and I’ll ‘ave that frock and sell it before the day ish out!”

I heard Mr. Caldicot mutter “In vino veritas,” which if you don’t know is French for “If you’re drunk you tell the truth.” French or Italian or some such language, I forget which one. And then he said, “Let the girl go.”

And the man Jack did let go of her arm, but only to take a swing at the vicar. I think I may have screamed, but in a moment it was over. The vicar dodged the blow and then, neat as you like, took hold of Jack’s arm and twisted it behind his back. It seemed to take no effort for him to do this—his clothes were not in the least rumpled and his hat was still firmly on his head. The man Jack was crying out “It hurtsh! He’sh killing me!”

“Carry on,” Mr. Caldicot said to us. “I’ll see that he is put safely somewhere and be back in a moment”—and trotted quietly down the street with him. That is to say, the vicar was quiet. Jack was not!

The governesses and Miss Bennet and I were rather shaken, but we continued to put the children into the carriages. Not long after we had done this, the vicar came back alone, a little out of breath but still looking as neat and tidy as may be.

Well, off they went to the ball, like as not to be gone until the small hours. I am tempted to stay awake to see to Mr. Caldicot when he comes home, even though he never requires me to do so. I ought to close this letter now and see to the bedroom fires.

With affection,

Ellen

From Elizabeth Darcy to Jane Bingley

My Dear Jane,

I thought I would be exhausted after the ball and prepared myself for bed accordingly. However, once attired for sleep I found myself extraordinarily wakeful, and decided that to set down my thoughts about the ball might while away the time until sleep overtakes me.

As a ball for charity, the dance was a great success. The ballroom was full, and Lady Hampshire told me that an extraordinary sum had been raised for the Society. The children Kitty has been teaching were very well behaved and were very popular partners for dances. One might have mistaken them for the sons and daughters of gentlemen, except that they are not as plump and healthful-looking as they ought to be.

You will want to know about Kitty and Mr. Caldicot. I had hoped that he would ask her to dance immediately, but he first danced with one little girl, and then another, which was inevitable, I suppose. I was in dread that Mr. Arnot would ask Kitty for the first dance, but he did not ask her until several dances were already completed. And when they did stand up together, I could tell that she was not best pleased by their conversation.

She did not dance the next, and while she and I were standing together and watching the other dancers, we saw Mr. Caldicot ask a young lady to dance. I must say that I have never seen him so effusive to anyone as he was when he greeted her. I saw that Kitty was much struck and watched them closely as they danced. He was truly at his ease with this other woman, laughing with her, and conversing with great animation. To do her justice, the lady was beautiful, graceful, and looked sensible and good. (I do not know exactly how she impressed me as being good, except that she did not look like a flirt.) Kitty once ventured to ask me if I knew the lady that Mr. Caldicot was dancing with. I had to tell her I did not. But the interest Mr. Caldicot showed in her made me quake for Kitty’s chances with him!

Eventually, he did ask Kitty to dance, and instead of being pleased, she seemed to be unnaturally solemn. I cannot think why, unless it was that she suddenly realized what a prize Mr. Caldicot is and was vexed by his apparent interest in the other young woman. Kitty went in to supper with a Mr. Enright, who seemed to be a sensible but plain young man. I thought she behaved very well, but I could see she was out of spirits.

Mr. Caldicot left early with his troupe of children, and he civilly bid us farewell before he went. I invited him to dine with us on Christmas Eve, and he accepted. He looked very earnestly at Kitty, but I do not think she noticed, as she would hardly look at him—she reminded me forcibly of Georgiana when she was so very shy.

Dearest Jane, you will be disappointed to learn that I do not yet know what Kitty is thinking. I could not talk to her in the carriage, with Fitzwilliam and Georgiana there, and as soon as we arrived home my husband insisted on my going up to bed. I had unfortunately said that I was tired, and he evidently thinks that women in an interesting condition are to be over-cossetted.

I hope I may speak with her tomorrow. Now, however, I am beginning to feel sleepy, and must close this missive and go to bed.

Faithfully,

Lizzy

From Kitty Bennet to Jane Bingley

Dear Jane,

I have been the most foolish of mortals. No doubt you have long thought me ignorant and foolish, and you are right. I believed I knew my own mind, but I was so very, very wrong. Tonight I discovered what I truly wish for in a husband, and I discovered also that I am far from deserving such a man. I daresay my words are rather incomprehensible to you, so I must explain.

I told you that I was to help the children get ready for the ball at the vicarage. As we were getting them into the carriages, a very drunk man appeared and made a scene. It was very shocking, Jane. He was yelling out that we were taking his niece and grabbed her and said that he would have her new frock and sell it. I really thought that he was going to offer some violence to Mr. Caldicot’s housekeeper, who was trying to dissuade him from taking little Lucy. Mr. Caldicot suddenly appeared beside us and dealt with the man in the most capable manner. He did not raise his voice or return the blow that the drunk man tried to give him, but he was able to subdue him with only a twist of his arm and escorted him down the street without the least trouble. I do not know where he put the man, but he came back as calm as ever and continued to help us get the children into the carriages.

All at once I could really imagine him as a sportsman (which Lady Hampshire has told me he is). He was less of a vicar to me and more of a man, if I may express it so. I had long admired his character, but at that moment I also admired him. I fear that I was very inattentive to the children in my carriage as we drove to the ball, as it took me some time to adjust my ideas of him, and also of my own wishes.

I realized, when the ball began, that I desired him to ask me to dance. Not because he was forced to, like when Lady Hampshire presented me as a partner he could not refuse, or when we were at the vicarage showing the children the steps of the dance, but because he wanted to dance with me.

For a few minutes I had some hope that he might. I remembered all of our talks, and our little jokes, and the kind way he had written to me when I wrote to ask his advice. I thought it not outside the realm of possibility that he might (dare I say it) fall in love with me, as I suddenly realized that I was in love with him. At the very least, I thought he might ask me to dance.

Instead, he danced with little Lucy first, and afterwards with another little girl. I thought it proof of his kind character, and so was not very disappointed. I danced with two unexceptionable partners, and then I was asked by Mr. Arnot. We did not speak of anything of consequence as we danced; he filled up the time judging the gowns of the ladies, boasting about his horse, and retelling some bit of gossip he had heard about Lord Pritchard. I suppose at one time it would have gratified me to have him pay compliments on my appearance, but now I felt it all to be very insipid. I was relieved when the dances were over.

I was not asked for the next two dances, for which I was rather grateful—my thoughts had taken such a new direction that I was pleased to stand with Lizzy (Georgiana was dancing) and try to make sense of my feelings.

My eyes strayed over to where Mr. Caldicot was talking to Bishop Carlton, and I was just admitting to myself what a handsome man he is, when I saw his expression change to one of pure delight. He had seen someone across the room, and I observed him excuse himself to his friend and make his way around the ballroom until he came to a very beautiful woman. He greeted her with such warmth, Jane! I have never seen him so very delighted. The dance was just coming to an end, and when the new set was forming, he led her to the floor.

As they danced, I realized that all hope is gone for me. Mr. Caldicot will never see me as a prospective bride. If this is the sort of woman that he admires—mature, graceful, refined—I stand no chance. I am undeniably a country miss (in spite of my fine gown), and with my silly teasing of him, and my ignorant questions, he must have dismissed me long ago as a shallow, giddy girl to whom he owes nothing but clerical guidance. He, who can talk with a small child about her favorite foods, who can discuss concerts in Italian with Lady Hampshire, who can talk about theology with a bishop, and who seems equally at home in a grand ballroom or in a vicarage surrounded by street urchins—as I say, he would hardly think of me as the kind of wife he prefers!

By the time his dances with the lady were finished, I had determined one thing: it is too late for me to impress him as a suitable partner in life (if only I had talked to him about more serious things and not make that awful reference to The Jolly Vicar!), but I do resolve to be the kind of woman that a man like Mr. Caldicot could love. I do believe he is the best of men, and I will never meet his equal again. However, if there is ever another man who is something like him, I want to be worthy of such a man’s regard.

No sooner had I determined this, than he came across to me and asked me to dance the two next with him. If he had asked me an hour earlier, I would have been the happiest creature alive, but now knowing that I could never be his wife, it was difficult to enjoy myself. I felt that it would be the last time we would ever dance together, and it seemed a very solemn thing. I did try, Jane, to be lively and friendly, but I was afraid of appearing flippant and childish. I did my best to carry on a sensible, rational conversation, but everything I said sounded ridiculous to my ears. He did ask me once if anything was the matter, and I said there was nothing wrong—which I see now was a lie—but how could I tell him what I was thinking?

I asked Lizzy later if she knew who the lady was that he danced with, and she did not know. I suppose if he is as entranced by her as he looked it be, it will not be long until their engagement is public, and then my curiosity will be satisfied.

Mr. Caldicot left the ball soon after that, in order to see the children back to the vicarage. He came over to say goodbye to me and Lizzy, and she invited him to dinner on Christmas Eve, which is but two days from now. He accepted immediately, which I did not know whether to be glad or sorry for. Knowing that I love him, however hopelessly, means that I like to be in his presence. But also knowing that I will never be his makes me wish to never see him again.

It is very late, now, Jane, and I am very tired. I feel that I have lived whole years today.

Thank you for reading all my ramblings, and for the sympathy that I know you will have for me when you read this letter.

Your very chastened sister,

Kitty

From the Rev. John Caldicot to Lady Caldicot

Dear Mama,

I think I have ruined my chances with Miss Bennet. Something changed her disposition toward me between the time she came to the vicarage to help the children get ready for the ball, and the time I asked her to dance.

I cannot say for certain what happened, but I think I know. Just as we were putting the children into the carriages, one of the perpetual drunks of my acquaintance came and tried to create a scene. I dealt with him as quietly as I could, but it must have been something in that incident that changed her opinion of me. Either she thought that I handled him with more violence than was necessary (I did put his arm behind his back and compelled him to go with me down the street), or she thought that I did not do enough to punish a man who plainly would have harmed a little girl. Perhaps she thought I ought to have knocked the man down.

I had determined to ask Miss Bennet to dance at the ball, but found it impossible to do so immediately, as it only seemed proper for me to dance with one or two of the children. After that, I spent some little time greeting those who have given generously to the Society in the last few months. I then found the bishop eager to speak to me. I had nearly finished my discussion with him when I saw my cousin Alice. You must know, Mama, that I have not seen her since I came to London and have missed her sorely. Do you remember when we were children and they came to stay at the Hall for weeks on end, how she and Frances and I played and romped around the gardens until Biggins pleaded with Nurse to keep us under control? She and Tom have come to London for the season, and I hope to see them often. It seemed a little bit of home to talk and laugh with her.

Finally I asked Miss Bennet to dance. She accepted, but I could sense that there was a change in her. She was overly serious and conversed with me only on intellectual subjects. I asked her if anything was the matter and she said there was nothing, but she is not an accomplished liar.

I left the ball early to see the children home. When I arrived back at the vicarage, I found that Miss Bennet had left behand a handkerchief. The housekeeper said she found it in the room where the little girls were being dressed. I am tempted, like a sentimental fool, to keep it—but I will not. I will return it tomorrow, for Mrs. Darcy has invited me to dine with them. I half suspect her of knowing my mind. I hope I may find a way to speak with Miss Bennet and discover if my actions have given her a distaste for me.

Your devoted and distracted son,

John

From Lady Hampshire to Lady Caldicot

My Dear Margaret,

I must report that as a matchmaking device, the ball was unprofitable. Something has happened, and I do not know what. Kitty seemed in very good spirits at the start of the ball, but when I saw her again later, she seemed rather wistful and sober, especially as she danced with John. And when John took his leave of the Darcys (Kitty was standing with them), she seemed to look anywhere but at him. I have not a notion what may have happened, but it is all very dispiriting, although we need not despair.

In (faint) hope,

Isabel

From the Rev. John Caldicot to Lady Caldicot

Dear Mama,

As today is Christmas Eve, I dined with Mr. and Mrs. Darcy, determined that I would find a way to speak to Kitty. It was a failure. That is, as a dinner it was a success, but as an opportunity to talk to Kitty it was a failure, chiefly because as soon as the ladies joined the gentlemen after dinner (which is when I was hoping to speak with Kitty, if the others were all talking among themselves), I was called away to the bedside of Mrs. Strickland, who has been languishing for the last six months. She did not die, but it was too late when I was finished praying with her to return to the Darcys’. Therefore I had no opportunity to restore Kitty’s handkerchief to her.

I thought that her demeanor toward me was still constrained, although once when I made a joke she laughed and for a moment there was a radiant smile. And then whatever cloud she is under came back and shadowed her face again. I feel that perhaps she has not taken a complete dislike to me, and it might be that if I could explain my behavior, there might yet be reason to hope.

Your loving son,

John

From Kitty Bennet to the Rev. John Caldicot

Dear Mr. Caldicot,

My sister, Mrs. Darcy, asks your pardon for disturbing you on Christmas Day, but she wonders if, in the next day or two, you might have time to visit little Annie? She is in great distress at the thought of leaving the house here to go to the “coterie” with the governess you found for her—Miss Drake, I think you said her name was. We hope you might be able to set her mind at rest. The footman will wait for your answer.

With Kind Regards,

Catherine Bennet

From the Rev. John Caldicot to Kitty Bennet

Dear Miss Bennet,

Of course I will come as soon as may be—this very day, if it will not be an imposition. You may expect me at about 4 o’clock.

I am, etc.,

Mr. T.T.W.W (Turns the Wrong Way)

From the Rev. John Caldicot to Kitty Bennet

Dear Miss Bennet,

I have just sent the footman off with my answer to your note, saying that I shall see you this afternoon. I hope, during the course of my visit, to return to you the handkerchief which you left at the vicarage on the day of the ball, and also this letter. I know it is something of an impertinence to write to you, but I have not had opportunity to speak privately with you and I must communicate something of importance.

I am not the most observant of men, but I did notice a difference in your demeanor toward me on the day of the ball from when you helped with the children until we danced. There was an ease and friendliness between us in the beginning, but when I asked you to dance, you seemed quite changed. I imagine that you disapproved my handling of Jack, the uncle of Lucy. I can think of two reasons you might not have liked it. Either you thought I was too rough with him, or that I was not rough enough. If you thought I handled him too severely, I must tell you that that man is a thorough scoundrel, even when not drunk, and mere talk would not have dissuaded him from creating a scene. He very possibly would have offered violence to one of you ladies, as you saw that he did to me. He was not injured by me in any way, only put in the charge of a friend who kept him restrained until we were away.

If, on the other hand, you thought I should do more than restrain him, I share your sentiments. Believe me, I wished I could do much more! However, as it is not my job to punish or reform him, I did the only thing I could and keep him from hurting others at that moment.

Again, I do not know whether you thought me too harsh or too lenient, but I wanted to explain my motives in what I did.

If I seem to be taking too much thought about the incident, I beg you will forgive me. I may say that your opinion of me is a matter of great moment, which I hope to make clear to you very soon.

John Caldicot

From Kitty Bennet to Jane Bingley

Oh, my dear Jane!

My feelings and thoughts are in such a whirl, I hardly know what to write! I suppose I will be more intelligible if I explain what has happened since yesterday.

Mr. Caldicot came to dine with us last evening. Before he arrived, Lizzy asked me if Mr. Caldicot had done anything to make me annoyed—I suppose I did look a little forlorn at the ball. I assured her that he had done nothing to diminish my regard for him and determined to appear just as usual during the evening. I think I succeeded, for the most part.

I was hoping that when the ladies joined the gentlemen after dinner, I might perhaps have a little conversation with him, lest he also think I had some ill-feeling toward him. Alas, he was called away to a sick-bed almost as soon as I entered the drawing room. I am afraid I slept little that night; the time in his presence had reminded me how much I enjoyed being in his company. I could not help but contrast it with the first dinner he ate with us—how could I have thought him dull? And yet—he is more lively now, I think. At all events, I felt that I must avoid being near him as much as possible. I have a horror of turning into a languishing female, and I knew that is what I would become if he was, as it were, frequently dangled before my eyes.

We went to church this morning, as it is Christmas Day, and then came home to feast upon a superb dinner. Afterwards, all the servants received a gift from Mr. Darcy and Lizzy, and even little Annie was given a dissected puzzle with the letters of the alphabet on it. Lizzy drew her aside and told her that she would very shortly go to live with a very kind lady and some other little girls, but the thought of leaving us, and Sarah, to whom she has grown very attached, so distressed her that she went into hysterics.

I always knew that Lizzy had a kind heart, but I was astonished when she determined that I should write Mr. Caldicot a note asking him to come and talk to Annie as soon as he could. I must say that I was a little indignant at being asked to serve as her amanuensis again, but Lizzy said she was very tired and feeling a little unwell, and so I wrote the note.

To my surprise, Mr. Caldicot sent a message saying that he would be with us by four o’clock. I had planned to let Lizzy or Mr. Darcy take him to Annie, but when he arrived, I found they had decided to go for a walk. It fell upon me to escort Mr. Caldicot to the old schoolroom where Annie was waiting with Sarah. I was determined to be natural and friendly, and asked him the only question that came to mind, which was if he had dined well that day. He said yes, he had dined with his cousin and her husband.

“Oh,” I said, grasping at this topic, “have you a cousin in London?”

“She has only recently arrived, to my great delight,” he said. “Perhaps you met her at the charity ball? You might have seen me dancing with her.”

“Ah, that was your cousin!” I said with a little more glee, I suspect, than was seemly. “How agreeable for you to have family so nearby!”

By then we had arrived at the schoolroom, and Annie’s joy at seeing him was truly moving. I was about to leave them to talk, when Mr. Caldicot held out to me a little parcel and said, “Your handkerchief, Miss Bennet. You left it at the vicarage when you helped the children prepare for the ball.”

I took the package, but it was evident that there was more in it than just a handkerchief. There was probably a puzzled expression on my face, for he said, “Come back to us, if you will, when you have dealt with the parcel.”

It was almost as if he had given me a command, which I found very odd, but I obediently left the room. Once in my bedroom, I opened the package and found not only the handkerchief, but a letter. The letter was an explanation of his conduct with the drunk man on the night of the ball, which he was afraid I had taken offense at. He closed the letter by saying that what I thought of him was of very great importance, which he hoped to make clear to me very soon!

Jane, I have never been closer to swooning. His words seemed to imply an attachment to me, but I was afraid to let myself believe such a thing. I had convinced myself that he would never think of me in that way. I told myself to be calm, but it took me some moments before I could suppress my agitation.

When I thought I could appear composed, I went back to the schoolroom and listened as Mr. Caldicot talked with Annie. He was very kind and assured her that even after she was settled in her new home, she would be visited by myself and by Sarah. He gave to her some sugar plums which he had brought (which she did not need, as Cook has given her more than she ought to have already!) and concluded the discussion by praying the sweetest little prayer over her.

“And now,” said Sarah, “it is time for Annie’s tea, so you’ll excuse us, I hope.” And she shepherded Annie out the door and left Mr. Caldicot and myself alone. I could not help but feel awkward—no doubt Sarah expected that Mr. Caldicot would take his leave, but he did not. Instead, he leaned against the mantle of the fireplace and made no move to go.

“I wish I might do more for children like Annie,” I said, feeling that I ought to say something, and bursting out with the first thing that came into my head. It seemed to me after I said it that it sounded like an idle boast.

“Do you?” he said, and I thought it was more than an idle query. “Do you not think you would tire of scenes of misery after a time?”

He was so earnest in his question that I felt ready to sink lest I answer foolishly. The thought came into my mind that the reason he wanted to know my opinion of him was because he was thinking of establishing an orphanage himself and wanted me to help in some fashion. My hopes fell again.

“Truthfully, I do not know,” I said. “I would do my best, but I fear that my goodness has not been much put to the test, and do not trust myself to be unselfish for very long.”

He smiled then, and said, “That is a very wise answer, Miss Bennet.” I waited for him to go on talking about the poor children, but instead he paused and looked into the fire for a moment. Then he took a deep breath and said, “Did you read my letter?”

I thought he seemed apprehensive, and I hastened to relieve his mind by saying, “I did, indeed, and I must tell you, sir, that my esteem for you was not lowered in any way by the way you managed the drunk man—I thought you dealt with it very well. I am sorry you felt any uneasiness on the subject.”

He looked gratified by my answer, but was silent for a few more moments before saying, “Was there something else, then, that caused you to be so very quiet and serious with me at the ball?”

Jane, what could I say to him? How could I tell him that I was in love with him and supposed he could never love me in return? But equally, I could not let him believe that he had done something to make me take offense. I gathered my courage, stared hard at the floor in front of me, and said, “I realized that you must think me a flighty, silly girl who cannot be sober-minded or think on weighty things.”

“Oh, Kitty,” he said.

Do you remember me once writing to you that if a man ever looked at me the way Mr. Bingley looks at you, or Mr. Darcy does at Lizzy, I should be lost? I looked up to see Mr. Caldicot with just such an expression on his face, and I was … lost. I think I forgot to breathe for a moment.

He came over to me, then, and took my hand. “You are not silly or flighty,” he said. “You are, in fact, the best of women. I am far from being the best of men, but I need you so very much. Will you do me the honor of giving me your hand in marriage?”

It sounds so very formal written out in that way, but there was nothing stilted about his proposal. His voice shook a little as he spoke the words, and he was gripping my hand very firmly.

I managed to say “yes” in a faint voice. When I think of the way I had always imagined myself accepting a proposal! (“Thank you, sir, for your kind offer. I must beg leave to consider it soberly for a time”—for I thought I ought not to appear too eager.) All such ideas were gone, and there was nothing in my heart but a kind of trembling gladness.

“Thank you,” he said and took my other hand as well, and kissed them both. We talked for a few minutes about his asking Papa, etc., and then he said he ought to go, “lest I deserve the nickname ‘The Jolly Vicar.’”

“Oh, no!” I said. “For in the song the vicar is quite amorous, but you—” and then I stopped because the look in his eye was hardly dispassionate!

“Yes,” he said. “You will soon discover that this vicar can also be amorous!”

He went away then to write to Papa, and I ran to tell Lizzy and Georgiana. They seemed almost as happy as I am, and Lizzy said it was a triumph. I suppose she meant it was a triumph for me to capture the heart of such a good man, but I thought it was an odd thing to say. I had thought that I would write to you about it tomorrow, but as soon as I was alone in my bedroom, I began to write. Is it usual to want to tell everyone one knows when one is so happy?

The hour is now very late, and I must go to bed, although I fear I will never sleep!

Your very happy sister,

Kitty

From the Rev. John Caldicot to Lady Caldicot

My Very Dear Mama,

She is mine. I shall tell you all when I next see you, which will be next week, after I travel into Hertfordshire to speak with my bride’s father.

Your loving son,

John

From Lady Hampshire to Lady Caldicot

My Dear Margaret,

I just received a note from Mrs. Darcy, telling me that John has asked and been accepted! No doubt he has already written to tell you his news, but I could not help sending you my felicitations on the match. Perhaps I should say, “my gloatings.” I have succeeded! I flatter myself that she is the best possible wife for him.

Tell me, are there any other young men of your acquaintance who need worthy wives? My sister has always wanted to find a wife for Mr. George Knightley, whom her husband knew at university, but he is rarely in London now. Anyway, he is past the age of thirty-five; I fear he is a hopeless case.

I do wish you joy with all my heart, and you may tell your son that I expect to be sent a piece of the wedding cake!

Flush with victory,

Isabel

From Mrs. Bennet to Mrs. Phillips

My Dear Sister,

We have just had an express, and if it were not so late at night, I would come to you right now to share my news. But it is nearly midnight, and I must instead send you this note by the footman.

Kitty is engaged to be married! Not only that, but he is a Caldicot—the Peterborough family, you know! Did I not say that Kitty going to London would be the making of her? Of course, he is only a vicar at present, but no doubt he will give that up when he inherits whatever he will inherit when his father dies. He has written to Mr. Bennet already to ask if they may meet to discuss marriage settlements, & etc.

I shall not sleep tonight thinking of what gown she must have for the wedding!

Fanny

THE END

Books by Barbara Cornthwaite:

NO SMALL SPARK

Mandy H. Cook[5]

Chapter 1

Neither her eyes nor her countenance betrayed her awe of the grandeur afforded just beyond the clear glass separating the comfortable squab on which she reposed from the magnificence passing her by so resolutely. The carriage, unlike her own, was well sprung and had, at the last stage of their journey, collected the original matching greys which were known to belong to it.

Pedestrians removed their caps respectfully, unaware that the inhabitant within was a mere clergyman's widow of no particular name or fortune. She uttered no sigh; the time for such melodrama had passed. She had long before deemed such pomp to be supercilious when the use of it could have been readily appreciated as the least of her possible remonstrances with her lot. No, indeed, such a well-regulated mind would not succumb to the debasement of a sigh.

The equipage at long last came to a gentle halt, swaying ever so slightly as a liveried manservant opened the door, bowing to the lady. After the family offered a warm, if uncertain, greeting, the housekeeper led the lady to her chambers. No explanation had been necessary to explain why the lady of the house denied herself that pleasure.

Dinner was to be served in an hour. The guest did not object, for she was eager to stretch her legs, tidy her hair, and change into a different dress before tackling such a duty.

~~oo~~

"I have unpacked your trunk," the maid said with a curtsy as the widow crossed the threshold into her bedroom. "Shall I stay to help you dress? There is warm water in the basin just there."

"This is Molly," said the housekeeper, her expression tolerant. Molly dropped her curtsy, blushing fiercely. "She will help with whatever you may require," the housekeeper finished, closing the door behind her as she left the room.

"Molly," the lady considered aloud. "A friendly name. I shall depend upon you to ensure I am up to all the expectations and habits of the house and its inhabitants."

The speech did much to restore the maid's determination and to inspire her with a sense of devotion. For as long as the lady remained in Molly’s care, no assignment would be missed nor expectation unmet.

The lady was not impervious to the effect her words had on the maid, and she intended to keep a wary eye lest the maid became disenchanted with her lot after the arrival of the other, much grander, guests. But the maid remained devout, her good opinion being fixed. Indeed, nothing was lacking in her lady's appearance or behavior.

Her dress was modest, but she was a widow, and a certain show of respect for the state was not unseemly. The materials of her wardrobe were well enough, her air was distinguished as one who was used to having her opinions revered, and her affability, though sincere, was deemed more of a gracious condescension than from being from the humble origins from whence it truly came.

"Do you know, I have not enjoyed the benefits of a having a personal maid in… oh," she pondered aloud, “nearly two decades." She nodded at Molly's show of astonishment. "You will spoil me, I know it. For tonight, however, I shall wear the lilac dress and tend to my hair myself."

The maid laid out the required pieces and curtseyed before she left, determining to become indispensable to her lady and, thus, setting her mind to speak to Mrs. Darcy's maid, Morgan, before the night was out. Morgan - precious few of the servants were privileged to know if this was her given name or her surname - was rumored to have "broken in" the lady of the house, who, upon entering its hallowed walls, was discovered to be "an efficient."

The widow herself dutifully and efficiently performed the tasks essential to making her person presentable at dinner, and she studied her reflection as whole, nodding at the overall acceptability. Her pallor was of no concern, being as normal a feature as were her prominent teeth and diminutive size.

The truth was that the lady was plain or, perhaps, average in appearance. Her hair was a nondescript brown, lacking luster and curl. She boasted no admirable features, such as fine eyes or a perfect complexion, and her personality was not immediately warm or contagious. Indeed, the list of what she was not could fill a page, yet those who knew her well could read that page and never realize it spoke of their friend. Her person was neat and precise, her grey eyes frank and honest, and she often sacrificed her own comfort for the pleasure of others.

Her cheek boasted no playful dimple, yet, to win a real smile from her was a rare treat and warmed the heart of the recipient. Her voice, always perfectly modulated, was never mean but was often noted to encourage or inspire the hearer. She had once called a "treasure," and that was truly how her friends would have described her, had they ever been coerced to represent her in a single word.

Mrs. Darcy soon came to her door to escort her down to dinner herself.

"Only a paltry seven courses," the lady whispered conspiratorially to her friend, taking her arm. "Mr. Darcy is overwrought," she continued, her eyes twinkling as she caught her friend's eyes. "He says you will think it a slight once the other guests arrive to enjoy their ten or twelve!"

"Perhaps I should offer my services to your kitchen staff," the lady replied readily, her expression as fixed as it was calm. "Or should I simply prepare a speech of appreciation suitable to the occasion?"

Mrs. Darcy giggled and released her friend's arm. "I am so happy you came."

Elizabeth Darcy’s naturally strong will was strengthened by a sort of independence arising from the necessity of economy. Her reformation had required a great degree of coaxing and manipulation, not to mention patience, in conquering her prejudice against extravagance, which is not to imply that the young wife had shown any lack of appreciation. In truth, it was an adaptation of thinking, perceiving, and reacting that had been required. No easy task! To have gone from sharing a maid with four sisters, accepting the veriest bit of help before sending the maid on to the next, was but one habit to break.

To demand assistance in the genteel poverty of Longbourn would have been the height of selfishness, but here, at Pemberley, to require little to no assistance was a slight on the staff.

The following day, armed with the directions of the best footpaths and views, she broke her fast with Mrs. Darcy who determined a time at which they might enjoy a stroll through the park. They separated only to change into walking attire suitable for early autumnal weather, but upon descending the grand staircase onto the landing in the foyer, the widow had cause to pause on the threshold.

"We shall return to London soon enough," a young lady hissed. "Why hasten my return? Am I such a burden to you here?"

"Your aunt writes to assure me that all the best mantua makers will be booked by the time of our return," a male voice replied firmly.

The young lady heaved a great sigh. "You know what aunt is," she returned. "There is never enough time or money or energy or anything else." As her argument struck home, she plunged ahead. "My aunt and uncle are lovely people, I appreciate their sacrifices and ambitions, but I would much prefer to stay with you, Papa!"

The young lady's success concerning her plight remained unknown. The widow stepped forward, her eyes fixed upon the gentleman's face.

"Puff?" the lady asked.

He had been leaning over the young lady's extended hand, but abruptly corrected his posture. His eyes wandered to the newcomer's face but did not seem to focus on the present.

"I beg your pardon," the widow continued, unruffled, "but I was overcome with curiosity." Then, in an aside to the young lady, she explained, "The feeling has not inspired me with such force in more years than I could name." Her gaze returned the gentleman’s face.

"Mouse," he answered.

The two stared at one another for another moment before they broke the tension with hesitant smiles.

"How many years have passed since we last used those names?" he asked.

"The recollection could not possibly benefit me in any way, so I pray you will not perform the calculation!"

"You could not have been more than… six years old at the time," the gentleman continued.

"And you more than twice my age," the widow conceded gently.

The gentleman smiled fondly. Suddenly remembering his surroundings, he took the young lady's hand and presented her.

"I should like to introduce you to my daughter, Miss Katherine Kelly."

The ladies curtsied. Miss Kelly was a beauty of the highest order. The golden curls framing her face were natural, the style of enlarged sleeves and lowering waistline were flattering, her blue eyes held both intelligence and kindness, and her complexion was cream. Her smile was as ready as it was entrancing, boasting tiny dimples on either side of her mouth, and her teeth were straight and white.

"A pleasure, Miss Kelly."

"But this is not fair!" the beauty complained playfully. "I could not possibly call you 'Mouse'!"

The widow's eyes drifted merrily to the gentleman's, noting his discomfiture.

"I do not suppose you to be still a 'Miss Lucas'?"

At this point, Mrs. Darcy arrived, hastening to assist her guests.

"Please excuse my tardiness! Dear Charlotte, I have delayed our walk. You will not wonder at it." Indeed, no one who saw Mrs. Darcy could wonder at any delay that might be forthcoming. It was wonderful, in fact, to see her efforts at all.

"Of course," she continued, almost breathless, "you have stepped into the breach to make our friends comfortable. May I make them known to you? Mr. Kelly and his daughter, Miss Kelly; my dear friend, Mrs. Collins."

There followed a lapse in conversation which Mr. Kelly and Mrs. Collins made no attempt to fill. Miss Kelly, enjoying the scene excessively, put herself forward.

"Mrs. Darcy," she began cheerfully, "your astonishment must rival my own. What do you think, but my Papa and your dear friend are old acquaintances? Nay, I fear it must have been a friendship of sorts, for they know naught of each other save for childhood sobriquets."

Mrs. Darcy looked quizzically between the two alleged offenders, her dark eyes flashing with amusement.

"Though I should dearly love to tease you both," she said at last, "I fear I must quell the urge in favor of a more responsible act. Shall I take you to your rooms?"

"That will be unnecessary, I assure you,” answered Mr. Kelly. “Only tell me the designation or call the housekeeper if you must."

"I am not so helpless as that," Mrs. Darcy replied.

"Nonsense," Charlotte replied. "All I heard about at dinner last night was of the efficiency of your household and how it would run without you. While I do not believe the latter for a moment, not wholly, I have experienced the former. You must allow your staff to perform. They take as much pride in the office as you do in the execution."

"I have no recollection of that particular conversation at dinner," Mrs. Darcy replied, one brow arched, "but I do recall the rigorous warnings from Mr. Darcy."

Mrs. Collins acknowledged the hit with a slight lift at one corner of her mouth. "How tiresome to boast such an attentive husband."

"Quite so," replied Mrs. Darcy. "Very well," she sighed, "Stevens will take you to your rooms. I shall fetch my bonnet for our walk," she said to Mrs. Collins.

"Oh!" Miss Kelly exclaimed. "How vexatious! But I was just on the verge of begging Mrs. Collins to accompany me on a walk to the stream. Such a dear little bridge! And the day is exceptionally fine for a long walk. Being confined in a carriage all morning, and another day besides, pushes me beyond endurance. You will not mind relinquishing your dear friend on this one occasion?" she pleaded, her expression one of angelic intervention.

Stressing her point further, she added, “I have a nagging suspicion that my father means to send me away immediately, and I fear losing the one opportunity I may ever have to know my father’s friend.”

Mrs. Darcy could do naught but relinquish her position and gaze in growing wonder at the backs of the departing ladies. Her attention was soon demanded by a gentle clearing of the throat. She spun on her heel to find Mr. Kelly studying her from beneath his brows.

"Should I be concerned that my daughter has found an ally?"

"An ally?" Mrs. Darcy repeated in confusion. "Dare I ask why your daughter is in need of one?"

Mr. Kelly shifted his stance but maintained eye contact. "She wishes, nay, demands, to postpone her Season again. If she could have her way - indefinitely."

"What power of persuasion could your daughter possibly suppose Mrs. Collins to have over you?"

"I know of none," he said, again shifting his weight, "but she has her mother's… intuitiveness."

Mrs. Darcy pursed her lips. "Does your daughter enjoy these types of comparisons?"

Mr. Kelly had not accounted for the tenacity of a female in confinement, and he was learning to regret his initial outburst. He retreated to safer ground.

"Miss Lucas, that is, Mrs. Collins," he corrected, wishing to relieve the pressure of the knot against his throat, "was a very sensible child. I trust she has not fundamentally changed."

"Though she has had every reason to withdraw into peculiarity," Mrs. Darcy asserted, "Charlotte has maintained a sensible and practical mind. I am sure your daughter, as well as your intentions, are safe from interference."

~~oo~~

The conversation between the ladies in question was much less to the point and, thus, frustratingly comfortable. Mr. Kelly had done his daughter a great disservice to assume she would rush her fences with a new acquaintance. On the contrary, her mind was agreeably engaged in ascertaining the depth and breadth of her staid father's former relationship with Mrs. Collins.

"I do hope you did not mind the exchange of walking companions, Mrs. Collins," Miss Kelly began, "and we need not follow the course I detailed. I shall be content with whatever direction you choose."

Mrs. Collins smiled gently, amusement lighting her gray eyes. "In truth, a longer walk than would be seemly for Mrs. Darcy is just what I should prefer, and I am indebted to you for taking the lead."

Pleased with this beginning, Miss Kelly returned the smile and set their course for the quaint little stream with the bridge.

"The Darcy boys will likely be there, fishing for trout." She wrinkled her nose. "Such a mess they make of it! Digging for worms, impaling them with barbed hooks, then clasping the writhing fish in one hand whilst wringing the hook from its mouth," she said with abhorrence.

Glancing at her companion, Miss Kelly added, "The poor trout looks wild with fright, and I cannot imagine how the worm must look…"  Her eyes drifted forward to the path. "If only a worm could manage an expression." She heard what sounded like a gurgle, and she turned quickly to find her companion struggling for composure.

Mrs. Collins cleared her throat, managed to achieve a modicum of control, and was able to make her reply. "You do not fish, I assume?"

Mrs. Kelly was astonished. "No!" Compelled by another idea, she gasped, "Do you?"

"There was a time when I found it enjoyable sport."

"Did you… fish alone?"

The corners of Mrs. Collins's lips curved up ever so slightly. "As the oldest child in my family, I was sometimes left in charge of my brothers, especially following the birth of our sister, Maria." Several steps of contemplation passed before she resumed the account. "I admit, I often forfeited the office of worm-hunting to my brothers, but they were much too young at the time to 'impale the worm with a barbed hook'."

Miss Kelly's topaz blue eyes were round for a moment, but she ended with a sigh. "I should have liked to have brothers, or, perhaps, a sister." The thought hung in the air as more steps passed in silence. "Though, I suppose, it was providential I did not."

If the comment was meant to snare an engaging response from Mrs. Collins, it did not hit the mark. Silence ensued until they reached the stream.

"I see the Darcy twins, just as you said," said Charlotte, pointing to the boys on the creekbank.

“Indeed," agreed Miss Kelly. "They have brought along little James - an incorrigible boy of six years. But wait!" Miss Kelly exclaimed in an eloquent show of surprise. "Were you not a girl of six when you met my father?"

The corners of Mrs. Collins's mouth uplifted once more, but whether from amusement of fond memories or of wondrous resolve, Miss Kelly was not to know.

"It must have been about that time, yes. I was too young to take charge of my toddling brother, and my Mama and Nurse were distracted by the new baby."

"And Papa was twice your age?"

"A little over, I suspect. He went to Cambridge the next year, I think. Such a young child's memory can be lamentable," she replied.

"He met Mr. Darcy at Cambridge," offered Miss Kelly in support of the theory. "I wonder why I have never heard of you."

"No, do you?" puzzled Mrs. Collins. "I should have wondered at it if you had."

Miss Kelly persevered, though she groaned inwardly at the circumspection of the older woman.

"So many years later, to recall your childhood monikers so readily - with such a disparity of age - not now, of course, but then, for an older boy to show any attention to a child totally unrelated to himself. Well, it must have involved special circumstances."

"His tutor was a particular friend of mine," Mrs. Collins offered by way of explanation. Two blinks of the eyelids passed before Miss Kelly gave up on further information.

The delights of the quaint bridge and the satisfaction of a vigorous walk were nearly lost on Miss Kelly as their steps turned back to the house. She was despondently contemplating a change in her line of questioning when Mrs. Collins offered a topic more in line with her own intent.

"You look more like your mama, I suspect."

Nearly stumbling from surprise, Miss Kelly took a step to recover before answering.

"Her image. I wish it was not so, though a female version of Papa would be hideous."

The chuckle from Mrs. Collins was enough of a reward to absolve her for speaking ill against her father, but upon realizing that her answer was enough to silence Mrs. Collins on the subject, she continued.

"I have to believe that true beauty lies more within a person than without."

Mrs. Collins took several moments to consider the statement.

"Outward beauty certainly has its uses," she said reasonably. "Initial attraction, for one, is based solely upon the outward appearance. However, I have to agree that outward beauty fades exponentially in the eyes of the beholder if the actions of the beheld are not deserving of admiration."

Mrs. Collins, assuming her thoughts aligned with the young beauty's, was startled when she turned the find the young lady obviously flustered.

"Miss Kelly," she said soothingly, briefly touching her companion's sleeve. "Whatever is the matter?"

"I am not like her," she said resolutely, staring ahead. "I will never be like her."

"Only you can decide who you will be," agreed Mrs. Collins.

"Papa is afraid… Any time my expression mimics one of hers or I do something she might have done, he withdraws. I can feel it. As if his worst nightmares are coming true before his waking eyes."

"My dear!" adjured Mrs. Collins, taking the young lady's hands and squeezing them reassuringly. "It is frustrating when the prejudice of others contradicts your convictions, but you must hold firm in what you know to be true. Is your father's good opinion worth having?"

"Yes!" whispered Miss Kelly.

"Then you must persevere, in spite of any suspicions or accusations. Only your good character and consistency can win his approval."

After a pause, they continued on their way.

"Have you any children?"

"I have not," Mrs. Collins replied.

"It is a matter of wonder to me," Miss Kelly began, "why women who are abundantly wise and helpful are invariably spinsters or childless while women who are abundantly foolish and selfish are able to procreate."

Mrs. Collins smiled ruefully. "You forget a pivotal factor in your equation," she began, pausing for effect. "Men."

Chapter 2

Mrs. Collins watched Miss Kelly mounting the steps to the second floor, assuming her intention being to change before tea. The process was not nearly as elaborate for the widow, and, envisioning a period of leisure, she inquired of Stevens the direction of the library. He was happy to oblige her with a personal escort, being assured from past experiences of enjoying the surprise and wonder the first glimpse of the room afforded. Though Mrs. Collins was by no means sentimental, she did credit to the room, and Stevens left her with no disappointment in her reaction.

The library was wonderful, indeed, boasting a ceiling two stories high, filled to the brim with row upon row of books. Multiple ladders were in place that rolled along rails on the uppermost shelves, rendering every book and cranny accessible to the avid reader. Mrs. Collins, not intending to make the seizure of a book the effort of an entire afternoon, felt a bit overwhelmed at the sight of so many options.

Charlotte soon discovered that she was not alone, however, and that knowledge added still more discomfort as the pressure to choose quickly weighed upon her. She swallowed hard, wondering if her wisest course would be to abandon the scheme immediately or to pretend to peruse a few spines before making good her escape.

"Your first visit to the library, I presume?" Spoke a deep voice from a few paces away. Mrs. Collins blinked in dismay to find the other occupant suddenly so near and before she had determined upon her course.

"I shall from henceforward call my own library a mere bookroom," she answered faintly.

A chuckle escaped him. "It is certainly overwhelming, when all one seeks is the smallest dribble for temporary entertainment."

Mrs. Collins allowed her eyes to meet Mr. Kelly's.

"Where does 'one seeking dribble' begin in this sanctuary of likely epic and iconic prose?"

Mr. Kelly grinned indulgently before whispering conspiratorially, "I believe the women have established their own worthy section in the rows surrounding the bay window behind the divan."

Briefly allowing her eyes to drift to that hopeful beginning point, Mrs. Collins could not help but arch one brow.

"It was Mr. Darcy who compelled me to begin there," Mr. Kelly continued, "stating that the women of Pemberley often seemed to boast a more discerning eye for lasting literature."

"You mean to correct your implication that women, the harbingers of dribble, are not men's intellectual equals?"

"I meant to correct your inference," he retaliated. "The women have gained, for their use, the best plot of land in the expansive territory that is known hereabouts as The Library. See the comfortable lounging chair that allows for any number of reading positions, the tall windows that bring in natural light, and the lower shelves that allow for easy perusal of titles."

Knowing not what goaded her, for she surely found no fault with his declarations, Mrs. Collins persisted.

"Yes, let us consider," she said haughtily. "Only compare the serious desk of study afforded to the men's side, for the books of men are determined by practicality and require a sense of purpose and determination to conquer. The natural light, of course, must be sacrificed to the women's side, for the damage to the bindings could be of no great loss to the literary world at large. Finally, the lower shelves - an accommodation that ensures the clumsy hands of children will cause no lamentable destruction. In addition, the male population is spared the humiliation of bending down."

As Mrs. Collins concluded her soliloquy, she frowned a bit. Silently berating herself for such an indecorous display, she sought to correct her blunder.

"My brothers have assured me that, had I not been a mere female, I would have made wondrous work of the Law."

"Unlike your brothers," Mr. Kelly said quietly but with a firmness that held the attention, "I meant no slight upon women." He bowed, but her hand upon his sleeve stayed his departure.

"I have no idea what came over me," Mrs. Collins said simply. "It is not my nature to take offense or to become hostile." Removing her hand abruptly, she stepped back. "Please excuse me," she managed before fleeing the room. She avoided Stevens on her way to the grand staircase, continuing up to her chambers in record time where Molly was waiting.

"I have set out the brown wool gauze," said Molly, "but I can withdraw another if you prefer."

Mrs. Collins sat numbly at her vanity.

"Shall I tidy your hair first?" Molly offered hopefully. "I have practiced on a few of the maids and am considered to be proficient in the current modes."

"Do what you will," Mrs. Collins replied blankly. The lady sat on the bench facing away from the looking glass.

Soon enough, Molly was satisfied and coaxed her charge to stand for her change of dress. Upon arriving at the Parlor for tea, Mrs. Collins was at a loss to recall how she had come to be there at all.

"Charlotte!" Mrs. Darcy greeted happily, drawing her friend further into the room. "We have just a few moments to converse until the others arrive. How was your walk?"

"My walk?" Mrs. Collins repeated, willing the fog to clear from her mind.

"With Miss Kelly?" persisted Mrs. Darcy.

"Oh! Yes," Mrs. Collins said with relief. "Lizzy, I have just endured the strangest of experiences."

"To be sure," agreed Mrs. Darcy. "Imagine meeting a childhood friend here, of all places. I have been riddled with curiosity."

"But I was uncivil to him."

"Nonsense!" exclaimed Lizzy. "You could no more be uncivil than I could grow wings and fly."

"I assure you I was," Mrs. Collins persevered. "My mouth was speaking so abhorrently while the rest of me listened in growing dismay." Charlotte looked away to study the prospect from the window behind her friend. "And now I stand here with my dress changed and my hair tidied - I dearly hope! - yet the memory of the process is vague."

"But, Charlotte, I was there throughout the encounter, at least a good deal of it, and there was nothing wanting in your conduct."

"You were in the library?" But, almost immediately, Charlotte made the connection and shook her head. "No, I do not refer to that initial meeting. I went to the library to fetch a book, and Mr. Kelly was there."

"Charlotte," Lizzy said soothingly, taking her friend's hands in her own firm grasp, "it could surely not be as bad as you say."

~~oo~~

In another wing of the house, Mr. Darcy and Mr. Kelly were preparing to forfeit the hallowed walls of the study in favor of joining the ladies for tea. Talk of business ventures and mutual acquaintances ceased, but upon rising, Mr. Kelly ventured on another topic.

"I was surprised to find your wife's friend here," he opened, being sure that the Darcy couple had not crossed paths since that morning.

"Mrs. Collins?" Darcy inquired. "Yes, they were very close in Hertfordshire until she married Mr. Collins. Happily for me," he said, chuckling to himself, “it put Elizabeth in my way again, for Mr. Collins had the living on my great aunt's estate."

"Had?"

Darcy glanced up, surprised to find his friend so interested.

"He died."

Realizing that some explanation was in order, Mr. Kelly nodded before beginning his tale.

"I also knew her long ago, but as Miss Lucas. She must have been around six years old then, and I was a convalescing boy of fifteen." He pursed his lips in thought. "It would have been a monstrously tedious time if not for her."

"Mrs. Collins does often seem to fall in the way of being useful," Darcy conceded, indicating with a hand that they should depart. "We could never assume that she married with her own pleasure in mind, but she made good use of her office as clergyman's wife. Everyone at Rosings holds her in the highest regard."

"Holds?" Mr. Kelly questioned. "She had nowhere to go when her husband died?"

Darcy arched a brow. "I imagine she had any number of places to go - she declined another visit to one of her siblings when she came to us - but I believe she preferred to stay on at the parsonage. The new clergyman is young and unmarried. She oversees the household along with everything she does for the parishioners. An irregular arrangement, perhaps, but comfortable to them both, as well as useful. She has her own suite of rooms, and a maid along with a cook sleep there as well, for propriety's sake."

"Her family does not object to her role?" Mr. Kelly asked gruffly.

Though surprised by his friend's vehemence, Darcy maintained a neutral tone.

"From what Elizabeth has told me of the letters she has had from Mrs. Collins, it seems likely that the young clergyman figures as a kind of son to her. She had no children of her own, yet she is a nurturing type." Darcy turned abruptly to face his friend, wishing to end the discussion before reaching the main corridor and, from there, the Parlor. "None of my disclosure is meant to present her as a creature of pity. She is capable and resilient and has proven her mettle time and again."

"Of course," Mr. Kelly agreed hastily. "I just find it difficult to correlate the carefree, engaging little girl I once knew to this adult version."

"She has not been 'carefree' for some time," Darcy glumly assured him.

~~oo~~

"You must call me 'Kate.' The Darcy family all do." Miss Kelly was saying to Mrs. Collins when the gentlemen entered the parlor. "It would be awkward to have just one person singled out to use a formal title. I should be much more comfortable."

"Your comfort must surely be taken into account," Mrs. Collins began, blanching to see Mr. Kelly's approach.

"Heavens, yes," Miss Kate Kelly replied. "You must never call me 'Kitty' or 'Pet' as Mother does when she wants something," she continued, grimacing prettily. "It is just the thing to set me on edge. I believe she named me with the sole purpose of rendering me a complaisant companion for herself, or simply from spite."

Mr. Kelly bowed himself into the conversation.

"I am not usually one to defend my former spouse," he said, casting a disapproving eye upon his daughter, "but I believe the names she uses spring more from an attempt at coercion or manipulation than from actual spite."

Mrs. Collins raised her brows slightly. "Remind me never to call upon you should I need a defense of my character."

He chuckled. "Oh," he insisted with a twinkle in his eye, "I assure you; it was a compliment."

Mrs. Collins blinked, but the action was quickly followed by a lowering of her expressive brows. "Pardon me, but did you say, 'former spouse'?"

"It is old news, hardly worth telling," answered the gentleman. "And only consider, if Mrs. Darcy had reported on our situation to Mrs. Collins, the name 'Pears Kelly' would have conveyed no person of interest at all."

Mrs. Collins was the first to look away, but Miss Kelly followed soon after, looking to Charlotte for guidance.

"Did you truly only know my father as - what was it?"

With Kate hungrily expecting an answer and Mr. Kelly waiting patiently for Charlotte to divulge it, there was nothing for it but to speak it once more. She gently cleared her throat.

"Puff."

"Puff!" Kate cried exultantly. "I must have it all now, Papa," she said, but before any answer was forthcoming the tea tray arrived, and the review of the past had to be forsaken.

~~oo~~

Later, as Charlotte composed a letter in her room, a knock sounded upon the door. At her call to enter, Kate Kelly spun merrily into the room, closing the door behind her with a decided click. Her expression of triumph faded sadly upon finding Charlotte employed, and her steps stilled at once.

"I am intruding," she said in the way of an apology.

"`Tis of no consequence," replied Charlotte with a gentle smile, turning back to her letter. "I have only to apply my signature … and there," she added with a flourish, "I am done."

Creeping stealthily into the room, Kate was able to reach Charlotte's shoulder before the widow turned around to face her again.

"Were you writing to a brother or sister?" Kate inquired innocently.

"A clergyman," Charlotte confided, "Mr. Albright. He will want to know that I have arrived safely."

Kate's expression fell once more, but she rallied tolerably well.

"Your beaux?"

Charlotte tilted her head slightly.

"My beaux?" she repeated numbly. Suddenly becoming aware of the insinuation, she blushed and paled in rapid succession. "Good heavens, no," she said finally. "I am nearly old enough to be his mother. He was appointed to take my husband’s position after his death, and I have stayed on to help him maintain the house and care for the people. I am the lady of the house."

"Is he very handsome?" Kate inquired, sinking into the chair opposite Charlotte's.

"Handsome?" Charlotte repeated, feeling very silly indeed. "I believe so. More importantly," she persevered, "he has a heart for God and for people."

"Hm," Kate replied. "I suppose that would be ideal." Then she changed the topic. "I believe Papa will allow me to stay."

"Yes?" asked Charlotte.

Kate’s eyes twinkled. "I am to become your friend and confidante, learn all your secrets, and carry them faithfully back to my master."

"Your father said that to you?" Charlotte inquired skeptically.

"No, of course not!" Kate laughed. "What an odd thing for a father to ask of his daughter. It is only that he has not mentioned my departure again since meeting you, and he has even asked how I liked my room. Since it is the same room I have enjoyed since we began these visits years ago, I can only suppose that it is your presence - the only thing that is different from the other visits - that is creating this change in him."

"The surprise of my appearance, after so many years, may have afforded you a temporary respite, but I caution you to avoid assuming that your father's initial resolve will not remain."

Kate smirked. The expression was fleeting, soon to be replaced by her previous façade of childish appeal, but Charlotte missed nothing.

"I like what you have done with your hair," Kate complimented. "Not exactly the Apollo, but it suits you. A different style than you wore when we first met. I overheard Mrs. Darcy compliment you as well."

It was true that Charlotte's hair had been styled quite differently prior to their walk. She had been carrying her bonnet when she had stumbled upon the Kellys at the base of the stairs, but the change of style was due to Molly's ingenuity, not to any attempt on her own part to impress the newcomers. She struggled to remain composed as she contrived an answer in defense.

"Lizzy, that is, Mrs. Darcy, has assigned a maid to me. I can take no credit for my hair," she admitted, wondering anew how it must look. She had meant to check her reflection as soon as possible after tea but had forgotten to do so.

Charlotte arose from her chair and marched to her looking glass. A gasp of surprise nearly escaped her lips as she beheld the artistry - the style of the hair together with her heightened color almost rendered her face pleasing. Kate's breathtakingly beautiful reflection appeared beside her own, casting Charlotte far into the shade, and she quickly withdrew.

"Molly is very clever," Charlotte admitted, taking another step away from the looking glass.

Kate, never having learned to disapprove her own image, remained frozen before the glass. She looked quizzically at Charlotte before straightening her posture and stepping away from the scope of the reflective surface.

"Your appeal lies deeper within than mine," she began wisely, "though I hope to achieve your success someday." She turned to stride resolutely to the door but spun on her heel to make one last declaration. "I should appreciate a mentor of your caliber."

~~oo~~

If such apocryphal sayings were not unsettling enough, dinner only further upset Charlotte's equilibrium. Having grown used to being a Supportive Figure, she could scarcely have been prepared for her debut as the Focus of Conversation.

Any Darcy older than five years had been included around the table, filling it out quite nicely, and, once a topic had been introduced, nothing would suffice but to drag all possible detail from the heroine.

Kate shared what she had learned of Charlotte's fishing expeditions, expertly hooking Edward, William, and James Darcy; Mr. Kelly shared her aptitude for chess, thus engaging Mr. Darcy and Marianne; and Mrs. Darcy bragged on her jellies to such extent that Emma Jane begged for a sample to be procured from the pantry for Mr. Kelly's and Kate's approval.

"You see, my brothers acquired the worms," she would answer the boys, only to be questioned by a disgusted Emma Jane as to how worms could be at all useful in the making of jellies. "No," Charlotte corrected calmly, "the worms were for fishing; making jellies is a completely different thing. I am quite partial to a… knight, as I recall," she answered, clarifying a disagreement between Marianne and her father, "though I have not played in quite some time. No, not a knight jelly," Charlotte returned to Emma Jane, "I was only replying to your father and sister. What I meant to say was that … trout. We fished for trout. No, not for jelly. Good heavens." But she was to make little sense of the work for the entire ten courses.

~~oo~~

That evening, as a matter of course, there was a scratch on Kate's door. When she bade enter, her father strolled into the room and leaned against the side of the bed where she lay propped in a mass of pillows and coverlets.

"Your Aunt Olive writes again to hasten your sojourn to Town," he opened cautiously. His daughter's gasp was not encouraging.

"To increase my wardrobe would only be excessive," she replied, waving her hand in a show of indifference, "but to know Mrs. Collins better could result in an improvement to my situation."

Mr. Kelly cast tired eyes at his belligerent daughter, but he steeled himself for the onslaught.

"In what way can knowing Mrs. Collins benefit you?"

"Your wording and your tone are insulting," she assured him with conviction. "If I may speak candidly, sir, she is yet another study of marriage in my pursuit for wisdom. Neither you nor I wish for me to marry selfishly with the sole purpose of manipulating my way into a title as did my mother, nor do we desire for me to become infatuated and marry in the guise of love as you did. Mrs. Collins is neither selfish nor capable of infatuation, nor do I believe that she married for affection; thus, she married from a sense of duty. Mr. and Mrs. Darcy and Aunt Margaret and Uncle Richard married from feelings of love and respect; Aunt Olive and Uncle George, if they did not begin with affection, have at least boasted a constant regard that blossomed into a kind of affection. So, you see," Kate finished as one putting a period to a winning argument, "I must complete my research with a circumstance similar to the Collins's."

"They are still people, my dear," Mr. Kelly gently pleaded.

"And so am I," insisted Kate. "If I wanted a shallow marriage, a title, and a fortune and cared not for the character of the man I married nor for the nature of our regard for each other, then I would welcome my debut into High Society. But I care nothing for those things!"

As her father began to turn away, she clasped his hands between her own. "I do require a comfortable fortune as I have not been used to poverty and would have no skills to improve our situation, but I do not wish to sacrifice my happiness on the altar of duty!"

"I do not ask that of you," her father replied forcefully. "I ask only that you go to Town for a Season - one Season - and give the gentlemen a chance."

"It is a Marriage Mart, Papa," Kate complained. "The Gentlemen go to find an heiress to save their fortunes or to find a wife to provide the heir. Or, more likely, both. The lifestyle is abhorrent. Not one of the couples we know who is happy in marriage met their spouse in Town, and I cannot name a couple who engaged themselves as the result of a Season in Town who are content with their lot."

"What does Mrs. Collins have to do with any of this?” he asked. “She never had a Season in Town. Perhaps, if she had, her story would be much different."

Kate sat in stony silence as she considered her reply. In the end, she opted for blatant truth.

"Your eyes light up when you watch her."

"What?" Mr. Kelly asked in disbelief.

"’Tis true, Papa," she said, a little sigh escaping. "You enjoyed watching her at dinner, dutifully attempting to answer every question and attend to every utterance that came her way. You were the only one of us to earn her particular smile when you asked if she would not prefer a room in Bedlam to a seat at the table at Pemberley, and, after dinner, when you and Mr. Darcy entered during her recital at the pianoforte, her fingers stumbled a bit, and you shared a peculiar look."

"My dear, you are imagining things."

"I want you to be happy, Papa. You deserve to be happy."

"I am completely and utterly happy," he assured her, moving the coverlets and pillows to help her get situated once more. Leaning down to kiss her forehead, he continued, "Besides, I am much too distracted by the absurdities of my daughter to have time or patience for any other endeavor."

"But you mean to marry me off as soon as possible, and then you will be alone."

"Do not borrow trouble for tomorrow, Kitten," he advised, citing a familiar verse, "for tomorrow will have troubles of its own."

"I shall have much sweeter dreams now, Papa, I thank you," she called to his departing figure, but she smiled to hear his responsive chuckle.

~~oo~~

She was a clever girl, that daughter of his. When she spoke of Mrs. Collins' 'particular smile,' his mind had instantly drawn up the image.

Mr. Kelly lay awake for a time in his bed, recalling those painful and lonely days of illness, the expectation of an even worse convalescence in the country, and the very real warmth and gratitude he had felt for the little girl who spent her free moments seeing to his entertainment and comfort. In truth, he had been the one to create many of the games or, at least, to suggest them, but she had been a willing companion, eager and bright with optimism.

Upon his return home and the subsequent years spent at university, he had often recalled the girl, his little Mouse, and wondered what had become of her. It was an easy thing to determine her age, for he knew well the year of his illness and convalescence, but he had always supposed her to be successfully ticking off the usual stages of progress laid out for young ladies.

His aunt and uncle had not stayed long in Meryton, so he had really no excuse to venture there again, and young men of no relation certainly could not write to little girls growing into young ladies. His hands had been tied, and he had eventually married unwisely, his head being turned by the Belle of the Season. How was he to know her calculations?

His brother, the eldest Kelly son, already having inherited the title, had married his childhood sweetheart, but year upon year passed with no child being born, and his wife Hetta had died unexpectedly. Pears was more than thirteen years his junior but was next in line to inherit when Clarice Cannon lay siege to his attentions. He had successfully spurned many fashionable young ladies and their scheming mothers, but Clarice had proven to be most effective in her use of feminine wiles.

Their daughter, Kate Kelly, was born less than two years after their marriage, but his brother, the despondent Lord Spalding, surprised everyone by finding love yet again. His second marriage was fruitful, presenting the estate with not one, but two healthy sons.

Clarice had been distraught, blaming an unjust Fate and whoever else happened to walk by. In the end, she sought solace in an elderly duke who had an appreciation for fair damsels in distress, and Pears was left with a precocious six-year-old. How ironic that yet another six-year-old girl would be in place to help him through great difficulty! It was not that he missed his wife - quite the reverse! It had not taken long in the marriage to discover his error, but he was committed to the union. It was the embarrassment of the circumstances, her complete disdain for the feelings of any other, and the expectation that he would make everything right while she lived in peace.

His fists clenched involuntarily at the recollection of her farewell. Could another such selfish creature exist? Mr. Kelly shut the door on those memories, angry for having entertained them so long, and resolutely blew out the candle at his bedside.

Chapter 3

""Do not feel the need to present yourself here every morning on my account," Charlotte assured her friend and hostess, Elizabeth Darcy, the following morning.

"What else have I to do, pray?" Lizzy returned. "Sleep eludes me. I am allowed up and down the stairs only so many times in a day, any venture out of doors is immediately reported to my husband, and I have no patience for the gentler diversions of our sex. All I can do is eat, and even that costs me considerable discomfort."

"Do you…," began Charlotte, lowering her voice and glancing discreetly around the empty room, "Do you expect another set of twins?"

Elizabeth's eyes showed signs of fatigue, but they were still thought to be incredibly fine.

"With still a month to go and already looming large, I had better have more than one in there, else I shall have to practice the strictest of dietary economies as well as to walk the breadth of the Pemberley grounds back and forth for a year without rest in order to return to any state of fitness."

A rare giggle escaped Charlotte as she envisioned the lady of Pemberley parading past the window, regardless of weather, with her entourage of well-meaning and loyal staff.

"But it is only your waistline that is… swollen," Charlotte attempted to argue in defense. "The rest of you is skin and bone!"

"It is an evil trick," Lizzy whispered conspiratorially. "The babes suck our very lives from us mothers, make a great bother to rid themselves of our mortal coil, and then leave us deflated and hideous. The excess redistributes itself all around our bodies until the only thing decent to wear is the bedsheet," she elaborated, while both ladies were nearly incapacitated with mirth. "We are left with a curtain tie for a belt."

On the heels of that conversation, Mr. Kelly entered the breakfast parlor, followed closely by Mr. Darcy. Both were enchanted to find the ladies in such a rare state of unregulated merriment and, at first, determined to find out the cause. It took but one phrase, 'the trials of motherhood' accompanied by a gesture - Mrs. Darcy's hand to her expanding midsection - for the men to have done and accept that they might never achieve success in understanding the true nature of women.

The men comforted themselves at the sideboard, loading their plates with steaks, hams, and breads. A variety of fruits served as an edible decoration at the center of the table, and a jar of Charlotte's fig preserves sat proudly beside the dish of butter.

"You must try some, Kelly," Darcy told his friend, pointing to the preserves. "Her fig is my favorite of all her jams and jellies. She makes it herself. Good morning, ladies." Without pausing for a response or to ensure his guest had followed his advice, Darcy turned to his wife and left the others to fend for themselves for a time.

"Did you not sleep well?" Charlotte asked Mr. Kelly. She had long finished her toast and egg and was at leisure to offer a bit of conversation.

"Nothing a cup or two of tea cannot remedy," Mr. Kelly replied optimistically. Peering into her cup, he grimaced. "What atrocity is that?"

"Coffee," Charlotte replied in amusement. "Joseph, that is, Mr. Albright, has convinced me of the superior efficacy of coffee over tea in the morning. I resolutely hold to our tea traditions in the afternoon, but I do find myself waking in the morning, fixated upon the idea of a piping hot cup of coffee."

"Mr. Albright? He prefers coffee over tea?”

Circumspectly choosing the lesser evil for explanation, Charlotte answered. "Mr. Albright is the clergyman who took the position after my husband's demise. He is an American."

"With you remaining there," he said. "Are none of your relatives in a situation to offer you refuge?"

Again, choosing to ignore the insinuations of judgment, Charlotte replied. "Mr. Albright is young, and I was in a position to be able to be of particular use to him. I run the house the same way I did before my husband died, and I visit in the parish. He employs a housekeeper, maid, and cook, and I enjoy being useful by serving as the lady of the house."

She took a deep breath. "The only one of my siblings whom I can tolerate for any length of time is Maria, and should I take up residence at her home, I should soon find myself in the positions of nanny, governess, tutor, housekeeper, and, very likely, cook. So," she said with a significant look, "I choose to stay where life is less complicated."

Mr. Kelly, as a father and former friend, remained troubled. "But you, a young widow, living in the same house a young gentleman…"

"Young?" repeated Charlotte in amusement. "Mr. Kelly," she continued, her gray eyes filling with mirth easily given their recent episode with Mrs. Darcy, "I have passed four decades. Perhaps it would be a stretch to say I could be his mother, but I would certainly never consider being his wife!" she whispered defiantly. "Nor he my husband. A ridiculous notion based on the fact that you know none of the particulars."

"You changed your tea habit in favor of his coffee," Mr. Kelly pursued, leaning forward slightly.

"Did you find me to be close-minded as a child or is it a character trait I should have attained in adulthood?" she retaliated, also leaning forward.

They stared each other down for a moment before Darcy and Elizabeth uttered sounds indicative of having caught the pair at shenanigans. Mr. Kelly and Mrs. Collins both sat rigidly upright and returned to the civilized activities of breakfast.

~~oo~~

The following morning, Charlotte made a decided effort to avoid the inhabitants of the house. She broke her fast in her room, deeming an egg and toast with coffee little trouble for the redoubtable Molly.

Though a chilly, autumnal wind blew and the clouds gathered, she insisted upon her usual mid-morning walk, graciously accepting the fur-lined cloak procured by Molly for her use during the visit to Pemberley. A fur muffler was also offered, but all the efforts of poor Molly were required to convince Mrs. Collins to accept it for such a paltry expedition. Not wishing to acquire a walking partner any more than to earn the remonstrances of well-meaning friends, Charlotte dressed herself fully for the out-of-doors and asked Molly to clear her way to the door.

The mission was successful in part, as Charlotte was able to slip from the house without detection by the butler, the housekeeper, or any Darcy, but one member of the household happened to glance from the window just as she passed by. The observer withdrew a timepiece and marked the time.

She made good her escape and savored the silence and lack of expectation to the full, for she was used to much longer periods of solitude at the parsonage in Hunsford than what she was afforded in the lively house of Pemberley.

The cold wind was sharp, but the cloak kept her incredibly warm. Charlotte allowed her mind to wander into the imaginary realm of life in which she might acquire such a cloak; however, she was soon happily diverted by the appearance of a doe with her fawn. The spots were beginning to fade, and she was struck by the thought of nature’s expectations in the art of independence.

God made creatures to mature at such a faster rate than humans, yet man was assigned the task of caring for nature, she thought. Man had been created in the image of God. In short, one could assume that attaining such a sacred role required many more years than just the acquisition of the ability to survive. It was a humbling realization and one worth a few more minutes of reflection.

Charlotte's mind wandered pleasantly as did her steps until a second drop of rain fell cold upon her cheek. Though she had, indeed, wandered hither thither around the path, she had kept to her general plan - the direction that led to the gazebo overlooking the pond. Her mind instantly cleared of its musings and set a course to the gazebo, attaining the shelter just in time for the clouds to relieve themselves of their burden. The rain was not rendered vicious by assaulting winds or drastic changes in temperature, so Charlotte, contented to wait it out, snuggled deeper into her borrowed cloak and muff.

~~oo~~

Mr. Kelly, her accidental observer, grew restless. He noted the gathering clouds, the pattering of the raindrops, and the absence of Charlotte's return as he paced by the windows of the library. At long last, he began to question the staff but found nothing of use in their reports.

Mr. and Mrs. Darcy, along with his daughter, knew only of her absence but nothing of her direction, so he gathered a blanket and a coachman's driving coat and set his steps to follow the direction she had been facing when he had seen her last.

Kate had previously mentioned Mrs. Collins's enjoyment of the pond, so Mr. Kelly maintained the course to the favored spot. A wave of relief, accompanied quickly by a deal of frustration, washed over him when he made out a lady's form standing resolutely in the middle of a gazebo placed at a scenic location near the pond. Taking a deep, calming breath, he moved forward.

Quickly overtaking the structure, he realized the lady was by no means under duress or in any danger, but, in fact, seemed to be enjoying a time of quiet meditation. Her eyes were closed, and she stood perfectly still, a small smile of contentment resting on her relaxed features. Mr. Kelly was immediately unnerved and found himself reluctant to break her reverie. Still, she must be chilled to the bone by now, he thought.

He cleared his throat.

Charlotte took a deep breath and opened her eyes. It took a moment to focus, but she was by no means disappointed, nor was she elated, to find a companion within the protective sphere of the gazebo.

"Mr. Kelly," she greeted kindly, "have you also been caught by the storm?"

"It seems an odd thing to be taken unaware by a leaden sky, does it not?" he prevaricated gruffly, removing his hat to shake the water from the brim. Charlotte now sensed that he was displeased with her rather than with the storm, and her confusion mounted as she noted the color rising in the gentleman's lean cheeks.

"Will you not come further into the shelter?" Charlotte asked hesitantly. Smiling a little, she added, "I believe that propriety would understand a gentleman's need for sanctuary under these circumstances, albeit a sanctuary already inhabited by a widow." Her words did much to restore his equilibrium and good humor, and he chuckled at their predicament.

"I do not suppose you should be in need of a dry blanket or greatcoat?" he inquired, withdrawing the articles stealthily from beneath his arm. His grin deepened as Charlotte wondrously reached out, her jumbled thoughts clearly writ in the furrows of her brow. Having been stowed so near to his body and beneath his own coat, the items emanated his heat, causing Charlotte to hastily withdraw her hand and take an involuntary step back.

Finding the need to fill the void of silence, Charlotte blurted out whichever thought first found her tongue. "Were you meeting someone?"

Horrified by her own impertinence, her eyes rounded as a flush crept up her neck. "I beg your pardon. It is none of my business. I had not meant to ask that, but rather, perhaps you are looking for someone? Kate? Miss Kelly? Has she been caught by the storm?"

Mr. Kelly smiled gently, and Charlotte stilled.

"You came for me."

Mr. Kelly nodded, his twinkling eyes willing Charlotte's to share his enjoyment, but she was determined to bear only guilt.

"It seems that I was the only one to witness your escape from the house and, possibly, the only one to know of your intention to walk today in spite of the obvious deterrents."

"Molly, the maid who has been assigned to me, knew of my plans."

"And," Mr. Kelly supplied, "if you had mentioned it to the others, you would have had the great pleasure of company on your solitary excursion."

She looked away. Her eyes focused now beyond the gazebo and led her steps to its edge.

"I believe the rain is abating," she said hopefully, extending her hand for a collection of droplets. "This may be our best chance of escape."

''I thought this was the escape," teased Mr. Kelly. The expression he wore - softly smiling lips beneath earnest, studying eyes - stirred Charlotte's memory. Her head tilted, puzzling over it.

He smiled. "You always understood me so well, even when I was a boy. I was a cruel taskmaster to the only child who showed me any pity."

Charlotte knew he was quizzing her. "Though my memory of the time is imperfect, I can assure you there was as much pity as there was cruelty, namely none."

"I agree. Let us replace 'cruel taskmaster' with 'bully'."

"You may have used… coercion," supplied Charlotte with satisfaction, "but you also wielded kindness and encouragement. I have never again felt that I accomplished so much as I did in that sitting room."

"I have no doubt you have far exceeded our triumphs in the interim three decades,” he answered.

"Of course," Charlotte agreed, attempting to adopt his style of lightness. It would never do to become a pitiable creature or an object of scorn. "If it is not too late to rescind my refusal, if refuse I did, I believe it would be well for me to wear that greatcoat over this cloak. It is borrowed, you see, and I would not like to ruin it."

~~oo~~

The return to the house brought with it a comfortable silence, broken only to warn of a puddle or sharp wind. Upon crossing the threshold, Charlotte was immediately swept away to be fussed over and ministered to by her friends and maids until all were assured of her health and well-being.

"Your forbearance has ever been an inspiration to me," Lizzy acknowledged after the last of concerned household were gently but firmly sent away, "but, I must say, I have quite enjoyed my reprieve from their attentions upon myself." Her dark eyes sparkled mischievously.

Charlotte lowered herself to the armchair across from Lizzy's, but she sat formally erect, a troubled look settling upon her features.

Lizzy knew the task of leaning forward to grasp her friend's hand to be beyond her capabilities, and she sighed, not for the first time that day. Her mind only fleetingly touched upon the thought before pressing on to more immediate concerns.

"Do you feel unwell, Charlotte?" she asked. "Shall I send for the doctor after all? He is a very capable gentleman and not at all prosy or awkward. We need not tell the others."

Charlotte smiled briefly. "My pallor often disturbs those who do not know me well, but perhaps you have forgotten it. I am in the best of health, I assure you."

"In truth," Lizzy said leadingly, "I had thought I detected a certain kind of glow beneath your pallor when I found you in the foyer with Mr. Kelly."

"Lizzy," Charlotte began in earnest, for once appearing the same Charlotte who had been close to Elizabeth before their marriages, "our meeting was not clandestine. I could not have known Mr. Kelly was in the library by the window when I passed by, and he could not have known that I had found shelter in the gazebo. He meant only to help."

"Dear Charlotte! No one who knows either of you could suppose anything improper."

"But I believe Mr. Kelly has already suffered an embarrassment of some kind, likely something to do with his wife. I could not bear to injure him further," said Charlotte.

Lizzy took a moment to contemplate her response. She knew Charlotte to be a wise, thoughtful sort of person – one whose opinion was worth consideration – and she did not want to answer hastily and mislead her friend.

"For now," she said seriously, "our only other guest is Kate. If she attempts to tease you, which I doubt very much she would, but if she does, deal with her honestly, as is your way. Should Molly bring up the incident, reiterate what she already knows - that you intended to walk alone, were caught in a storm, and found shelter until help arrived. Mention your good luck that Mr. Kelly happened to see your direction. If she hears any talk in the servants' hall, you may be sure of her quick defense."

Lizzy pursed her lips, deepening her conjecture. "It is likely that the storm will make the roads unfriendly and temporarily delay our other guests, which may give any talk the opportunity to die off. There is always the possibility that one of the other guests may afford more interesting gossip than your stormy encounter."

"Very good," said Charlotte, visibly relaxing her posture.

Happy to have provided sound direction with good result, Lizzy’s eyes again began to twinkle.

"Besides," she began, making an effort to heave herself to her feet, "how could anyone who had seen you and Mr. Kelly together before this afternoon ever imagine a romance?"

~~oo~~

Much to Molly's dismay, Charlotte refused to be put to bed but was rather determined to be dressed in good time for dinner. Lizzy's parting comment had put into her mind a new resolve - to prove that she and Mr. Kelly were the merest of acquaintances. Her unsettling encounters with him were now proving to be provident, for it was true; no one who had seen them together would ever imagine any kind of romance between them. It was absurd in the extreme. Charlotte knew herself to be plain and devoid of any attractive assets that may tempt a man to look beyond her physical appearance. She did not flirt, she was not wealthy, and she had just enough intelligence to strike fear into the breast of a sensible man.

"Absurd," she mumbled to herself but recovered quickly. "No, no, Molly! You have done exceptionally well! In fact, I have received compliments on your way of doing my hair. My unfortunate comment was on something else altogether."

Having placated the tearful maid, Charlotte turned her mind in a more helpful direction by recalling her strengths. She had once been told that she had poise and dignity, and the description had served as a life raft on innumerable occasions. She also had her faith in a Creator God and Father who loved her dearly just as she was. She had friends, a precious few, like Lizzy, who deemed their friendship worth the effort of overcoming great odds. Reflections such as these had bolstered Charlotte through many trying times, and she was able to face dinner with her usual calm, pleasant manner.

Chapter 4

How did I come to be sitting here? Charlotte wondered for the -th time. She could only spare a moment of speculation, but she allowed her mind to wander over the course of the past few days.

She had been an inmate of Pemberley for just over a week now, yet it seemed much longer for all that had transpired. She did not need to look around the room to know just where any particular person might be placed. Mr. Preston would certainly be at the hearth, staring studiously into the fire while the chess moves were being announced. Mr. Astley would be attending to his fair lady, Mrs. Astley, while secretly scribbling the moves into a small booklet he kept hidden in his breast pocket. Lord Darincourt alternated positions between the players and the sideboard, and Mr. Kelly sat to the side of the table, solemnly watching the clock and calling out the movements. In the first hour of play, Mr. Darcy preferred the place nearest his wife, though he did make his rounds to ensure the comfort of their guests. Once Mrs. Darcy retired for the evening, he sometimes attempted to study the game for his own improvement but was more likely to sit off to the side, keeping his own counsel.

Mr. Kelly's call jerked Charlotte's mind back into focus. Her eyes skipped speculatively across the board. The room stilled and quieted when she arched a brow.

"Bishop to h-6," Mr. Kelly called within moments. The tenor of his voice was as monotonous as ever, but his glance was sharp. Charlotte felt that he did not approve her hasty movement, but she knew he could not fail to see it after a minute or two of consideration.

Lord Salisbury glared at the board, only sparing a moment to gleam speculatively across the table at his adversary. His reputation was that of a rake, being too rich and too handsome to bother himself with a marriage shackle. He preferred easy, temporary romances. Any appreciative glance or chuckle was felt immediately by any female in the room, and he made it his mission to captivate as many as possible, even going so far in his younger days as to take wagers upon winning the wallflowers and their aspiring mothers. Charlotte countered his look with a bored sigh, drearily inquiring the time of Mr. Kelly, but she was not precisely bored. What she felt was closer to tedium.

"I must see how your game has progressed since last we played," Mr. Kelly had said several nights prior as he had uncovered the chessboard that lay hidden beneath a cloth on a table in the parlor.

Charlotte had been taken aback. "Why," she began in surprised accents, "I have only attempted to play, but my adversaries always lacked the interest to pursue the game to its end."

"As a matter of fact," Mr. Kelly had smirked, "you were beating the boys."

"As a matter of fact, I am of the opinion that many women are capable of such feats," Charlotte began shrewdly, "if they would only risk the outcome."

"By 'outcome,' you imply not the joy of success but rather the ultimate rejection of the greater intelligence being found in the weaker sex."

"Those in power rarely engage in an enterprise likely to show their weaknesses."

"I begin to form an opinion of your late husband," Mr. Kelly had begun, partly in jest, but not without a sense of foreboding.

Charlotte twinkled back gaily. "Oh, I doubt that very much, sir. Not even the most proficient of authors could represent poor Mr. Collins."

Charlotte recalled how Mr. Kelly's brows had furrowed at her sally, though he had attempted to focus his glower at the game board. She suffered a small sigh, leading most of the room to assume she had bungled the game with Lord Salisbury, but the gentleman himself was not so comforted. One could see on his face that a plan with no real hope formed itself in his mind, wanting to be sure of the lady's aptitude. Had she really just beaten him in twenty moves? He chuckled and made his next move.

Each call of Mr. Kelly's brought one more guest to the table, all desirous of witnessing the spectacle. Lord Salisbury surrendered before the thirtieth move, bowing graciously over Charlotte's hand.

"Brilliant," he admitted, instinctively desiring to draw a maidenly blush from the widow, thus restoring his equilibrium, but she paid him little heed.

"I must apologize, my lord," she said absently, "I am unused to these late hours." She turned away from Lord Salisbury as she spoke, hoping to find an ally. Mr. Darcy appeared at her elbow to bolster her through the process of receiving congratulations, speculative questions, and pronouncements concerning the game. Fortunately for Charlotte, the gentlemen's questions were more rhetorical than not as they assumed her repeated victories had been a mere run of luck - a much more comfortable perspective for them than the idea of her masterful stratagem.

As they approached, Charlotte did not hear their words so much as she heard Mrs. Darcy's descriptions of them on the eve before they arrived.

Lord Darincourt, naturally given precedence due to his rank, was received first. Lizzy had described him as a clever enough gentleman, married to his lady who preferred to reside in London, long-time family friend to the Darcy family, and somewhat frequent visitor to Pemberley as his travels often led him near enough the estate to render a few nights' repose there agreeable. Lord Darincourt was a man with an appreciation for his own voice and would have lapsed into tales of his own experiences at the chess table had not Mr. Darcy gently curbed his dialogue to its premature end.

Mr. Preston, Lizzy had conveyed, had every appearance of a man of sorrows and had been a widower for five years. His late wife reportedly took much pleasure from the Season, doting enthusiastically over the new debutantes and casting what priceless advice she was able into the ears of their doting mamas, so, even now, Mr. Preston ventured to Town for the early Season, in honor of her memory. Here, Lizzy had paused to smile indulgently, her eyes alight with their mischievous glow. Though Mr. Preston's air was conciliatory and affable, he was the most likely to cause disruption to the household with his meek requests and observations that were tinged with the expectation of immediate correction.

Mr. and Mrs. Astley were the last to wait upon Charlotte, the lady being in no hurry to quit her comfortable repose. Charlotte suspected that the damsel had, in fact, been napping, for her feathers were askew. Lizzy had been reluctant to summarize her dealings with this couple, leading Charlotte to infer that her experiences with them had not been consistent.

Mr. Astley and Mr. Darcy had forged a friendship at Cambridge, both being of a studious yet sporting nature. As it happened, the Astleys had a son, their second, who was of an age with the eldest Darcy, John Alexander. Their daughter, Catherine, was also of an age to the Darcy's Emma Jane, and so, with much in common, annual visits had been deemed essential to the happiness of all. Mr. William Astley, the eldest son, had been delivered to Cambridge and Mr. George Astley to Westminster, where Mr. John Alexander Darcy had been impatiently awaiting. Mr. and Mrs. Astley, along with Miss Catherine Astley, had descended upon Pemberley as a matter of course, for their estates lay even further north nearer to Leeds.

"You see," Mrs. Darcy had attempted to explain to Mrs. Collins, "I have been in a state of expectation or was recently delivered at every visit, and she has borne only the three children. It is an uncomfortable sensation."

"But, Lizzy," Charlotte had argued sensibly, "I have borne no children, yet, I hope, I do not fill you with misgiving."

"No!" Lizzy had assured her friend immediately, then, feeling further explanation was now imperative, Mrs. Darcy continued, "but then, you do not attempt to make me regret my good fortune."

Charlotte focused now on the present as Mrs. Astley stood before her, congratulating her on a victory she did not attempt to understand. It was unlikely a mother of three and wife to a living husband would show her hackles to a childless widow, so Charlotte again closed her mind and glanced over her shoulder to Mr. Kelly. Lord Darincourt had found a more likely recipient of his loquacious reviews, much to Mr. Kelly's good-natured dismay, and Charlotte could not help but smile at their predicaments. It had all begun with them, and now they were leagues apart. It was just as well, she thought, as she managed to squelch the sigh that threatened to escape her lips.

At long last, Charlotte made good her escape, her mind suddenly alert with plans for solitude.

Those plans were seemingly foiled the following morning, only a few hours later, when her maid entered her bedchambers.

"Morgan made it a point to tell me that your presence would be expected at the breakfast board this morning, should you be awake," Molly began as she pushed back the curtains to Charlotte's bed, "though I doubt Mrs. Darcy worded it in such an imperious manner." Molly sniffed in scorn at the older maid's tactics. "Mrs. Darcy was never so full of herself as to expect her guests to do anything they did not like," Molly explained, "least of all her particular friends," the maid added with pride.

"Nevertheless," Charlotte replied with a false show of alacrity, "if Mrs. Darcy should take pleasure in my company, I am pleased to forego breaking my fast in bed. In fact," Mrs. Collins began conspiratorially, "it will give you time to make the preparations."

The maid was given a series of orders, some of which made her eyes widen in shock and others which brightened her eyes with inspiration. She would never let Mrs. Collins down.

Mrs. Collins, meanwhile, made her way to the breakfast parlor.

"Charlotte!" Lizzy greeted from the landing. She released Morgan's arm to reach for her friend's, her other hand supporting her girth. Her breath was a little quick and her color a bit heightened, so Charlotte made haste to offer her support.

"Lizzy!" she greeted in return, willing her countenance to retain its serenity. In truth, it was alarming to see such a resilient and active friend stricken breathless from descending a flight of stairs. "You rested well, I hope?"

Mrs. Darcy laughed, taking Charlotte's extended arm. "Not at this stage, dear friend!" Elizabeth made an effort to calm her breathing. "I heard you were again victorious. What is it like to beat the men at their own game?"

Charlotte forced a chuckle, and squeezing Lizzy's arm, turned mirthful eyes to her friend.

"Initially, I was afraid of making my name notorious among the best circles," she whispered conspiratorially, looking briefly around as if expecting a throng of malcontents to emerge from the shadows, "but, I have since had the happy thought that, in lieu of having to confess to their own defeat, they are not likely to mention me at all." She smiled at Lizzy's rolling eyes. "My name shall remain quite safely within the bounds of obscurity."

"Shameful," Lizzy scoffed in defense of her friend, "but, perhaps, it is just as well, as you say," she admitted before repeating harshly, "shameful, nonetheless."

The breakfast parlor was already inhabited by a few of the men who shared a great appreciation for the Pemberley steaks, and, as the ladies took their places, the natural flow of the meal took its course. Guests came and went at their leisure, and none were so foolhardy as to mention the games of the prior evenings.

The only discussion worth noting happened to be a very spirited debate pertaining to the most ideal date for departure. It was Mr. Astley's view that a storm was rapidly approaching which would delay their departure for at least another day, but Lord Darincourt bridled furiously, stating that the rain would be a paltry affair which would in no way discourage his objective for an early departure the following morning.

Mr. Darcy, being a man from the north as was Mr. Astley, at length agreed with his contemporary's prediction, offending Darincourt to the core. His lordship hastened from the room as if to prepare for an immediate evacuation, but the first drops of rain were felt before he could make good his exodus.

~~oo~~

"All is ready, Mrs. Collins," Molly greeted upon the widow's entrance into her bedchamber. "Are you sure?"

"Do you enjoy silence, Molly? Do you ever have a moment to yourself?" countered the widow as the maid busied herself with the changes to Charlotte's wardrobe and hair.

Molly had to chuckle at the idea. "With six sisters and three brothers, mum, I have to say that a slice of peace is more often suspicious than it is agreeable, but I do see your meaning."

Molly made quick work of the adjustments and was soon hastening Mrs. Collins on her way down the servants' stairs and through their entrance at the back of the house. After seeing the lady out, the maid hurried to further her preparations for the lady's return, at which point she was likely to be soaked and chilled. Molly shook her head at the foolhardiness but grunted with appreciation at the lady's tenacity.

Mrs. Collins was much more agreeably engaged in crossing the lawn en route to her favored path. The borrowed driving coat swallowed her frame whole and made her appear to be more a dark figure of ghoulish origin than a lady partaking of exercise, but it did a tolerably good job of keeping her dry and her skirts protected from the wet grass. Her thick hair hung down her back in a plait, the abundance of which aided the fit of the hat she wore, and her boots had been borrowed from the Darcy twins who were fortunately close enough to her size to render the shoes amenable. She was prepared to cast aside the man's hat and coat in a designated spot should her attempt at entry back into the house be threatened by discovery, but the boots would have to be exchanged at the door where, with any luck, the redoubtable Molly would be waiting with her own footwear.

Good Molly! thought the widow, formulating a fairly accurate idea of what lengths the maid had gone to and would still be required to do to ensure a few moments of respite for her charge. Charlotte was combing through ideas of ways to show her gratitude when the clouds unleashed the full force of their burden. The winds, not to be outdone, blew furiously, seemingly in all directions, tossing the lady about this way and that. She laughed at them, these old playfellows of hers, and dared them to carry her away, even as she dashed in the direction of her favorite shelter.

Upon reaching the gazebo, Charlotte jubilantly threw off the sodden hat and gazed at her surroundings. It was as if the gazebo existed within a cloud, for she could make not heads nor tails of her surroundings save for the hallowed enclosing of her sanctuary. She shivered, though she felt no cold as yet, being warmed by her sprint. Suddenly, a feeling of sorrow overwhelmed her, and she sank to her knees, wilting as much as her corseting would allow. Sometime later, this was her posture when she was, once more, discovered.

"Ah," the smooth, masculine observed, "a fitting posture for one communing with the gods." Charlotte's eyes jerked open, but her body was too chilled to react.

"Tell me, do you offer a firstborn in exchange for wisdom?" He asked.

Charlotte gritted her teeth as she forced her body to respond to her demands. Though maintaining the kneeling position, for to attempt to rise without aid would be to create a spectacle of herself, she was able to achieve a creditable erect posture, and her voice dripped with disdain.

"As you know, I have no children and have no expectation of ever having them." Her jaw clenched and relaxed. "I have, however, asked God for many things, but He granted some abilities without my showing any interest whatsoever."

"Mr. Kelly would have us believe that you were taught the game as a child and have since enjoyed little to no opportunity of enhancing your skill," Lord Salisbury said, "yet you play as one who had been taught by the masters."

"If you know a master who is willing to waste his time on a mere female, do send him my way, for I would enjoy the challenge," she said spitefully.

Lord Salisbury was far from feeling the insult and rather seemed to be pleased. He squatted beside her, took her hand, and pressed a snuff box into it.

"Your wagers, though creative, fall just short of offensive," he said in way of an explanation. "If you should ever find yourself wanting, sell it." And with such sage counsel, he rose from his haunches and disappeared into the cloud surrounding the gazebo.

Charlotte had little time to consider the interaction before welcoming still another intruder.

~~oo~~

"Mrs. Collins!" exclaimed Mr. Kelly, the tenor of his voice infused with concern, "are you unwell?" He made quick work of the distance between them, instantly reaching for her hands to help her to rise.

She took one hand without compunction, but her eyes strayed wonderingly to an object in her other hand which she held opened and extended between them. Mr. Kelly could not focus on the offering until Mrs. Collins had attained her full stature, but upon setting her steadily upon her feet, his eyes drifted again to her treasure. It was a delicate, golden snuff box, boasting a collection of musical instruments and foliage engraved on the top, and it was small enough to hide easily within the lady's hand.

"Take it," assured Mrs. Collins, her teeth just beginning to chatter. "You may return it or not, but I have no use for it and must not be seen with it."

Mr. Kelly released her hand, claiming the object with both of his own, willing his eyes to shift their focus.

"But this is Salisbury's," he muttered.

"He must have seen me," Mrs. Collins reasoned. "He appeared just as you have, made a few conjectures, and pressed this into my hand. It was strange, but there was nothing inappropriate, I assure you."

Mr. Kelly studied the snuff box and the lady, in succession, until he finally decided to bury the offering in his own coat pocket and focus his attention on the lady.

"You have not enjoyed your success," he observed in a flat voice.

"I would have enjoyed my defeat even less," she countered, studying his face.

"And what do you enjoy?" Mr. Kelly asked.

Mrs. Collins’s eyes drifted to the point just beyond Mr. Kelly's shoulder as she pondered the question. The smallest smirk of a smile lit her countenance as her eyes sought her Inquisitor's.

"Solitude," she replied, her voice quivering with mirth, "good humor," she added thoughtfully, "and understanding," she finished with a quiet decidedness.

Mr. Kelly, at length, nodded, after sifting through a rush of memories through these filters. Wordlessly, he offered his arm, and the pair silently began their return to the house.

He had every intention of speaking to Charlotte's maid in order to assure himself that the proper actions would be taken to rewarm her thoroughly chilled body, but upon crossing the threshold, such a chaos, including calls of “It’s time,” and, “The doctor and midwife are on their way,” enveloped them that he was unable to recall at a later time how exactly Charlotte had disappeared from his side.

Chapter 5

"Mistress," the maid beckoned from the doorway, her breathing not quite even since she had raced down the stairs to the kitchens. "A gentleman caller is here," she continued in wondrous tones, "for you." She giggled giddily, adding, "Knowing your likely state, I begged him to wait in the best parlor while I came to fetch you."

Her mirth quickly dissipated though when, a moment later, she spun on her heel to leave, but, in the place of the open doorway, she found, instead, his chest.

The maid recovered with surprising poise, even going so far as to straighten her cap, before bobbing her curtsy and fleeing forthwith.

"Thank you, Mary," Mrs. Collins said with alacrity before turning her gaze to her visitor. "I believe you must be early," she added to him, in the way of an apology for her appearance and lack of welcome.

"So I am," the gentleman replied readily, "but the day was so fine, and the invitation so eagerly received, that I hoped an earlier appointment might be a welcome intrusion."

The lady dropped her eyes to the task at hand but glanced surreptitiously at her assistant whose attempt to maintain a neutral expression was leaving her face rather contorted.

"Martha," the lady began, "you will not mind finishing these biscuits? They are a particular favorite of Mrs. Darcy."

"I believe I can manage, Mrs. C.," Martha replied with as much dignity as she could muster.

"Mary and Martha," Mr. Kelly noted to himself aloud. "How Biblical."

"With the one doing all the work, and the other frittering about making herself ridiculous," the staid Martha retorted.

Mrs. Collins rolled her lips, casting her visitor a knowing look. Casting off her apron, she thanked the cook and led her guest towards the stairs.

"I believe I must have come at an inconvenient time," he said meekly.

"Nonsense," was the amused reply.

The gentleman was still unsure until, pausing at the banister to let the lady attain the narrow stairs first, he happened to catch that special smile she seemed to reserve only for him.

"Though, now you are here," the lady expanded as she mounted the steps, "you shall be put to work." She paused with a foot on the stair above and peered over her shoulder. "I hope you are prepared to walk?" But, without waiting for an answer, she resumed her climb to the floor above. “I shall meet you downstairs directly."

"I brought you a horse. She’s a bit of a nag, but she always had a way with the local tenants and farmers and such," he admitted thoughtfully, "and I hoped she would be useful to you." His eyes burned into hers. "I was not at all convinced that you were ready for such an endeavor as this after all you did for the Darcys."

Charlotte squared her shoulders, smiling bravely. "It was an honor to be of some help to Mrs. Darcy and the midwife," she said simply. "Kate may use her beauty to win approval, but her intentions are focused on others. I wish you could have seen the assistance she provided, as well."

The words were spoken in hushed tones but were nonetheless passionate, as if delivered from one beloved parent to another. It took them both by surprise, and they stepped away from each other involuntarily. The lady recovered quickly, quipping to her companion that it was time to be off.

~~oo~~

The horse, laden with saddlebags full of pantry items wrapped in paper, was hitched to a buggy in the driveway. Charlotte sighed at the sight while striding to the beast's side to reassure the animal of her good intentions.

Mr. Kelly could not hear her spoken words, but he might appreciate Charlotte's actions - the unhitching of the buggy and the offer of the two heaviest baskets to her companion.

"Are you opposed to horse-drawn buggies?" he inquired as he took the baskets. Charlotte clenched her jaw but responded within moments.

"Dear Ginger is as old as I am, I am sure, and is deserving of some consideration."

"Perhaps we should hitch ourselves up instead and allow poor Ginger the seat at the reins," Mr. Kelly responded with aplomb.

Charlotte giggled in spite of herself, rolling her eyes towards her ridiculous assistant. "And would it not make the statement of the century?"

"We should make it no further than McLean's, I am sure," he stated with droll amusement, "so let us not attempt it."

While the idea of being represented in a ridiculous caricature was unflattering, still Charlotte could not but be entertained by the thought.

"Well, Ginger will be content to be our escort," she rallied. “The parson here has gone to visit his ailing mother for a week, and I thought a visit to his parishioners would not be unwelcome. I have made it my habit to visit them whenever I am at Pemberley, and that is at least once a year. Do you not agree that making the rounds is in order?”

He nodded. “I do, indeed, though I would not have thought of it myself. What I do not understand is why you refuse to use the buggy I brought for you.”

“Without the burden of a buggy,” Charlotte explained as they traveled along the way, “smaller paths and trails are available to us. We should never have come across Mr. Hawkins on the road, for instance, where we could enquire after his ailing father and pass along an encouraging gift of berry preserves. Nor would we have found Miss Kettering, a cherished elderly spinster, on such a busy highway. She favors the mint jelly.”

However, proudly carrying a package of ribbons and laces home, Miss Laura Lee’s attempt at pleasantries left Charlotte and Mr. Kelly in little doubt of her real intent. She could hardly wait to pass on the news of Mrs. C. with her Town-beau.

~~oo~~

Upon arriving at the drive leading to a simple farmhouse, Mrs. Collins paused.

"Mrs. Saxon is a dear friend," she began. "Though we do not share the same status in society, I have long forgotten those lines." Her expression was unsure.

"Any friend of yours must be worthy of my respect as well," replied Mr. Kelly.

Mrs. Collins turned on her heel and led the way down the path towards the respectable house of wood and stone. Additions had been made to the original structure as the family grew in prosperity and number. The land beyond was divided into pasture and crop, and the utilization of both was evident.

She knocked on the door. A young girl of maybe eight years answered the door.

"Sara," greeted Mrs. Collins. "Is it a good time to see your mother?"

Sara stepped aside, staring without reserve at the strange man who followed her mother's friend.

"Nettie," the lady called, slowly making her way through the passageway.

"Mrs. C.," came the weak but cheerful response, "come right through to the kitchen. We are comfortably arranged here."

"I have brought a friend with me," Mrs. Collins warned before leading him into sight.

"There is always room in my home for one more weary traveler," came the jolly reply.

Upon turning the corner, Mr. Kelly immediately appreciated the spaciousness of the room. He thought of the hours the lady of the house must spend preparing and preserving food at the expansive table that stood in the middle, and the many happy meals shared around it. The table was simply designed from thick slabs of wood and was sturdy for its responsibilities, but what was most impressive was its size. Mr. Kelly estimated it to be no shorter than twelve feet, but it could have easily been more.

"Mr. Kelly, I should like you to meet my dear friend, Mrs. Saxon. Mrs. Saxon, this is Mr. Kelly, Miss Kelly's father."

The gentleman had to chuckle as he bowed slightly. "It is not often that I am introduced as my daughter's father." He glanced teasingly at Mrs. Collins. "I hoped, perhaps, for some phrasing nearer to your description. 'Mr. Kelly, old and dear friend of ages past'." His following smile was sincere. "But I am very happy to make your acquaintance, Mrs. Saxon."

Mrs. Saxon's quick mind and bright eyes missed nothing. "The pleasure is mine, sir," was her reply. Steps were heard coming from a room beyond, and Mrs. Saxon smiled still more brightly. "Have your seats now, but not just there, if you please, for it is Mother's favored chair because of the abundantly stuffed cushion," she explained in undertones.

She bustled about the room, setting chairs in a cozy arrangement as another daughter, some years older than Sara, carefully led an aging woman to the aforementioned chair. "Mother," she said with slightly more volume, "Mrs. C. has come to call and has brought Mr. Kelly."

"Mrs. Ponsonby," greeted Mrs. Collins, moving to approach the elderly woman, "It is a pleasure to find you looking so well."

The elderly lady lifted her frail fingers to take Mrs. Collins’s hand, squeezing them a bit.

"The mind is willing," she said brusquely, "but the body protests." She focused her wizened countenance towards Mr. Kelly, who found her gaze to be as keen as it was compelling. "You must be sweet Kate's papa."

Unused to hearing that specific epithet attached to his daughter - it was more common to hear descriptions of her beauty - piqued his interest. Mr. Kelly turned to his seat as Charlotte had done.

"I am pleased to hear her described so."

"She spent many an hour reading to me in that crisp, clear voice of hers," Mrs. Ponsonby said, "and she always suffered the children's pawing and prodding with good humor."

As if feeling the need to interject lest the gentleman believe his daughter to have suffered abuse by their hands, Mrs. Saxon explained, "Davey and Jem Junior are just small boys who enjoy their share of attention and tickles," the mother said with a twinkle, "and what young girl could help but to try to emulate such a fine lady as your daughter?"

"My Kate has no brothers or sisters of her own," began Mr. Kelly. "I am surprised she knows what to do with them."

"I imagine she deals with all kinds of temperaments," observed Mrs. Ponsonby, "and there are plenty of grown-up folk who are as intent on getting their own way as children."

"Oh!" breathed the older of the two daughters, "Miss Kelly always knows just what to say to everybody." Her unfocused eyes glistened. "She could talk of lambs to Farmer Jacob just as easily as she could talk of satins and gauze to Mrs. Peabody."

The girl blushed furiously to realize she had spoken her thoughts aloud. "She said to fashion myself after Ma and Mrs. C, and I would be much better than she could ever be," she finished softly.

"Some daughters cannot boast the blessing of an exceptional mother," Mr. Kelly acknowledged.

"You have spoken wisely, Rosie," Mrs. Collins praised gently, "though I cannot speak to the wisdom of following my own example," she added ironically. "Still," she persevered, "I believe there must be something to learn from every experience and person within our sphere, whether it be a lesson on how to present oneself or how not to present oneself."

Mrs. Ponsonby nodded sagely. "Now, my girl," she said, addressing Rosie, "you have tended to me. Run along to your chores and take Sara with you." As the girls reluctantly obeyed, Mrs. Ponsonby continued. "Those boys will be up soon, and they do keep a body busy!"

Mrs. Collins smiled indulgently. "You never lack entertainment here," she acknowledged. "Thank you for a warm welcome, as always, in spite of your full schedule." As she began to stand to her feet, a tiny wail was heard from behind a screen that stood across the room.

"Stay, stay," begged Mrs. Saxon, moving away to the sound. "You have time to spare, since you had a friend to help you."

"You never made the poor gentleman walk all this way, carrying the load for that Ginger," Mrs. Ponsonby spoke rhetorically, for she had no doubt of the truth. Mr. Kelly laughed outright.

"It was his own fault," Mrs. Collins retorted.

Mr. Kelly smirked, turning again to his elderly champion.

"Is acting the part of a nag a just punishment for answering a summons posthaste?"

Mrs. Ponsonby's brows rose as she added this piece of information to her mounting suspicions, but she did not pursue the topic.

"Oh, I doubt Mrs. C. would have enlisted your help if she did not care to have your company along the way," she said kindly. "Also, you may congratulate yourself on saving her multiple trips, for she refuses to drive the buggy Mr. Darcy had repaired for her use." Something like an expression of a motherly scold passed across her features but was just as quickly replaced by her usual affability.

"It was an unnecessary expenditure," Mrs. Collins stated, seemingly not for the first time, but she softened, "yet it was done out of thoughtful consideration."

"We must encourage acts of kindness in the young; unhitching the buggy and leaving it in the drive is not the way to reward his good behavior."

Mr. Kelly, whose attention had been fixed upon a knot in the plank flooring, glanced at Mrs. Collins surreptitiously from beneath his brows. She was not indignant, as he had expected her to be after the gentle rebuke, but she was rather downcast. The corner of his mouth quivered as he fought the urge to smile at the expression he now recalled had frequented little Mouse's face upon being corrected.

"You are right, of course," she said at last. "I shall endeavor to remedy my ungrateful behavior."

Mrs. Ponsonby nodded her approval. "You are like an elder sister to our young clergyman here," she stated, glancing in Mr. Kelly's direction to be sure of his attention. "We all see that. You were in a position to show him our ways here, and he has graciously accepted your role." Her chin jutted out for a moment. "Shows a great deal of character."

"Mr. Miller has been a godsend to the parish of Pemberley," Mrs. Collins acknowledged. "There can be no doubt of that. But what of Sally and the new baby?" she inquired in a conspiratorial whisper, being sure the aging mother could watch her lips speak the words. "They were none too spry when last I called."

"If only I could be more of a help than a burden," Mrs. Ponsonby murmured. "The girls have been a great help to their mother," she said more clearly, "but the boys are needed in the fields and pastures." Her voice trailed off again. "Thirteen children and only two daughters to help the mother. It's only by God's grace that she's survived it."

"She will have the girls for some years yet," Mrs. Collins said hopefully.

The sound of Sally's footsteps silenced any further conversation on the topic. "What of the baby? Does he have a name yet?"

"This wee pile of bones?" Sally interjected as she came within hearing. "I've a mind to call him 'Stout' if for no other reason than to inspire him to live up to the name." She rounded the corner studying the bundle in her arms as if for some new discovery of a strength yet to be seen. Tearing her eyes away, she smiled at her visitors in turn. "But, likely, he will be John."

Mrs. Collins rose immediately to close the space between them. With the tip of a finger, she carefully stroked the delicate palm that had escaped the swaddling cloth. The tiny fingers curled and splayed, showing the infant still had much progress to make. Mrs. Collins smiled tenderly, bravely hiding her concern.

"I like the idea of a strong name," she said, forcing her voice to remain steady. "Napoleon?"

Sally chuckled, shaking her head. "It would never do. The children would be calling him 'Nappy'." Both women chuckled at the thought.

"Alexander," Mrs. Collins proposed after a moment.

"I fear not," Sally sighed. "We cannot have a Davey, a Jem Junior, and an Alexander."

"Angus?" ventured Mrs. Collins skeptically. "It is a strong and forceful name."

"Sounds foreign," Sally replied.

"Gabriel."

The women all turned to study the source of the suggestion.

"When we attempt to represent angels," Mr. Kelly began hesitantly, "we liken them more to friendly fairies or innocent children with halos and wings." He glanced about, seeing deepening interest in the eyes that studied him so intently. "But, in the Scriptures, when angels like Gabriel, would appear, they always adjured their audience to not be afraid." His voice gained the weight of conviction. "Therefore, we must assume that their appearance must be frightfully powerful and even terrifying."

He paused, waiting for a response. When none was forthcoming, he added, "He could be called 'Gabe'."

"Gabe," the besotted mother whispered to the tiny babe in her arms. As if in response, two little arms waved suddenly in the air. Sally captured a hand in her own. "Gabriel. Our God-sent angel."

~~oo~~

Mr. Kelly, much to Charlotte's embarrassment, was treated to a detailed account of her efforts on the behalf of the Saxons, though a few pieces of the story had to be glossed over due to their personal and physical nature, for Charlotte had helped the midwife with several troublesome deliveries, and one of them had been little Gabriel's early arrival.

The narrative flowed naturally into a general reckoning of Charlotte's tireless deeds, promptly named selfless, despite her own difficulties.

“I am most concerned for your health, Mrs. Collins,” said Mr. Kelly. “Surely you are not responsible the well-being of the entire parish.”

Mrs. Ponsonby was the first to find her tongue and began to regale the gentleman with the tale of the late Mr. Collins. “Mrs. Collins is behaving as she always has. From what I heard, her husband was always too intent upon ingratiating himself with those who could benefit his station. Had it not been for the efforts of his wife, he must have fallen far short of a man of God's higher calling. She was the true pastor.”

“Please, Mrs. Ponsonby, have done,” said Charlotte. “I thank you for your kind opinion, but I must beg your leave now, as I still have several people to visit and baskets to deliver.”

Sally, seeing her friend nearing distress, took charge of the conversation, aiding Charlotte and Mr. Kelly with their escape. She waved them down the drive within a quarter of an hour.

"That Mr. Kelly is a heap better than that Mr. Collins," Mrs. Ponsonby observed to her daughter a few moments later. "Let us hope she is fool enough to take the marriage noose again."

~~oo~~

"I fervently hope you mean to offer me sustenance before our sojourn back to Pemberley," Mr. Kelly said in languishing tones.

Charlotte chuckled, rolling her eyes. His stamina had not flagged for a moment on their long walk through the countryside, nor had his interest in each person or story presented along the way.

"I believe the invitation was for tea," she countered. She set her bonnet aside and smoothed her dress while Mr. Kelly removed his hat and gloves and waited patiently for further direction.

Mr. Kelly grinned. "I would happily settle for a morsel of bread, a slice of cheese or two, and perhaps, if I am very fortunate, a sliver of ham or poultry."

"This way then," said Charlotte, leading the way to a grove of trees. “Bring the basket.”

After they were seated on a bench among the trees, she opened the basket and presented three wheels of cheese. Mr. Kelly sniffed and rejected two, so she sliced the third. She presented rolls, biscuits, and a loaf, and the gentleman made his selection. Fruits were chosen as were meats, along with a jug of tea and two cups.

"How cozy this is!" observed Mr. Kelly. "Too often, I am left to starve after tea, but here," he gestured at the spread before him, "I am able to not only choose my fare but to consume it in the most natural of environs."

Charlotte studied him warily as she poured his tea. "Sugar or cream?"

"A touch of both," he replied jauntily. "Why not?"

"You have been a very good sport," observed Charlotte aloud as she focused intently on the task of adding a little of both cream and sugar to her guest's tea.

"Yes," he replied agreeably, "And I should be rewarded." Though his expression was pleasant, his eyes were intently focused on Charlotte's face. "Why do they call you 'Mrs. C.'?"

For, along the delivery route, it had not only been the Saxons to use that abbreviated name but also a widower, Mr. Brown, who had been much relieved at finding a proper gentleman escorting 'Mrs. C.' on her rounds. Then, beyond his land, five more people had all addressed her in the same way.

Charlotte spluttered on the sip of tea she had taken, but she recovered quickly.

"Honestly," she replied with a small smile, "I cannot be sure. You see, both 'Charlotte' and 'Collins' begin with the letter 'C,' so it could represent either one."

"When did your friends begin to use the abbreviation?"

"Again," she said, pushing a grape around her plate, "I am not quite certain, but I think," she glanced up at her inquisitor, "I believe I noticed it first after my husband's death."

"They did not seem to care for Mr. Collins," he stated quietly, dropping his eyes.

"No," Charlotte agreed at length, "because he did not endeavor to earn their affection."

Mr. Kelly nodded. "Now," he began with some force to his voice, "tell me about this summons. I gather it was not an attempt to renew an old acquaintance."

Charlotte looked up guiltily.

"No, not exactly." She carefully placed her teacup in its saucer before elaborating. "I fear very much that what I must say will offend you deeply."

Mr. Kelly folded his hands in his lap and gave her his full attention. "Still," he said calmly, "I suppose it cannot be avoided, so better to be quick about it."

The conviction and truth of his words had a bolstering effect upon the lady.

"Do you recall the last time you found me in the gazebo at Pemberley?" she asked, plunging into her account. "It was the morning following the final night of chess, when I had won against Lord Salisbury."

"Yes, of course," he answered shortly. "You were kneeling, and I helped you to your feet. There was a trinket - a snuff box."

"I gave it to you," Charlotte said quietly.

He shook his head slowly. "I put it in my pocket. You mentioned that it was Salisbury's – some misguided attempt to pay you proper winnings."

"Upon our return to the house, all was in chaos," Charlotte added.

"Yes," he said finally. "Mrs. Darcy."

Charlotte nodded, her expression of concern matching his own, then she forced a small smile.

"But we know that all has ended well there," she said comfortingly.

"Your efforts were heroic," praised Mr. Kelly, "and tireless. I am sure you must have gone days without sleep," he added, warming to his topic.

But Charlotte could not be distracted. “What became of the box?”

“The box?” Mr. Kelly echoed. “Ah! Yes, the snuff box. I suppose it ended up in the drawer,” he began, “along with everything else I emptied from my pockets that and every other day.”

Charlotte raised her eyebrows.

“I am afraid it is a habit of mine,” he added. “When the drawer begins to overflow with odds and ends, or when I am vacating the place, I am forced to go through it all.”

“And the box?” Charlotte reiterated.

Mr. Kelly looked puzzled. “I cannot recall seeing it again.”

Charlotte lifted her cup to sip her tea.

“Were you eager to have it back?” Mr. Kelly inquired. Then, leaning forward, he added, “Are you in need of the funds the sale of the box might provide?”

Charlotte shook her head as she began to gather their repast and pack in back into the basket, which she handed to Mr. Kelly.

Once they were walking back to Pemberley, she began to speak.

“I had a visitor,” Charlotte replied, and she began to recount the unexpected and troubling event that had taken place the previous day.

Chapter 6

The day was dark, the clouds heavy. Charlotte had decided to heed nature’s warning and stay in her room, using the time for some long overdue correspondence. After she penned a response to her sister, Maria, and filled a page of what promised to be a novel to an old friend of hers in Meryton, she heard a light tap on the door. The maid, upon being bade to enter, announced a visitor had come - a very fine young lady from Town, in a fancy carriage with four matching horses. Charlotte silently cleaned her fingertips in the bowl of water she kept nearby for such a purpose and stood, taking a moment to smooth her morning dress and hair.

“Thank you, Molly,” she said, “I shall go down directly. Please have Cook prepare some refreshments.”

The young lady was standing at the windows in the downstairs parlor, gazing speculatively at the leaden sky. Upon hearing Charlotte’s light footfall, she turned to study her.

“How do you do?” Charlotte greeted, noting the youth and beauty of her guest. Glossy, brown tendrils hung in thick curls, framing her heart-shaped shaped face, and the rest was gathered in a series of braids and twists on the back of her head. She wore a pale blue, heavy satin redingote accented with a line of bows down the front of the skirt beginning at the waist, and a lace fichu adorned her neck and shoulders.

“I am Mrs. Collins. How may I help?”

A degree of relief was evident in the young lady’s posture as her rigid stance relaxed into a more natural state. She smiled sweetly, revealing a pair of dimples in her right cheek.

“It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance at last, Mrs. Collins.” She dimpled again to see the widow’s show of surprise. “Yes, I have heard of you and have longed to introduce myself, but I was unsure…,” the lady paused here, apparently finding her initial reluctance persistent.

She smoothed her skirt, smiling ruefully. “Nanny would be appalled by my manners. I have yet to introduce myself. Please, let us begin again. I am Wilfred Nevill, and I am very pleased to make your acquaintance.”

The ladies curtseyed.

“The pleasure is sure to be mine, Miss? Nevill,” Charlotte returned in question.

“Lady Nevill,” Wilfred replied, blushing prettily, “but my friends know me as ‘Lady Wilfred’ and I should very much like us to be friends.”

“I am honored, Lady Wilfred,” said Charlotte encouragingly. “Shall we be seated?”

Lady Wilfred gratefully perched on the edge of the nearest sofa, indicating with the wave of a hand for Charlotte to be seated. Once comfortably situated, the younger of the ladies launched into her explanation.

“I mentioned having the advantage of knowing about you, though I admit that I cherished a hope that you would have been made aware of me also,” Lady Wilfred added in a disappointed undertone. “Still,” she recovered with a small smile, “I am sure he was only doing what was precisely proper in the interest of my reputation.”

She exhaled sharply, looking away for a moment. “My reputation must be a fragile thing due to nothing more than my birth and sex. My performance is always nothing short of exemplary, yet my attributes remain in question until approved by a man of standing. Only a whisper of one, small, suspicious occurrence, and all is lost.”

Deeming it impudence in the extreme to inquire of an injury to the lady’s reputation, Charlotte chose instead a safer focus.

“How should I have heard about you?”

Rounded, brown eyes looked to her in confusion, but the expression passed quickly to be replaced once more with the sunny disposition.

“Sally,” she quipped, shaking her head in mock disapproval. Grinning at her companion, eyes dancing with mirth, she added, “I see I shall be forced to tell you all.”

“I must admit to an extreme level of bewilderment,” Charlotte said, chuckling. Lady Wilfred patted the widow’s hand in a comforting way.

“I shall endeavor not to muddle it up in my usual exasperating way,” she began stoically. “I have known Lord Salisbury all my life. His family has been friends with my family for generations, and there have been many attempts to join allegiances by way of marriage. However, a marriage along the direct line of Salisbury and Nevill never took place and seemed unlikely again in this generation upon the death of my father’s first wife. Alas,” she sighed romantically, “he found love again in his dotage, and I was born destined to marry a Salisbury.”

“I beg your pardon for the interruption, but just how old do you suppose your father to have been?”

“Oh,” Lady Wilfred replied gamely, “half a century at the very least!”

Charlotte struggled to hide her amusement. “Yes, of course. Please continue.”

“There is a frustrating element to knowing your betrothed from birth,” Lady Wilfred continued, “which is the complete lack of elegance and courtship. It is all very comfortable,” she explained, wrinkling her nose. “Poor Sally was called home from university in order to meet his wailing, newly born intended - a fate for which I am doomed to suffer for the rest of my life, as if I had any say in the matter. Even in my first memories, I was aware of his every mood. It was ‘Willy’ when he was amused or pleased and ‘Fred’ when he was disgruntled or annoyed.”

She tilted her head. “I suppose I do not mind it so much now. It is all very comfortable,” she sighed.

“Do you care for him?” asked Charlotte.

“Many years ago, at a large dinner party for our families, Sally and my two brothers were teasing me. I remarked that I should have preferred a sister instead of brother Sally.”

Lady Wilfred’s eyes roamed the room studying, not the furniture or fireplace of the parlor, but the faces of family and friends at the table in her memory.

“If they had not made such an awkward piece of it, I likely would not have remembered, but the ensuing silence was embarrassing, and then Sally was whisked away without a by your leave the next day,” she said. “His visits were fewer and farther between, and our conversations were brief if I saw him at all. I believe the whole endeavor was nearly given up.”

“Several years passed in that way until my sixteenth birthday when my parents hosted a small dinner party for me with enough friends and neighbors for some dancing. Sally had been on the Continent and brought me an ornate jewelry box with a tiara inside. He said I would need them for my Coming Out the next year. He was so handsome, so dashing! My friends immediately fell in love with him, as you can imagine, and he alternated between charm and sarcasm, obviously falling naturally into his usual role.”

She clenched and relaxed her fists. “I was infuriated by his behavior, yet I could not help but be flattered and delighted by his appearance at my little soiree.”

“A humbling reflection,” noted Charlotte. Lady Wilfred’s eyes flashed to Charlotte’s, but upon seeing the expression of complete understanding in the widow’s eyes, the young lady’s temper melted away.

“It was another year or so before I saw him again, and I honestly do not recall taking much note of his absence. It was a whirlwind of preparations and lessons and small parties. I enjoyed it all excessively.”

As the next words began to emerge as thoughts before being spoken, her expression of liveliness began to fall. Her tone became flat, her eyes dull. “My Season was a magnificent affair. I had all that a debutante could possibly boast in order to be successful, yet my suitors began to dwindle away. The following year, only the most persistent continued their attentions. Ironically,” she scoffed bitterly, “they were the very ones I had been warned against. Fortune hunters.”

Lady Wilfred took a deep, cleansing breath. “Towards the end of the Season, I happened to be glancing out of my window when I saw Sally coming up the stairs. It seemed as though the door opened before he could even knock, as though his presence was expected. Curious, I hastened quietly to the back door of Papa’s study where he usually received his visitors. The back door, opens into the library and is situated more closely to the seating area of Papa’s study than the main door from the foyer.”

“I could hear Papa’s voice coming closer, talking to Sally, and then I heard the voice of Sally’s uncle. The previous Lord Salisbury died some years ago - a great blow to Sally - but his uncle has always been an important figure in his life as well. To reach the point, it seemed they were coaxing Sally to ‘make his move,’ and I eventually came to realize that it involved me. I hardly remember any details of their conversation save for the shock of hearing about the betrothal for the first time.”

“What a muddle they made of it,” remarked Charlotte. “What did you do?”

“Do?” repeated Lady Wilfred. She sat tall and rigid. “I burst into the room to give them a rare scolding.”

Charlotte giggled in delight. “You never did!”

“To be sure I did!” insisted the young lady. “Trimmed them up and down and out until we were all left blushing in shame.”

Charlotte wiped her eye as a tear of amusement began to form. “If only we all had your vigor.”

“Unfortunately for most females, Society does not often respond positively to a lady’s vigor so much as to her wealth, rank, and beauty,” Lady Wilfred remarked wisely, “but I had been granted with enough of them to hold court that day.”

“I am on tenterhooks to learn the outcome.”

“I was threatened with a beating that would surely leave me maimed and hideous for the remainder of my shortening life and was forthwith banished to my room but,” she added saucily, “they stopped treating me like a little schoolgirl. Papa and Mama spoke to me of the betrothal, the history, and the hopes behind it, and apologized for not being forthcoming. Sally returned a day or so later to patch things up by avoiding the topic altogether.”

“So, you are betrothed?”

“Sally has since insisted that the decision must be mine. He has ingratiated himself by visiting more frequently, bestowing his attentions and charms, being considerate of my wishes…,” her voice trailed away.

“But?” Charlotte asked.

“But I could not be sure of my feelings,” Lady Wilfred answered, adding, “or of his. I heard talk of his rakish behaviors, as well as complaints from aspiring debs and their hopeful mamas. I do not wish to marry to be agreeable. I want love and devotion and, most of all, friendship. The man I marry must be mine and mine alone.”

“And you wonder if Lord Salisbury is capable of fulfilling that role?”

“My feelings waiver. First, I am sure of one thing, then I am sure of the opposite,” said Lady Wilfred hopelessly. “Sally has been infinitely patient, has assured and reassured me of his faithfulness.” Large, sad eyes looked at Charlotte. “Then, I received this.”

Lady Wilfred gingerly removed something from her reticule and handed it to Charlotte.

The widow glanced up at the young lady, confused.

“You recognize it, of course,” Lady Wilfred said flatly.

“It looks remarkably like the snuff box Lord Salisbury gave me for beating him at chess,” Charlotte replied.

“It was delivered to me,” Her guest began, turning again to her reticule, “with this,” she finished, presenting a short note.

Charlotte had opened the crumpled paper hesitantly, reluctant to continue. At Lady Wilfred’s impatient wave of a hand, Charlotte had read aloud:

Loveliest Eve,

Fear not

All is not lost; the unconquerable will,

And the courage never to submit or yield.

Forgive my delay, I am yours still

&etc

Salisbury

Chapter 7

“Good heavens,” Mr. Kelly remarked. “Whatever induced you to submit to her request?”

“I suppose I hoped it would make more sense spoken aloud,” Charlotte replied with a small sigh.

“Quoting Paradise Lost to a mistress, of all things,” the gentleman continued, struck by the nerve of it. “Perhaps she was an actress?”

Charlotte arched her brows, and he cleared his throat gruffly. “I am no great fan of Salisbury’s, but I would not have believed him capable of such an oversight. Mailing the mistress’s gift to the betrothed?” He shook his head emphatically. “Pure villainy.”

“When Lady Wilfred asked Lord Salisbury about it, he insisted that he had ended the affair months prior, after her outburst of judgment and wrath, when he first realized his attachment to her. He likely saw her as a child until that moment,” reasoned Charlotte. “He went so far as to produce examples of his handwriting for her to compare, pointing out the disparities. Lady Wilfred admitted to being almost convinced but thought perhaps the letter was written in a more passionate state of mind than his business correspondence. She asked if I thought it could be so!”

“Yet I am sure you sent her away appeased somehow,” Mr. Kelly said smiling. “How did you manage?”

“I felt… I feel… obligated to help, given my role with the accursed snuff box,” Charlotte began hesitantly. “I did my best to assure her that I was surely not the culprit, could not possibly be since I had no acquaintance in common with Salisbury save for those at Pemberley…,” her voice trailed apologetically. “I promised to find the person responsible. It would be the only way for her to be able to trust him.”

“By God,” Mr. Kelly said, “I was the last to have it in my possession. ‘Accursed snuff box’ indeed.”

Charlotte gazed forlornly at her old friend, expecting a rejection at last. A heaviness settled in her chest and threatened to choke her, but she willed herself to breathe through it.

Mr. Kelly stood aside and allowed her to precede him through a back entrance of Pemberly, for they had arrived, and the rains threatened once more.

He placed the basket on the floor, knowing a servant would eventually find it, and offered his arm to Charlotte as they continued to walk through the hallway to the main part of the house.

“Do not concern yourself with this affair any longer,” he said in a reassuring manner. “The fault is mine and so must be the remedy.” He paused at the door leading to the stairs. “I believe I know where to start my inquiries.”

“Puff.”

The old sobriquet stilled his body as well as his thoughts. Mrs. Collins walked around him to look into his eyes, her expression such a perfect representation of her very self, that Mr. Kelly could only stare in wonder at the beauty of it.

“We both know it had to be Kate,” she said softly but assuredly.

The hand she rested on his arm threatened to burn like a hot ember through his sleeve, and, as a moth to a flame, he laid his own hand over hers. Immediately, he was struck by the rightness of it. He understood in an instant how God could summarize His creation in three words. It is good. The thought made him chuckle, comparing the present sensation to the repulsion he felt just moments ago upon hearing Milton quoted. How magnificently delightful must have been Eden before the entrance of the Snake!

A scuffle on the stairs to their right was just beginning to weaken the grasp of his reverie when an outburst of, “Papa!” was quickly followed by Kate herself. As the last of his vision cleared, he began to realize a struggle taking place on his arm. Mrs. Collins was surreptitiously attempting to remove her hand, but it was being forcefully detained by his own. Both ladies stared at him expectantly- the one with a look of triumph in her expression, the other showing exasperation, or perhaps even horror. Clearly, Mrs. Collins had not been as mesmerized by the interaction. He released her hand abruptly, attempting to distract his daughter while Mrs. Collins nursed the sore appendage.

“Kate,” he opened casually but with a responding twinkle, “dreadful timing, as usual.” He bent his cheek to receive her perfunctory kiss. “Or, now I come to think of it, your timing, in this case, may be called providential.”

He turned to Mrs. Collins. “Which shall it be? I am but a guest. You must decide.”

Her jaw clamped down, not immediately understanding his lead.

His raised brows showed his disappointment yet again at his Mouse’s unresponsiveness and turned back to Kate. “We were just speaking of you - or, more precisely, of a question we must pose to you,” he began.

“Emphatically, yes!” she cried joyously, leaping into her father’s unsuspecting embrace. “There is nothing I would like better,” she continued, pulling away from an astounded Papa to throw herself just as enthusiastically into Mrs. Collins’s arms, “than to call you ‘Mama’!”

Kate stepped back, holding her intended Mama at arm’s length, desiring to drink in the pleasures of the moment, when she suddenly realized her error.

“Oh,” she said despondently, dropping her hands.

Unable to face the Kelly assault any longer, Mrs. Collins spun on her heel and fled. Mr. and Miss Kelly looked disconsolately at each other as the sound of alternating laughter and tears drifted to their ears in the still air of the corridor.

“We cannot leave her like that,” Kate whispered as her pleading expression met her father’s eyes. He sighed, withdrawing an object from his pocket.

“It’s this cursed box of Salisbury’s,” he explained, presenting the piece to his daughter while watching her closely for recognition and guilt. She blanched.

“What must she think of me?” she wondered aloud, shuddering. She looked into her father’s eyes, expecting to meet with the full force of his contempt and anger. “And I have disappointed you.”

Mr. Kelly swallowed hard, feeling his wrath melt away, for, before his eyes stood not his grown-up daughter of marriageable age but his little girl - a girl of six, struggling to understand abandonment by a careless mother, trusting her father to shield her from the censure of their world, giving faithfully and selflessly to those around her. He took her hand in both of his own, squeezing them reassuringly.

“I have heard too many accounts of your kindness to the tenants here to feel anything less than pride.”

Tears began to spill over, streaming in silent streaks down Kate’s cheeks as she listened to her father’s words. “You have been an exemplary daughter, fulfilling whatever role is given to you with aplomb, being sure to help wherever you are able. You have brought me such joy.” His hands released hers to fetch a handkerchief and press it into her hand. “That said, I wish you would explain to me your intentions with this cursed box,” he continued, attempting to keep his voice even.

Kate wiped her eyes and nodded, sniffing pitifully.

“I overheard a conversation between Lord Salisbury and Lord Darincourt. Darincourt inquired about a rumored engagement, congratulating Salisbury on acquiring the Season’s Belle Nevill. From there, his topic flowed, naturally, to Salisbury’s ‘pretty ladybird,’ and Salisbury replied coldly that she was taking on new customers”

Kate’s temper rose. “His reputation is scandalous! He treats women with disdain. I just wanted to warn Lady Wilfred.” She attempted to calm herself. “I have met her, you know. She has all the accomplishments a lady could require - beauty, riches, and connections. Though we were deemed as staunch rivals, we, neither of us, could enjoy ourselves, suspecting the other was being treated to the slanderous gossip we were supposedly hurling at one another.”

Kate sighed. “And it was true. When we were introduced, we found our suspicions to be correct and formed a secret alliance. So it was, when I succumbed to eavesdropping and learned of her fate, I felt I had to act.”

“Why not just write to the lady yourself?”

Kate nodded. “I considered it, but you know how it is with matters of the heart. If she loved him, it would take more than kind intentions and offhand comments to convince her to put off an engagement. She seemed to be a reasonable sort of person, but,” Kate shrugged, “she was The Belle achieving The Matrimonial Prize that has been sought after for years. I felt the need to be drastic.”

“How did you do it?” the intrigued father inquired, turning to face her.

“The plan made itself, really. I saw you entering the house with Mrs. C, and you had a hand in the pocket of your greatcoat, as if you were retrieving something. Everything had gone awry during your absence, what with Mrs. Darcy collapsing on the stairs and beginning her travails much too soon, so you were immediately distracted. You kept your coat on for an hour or more but eventually went up to your room, so I knew the fate of the trinket, though I hoped it was representative of some engagement with Mrs. C.”

Kate sighed once more. “During that chaotic time, a bundle of letters was delivered to the house, and I happened to be the one to accept them from the carrier. Poor Stevens was appalled to find them on the platter, as you can imagine! All of them save one. My intention was to remove any letters of our own, should there have been any, but what I found was the beginning of the slippery slope - a redirected missive from Lady Eve Milton to Lord Salisbury.” Kate pressed her lips together firmly, whether out of feelings of shame or feelings of wrath, Mr. Kelly was not to know.

Her next words made him moan inwardly.

“The letter was decidedly not that of a jilted lover but bore all the signs of an ongoing relationship. Her adopted moniker, along with a line or two from Milton’s Paradise Lost, led me to suppose that such was their banter, so I responded in kind. It mattered not if my wording was correct, for the letter would be sent to Wilfred, not to Eve.”

“But how did you manage to copy Salisbury’s writing?”

“Chess notes.”

He laughed aloud, then cleared his throat and attempted a stern expression.

“I do not approve,” he stated severely, “but I begin to understand why you felt it necessary.”

Behind Mr. Kelly, the door to the front drive opened quietly, and a long shadow fell upon the guests. Kate had the better perspective of the newcomer, but Mr. Kelly had the view of his daughter’s face. The somber expression she wore sank still deeper into sorrow and shame until finally she half-covered it with the handkerchief just before she fled, free hand extended, past her father to the figure waiting behind him.

Naturally, Mr. Kelly turned to follow her progress, and it was during that transition that the man spoke. The tone was soothingly low, the accent shamefully hybrid.

“Now there, Miss Kate,” the baritone comforted, taking her outstretched hand in his monstrous paws. Mr. Kelly’s eyes continued up the path from the massive hands, up the arms, up and up still further, until, at last, they framed her face.

He squinted into the light that poured around the giant like a body halo and could only stare, transfixed, at the interaction happening before his eyes. His daughter’s voice was a melodic hum weaving in and out of the bass solo. By God, they were beautiful!

“You must be Mr. Kelly,” the man was saying. “I first met your daughter in London, before I accepted the living at Hunsford, several months ago. We have corresponded since then, which is acceptable behavior in America. I am here to ask for her hand in marriage. She has already accepted me.”

He had freed one hand from Kate’s grasp to offer it to the father. This brought Mr. Kelly’s vision sharply back into focus. The American! He cautiously extended his own hand and was relieved to draw it back unmaimed.

The younger man began to speak. “Not the way I was hoping to make your acquaintance, but I am…”

“Mr. Albright? Of Hunsford?” interrupted Mr. Kelly. Finding the name simply too much to bear, he dropped his chin to his chest, attempting to stifle the chuckle that threatened to escape. The effort brought tears of amusement to his eyes, which he was forced to wipe away.

“Sir?” asked the younger man.

“Tis too much to launch into at the moment,” Mr. Kelly objected with a wave of his hand. After asking directions from a manservant, he turned to descend the stairs to the kitchens. He muttered to himself as he hurried away. “I should like nothing better than to wake up in my bed and begin this day afresh.”

Mr. Albright and Miss Kelly were left to stare in bewilderment at his departing figure.

Back in the kitchen, Mrs. Collins was standing at the table, swathed in an apron, sleeves rolled up, pounding a lump of dough, surrounded by the astonished Pemberly kitchen staff.

Mr. Kelly dismissed the staff with a wave of his hand, and they filed out.

He felt that he had come full circle and was as close to a fresh start as a man could achieve without divine intervention. He proceeded into the room cautiously so as not to send his Mouse scurrying away yet again, but she was too busy muttering to the dough before delivering the blows to notice his presence. He was sure to take his place across the table and out of her reach. Finally, she glanced up.

“I thought you must have gone,” she said, somewhat guiltily, before flipping the ball of dough.

“Kate was ripe for the plucking. A delay in the conversation could have added years, centuries even, to our quest for knowledge.”

“I see.” Punch.

“I shall relate the account to you…”

Punch.

“in full…”

Punch.

“at a later date perhaps.”

Flip. Nod.

“She will remedy the situation in whatever way you see fit.”

Punch. Nod.

“I am sure she had her reasons and, once all is remedied, will be forgiven,” Mrs. Collins explained to the dough.

“What is to be done with this?” Mr. Kelly asked, producing the snuff box, and placing it gently on the table.

Punch. Flip. Punch.

“Perhaps Kate should keep it as a reminder of a lesson learned.”

Punch. Sigh. Mrs. Collins drooped before finally meeting Mr. Kelly’s eye.

“Just leave it. I shall hide it in a drawer until it can be viewed as a good joke.”

“That may be best,” said Mr. Kelly agreeably.

Mrs. Collins pursed her lips, returning her attention to the lump resting beneath her hands.

“I suppose,” she began, looking up with a wry grin, “that I should endeavor to keep my friend’s guests entertained in the parlor more so than in the kitchen. Shall we go up?” she invited, wiping her hands on her apron in preparation.

"I should very much like to marry you," he blurted, as much to his own surprise as to hers.

He interpreted from her dismayed expression that he had spoken too soon. In desperation, he plunged ahead. "I can offer you no fine words - the few I may attempt to coerce into any type of decent expression are doomed to fall sadly short of what I wish to say."

Had the poor man not been struggling on the end of a perceived noose, he would have appreciated the sudden twinkle that came to the lady's eyes at his admitted lack of pretty speech. She, who had been married over a decade to a flourishing adjective, was certainly able to appreciate honest simplicity.

"We could make you happy, I believe, my daughter and I, and you could be comfortable being your own mistress. I would hope that we could share our interests and opinions with each other, as we have done in the past, and you must know that I regard you with the highest esteem."

"You describe a friendship, sir," Mrs. Collins said with a gentle smile, "but we need not marry to continue as friends." Her gaze lowered as her brows furrowed. "Indeed, marriage is the surest way to destroy any feeling of regard we may have acquired for one another."

He laughed outright, once again achieving her full attention. "Our first marriages were disastrous, were they not?" he inquired, grinning ruefully. "But we are wiser now. Does our Lord not give second chances? Are we never to achieve happiness for ourselves? Are we cursed to watch the fulfillment of others while we, ourselves, are condemned to loneliness?"

"You must know, sir, that I have the felicity of a large assortment of siblings, all boasting a propensity to procreate. Then there is the parsonage at Hunsford and the people, as well as friends, for which I care. Let me assure you that I am rarely afforded the tranquility of loneliness."

"Perhaps not," was his reply, "but I must suppose, as to the former, that an excuse in the way of being less convenient would not go amiss. As to the latter, well, your powers of observation must be sadly lacking if you have not yet realized the growing attachment between that American Adonis and my daughter."

“Mr. Albright?” she asked.

He nodded. “I just met Mr. Albright in the corridor as he arrived. The man wasted no time in asking for permission to marry Kate.”

"Of course, I noticed it,” Mrs. Collins admitted guiltily, for once distracted, “and I was loathe to tell you.” She flipped the dough. “I was counting on the gaieties of the Season.”

Determined not to endure another round of dough pulverization, Mr. Kelly hastened around the table and turned her by the shoulders to face him.

"Perhaps there is a happy solution... for the both of us."

"You speak often of happiness."

"Are you opposed to the idea?"

"I think it a transient emotion."

"Would you be more in favor of the idea of contentment?"

"I have admitted to the sensation in the past."

"But what you were feeling was ‘acceptance.’ Those can be two very different things."

"You are a hard master."

"I thought I had given up on happiness. On contentment,” Mr. Kelly plunged on, determined to find the right words to reach her. “Then, like a beacon of light, there you were,” Mr. Kelly laughed in wonder at it, “just as fearless and engaging as you were all those years ago.”

Charlotte shook her head, not recognizing this strange and wonderful version of herself. Mr. Kelly’s hands traveled down from her shoulders to her hands, pressing them, willing them to take hold.

“Or do you feel nothing…?" Mr. Kelly seemed nearly overcome by the discouraging thought. He pressed on before he could ponder it further. "My feelings for you are so different from anything I have ever experienced. There is an overriding concern for your welfare," he began promisingly, "and an incorrigible pursuit to put that twinkle in your eye."

"You are a romantic, I think," Charlotte said, her intonation that of an accusation. She kept her hands steady in his grasp but did not return the pressure.

"Even a small spark may grow into a raging fire."

"But I feel no 'small spark'," she admitted blankly.

"Ah," Mr. Kelly sighed, releasing her hands in defeat. His aura seemed to wilt even though his body did not physically move.

"What I feel," Charlotte began, not truly noticing the effect her previous words had wrought on her suitor, "is more of a warm radiance - the beginning of a flame contained within a reasonably proportioned grate, with the potential to grow into a blaze - or to bury itself into the glowing embers."

Mr. Kelly cautiously recollected the abandoned hands.

"I can nurture that flame."

Chapter 8

So complete was the couple’s distraction that they failed to take note of the sound of footfall coming down the stairs several moments later, but their reverie came to an abrupt halt at the simultaneous eruption of a squeal and a throat clearing.

“I knew it!” cried Kate, clapping in rapid succession, unable to contain her delight. Behind her, the magnificent mountain grinned sheepishly.

“What could you possibly know?” Mr. Kelly inquired, the condescending arch in his brow suspiciously belied by the twinkle in his eye.

“You are in love and will be married, and I shall have a Mama at long last,” spouted Kate.

“But I have made no such proposal,” he countered solemnly, though the quality of the serious expression seemed a struggle to maintain upon the escape of an indignant gasp from behind his shoulder.

Born to quick wit and game for all things ridiculous, Kate cast her father a knowing smirk.

“Scandalous! You have been caught in an embrace by, not one, but two witnesses, and must be wed at once.”

“Slanderous brat,” was the easy reply. “You have no proof.”

Kate’s head tilted as her smirk grew into a joyous smile.

“I have only to present your jacket, good sir,” she said loftily, “which is convincingly covered in flour!”

A Year, Five Months, and Three Days Later…

Mr. Kelly had chosen the seat furthest from the fire. The heat was unbearable! Even from this distance, he glared at the flames as if they insulted him personally. He stood once more to pace about the room, failing to appreciate the trimmings that had delighted his wife so. His mind refused to recall the happy memories of carolers and figgy pudding, the presentation of gifts, and the stolen embraces underneath the mistletoe.

Mrs. Kelly, in her second Christmas bearing his name, had dazzled him with her passion for tradition and gracious intent to deliver joy to all. Her spirit had been contagious, and it had proven impossible to begrudge her any task. Now, on the very day for which all her efforts had been building, she was not there to enjoy it.

“Mr. Kelly! Mr. Kelly!”

Mr. Kelly hastened to the door, nearly colliding with the distracted butler.

“Mr. Kelly,” the butler began again, “the doctor says you are to come at once.” He was made to finish his announcement at a trot as the master of the house had flown to the steps to take them two at a time.

The scene that met his gaze as he crossed the threshold into his wife’s chambers left him dazed by the disparity between expectation and reality. He expected chaos, not the serenely bright atmosphere before him. He rushed to his wife’s side.

“My dear,” he whispered anxiously, unsure where to place his hands though he longed to touch her, to ensure himself of her safety. The twinkle in her eye, though hovering over exhausted, dark circles, calmed him considerably.

“How are you, my love?”

“Champion,” she murmured back, attempting a smile.

The sounds of bustling and squeaking emerged through the door of his wife’s dressing room as the midwife and doctor approached the bedside.

“May I be the first to congratulate you, Mr. Kelly,” the doctor announced, presenting his bundle for inspection. “A handsome, healthy son.”

“And another beautiful daughter,” the midwife added, rocking and patting her mewling roll of blankets.

Mr. Kelly staggered back a step, his eyes skipping from bundles to wife.

“Twins!” he gasped.

“Twins,” the doctor corroborated, catching the father’s eye.

“Twins,” the midwife agreed upon finding his glance upon her.

“Twins,” Charlotte whispered, a faint smile playing on her lips as his astonished gaze fell once more upon her.

Outside, precocious flakes of snow danced to the songs of angels, collecting in lacy waves along the windowpanes. A tiny, brown mouse reached out a curious paw as a puff of the wind’s icy breath blew a sparkling snowflake free from the garland that framed the door of the establishment. A baby’s cry echoed through the trees as they pulled from deep within the earth a memory of another Christmas, long ago. And God smiled down at His creation and called it good.

THE END

Mandy H. Cook (née Helm), a former Navy nurse, also wrote

The Gifted.

Available on Amazon.com.

ABOUT THE AUTHORS

Robin Helm's time revolves around music as she plays and teaches. Her books reflect that love, as well as her fascination with the paranormal and science fiction.

Her latest publication is Lawfully Innocent, A US Marshal Lawkeeper Romance. Previously published works include The Guardian Trilogy, the Yours by Design series (Fitzwilliam Darcy switches places in time with his descendant, Will Darcy), Understanding Elizabeth, and More to Love.

Ms. Helm is also featured in a series of anthologies with several other like-minded authors. A Very Austen Christmas. A Very Austen Valentine, A Very Austen Romance, and A Very Austen Noel.

She lives in the (usually) sunny southeastern United States.

Readers are loving Laura Hile's joyous Austen-inspired Regency novels. Her signature style--with intertwined plots, cliffhangers, laugh-out-loud humor, and clean romance--keeps them coming back for more.

All of Laura’s books are enrolled in Kindle Unlimited ... and all have laughs and happy endings.

Wendi Sotis Wendi Sotis lives on Long Island, NY, with her husband and triplets. While searching for Pride and Prejudice from Darcy’s point of view, she became thoroughly enamored with Jane Austen Fan Fiction or JAFF. In early 2010, she dreamed of an idea for a story and hasn’t stopped writing since.

Barbara Cornthwaite lives in the middle of Ireland with her husband and children. She taught college English before “retiring” to do something she loves far more; her days are now filled with homeschooling, trying to keep the house tidy (a losing battle), and trying to stay warm in the damp Irish climate (also a losing battle). She is surrounded by medieval castles, picturesque flocks of sheep, and ancient stone monuments. These things are unappreciated by her six children, who are more impressed by traffic jams, skyscrapers, and hot weather.

Mandy H. Cook was an RN for over ten years, half of which she served in the Navy, living in far-flung places, enjoying experiencing the world while following her calling. Just before she and her handsome Marine were both deployed to different places, they married. They now have three children, ages eight and younger.

She previously published The Gifted, using her nursing experience to lend accuracy to her story about an ER nurse who is handed a gift that changes her life forever. Adversity, and a long history of secrets, constantly battle against her natural instinct for truth and justice, but will the truth be worth the dare?

CONTACT US!

Robin Helm

Amazon Author Page: https://www.amazon.com/Robin-Helm/e/B005MLFMTG/

Website: https://www.beyondausten.com/

Twitter: @rmhelm

Facebook: Robin Helm or Austen Anthologies

Instagram: @jrhelm and @AustenAnthologies

Goodreads: https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/5210675.Robin_M_Helm

Blogging: https://robinmhelm.com/

Laura Hile

Amazon Author Page: https://www.amazon.com/Laura-Hile/e/B003UT6VDS/

Blogging: https://laurahile.wordpress.com/

Twitter: @LauraHile

Facebook: LauraHileAuthor or Austen Anthologies

Forum: http://beyondausten.com/

Goodreads: https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/2967234.Laura_Hile

Wendi Sotis

Amazon Author Page: https://www.amazon.com/Wendi-Sotis/e/B005CSBVFS/

Website: http://wendisotis.com

Facebook: Wendi Sotis, Author or Austen Anthologies

Twitter: @WendiSotis

Forum: http://BeyondAusten.com

Goodreads: https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/5009020.Wendi_Sotis

Barbara Cornthwaite

Amazon Author Page: https://www.amazon.com/Barbara-Cornthwaite/e/B00J47TTZM/

Blog: intheshrubbery.wordpress.com/blog/

Website: www.barbaracornthwaite.com

Facebook: www.facebook.com/BarbaraCornthwaiteAuthor

Mandy H. Cook

Facebook: Mandy Helm Cook

Instagram: @hisloved1s

Amazon: https://www.amazon.com/Mandy-Helm/e/B07KND3K8R/

Available on Amazon.com!

Included in KINDLE UNLIMITED!

A VERY AUSTEN CHRISTMAS

Four favorite authors, four heartwarming stories set in Jane Austen's Regency world.

Robin Helm, Laura Hile, Wendi Sotis, and Barbara Cornthwaite revisit Pride and Prejudice, Emma, and Mansfield Park to deliver the uplifting holiday storytelling you're looking for.

A VERY AUSTEN VALENTINE

Six beloved authors deliver romantic Valentine novellas.

Robin Helm, Laura Hile, Wendi Sotis, and Barbara Cornthwaite, together with Susan Kaye and Mandy H. Cook, share variations of Pride and Prejudice, Persuasion, and Sense and Sensibility, featuring your favorite characters in sequels, adaptations, and spinoffs of Austen's adored novels.

Experience uplifting romance, laugh-out-loud humor, and poignant regret as these authors deftly tug on your heartstrings this Valentine's Day.

A VERY AUSTEN ROMANCE

A delightful medley of novellas, each set in Jane Austen’s Regency world. Your friends from Pride and Prejudice, Emma, and Sense and Sensibility, enjoy new adventures in this lovely collection of stories by Robin Helm, Laura Hile, Wendi Sotis, Barbara Cornthwaite, Mandy Cook, and Chautona Havig.

Be treated to prequels, spin-offs, and sequels of Austen’s novels, along with original and supporting characters in starring roles. If historical romance is your preference, you’ll love these well-crafted stories written by beloved authors in the genre.

A VERY AUSTEN NOEL

Maestro Copyright © 2022 Robin Helm

In Want of a Wife Copyright © 2022 Laura Hile

Saint Nicholas Day Copyright © 2022 Wendi Sotis

Kitty’s Christmas Copyright © 2022 Barbara Cornthwaite

No Small Spark Copyright © 2022 Mandy H. Cook

All rights reserved. Except as permitted under the U.S. Copyright Act of 1976, no part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including information storage in a database or retrieval system – except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews – without the prior written permission of the publisher.

This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the writers’ imagination or have been used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, actual events, locales, or organizations is entirely coincidental and not intended by the authors.

Cover design by Damonza.com

Formatting by Wendi Sotis

Примечания

1

Maestro Copyright © 2022 Robin Helm

All rights reserved. Except as permitted under the U.S. Copyright Act of 1976, no part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means or stored in a database or retrieval system without the prior written permission of the publisher.

This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the writers’ imagination or have been used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, actual events, locales, or organizations is entirely coincidental.

2

In Want of a Wife Copyright © 2022 Laura Hile

All rights reserved. Except as permitted under the U.S. Copyright Act of 1976, no part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means or stored in a database or retrieval system without the prior written permission of the publisher.

This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the writers’ imagination or have been used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real.

Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, actual events, locales, or organizations is entirely coincidental.

3

Saint Nicholas Day Copyright © 2022 Wendi Sotis

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems – except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles are reviews – without permission in writing from its publisher and author.

The characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious or are used fictitiously. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental and not intended by the author.

This story may include excerpts and/or short passages paraphrased from Pride and Prejudice by Jane Austen (1813) which is in the public domain.

4

Kitty’s Christmas Copyright © 2022 Barbara Cornthwaite

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems — except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews — without permission in writing from its publisher and author.

The characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious or are used fictitiously. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental and not intended by the author.

5

No Small Spark Copyright © 2022 Mandy H. Cook

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems — except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews — without permission in writing from its publisher and author.

The characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious or are used fictitiously. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental and not intended by the author.

Content

A VERY AUSTEN NOЁL
Robin Helm
Laura Hile
Wendi Sotis
Barbara Cornthwaite
Mandy H. Cook

A Very Austen Noel About the Stories

MAESTRO Robin Helm

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

IN WANT OF A WIFE Laura Hile

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

SAINT NICHOLAS DAY Wendi Sotis

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Epilogue

KITTY’S CHRISTMAS Barbara Cornthwaite

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

NO SMALL SPARK Mandy H. Cook

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

A Year, Five Months, and Three Days Later…

ABOUT THE AUTHORS

CONTACT US!

Примечания