11

It grew colder still on the following day, and the residents of Netherfield were confined indoors. The colonel lamented that he was obliged to report to a new regiment under his command on the morrow, but he was resolved to make merry with them while he could.

Elizabeth could well see why Lydia was drawn to the man. He was lively and impudent, and cared little for propriety amongst an intimate circle. When she was once again rebuffed from Jane’s bedside, Elizabeth enjoyed an afternoon of music, parlour games, and good conversation. She liked the colonel a great deal for recommending all the wickedest of their schemes for amusement, from performing a bawdy song that made Lady Anne blush, to the flagrant disregard of rules in blind man’s bluff, which led to several thrilling touches between herself and Captain Darcy.

That the colonel favoured their growing attachment was flagrantly hinted at, and she suspected he found Miss Bingley’s determination to catch Mr. Darcy to be a great joke.

Miss Bingley was doing her best to charm the dour gentleman, and Mr. Darcy was certainly not discouraging her, but rather humouring her effusions of fancy in the same style Mr. Bennet had adopted with his wife. After repeating all his opinions in prettier language, Miss Bingley began to commend his many merits – including his generosity.

“I hope I may prevail upon your munificence, sir, for a most distressing matter was brought to my attention. My poor friend still suffers terribly from taking such a horrid chill, and the housekeeper has placed her in the draughtiest room of the house. I know your room has an excellent fireplace in it – indeed, I selected it for you as the finest guest room in the house. But we must think of dear Jane. Would you be willing to exchange rooms with her, sir? It need only be for a night or two, until she is recovered enough to return home.”

Mr. Darcy not only agreed, but appeared impressed by Miss Bingley’s resourceful hospitality. Mr. Bingley frowned. “Good heavens,” he cried. “She must be more ill than I supposed. Poor J- Miss Bennet! Should I send for Mr. Jones again? We must endeavour to do all that we can for her!”

“She is resting comfortably now,” Miss Bingley said silkily, before Elizabeth had any opportunity to speak on her sister’s behalf. “I could ask if she will allow you to look in on her, if that would put your mind at ease. Would that satisfy you, Charles? I daresay you must be very attached to her, to grow so anxious.”

“Yes, indeed,” he replied with energy. He ran his fingers through his hair and began to fidget, glancing over at Elizabeth with a slight blush. “That is, yes, I should like to check in on her, if she is willing to receive me – and if you have no objection, Miss Elizabeth.”

“You are very kind, sir. Jane wished to rest when last I saw her, but I shall join you in looking in on her in an hour or so, if that would suit.” Elizabeth managed her reply with equanimity, despite the strange feelings whirling in her mind as she considered that Jane had not wanted her care or company at all.

Miss Bingley tittered. “What an attentive suitor you are, Charles. You are setting quite a high standard, and I hope the other gentlemen here are taking note of it!”

The colonel made some pithy reply, but Elizabeth did not hear it. Suddenly, everything snapped into place in her mind. Mr. Bingley had as good as confessed to his feelings for Jane in a room full of people, and his step-sister had been the author of his impassioned outburst. Miss Bingley, who had been nothing but an obstacle to their romance had, since Jane took ill, suddenly become the couple’s greatest champion.

How convenient it was for Miss Bingley that all her doting upon Jane, and Jane’s warm praise of her in return, had suddenly aroused far more interest in the elder Darcy brother than he had ever shown her before. She was auditioning as wife and mother before the widowed father, and her step-brother was to be the reward for her conspirator. Jane. Sweet, gentle Jane was involved in this collusion.

Elizabeth abruptly stood as she began to think it entirely possible that Jane was not ill at all. Jane was, in fact, hiding from her. She brought a hand to her chest as if the realisation were a physical blow.

“Miss Eliza, are you quite well?”

“Forgive me, Miss Bingley. I did not intend to distress you. I have only been sitting too long in one attitude.”

“It is most shocking to be sitting about like this when a dear friend is abed with illness. And how insupportable that the weather should be so disobliging! We ought to have expected a few weeks yet of tolerable weather. Mrs. Nichols believes it may snow tonight, and Cook says the same. She insists on making us a very hearty stew tonight. But pray, let us take a turn about the room, it will be so refreshing.”

Elizabeth’s gaze had drifted to Captain Darcy at Miss Bingley’s use of the word tolerable. He looked back at her as if anticipating some private acknowledgement of what had become a fine joke between them. But Elizabeth could not muster any levity in such a state of pique. As if attuned to her sentiments, he stood, ready to attend her if she required it.

“A walk is just what I need,” Elizabeth said. “Forgive me, Miss Bingley. I believe a walk out of doors would suit me best.”

“In such dreary weather? You shall catch as dreadful a cold as your sister has.”

“I have no fear of that.” Elizabeth bit back any further retort and looked to Captain Darcy for some manner of aid.

He understood her floundering plea and came to her rescue, offering her his arm. “You would do well in Derbyshire, Miss Elizabeth. I am often out of doors in such weather as this; I think it nothing at all. I should be happy to escort you.”

Miss Bingley gave them an understanding smile and lifted her hands in a gesture of surrender. “Do keep to the gardens, and I should be happy to lend you a warm pelisse if you should require it, Miss Eliza.”

Elizabeth accepted the offer with as much grace as she could muster. To Mr. Bingley she added, “I shall return in an hour, and join Miss Bingley in ascertaining whether Jane is well enough to allow you a brief visit.”

Miss Bingley’s smile faltered. “I would be happy to perform that office, Miss Eliza. Take your time – I know you to be an excellent walker – you need not be dictated by the hour.”

Elizabeth knew not what she said in reply; Captain Darcy seemed to be leading her from the room with haste, and she allowed him to whisk her away so that she might have some privacy to give way to her rising indignation. She was fuming by the time she found herself in the garden, wearing Caroline Bingley’s elegant fur-lined pelisse.

“I must thank you for your gallantry in preventing me from exposing my own ill-humour,” she said as she and Captain Darcy strolled through the garden.

“I am sure you shall often have occasion to oblige me in a similar manner,” he replied, colouring slightly. He coughed and turned away. “I have no right to inquire what troubles you – I suppose it must be your sister’s illness, and yet…. You may confide as much or as little as you choose. I am at your service.”

“I was worried for her when I first arrived yesterday. I thought it a very ill thing that Mamma should send her here on horseback, but she could not be dissuaded, and Jane did not object.”

Captain Darcy turned back to look down at her, his gaze earnest and searching. “Pray, forgive me – you are cross that your mother meant to scheme in arranging it thus?”

Shame scalded her cheeks, but she nodded. “I should never have thought it of Jane, and… perhaps Mamma does not know any better – I dare not suppose how she convinced Papa to – well, I ought not speak so. I am only distressed that Jane will not allow me to attend her.”

Again his gaze bored into her. “Distressed, and…? Hurt? Perhaps, suspicious?”

How well he knew her. “Yes, little of each,” she admitted. “On half of me is appalled that I could believe Jane capable of deceit, and the other half is desperately sad that she will not allow me to sit with her, to speak with her. It is very wrong of her to allow me to vex myself over a malady she may not….” Elizabeth broke off and gave a heavy sigh. She could not like betraying such sentiments to Captain Darcy. She was hardly painting anybody involved in a flattering light.

He remained silent but drew her nearer on his arm and gave her an encouraging look, nodding for her to elaborate.

She hesitated. “Does it not seem there is aught amiss?”

Captain Darcy’s expression altered several times over as he considered his answer before speaking it aloud. “I admit I find it surprising that you should walk all this way to nurse your ailing sister, who does not desire your companionship at such a time. Were I in her position, your company would be the finest medicine.”

Elizabeth blushed but said nothing, waiting to see what else he might puzzle out. Ere long, he obliged her. “It is also remarkable to me that Miss Bingley has taken such an interest in your sister, especially as regards Charles. Up until yesterday, I had thought her aspirations for his future tended in a less realistic direction.”

“One might wonder what transpired when Jane dined with Miss Bingley last evening,” Elizabeth said.

“Do you not think it possible that your sister has impressed Miss Bingley with her many virtues? Anybody might see that she and Charles are well suited.”

“I have long doubted Miss Bingley’s capacity for appreciating Jane’s worth. I had supposed her to value other qualities.”

“It is indeed a singular circumstance that she should be so swiftly altered in her views,” he agreed.

“It is not unlike Jane to give such praise as she has done with Miss Bingley, but… I wonder if it is done with some other intent.”

Captain Darcy nodded. “Pertaining to my brother?” He gave a sigh of relief and offered her a weary smile. “I am grateful you should speak so openly with me. I believe we share the same notion, that Miss Bingley and your sister have formed some sort of alliance.”

Elizabeth could scarcely meet his eye. “Are you not appalled?”

“I am no stranger to such manoeuvring in society.” He stopped walking and grew tense, urging her to turn and face him. As she struggled to do so, he gently lifted her chin until she would return his gaze. “Miss Elizabeth, I must tell you that I cannot imagine any possible behaviour amongst your relations that would alter my sterling opinion of you. That you would speak so honestly with me about a matter which clearly pains you speaks well of your own morals. Moreover, I am deeply honoured that you would entrust me with any concern that troubles you.”

Elizabeth’s breath caught in her throat and she leaned into him, until he was bracing her by both arms. “Thank you,” she murmured.

“I beg you would not vex yourself over whatever agreement they have made to praise one another to Charles and Marcus.”

“Does it not vex you? I know disguise of every kind is your abhorrence.”

He chuckled. “You know me well, Miss Elizabeth. Generally that is my opinion, though I have learned to accept that there is always a modicum of falsehood in Miss Bingley. It is generally harmless, and my cousin does like to make sport of it. In the present circumstances, her deceit has rather rendered her more agreeable.”

“That is an interesting philosophy,” Elizabeth mused. “I wish I could say that this scheme has rendered Jane more agreeable; in truth I rather pity her. Mamma concocted the plan that resulted in Jane being obliged to stay the night; after this, it must not have been difficult for Jane to be induced to agree to Miss Bingley’s ploy. It could certainly not have been her own notion.”

“You need not despise her actions,” Captain Darcy said.

“Not even when she conspires against your friend and brother?”

“Marcus is not the sort to be easily manoeuvred into doing anything he does not wish to. Miss Bingley’s aspirations will bear no fruit unless Marcus truly comes to esteem her. He is a prickly fellow, not stubborn but odd in his humors; he is more likely to wear down her resolve than the reverse.”

Elizabeth laughed in spite of herself at this picture of his elder brother. “But what of Mr. Bingley? He is clearly not of the same ilk.”

Again Captain Darcy paused to ponder this. “Miss Bingley’s praise of your sister is no more than she truly deserves, and it is a pleasant change to see her actually approve of a woman Charles admires. Though she and Charles were raised together since her infancy, she is a gentleman’s daughter. Her mother married first to satisfy her family, as she expects Charles to do, and only after that gentlemans’s death made a love match with Charles’ father. He was a wealthy enough tradesman that he married twice for love, and Charles means to do the same. If his step-sister can be reconciled to the notion by an abundance of praise from your sister, I say he has finally found a woman clever enough to handle Miss Bingley.”

Elizabeth was heartened by his reassurance. “That is a more palatable perspective than my first view of the matter.”

“I ought to have been more forthright when last we spoke of it. Miss Bingley has driven away all of Charles’s pretty paramours over the years, either because she did not approve of their connections, or because she approved too vigorously. If your sister has indeed made some alliance with her, she must truly care for my friend.”

“You do not think her… to possess less worthy motives?”

“I do not think her a fortune hunter, if that is what you mean. I can see that she likes him, but she is much more reserved than he is. I can well relate to that unfortunate position. And yet I take heart, for now that I think of it, nearly every happy couple I know is composed of one gregarious partner and one that is quite the reverse.”

“You shall never convince me that you are truly so taciturn. You are always perfectly amiable with me, Captain Darcy.” Elizabeth smiled brightly at him, her protests dying away as she realised what he had meant to convey to her. She squeezed his arm. “Your words mean a great deal to me, sir. More than I can say.”

“You shall never convince me that you are not in constant possession of just the right words to speak,” he quipped.

She was, indeed, though she could not give voice to them. She dared not tell him that she was falling in love with him a little more every day, and that his counsel only assured her they might face any challenge together, overcome any obstacle, for they were of one heart and one mind. She did not say as much, but she could see that he understood her unspoken sentiments; for a moment she even supposed he might give voice to them. He did not, but his blissful reciprocation fairly radiated from his ardent stare.

They had reached the end of the path, where a low fence separated the garden from a steep hill overlooking a pond. Elizabeth stood in front of the fence and rested her hands on it, taking in the pleasing vista as the sun managed to break through the thick grey clouds. A moment later, Mr. Darcy came to stand behind her, resting his hands atop her shoulders. She tipped her head back and peered up at him as he looked down at her, silently asking if she would allow the intimacy. By way of answer, she leaned back, nestling against the warmth of him.

Her heart raced at the sheer bliss of his touch, and after a minute of silent wonder, he wrapped his arms more tightly about her shoulders, drawing her closer still. His chin gently rested atop her head. Elizabeth gave in to the serenity of their intimate pose, feeling it to be the most natural thing in the world for him to hold her.

It was not the passionate embrace of lovers, but something that felt more enduring, the comforting embrace of a couple whose love ran deep and steady, whose understanding was peaceful and eternal. It was as if she had known him forever, and might remain forever in such a transcendent connection. It felt utterly and undeniably right.

After a period of content silence, he whispered, “Thank you for confiding in me.”

She reached up and rested a hand atop his. “Thank you for reassuring me. You have been a great comfort.”

She could not be quite sure, but it had felt as though he had softly kissed the top of her head before stepping away from her. “We ought to return to the house, or keep walking before we take a chill.”

He again offered her his arm and she accepted it. “Yes. The walk has done me much good, as it always does when I am vexed, but I suppose I ought to look in on Jane. I wish to speak to her about… whatever is on her mind.”

“Miss Elizabeth, may I ask something of you?”

“Of course,” she said at once.

“Would you… would you forgive your sister for whatever you imagine she has done in conspiring with Miss Bingley? I believe she has been persuaded to act against her character, and perhaps she may need your sympathy.”

If she were not already completely lost in her love for him, her heart would certainly belong to him after such a speech as this. “That is very insightful. I confess, what distresses me the most is that Jane does not believe she might earn Mr. Bingley’s regard with only her own merits to recommend her. I wish that she could see herself as I do, and as I believe your friend sees her already.”

Captain Darcy nodded. “You know her better than anybody; you are likely correct, though it is a sad notion. But whether or not she is truly ill, I hope you will give her succour and not censure. And, for now, might you keep your vexation just between us? I know what it is like to speak in haste and regret later, and I would not wish you to experience any such remorse. It is hardly a tolerable sensation.”

Elizabeth laughed gently. “More pretty philosophy – very well, I am convinced. I shall think upon it and speak to her when we are back at Longbourn. Already my temper is cooled. When I am cross, a walk always does me good. On this occasion, in particular.”

She was more than usually contemplative as the day progressed, and her frustration had fully given way to compassion as they dined in a similar fashion to the previous evening.

The same charade played out over dinner, with Jane and Miss Bingley enacting the same scenes of commiseration and flattery before Mr. Darcy and Mr. Bingley. The colonel understood what they were about, and Elizabeth suspected that he played into it not only to satisfy his own mischievous impulse to heighten the drama, but to allow Elizabeth and Captain Darcy to again speak chiefly between themselves throughout the meal.

Their walk in the garden had changed something between them, heightened her awareness of him, keeping her burgeoning feelings boiling just below the surface. It was a thrilling experience, and one Elizabeth believed that Captain Darcy felt in equal measure. It was enough to content her troubled spirits until it came time for them all to retire.

Only when she found herself lingering outside Jane’s door did her discomfiture return. She lifted her hand to knock, hoping her sister might willingly confide in her. But she recalled her promise to Captain Darcy, and Elizabeth crept off to the library to distract her disquiet with a book.

***

Fitzwilliam Darcy had tossed and turned for most of the night. He had not fully confided in Elizabeth the extent of his conflicted concern at what they had discussed. Perhaps he had not been aware of his own ambivalence at the time; he had thought only of comforting Elizabeth.

But he had spent hours awake, considering the situation. His pig-headed, intractable brother had actually seemed alarmingly receptive to Miss Bingley’s flirtation that evening. He was entirely flummoxed. Did Marcus find it amusing? God forbid he actually liked the woman!

Perhaps he ought to do more to defend his brother and his friend against the schemes afoot. He had no wish to jeopardise his relationship with Elizabeth by acting against her most beloved sister, but from all that she had told him, he might hope that she would understand. Of course she would understand. She had pierced his soul with her loving gaze, and that blissful embrace.

Perhaps that was what tore at his heart the most. He loved Elizabeth Bennet, and he wished the same wondrous thing for his brother. Marcus could not love Miss Bingley, and she certainly did not love him. He had no doubt of her enthusiasm for Pemberley, but she was not at all suited to Marcus – nor to be mistress of Pemberley someday. He could not bear to think of her as mother to Little Lou, and any future heirs for his beloved home.

Marcus would likely inherit all too soon. Already he bore the greater share of responsibilities for the estate. He also shared a far greater bond with their father, and it would devastate Marcus to lose him. Was Caroline Bingley to be the woman at his side in the wake of impending tragedy? Their union was more likely to bring it about, for the elder Mr. Darcy had little affection for “Bingley’s vulgar step-harpy.”

Unable to find rest or respite, Darcy made his way to the library, where he was shocked – and yet not entirely surprised – to find Elizabeth curled up in her night dress with a book in her lap and a candle at her feet. She had found a comfortable sofa at the back of the room, and as it was hidden from sight of the corridor, he left the door open and joined her.

“I could not sleep,” she said softly as he came to sit in a chair near her.

“Nor I.”

She closed the book in her lap and sat up, insensible of the charming way her hair fell loose about her shoulders. “I hope what I confided earlier has not caused you any distress.”

Darcy respected Elizabeth too much to deceive her in this; moreover, he wished to confide in her as she had done in him. “I would not say it has distressed me, but it has warranted some further consideration. In truth, what troubles me is that I worry Marcus might really be prevailed upon in some way.”

“Do you no longer believe him impervious to her rather transparent ruse?”

He leaned forward, elbows on his knees, his posture oriented toward her as he pondered his reply. “He is not indolent, precisely, but he is… unpredictable in his whims and reasoning. He will stand his ground on the strangest matters, and think little of others of greater importance. It is an eccentricity that has worried me on previous occasions.”

Elizabeth smirked. “My sister Catherine has observed that your brother reminds her of our father, and your account of him obliges me to agree with her estimation. I can well understand such a character, and the difficulties they may present to their relations.”

Of course she would understand. Darcy felt he might say anything to her, share any of his troubles, and the incomparable woman would know just what to say and how to act to ease him. “With such a person, well intentioned advice is often the worst possible approach; it is maddening.”

She laughed, a melodious sound he could only regard with wonder. “Papa delights in declaring my younger sisters the silliest girls in England, encourages my cousin Collins to profess his inanities to anybody who will listen, and is lackadaisical at best in the management of our estate. And yet when when Mama attempted to bring Jane out at fifteen, when I went through a rebellious phase of refusing to read with him, when Mary played her instrument so ill at our aunt and uncle’s home in London that she vowed to give it up forever, then he was roused to put his foot down and make a stand. I suppose the things that matter most to him are not always what they should be, but I have learned to live with his whimsy.”

Darcy smiled in spite of himself at Elizabeth’s account of her father. It seemed that his most sensible daughters mattered a great deal to Mr. Bennet, and yet all that he neglected was of equal importance. “It is much the same with Marcus. I fear that his cares are all for the estate, and that he may take up the notion that Caroline Bingley is as good a bride as any, and his daughter needs a mother; he is not romantic, and may choose expedience.”

“And you would object, if he were to come to such a conclusion?”

Surely Elizabeth could not think Caroline Bingley a suitable bride for Marcus! That such a woman might become her own sister by marriage someday – she ought to be appalled! As Darcy recoiled, another realisation occurred to him. That Elizabeth might become sister to whomever Marcus married…. Darcy had begun to believe it a foregone conclusion that Elizabeth Bennet would be his wife.

He shifted in his seat as he was struck with the undeniable truth; he was in love with Elizabeth, and the enormity of it washed over him so violently that he accidentally kicked over the candelabra that she had set on the floor between the sofa and his own armchair.

The room did not fall into complete darkness as the candles were extinguished, for there was another lit on a nearby table, but wax had splashed across the carpet and Darcy stood, looking about for a means to repair the damage he had done.

Elizabeth smiled impishly. “Mr. Bingley will never know,” she whispered.

“I cannot recall that he has once set foot in the library,” he drawled. Before he could return to his chair, Elizabeth had moved aside as if to make room for him on the sofa beside her. He could not do otherwise but accept her unspoken invitation, and sat so near her they were almost touching. As his eyes adjusted to the dimmer lighting, he saw her gazing at him intently.

“I fear I have been remiss; I have made light of your concern with my japes about Papa, but if you are troubled, I wish I might really put you at ease.” She rested a hand atop his own.

He wrapped his fingers around hers and squeezed gently. “I wish better for my brother than I fear he does for himself in certain matters. He wed our cousin Anne because the family instructed him to do so. They were not unhappy, but they did not share the joy my mother and father do. I thought that after Anne died, Marcus might desire the same when he takes another bride. Our mother has made no secret that it is what she wishes for him, and now that I know….”

Darcy’s words caught in his throat as he nearly called this just what it was. But he was not ready to speak of love – not here, not like this. She looked up at him, her eyes wide and her lips parted as if anticipating what he might have said.

Darcy’s gaze locked on her lips as she pressed them together and wet them with her tongue, her breathing shaky as she held his gaze in the flickering light of a single candle. She shifted toward him, the book falling from her lap with a thud as it hit the floor, but she did not break her ardent stare, and neither did he.

They each began to lean toward one another, and finally Elizabeth’s eyes landed on Darcy’s mouth. His eyes slid closed as he was inches away from her, his hand cupped her cheek, and he felt her grip the loose fabric of his shirt to pull him in the remaining distance. But he never got there.

“Oh!”

Darcy looked up at the same moment that Elizabeth abruptly pulled away and stood to face her sister standing in the doorway, candle aloft. “Jane!”

Miss Bennet drew her robe tighter about herself and staggered a step backward. “I… I came for a book. I have slept so much today that I am quite awake. Or rather, I was – I begin to feel rather faint. I did not mean to… disturb you.”

Elizabeth was on her feet at once, and took a few steps toward her sister. “You are faint? Jane, let me come and sit with you – I could read to you.”

“No,” Jane said at once. “No, do not worry for me. I was a little disoriented for a moment. I heard your book hit the floor, and I had not seen you in here until then – it is very dark – I did not see – I will leave you to your… reading. Goodnight.” She grabbed the nearest book off of a table and hastened from the room.

Darcy had remained frozen, hoping that Miss Bennet had seen only her sister and not himself. Elizabeth was still as well, her back to him, and at length he realised that she was disconcerted by what had almost happened between them. He stood and slowly moved to stand at her side. He did not touch her, but leaned in until she would turn to look up at him.

She finally angled her lovely neck upward and fixed her dark, brilliant eyes on him. “Captain Darcy….”

“Elizabeth,” he breathed at the same moment. His hand found hers and their fingers entwined. Not because they had been discovered, but from the enormity of the feelings she aroused in him, Darcy was on the verge of dropping to one knee when there was a commotion in the corridor. Shouts roused them from their enthralling reverie, and they hastened from the room to discover the source of such an outburst.

***

Each step Elizbaeth took from the library went against every feeling surging within her. Captain Darcy was about to kiss her, and how she wished he had!

Instead, he pursued her as they rounded a corner that led to the guest wing – and the sound of raised voices. Mr. Bingley had come rushing from the family wing in the other direction, his gaze fixed on his sister weeping in the corridor.

Elizabeth came to a stop so abruptly that Captain Darcy almost collided with her, and nobody noticed him lay a hand on her shoulder, in the chaos of what was unfolding. It was a long minute as Elizabeth took it all in.

Sconces flickered on the walls, and by now every occupant of the house seemed to be congregated outside an open doorway – the room that had previously been Jane’s.

“Caroline, what is this? Marcus? Jane? Er, Miss Bennet?”

Jane was leaning against a servant girl, a wild look on her face. “I could not sleep and went to the library for a book to occupy me.” Her eyes landed on Elizabeth and then swiftly darted away. “I began to feel dizzy as I was walking back to my room. Dear….”

“Rosie, Miss,” the servant supplied.

“Dear Rosie was coming up to keep my fire lit, as Caroline instructed her to do; she found me just as I grew disoriented. I was confused and went to the room I stayed in before Mr. Darcy so obligingly switched with me – into the room he occupied. And I saw – I saw….”

When Jane was unable to say more, Miss Bingley spoke up in hasty defence, her posture seeming to draw attention to her thin nightgown rather than concealing it. “I had gone to check on Jane, for I was terribly worried for her. I also forgot that the rooms had been switched, and I went into Mr. Darcy’s room in error. I was near to weeping already, and realising my mistake cause me to shed such foolish tears, but Mr. Darcy was merely consoling me….”

Now it was the gentleman’s turn to make some explanation to Mr. Bingley – and to his silently fuming mother. “I confess I was quite affected by Miss Bingley’s tender concern for her friend. I embraced her and… I confess I was moved to bestow more affection than is my wont – or my right.”

Mr. Bingley let out a heavy sigh, closing his eyes as he collected himself. “I can see that there was some mistake, the confusion with the bedrooms – but as to the rest… I have no wish to cause a scene. We are all intimates here, perhaps it would be best if we all agreed to simply overlook….”

“But where is the servant? Where has she scampered off to?” Miss Bingley fairly screeched. Indeed, the servant that had just been at Jane’s side had now vanished. “No doubt she is already telling tales below stairs! I am ruined!”

Suddenly half the people in the hall were shouting at once. Mrs. Hurst was scolding her sister, while the colonel was making his usual japes at Mr. Darcy, who was attempting to placate his mother and Mr. Bingley at once by stating his willingness to do the right thing, which would not be so very bad if they brought it off right. Caroline thanked him while Mr. Bingley seemed to be nearly apologising to Mr. Darcy and then expressing his concern for Jane’s well-being.

And Jane was silent and wide-eyed in the center of the chaos, her expression undeniably guilty. Elizabeth felt the awful truth in the pit of her stomach – somehow, Jane had done this.

Finally the colonel had his fill of amusing himself with the drama of it all, and he took charge of the situation. “Aunt, would you see Miss Bennet back to her bedchamber, and ensure that the fire is indeed lit for her? Perhaps speak with that servant girl about the virtues of discretion. I will talk to Marcus and Bingley over a glass of brandy, as it is nearly dawn anyhow. We will see what can be done in a rational manner. Mrs. Hurst, would you be so kind as to escort your sister to her bedchamber? I daresay she is in want of your counsel – privately. Friend, cousin, let us adjourn to the billiard room.”

As everyone began to follow his orders and disperse, the colonel approached Elizabeth and Captain Darcy and said softly, “I shall leave you two to return to wherever you both came from, together.” He arched an eyebrow and grinned at having caught them out. “I shall speak to Marcus for you, Will. I can guess what you are thinking.”

“Father is going to take it very badly,” Captain Darcy said. Elizabeth drew nearer to him, desperately wishing she had somehow prevented her sister from taking part in the scheme that had injured her beloved’s family.

The colonel clapped a hand on Captain Darcy’s shoulder. “Your protestations will only provoke him to commit himself to being honourable. Leave it to me. Bingley will not force it.” He turned and gave Elizabeth a bow and a wink. “Miss Elizabeth, I do not know if there is anything particularly exciting in the air tonight, but it seems to be one of romance indeed.” With that, he turned and ushered Mr. Darcy and Mr. Bingley away.

Elizabeth and Captain Darcy were left alone in the now silent corridor, each of them rather in a daze after all that had transpired. And she could not face him.

“You must wish to retire,” he said at last. “I suspect my mother will want to speak to me of what has happened – I ought to attend to her before she speaks to Marcus.”

Elizabeth trembled. “I desire a walk – I told you this afternoon what peace it gives me when I am upset.”

“It is dark and cold.”

“I shall dress warmly.”

He opened his mouth to protest further, but he did not. With a sigh of resignation, he said, “Wait for me by the garden door, once you have dressed. I will not be too long with my mother, for I mean to make sure she takes some of the tea that helps her sleep. If I cannot dissuade you, perhaps I shall join you.”

A jest about the impropriety of such an assignation after all that had occurred died on her tongue and she merely nodded her assent before turning toward her bedchamber in the guest wing. She wished desperately that there had been something – anything – within her power to say, to express what she felt at such a moment. But for all her boiling anger, words had utterly failed her, and sheer misery prevailed.

***

Lady Anne had wept and raged before finally succumbing to the effects of her calming tea and taking to her bed. Marcus had confessed to more than anybody had suspected, blaming the copious amounts of Bingley’s good brandy he had consumed over a game of billiards, and he agreed to marry Caroline Bingley as swiftly as it could be managed. He would accompany the colonel to London and procure a special license; the triumphant bride need only decide whether she preferred to wed from Meryton or London, and it would be managed within a week.

Fitzwilliam Darcy had no part to play in the proceedings that occupied his relations, and he chafed at his powerlessness. He wanted to lament as his mother had done, to dismiss the anguish that plagued him, as Bingley had done, or to accept it all with a wry laugh and shrug his shoulders – this had been how Marcus ended their conversation. Sardonic acceptance, as usual.

He did have one comfort awaiting him at least. Bearing a lantern in his hand, he met Elizabeth at the garden door. Her weary expression mirrored what his own must have been, and some silent commiseration passed between them as he offered her his free arm and led her into the garden.

They walked in silence for a few minutes, each hesitant to broach the inescapable subject looming over them like the deep gray clouds above. Finally Elizabeth looked up at him, something steeling in her countenance.

“Will you tell me the outcome of… what happened upstairs?”

“Marcus and Miss Bingley will marry immediately. The ball at Netherfield will be in their honour – it will be put about that an engagement has long existed between them, to quell any unseemly rumours.”

Elizabeth’s expression softened with compassion, as if she knew how much the deception bothered him. “Could the incident not be hushed up among the servants?”

“Bingley is so generous and affable a master that I have no doubt he would have succeeded, however….” He knew not how to explain the whole wretched truth, but her gaze implored him to have out with it, and so he did.

“There may be a child.”

She gasped. “Oh! I had thought the attachment to be one-sided and rather in vain. But if there is really such, er, affection between them, perhaps they shall have some chance at happiness, despite such a beginning.”

Darcy fell silent, lost to his recollection of what had passed between them in the library, how close he had been to taking a liberty that would have obliged them to marry with equal expedience as his dolt of a brother. Merely a kiss, he told himself – surely he could have stopped at merely a kiss. Would it have been any less scandalous because he was utterly and endlessly in love with Elizabeth Bennet? Could his brother’s foolish moment of passion ever lead to half so much affection?

His musings were interrupted by tinkling laughter. Elizabeth gazed skyward, delighted by the fluffy snowflakes that he had been too lost in thought to notice.

“The first snow is always my favourite,” she said, reaching out to catch it in her hands.

Darcy studied the snow as it began to fall faster, glistening in the light of his lantern, whirling in downward spirals and covering the gravel path they trod. For a moment his worries eased and he relished the same enjoyment as Elizabeth. In truth, her unabashed wonder was a far dearer sight than the snow itself; he could imagine her marvelling at the wintry landscape of Pemberley at Christmas, and his heart yearned for such joy.

With a chuckle, he said, “The first real snow of the season has always been celebrated at Pemberley with a snowball fight, ever since we were boys.”

Elizabeth grinned at him. “My sisters and I have a much sillier way of expressing our delight.” To demonstrate, she parted her lips and allowed a few of the large, crisp snowflakes to land on her tongue, and then she closed her mouth and gave him a look of mirth. “Delicious.”

He laughed along with her, mimicking her gesture. “They taste sweeter in Hertfordshire – most curious.”

They walked on in silent camaraderie, taking in the darkened landscape as the snow began to coat the ground as far as they could see. Trees that had not yet lost all their leaves were now laden with snow, their branches dipping with every gust of wind that caused the snow to swirl in the air.

Darcy wished to lose himself to the magic of such a moment, but ere long the weight of his worries crept back into his mind. He had made light of the situation in this very garden earlier that day, not only to comfort Elizabeth, but in a vain effort to convince himself.

He looked to Elizabeth, and saw it written in her countenance as well. “You said that your father will not approve of the match?”

His father was not insensible to Miss Bingley’s avaricious ambition and had warned Marcus on more than one occasion. “His health is delicate at present. The shock of what must be accomplished in haste will….” He could not bring himself to say what he feared, but he could see that she understood.

But he had not expected her to begin to weep. She withdrew her arm from his and covered her face with two small, gloved hands, her shoulders shaking. “Elizabeth….”

She sniffled a little before lifting her gaze to him, wringing her hands in front of her. “Forgive me – I cannot help suspecting my sister had some part to play in what happened, and I am heartily ashamed. I ought to have known – that is, I suspected there was something – I might have prevented it.”

“I could say the same of myself,” he admitted. “I laid awake for hours considering how best to proceed, but I was too late.”

Tears spilled down her cheeks, which were pink from the cold. “This afternoon I was incensed to think that they had merely conspired to false professions of praise, a friendship of convenience, and a feigned illness to carry it off. I could never have thought Jane would be a part of something so awful, but she must have been. It is plain to see it now, when it is too late.”

Darcy knew not how to comfort her. In truth, he had rather hoped she would be the one to soothe his own spirits. Her mere presence tempered the worst of his ire, but a terrible melancholy remained.

When he made no reply but to take her hand in his own, Elizabeth peered up at him as if afraid to ask, “Do you despise me for it?”

“Despise you? No indeed!”

Another burst of tears overtook her before she managed to speak. “I fear I shall share in her ignominy, that I am somehow complicit in my complacency.”

“It was I who advised you to wait.”

“I might have said something, said anything, even before Jane ever came to Netherfield, to reassure her that she need not doubt herself – that she need not grow so desperate.”

Darcy had no doubt that Jane Bennet would indeed be rewarded for her role in the compromise; no doubt Miss Bingley would grow even more vocal in favour of a match between Bingley and Miss Bennet. She would have an ally for life with such leverage, such a secret between them.

“It would serve her right if her new friend, having been granted her own desire, now betrayed Jane and refused to hold up her end of whatever wicked bargain – oh!” She bit her lip, her expression pained. “What a horrid thing to say – forgive me.”

“A horrid thing has happened,” Darcy replied. “You may speak candidly with me.”

Their hands remained entwined and he began to gently stroke her fingers with his thumb. Their hearts had been laid open to one another for some time now, and in such a crisis it felt perfectly natural that they should speak so plainly together.

Elizabeth’s gaze was both fearful and assessing, and after a long silence she lifted her snow-dusted shoulders as she spoke. “I have no great affection for Miss Bingley, and have presumed that her opinion of my family is no better. I fear she will not be the wife that you and your family would wish for your brother. In truth, I fear she will make him miserable, or at least vex him into satirical bitterness, as I have seen betwixt my own parents. I fear your family will resent my sister’s participation in the compromise, for it was undoubtedly by design that she discovered them. And I fear that I will be tainted by association in your estimation. How could it not be thus?”

Because I love you, Darcy wished to say. It was all he could do not to take her in his arms and give her the most enthusiastic assurance that she could never be less than perfect in his esteem. But he could not – would not. Not on such a night as this. He would honour her as she deserved, which was better than some scandalously patched up dalliance. He would pay her his addresses at the ball, though the romance of it was not in his nature, and then speak to her father directly.

For now, he could only say, “You are far worthier than the schemes in afoot this evening. I think no less of Bingley for having such a step-sister. Indeed, I could just as soon fear that you would think less of me for my elder brother’s reprehensible indiscretion – but I know you to be too generous.”

She smiled and raised her free hand to his cheek. He leaned into the tender gesture, his eyes slowly closing as he savoured the warmth of her touch. The comfort of it slowed the racing of his wretched thoughts, replacing the agony and anxiety with something light and expansive that seemed to twine around them. Finally, he opened his eyes and gazed at her, aware of nothing else in the world but Elizabeth.

She took a step closer. Her breath was visible in a frosty cloud before them as she softly said, “You are cold.”

As her hand withdrew, it took every ounce of his self-control not to act as rakishly as Marcus had done. Darcy had nearly given into his overwhelming physical attraction in the library, at the very moment when his brother had been induced to do the same. Once again the urge to kiss her could not be repressed, not even in his despair. Perhaps because of his despair. He felt himself begin to lean in toward her, and grasped for the will to still himself.

“I daresay we have walked enough; we ought to return to the house – dawn cannot be far off. Are you not tired, Miss Elizabeth?”

“I am exhausted,” she said. “And a little hungry, too. I did not have much of an appetite at dinner, but now I fear it shall prevent me from finding any rest. I should hate to wake a servant so early, but… are we not very near the kitchen door?”

Indeed they were, and Darcy was glad of it. He was reluctant to part from her company – some strange sense of foreboding had lent a shade of destiny to their walk in the snowy garden. And yet, they tempted fate every moment they remained so utterly alone. Damn and blast! If Marcus had not entered into such a cursed sham of engagement, that very night would have seen Darcy secure a far more promising match of his own.

He was ready to fall to his knees, to lay his heart and soul bare before her, yet he could not allow the declaration of what he felt for Elizabeth to be sullied by the ugly thing that still hung in the air like a dark cloud around Netherfield. It was not the work of a moment, for though his dejection had heightened his need for her love, he had been just as eager before they had been interrupted in the library. Would that Jane Bennet had made such a fuss at that indiscretion instead!

Forcibly pushing away such thoughts, Darcy guided them toward the back of the manor, to the entrance leading down into the servants’ hall. It was dark and silent, but for the light of his lantern and their soft, slow footfalls in the stone corridor that led to the kitchen. This room, too, was blessedly empty, though the possibility of a servant entering at any moment held Darcy rooted in place as Elizabeth began to look about, foraging for anything easy to pilfer.

He had not ventured into the kitchens of Pemberley in nearly twenty years. It was the custom of the family to allow their servants complete privacy below stairs, though he suspected Elizabeth knew her way around Longbourn’s kitchen and stillroom. Even in this unfamiliar place, she moved with confidence, turning this way and that as she collected a little basket and filled it with her findings – a few muffins, a bit of cheese wrapped in cloth, an apple and a pear, and a small dish of candied plums. She spun this way and that, assembling her curious repast, and he marveled at the graceful little thief.

Finally unable to resist, he set the lantern on the table beside her basket and caught her hand in his, spinning her into the steps of a dance. She let out a breathy laugh, her face glowing in the flickering candlelight as she smiled up at him, moving in harmony with him though the steps of their dance were entirely of their own invention.

After a minute of such enchantment, Darcy stilled and took her hands in his. “I have not yet asked you for the first two dances at Bingley’s ball.”

“I have already considered them to belong to you,” she said.

“What a happy thought before we say good night.” Darcy drank in the sight of her, as if searing the picture before him into his mind’s eye, to dwell upon in the warmth of his bed, until repose claimed him. She stared back, the same burning intensity he felt reflected back at him in her dark eyes. At last, he released her hand and stepped back, giving her a deep bow.

Each step he took away from her was against his every inclination as his body silently cried out her name. He ached for her, but not here, not like this, not at such an awful time. But he could not wait much longer.