15. A Fraught Discussion

CHAPTER 15

A Fraught Discussion

" N o?" Darcy shook his head, trying to make sense of what Elizabeth had just said. He had offered her marriage, a secure future, excellent connections for herself and her family. "You are refusing me?"

He felt her shift next to him in the darkness, and in a moment he felt her head come to rest on his shoulder. "I am not rejecting you. But I am not accepting you." He was about to protest that these were the same, but she hurried on. "I like you. I like you a great deal. But a marriage, in my world, at least, should arise from love and not obligation. I have not been raised with the expectation of selling myself to the highest bidder.

"My mother, at one time, opined how fine it would be if one of us were to marry our cousin, Mr Collins. He," she explained, "is the man who will inherit Longbourn after our father passes on. We have never met him, and I have no reason to suppose him a bad sort of a man, but the very thought of it was abhorrent to me. To marry without love—that is the worst sort of torture."

A small piece of his heart broke at these words. She did not love him. He had no reason to imagine that she did, but he had hoped beyond reason that there might be some affection in her heart. But regardless of her feelings, other issues still loomed large.

"I am afraid we have no choice. Your name will be ruined. Your reputation, and that of your sisters, will be destroyed. None of them will be able to marry well if we do not wed. I could not live with myself if I knew I had forever shattered their hopes. And when your cousin does inherit your estate, what then? Where will you go, if you have not wealthy husbands?" The idea of five unmarried women, trying to survive on scraps and handouts, chilled him more than the cold rock at his back.

The pressure of her head on his shoulder shifted and she nestled into him, a strangely intimate gesture from somebody refusing his offer of marriage.

"I have considered this," she whispered at last, her voice scarcely a breath in the darkness. "We must say… you must say that I have died. You can tell them that Mr Wickham caused my death, if you wish. It will mark him more of a villain, and me a martyr. My sisters, then, will be sought after because of their association with me rather than reviled. There will be no stain on them."

"Elizabeth! You cannot be serious. What will you do?"

"I had hoped," she breathed, "to find a position at the hunting lodge. I can cook, or I can teach the village children their alphabets and how to play the pianoforte very ill. I can take a new name and nobody need know I am still alive." She gave a sniffle. "I…"

Oh heavens! She was crying. He was terrible at consoling women when they cried. His sister had told him so many times. He shifted inside the cocoon of his blanket, and raised his arm a bit, so Elizabeth could move away if she wished. Instead, she nestled in even closer to his side and when his arm pulled her in further still, she buried her face against his neck.

"Do not cry, Lizzy. Would it be so very terrible, being married to me?"

If anything, she started to cry even harder. Without words to soothe her, he just held her close and let her weep out her tears until the sobs abated and she could speak again.

"No, not so terrible, Will," she said at last, the words punctuated by the last of her sobs. "Not terrible at all. But all my dreams were for something so very different. I cannot live as nothing but a duty to be fulfilled. I wish to be loved."

What was he to do? Was this the time to confess his growing feelings for her? To make such a declaration would seem ingenuous, especially in light of their most unusual situation and the very short duration of their acquaintance. But neither could he leave her thinking there was no affection on his part.

"I feel no pain in making my offer, Elizabeth, no unwelcome obligation. It is necessary, yes, but that does not make it onerous. I have come to like you a great deal, and will do everything in my power to make you happy."

"Will, I…" She fell silent and just lay against him for a while.

"Hush. I will not force you to do anything you do not wish. Just know that I... I have come to care for you."

I love you , he wanted to say, but the words would not come. They would only send her away.

In answer to his gesture, she pressed herself closer to him still and lay against his chest until her breathing suggested she had drifted into sleep. But Darcy stayed awake for a very long time, half-reclined against the rocky walls of this not-quite-cave, wondering how Elizabeth could reject him but still be comfortable enough with him that she sought his presence and touch this much.

Jane and her companions rose early in the morning and enjoyed a good breakfast before starting on the final leg of the journey. It was about twenty miles to their destination, so the colonel told them, less than half of their accustomed daily distance. With fortune, and a change of horses at Llangollen, they would arrive long before noon.

The colonel had somehow procured a set of livery, which he wore with a swagger that belied his putative status as a servant. But Jane had to admit that if one were looking for a wealthy military officer, the green-garbed man in the white wig, clinging to the back of the carriage, would draw no attention. Beside Major Hawarden, two more large men on larger horses now rode alongside the carriage, and there was little doubt that the pistols they carried were ready to fire. Contrarily, their ominous presence led Jane to feel less, rather than more, safe, but she had to trust the colonel's best judgement, and tried to ignore the import of their armed guard.

As arranged, they stopped in the market town close to Coed-y-Glyn for a short time, ostensibly to ask directions and procure a few final supplies; in reality, to parade about and look like a party of three newcomers making good on an invitation to visit for a time. Mr Bingley played his part well, asking about the hunting and looking quite excited about it all, whilst Jane and her father made some comments about waiting for the rest of their party to arrive in a few days. If anybody noticed the silent servant upon the box, or knew the identity of one of the outriders, not a word was said.

At last, they set off for their destination. The entrance to the estate was just a mile down the road, but the road to the house wound for four or so miles through the woods. They rode in silence for much of the time, although Mr Bingley seemed much relieved at having no competition for Jane's attention.

He had been, as Jane had expected, delightful company the previous day. They had enjoyed the church and its fine windows, taken tea with the parson and his wife, strolled along the streets and admired the shops, and enjoyed hearing each other's opinions.

They agreed on many things; their thoughts on music, poetry, and the merits of scientific endeavour were all quite in accord, although Jane had to admit to herself that her thoughts on science were more noted by their lack of existence. Nevertheless, coming from a family who made their fortune in industry, Mr Bingley had a firm grasp of some of the more recent contributions to engineering, which subject enthralled Jane more than she imagined she ever would.

The day had passed too quickly, and she was almost sad not to have more time for unguarded conversation with her new neighbour.

Her father's low cough brought Jane's attention back to the present, and the lane down which they now travelled.

The heavy growth of trees on either side of the path provided no suggestion of what was to come. They followed a stream that flowed between the steep hillsides, turning this way and that as the lane coiled its way into the heart of the park, dark and mysterious, with occasional glimmers of the brook's sparkling water through the leaves.

Then, at last, they broke through the trees and into a clearing, and the hunting lodge was visible at last.

"Good God!" Mr Bingley exclaimed, his face going slack and draining of colour.

"Hunting box, indeed," Papa tutted. "That is not quite what I would call it."

Jane stared out the window, not quite believing what she saw. Her mouth hung open and she closed it carefully.

This was not the modest lodge she had expected, nor a humble cobblestone cottage with an outbuilding or two for the horses and perhaps a smaller structure to the side for some of the staff. She had been concerned there might not be space for her to have a room separate from the men. Her fears were unwarranted.

Instead of the squat and rustic structure she had imagined, here before her stood a building that could only be called a palace.

It rose up, all grey stone and tall chimneys, in the Tudor style, with a great square turret at one end that might once have been part of an ancient castle and a more modern looking addition at the other. It faced onto a large courtyard at the front, enclosed on three sides by beautifully kept shrubs and hedges, and beyond the main body of the house, Jane could see what looked like fine stables and low buildings that might be storehouses or possibly servants' quarters. It put Longbourn to shame in its size and grandeur.

In a moment, the horses came to a stop directly by the majestic wooden front door, and the colonel himself leapt from his perch and handed them out of the carriage.

"Welcome," he intoned, "to Coed-y-Glyn."

Seemingly from nowhere, a small army of servants appeared by the door to see them inside.

" Croeso , Colonel," Jane heard from a smart-looking lady who could only be the housekeeper. Her accent held a hint of the sing-song music of the Welsh language. "Welcome to you and your guests. All is prepared. I have put Mr Bennet in the India Room, with Miss Bennet beside him in the China Room. When Miss Elizabeth is retrieved, she shall have the adjoining Rose Room. Mr Bingley is down in the hall, in the River Room."

" Diolch ," replied their host. "Very good." He introduced his guests to Mrs Lloyd, who was exactly what Jane had surmised, and then stood back with his arm extended, inviting them to enter the family's great house.

It was as grand inside as out and appointed beautifully. The marble floors gleamed, and the furnishings that Jane could see were elegant and in the finest of taste. She allowed Mrs Lloyd to lead her and the others up a wide staircase at one end of the main hall, and then down a long passage.

"This is the guest wing," the housekeeper informed them. "The family's wing is on the other side of the portrait gallery." She gestured in the opposite direction, where a large glass cupola spanned the area open to the floor below. Running along the back of this was a wall covered with more paintings than Jane could think to count. Another hall led off the far side.

"This is a very fine house. The family must be quite old and important." Mr Bennet nodded his appreciation as his eyes, too, scanned the wall of portraits. "One does not collect so fine a set of ancestors without some diligence."

"Important, indeed!" Mrs Lloyd crowed. "Do you not know? Did the colonel not tell you? He does enjoy a prank, that one."

Jane cocked her head in curiosity. "No. We know he is cousin to Mr Darcy. Is there something else we ought to know?"

The housekeeper laughed, a rich sound that fit her pleasant appearance. "The colonel is the second son of an earl. This lodge is one of several estates belonging to Lord Matlock."

Beside her, Jane watched as Mr Bingley turned as pale as his shirt and swayed on his feet.

It seemed mere moments after Darcy's eyes finally closed that the sky began to lighten. Elizabeth was still asleep, if restlessly so, and he could not bear to wake her before it was necessary. She was wrapped tightly in the blanket they shared, her head resting on his arm, as his rested on the crunched up satchel they used to carry the blankets and last bits of food. During the night, they had somehow shifted to lie down on the moss, curled against each other between the trees and the hard rise of the hillside. Darcy's back was pressed against the rocky wall, and his free arm wrapped protectively about the young woman who nestled against him, her back snug against his chest.

Oh, in more comfortable, less perilous circumstances, this would be his idea of heaven. Right now, it was torture.

Elizabeth sighed in her sleep and shifted against him. Her hair, wild and untamed, tickled his lips; the sweet scent of her, even through the grime of a week's rough travel, taunted him. He sensed, more than felt, the thrum of her heartbeat as she wriggled closer to him, perhaps in search of security, or perhaps just against the chill of the morning. He wished he knew. They had huddled together before for warmth, and he had fought his instincts before, but this time something was different. Against the barely felt tattoo that invaded his soul, the rest of the world faded to oblivion. Gone were the trees and the rocky cliff face, gone were the distant hoots of owls and the rustle of rodents in the darkness. It was only her. She curled in closer and his arm pulled her tighter in to his protective embrace. She moved her head again, and he could resist no more. His face dipped and his lips grazed the top of her head where her chestnut hair danced across his cheeks. What was he thinking?

But reason had long since deserted him, and when she responded with a sigh, he kissed her head once more. She gave another sigh, a sleepy sound of deep content, that did nothing for his own equilibrium. Then she wriggled against him again. All was lost. Fire rushed through his veins, red and gold and flashing, and all his reserve and regulation all but vanished and his hands longed to rove over the lovely soft body pressed far too enticingly against his own. Only the hard stone pressing into his back and the rough woollen blanket that scratched at his hands let the distant chant of sanity break through: You are a gentleman, gentleman, gentleman… He struggled back into some semblance of self-control, but he could no longer deny that he liked this unusual young lady far too well for his own good.

He must have drifted back to sleep, for the sun was higher when Elizabeth rolled out of his loose embrace. She said not a word about his display of affection, and he hoped she had truly been asleep, or imagined it was only a dream.

They struggled up from their uncomfortable den and prepared for the final leg of their journey. It was only five more miles, a distance Elizabeth claimed to walk in a morning before breakfast, but this was a trudge through rough and rocky wood, not a gentle path between farmers' fields. There were streams to cross and ridges and steep inclines to negotiate, and the faint track wound snakelike through the trees. It would take several hours to complete the distance.

They made their way carefully and slowly. As well as the difficult terrain, Darcy was also concerned about unwanted eyes tracking their progress.

"We are coming to the lodge through the estate's forests, from the back," he explained as he helped her over a large boulder that impeded their path. "You will see when we arrive; it is, I believe, the safest access to the house, if not the easiest. Here, let me assist you across this rivulet."

It was six full hours later that they finally neared the house itself. They had stopped more than once to rest and eat what little they had left from their supplies, and had to retrace their steps two or three times when the path that Darcy had thought was correct turned out to lead nowhere, or ended at a rock face on a hillside. Their feet were wet and muddy from fording streams and clambering over rocks, and their clothing was, if anything, in even worse repair. Filthy from the mud and dust and several days' wear, and now ripped and covered with burs and leaves from the foliage through which they passed, they must look perfectly frightful. Darcy hoped they would not be turned away at the door.

"Aha!" Elizabeth exclaimed at last as the lodge came into view. "I understand your path. I had not expected this arm of the woods to extend almost to the outbuildings. Are those the stables?"

She was correct. In an effort to keep the rear part of the property as close to the natural as was possible, the woods encroached a good distance into what would, in many other such places, be parkland. There was plenty of that on the far side of the house, to be certain, but from this direction there were only a hundred or so yards between the last trees and the gate through the surrounding wall that adjoined the stables.

"Are you ready?" Darcy asked. His eyes scanned the surrounding area for anything unusual. He saw nothing: no strange men, no unexpected flashes of colour in the woods, no glints on the roofs that might betray a spyglass. "Do you see that doorway? Can you run?"

She nodded. They had, in concert, agreed to leave their bags just inside the perimeter of the woods, to be retrieved later if necessary, and preferably by one of the lodge's manservants. They could now make their final dash unencumbered.

"Now!"

They slipped from behind that last tree and tore, as fast as they could, across the stretch of field, finally achieving the welcoming door, set as it was into the tall wall that surrounded the courtyard. It was, to the surprise of neither of them, locked. But the door itself was set into the thick wall, allowing them a couple of feet under the protection of the arch above them.

They were not entirely safe yet, but they were close. Unless somebody approached them from the field directly behind them, they would not be visible. Darcy raised his roughened hand and began to bang on the door. "Help! Please! Let us in!"

In a few moments, there came the sound of people moving on the other side, and then the welcome grind of the key in the lock. The door cracked open, and a very large man, taller even than Darcy himself, glared down at them.

" Pwy dych chi ? What you be wanting?"

" Ffrind dw i ." Darcy replied. He did not know this man and his name would almost certainly mean nothing. But there were others who did know him. "We need your help. This is my uncle's estate. Mrs Lloyd knows me. Is she near?"

The giant glared at him once more. Of course, he looked nothing at all like the nephew of an earl at this moment, filthy and unshaven, clothed as a field labourer. He pulled himself to his full height and tried to look imperious, hoping his demeanour alone would help to convince this man that he was someone important.

"You be the colonel's cousin?" The suspicious eyes narrowed. "You don't be looking like a gentleman. What be your name?"

"I, good fellow, am Fitzwilliam Darcy of Pemberley in Derbyshire, son of Lady Anne, the present earl's late sister, and cousin to Colonel Richard Fitzwilliam of His Majesty's Army." He glanced to his side. "And this is Miss Elizabeth Bennet, of Longbourn in Hertfordshire. May we please come in?"

"Very well. You be sounding the part." The giant stepped aside and let them enter the courtyard before locking the door behind them. "Stay right here." He yelled for a groom to seek out Mrs Lloyd in the house, and remained, keeping guard over them lest they not be who they claimed.

At another time, Darcy would have been more than offended to be treated thus. Now, he was thankful that some pains were being taken to keep the property secure. Furthermore, he was so relieved to be safe, at last, and with the prospect of a hot meal and a bath, that he would have forgiven the rough giant almost anything short of being flayed alive.

"We are safe now," he whispered to Elizabeth. Her response did not come in words, but in action, as she leaned against his side and allowed him to wrap an arm about her waist, pulling her close. He was her comfort and security. Now if only he could somehow convince her to let him become her husband. Perhaps Mrs Lloyd would have some advice for him, or some words to offer Elizabeth.

Any thoughts, however, of allowing this remarkable young woman the gift of a choice came to an abrupt end when, instead of Mrs Lloyd, a greying man of moderate stature and the dress of a country gentleman came hurrying across the courtyard.

"Lizzy!" he called out as soon as he set eyes on her and, quite unexpectedly, began to run towards them. "My darling girl, Lizzy!"

She stiffened in Darcy's arms.

"Papa!"

From the moment she saw her father striding across the enclosure, Elizabeth knew her fate was sealed. There would be no opportunity now to feign a tragic death and live out her life in obscurity, leaving her sisters without stain. There was no chance of pretending she had not been with Will this last week, or that they had been keeping a most proper distance between them.

No, here she stood, looking like a castaway with her hair in disarray, her clothing soiled and torn, and wrapped up in the circle of Will's strong arms. There could be no explanation, no escape. For her sisters' sake, she would have to marry him.

She ought to be furious or horrified, but she could not find the anger she sought. Instead, a small thrill worked its way up her spine. She was… relieved!

But there was no time to think about this or talk to him now. In a moment, she was ripped from Will's embrace and pulled into her father's.

"Lizzy, my girl, you do not know how worried we have been! Are you well? I am so very pleased to see you. Are you injured? Your mother will never let you hear the end of this. Come, my girl, give me a hug."

She returned her father's embrace with one of her own, equally shocked and delighted to see him. Only now did she realise that, had she carried through on her scheme, she never would have seen him again. She froze at the thought, but then let herself revel in this familial affection once more.

"I am well, Papa. A bit dirty and tired, perhaps, but quite unharmed. Will…"

"And you, sir, must be the scoundrel who abducted my child." Her father stepped back and faced Will, looking up at him above the rims of his spectacles. "What have you to say for yourself, sir?"

Will had the grace to turn red. "I must confess to this crime, for which I offer my deepest apologies, sir. I had no thoughts of embroiling Miss Bennet in my plight, but I cannot be sorry now, for otherwise I would not have had the chance to know her. Fitzwilliam Darcy, at your service." He stood straight, gave a brief bow, and then extended his hand.

"I ought to call you out. But you have brought her here safely, and in good spirits, and so I shall let you live another day."

"It is appreciated. Your carriage and horses are quite safe as well, and will be returned to you as soon as I am free of this man pursuing me."

"Yes, yes," Mr Bennet waved him off. "More of that later. Come inside, Lizzy. Your sister is quite anxious to see you."

"Jane? Jane is here? I must see her at once. Will, you must meet her."

He reached out for her hand before she could move too far away. "I would be honoured, but—" He looked down at himself and groaned. "I should like to look more presentable first. I am hardly fit for polite company."

"No more than am I." She caught a glimpse of the two of them reflected in a window and laughed. "I am surprised our large friend there did not send us both packing. We are quite the sight!"

"A sight for sore eyes," came a voice from the door to the house. "Will! You are alive!" The man rushed forward to pull Will into a fierce but brief embrace. "And this must be Miss Bennet. Colonel Fitzwilliam, at your service, Madam. Come inside. I have already called for baths to be drawn, and clothing to be found. Your rooms are ready. We can discuss matters later. Come along, come along."

His tone was that of a man accustomed to being obeyed, and with the promise of a bath and fresh clothing, Elizabeth was happy to do as he commanded. She followed first him, and then a fine-looking woman, up a long flight of stairs from the back door, and down a hallway to a room that, after these last few nights on hay, rough cots, and plain rock, looked fit for a princess. Somebody had already filled the copper tub, and a maid stood by, ready to assist.

"You'll be burning these, then, miss?" she asked, looking at the remains of Elizabeth's rustic dress.

"No. I think I should like to keep them as a memento of a rather unusual week, if you please."

The girl wrinkled her brow at that, but merely replied, "Very well, Miss," and set about helping Elizabeth into the steaming, fragrant water.

Oh, what bliss this was, to lie here, warm and clean, smelling the scent of lemon and lavender instead of the stench of horse dung and unwashed bodies. She did nothing at all for a very long time, other than luxuriate in the water, allowing the aches and tension of the last week to ease from her bones.

She must have drifted off, for the next thing she knew, the young maid was rousing her with a soft touch on her arm.

"Begging your pardon, Miss, but I was told not to let you sleep in the tub. I've called for more hot water, if you wish to wash your hair, and some of milady's lemon soap, if you wish."

"Yes, yes, of course." Elizabeth forced her eyes open. She would sleep very well tonight, but now she wished to wash, dress, and find her sister.

It was a while later that she finally descended the main staircase to find the small sitting room where the others had gathered for tea. Her hair was clean and dry and pinned up with some competence by the maid, whose name was Gwen, and her skin was clean once more and now softened with a delicate rose-scented lotion. Her clothing, however, was less expected. Mrs Lloyd had been unable to find anything suitable in the house, and Jane's garments were all of a very different size, she being both taller and more slender in build than Elizabeth. The only garment of a suitable size and that was appropriate for any sort of company was a dress from some two decades before, with a low, fitted waist, and a very full skirt. She had forgone the embarrassment of the paniers and petticoats that went with the frock, but still she felt like an exhibit at a museum, or a creature at a masquerade ball.

Let the others laugh. She was clean and warm, and quite in need of some tea.

A servant pointed the way, but she needed no guidance. The aroma she craved drew her in the right direction, and soon she was at the door to a sitting room of surprising size and elegance for a mere "hunting lodge." It was decorated in the finest of taste, with the pale greens and creams of the walls and upholstery mirroring the sylvan view from the large windows that opened onto the park at the side of the house.

The gathered party rose as she entered. Beside her father, Jane, and Will, there were three men—Colonel Fitzwilliam, and two whose names she did not know—all of whom looked delighted at her arrival.

But first, there was Jane, who rushed up the second she crossed the threshold.

"Lizzy! Oh, Lizzy, you poor dear! What an ordeal you must have been through. You had us all so worried. I am so very happy to see you." Uncharacteristically, Jane's voice was tight with emotion, and she caught her sister in a fierce embrace before kissing her cheek. "I am so pleased to see you." She stepped back to assess her sister now. "You look well, and that dress is a delight! Wherever did Mrs Lloyd find it? That style suits you. You must tell us everything!"

Before she could respond, Will was at her side. "Elizabeth." He caught her hand and pressed a kiss to the back, leaving her more flustered than the two nights she had spent in his arms. He, too, had washed and exchanged his ruined farm worker's garb for something more suited to his station. The clothing must have belonged to his cousin, for the coat was too loose about the shoulders and the trousers came further up his shins than fashion dictated, but he looked every inch as regal as a lord. He had shaved as well, and for the first time since the evening at Milden Hall, Elizabeth saw his face unshadowed by any growth of beard. My heavens, but he was a handsome man!

"May I make proper introductions?" he asked, his voice low and velvet in the calm of the sitting room. "My cousin, of course, whom you have seen briefly…"

He presented her formally to the man she had already learned was Richard Fitzwilliam. He was the second son of the earl of Matlock, and the lodge, or palace, or whatever this grand house was, belonged to his father. The colonel bowed deeply, welcomed her once more to Coed-y-Glyn, and said every proper word with such sincerity and genuine pleasure at her attendance that she was quite ready to believe him the most gentlemanlike man in the world.

Then she met the two strangers. The younger man turned out to be their new neighbour in Meryton, Mr Bingley. Yes, of course, she recalled now. Netherfield Park had been let at last, and this was the new tenant. Such matters had quite slipped her mind during the week of her and Will's flight.

The other, closer to the colonel's age, she believed, was introduced as Major Hawarden, the colonel's assistant and friend. He shook her hand like an old acquaintance, but then retreated to the corner where he had been sitting when she walked in with scarcely another word.

It was Mr Bingley, Jane now gushed, who had supplied the carriage and horses that brought them here.

"But how are you connected?" Elizabeth asked. "I understand Mr Darcy and Colonel Fitzwilliam knowing each other for they are cousins, and you and Papa knowing our neighbour, but what of their acquaintance?"

Will cupped her elbow and led her to a chair. "I shall tell all soon enough, but you surely would like some refreshments."

And indeed, this was so. For only a few feet away was a tray laden with a mouth-watering array of teacups and plates of food. Her stomach growled and she hoped nobody had heard. She had, after all, eaten almost nothing since a very early breakfast before they left their rocky refuge, having only the remaining scraps of old bread and cheese to sustain them on their final scramble through the thick woods.

Jane rushed off at once to prepare her a plate, and soon Elizabeth was enjoying hot, sweet tea and a selection of delicate pastries, as Will explained his friendship with Charles Bingley.

She finished her cup as Will finished his story. "Then you and Mr Bingley were friends already, and Mr Bingley had met your cousin in London, and brought him to Hertfordshire to help find me. What a strange and welcome set of coincidences. I cannot thank either of you enough."

Both men beamed at her.

"My greatest pleasure," Mr Bingley asserted, as the colonel crooned, "Anything for a lady." My, what a charming manner he had.

The men's eyes met, and a look passed between them that Elizabeth did not quite understand. There was more happening here than what she saw on the civilised surface. Perhaps Jane would know.

There was one more person in the room, almost hidden from view in his wingback chair, but whose impatient throat-clearing indicated a wish to speak.

"Mr Bennet?" Will nodded towards the gentleman who, until now, had sat silently with his tea and buttered fruit bread.

"Indeed. I believe, Mr Darcy, you and I have some matters to discuss. I am pleased enough for the time being, seeing my daughter unharmed and in good spirits, that I shall not demand it at once, but by tomorrow, sir, we must have words."

"I am yours to command," Will replied. He had taken the seat beside Elizabeth and now reached for her hand. He gave her a weak smile, which she attempted to echo. Her future, it seemed, was no longer hers to command.