She seated herself and then waited for the soup to be served, all the while doing her best not to stare at the pair of footmen assisting Colonel Fitzwilliam to the table. Unwittingly, she winced as a grimace crossed his face when he stood from the wheelchair, and felt tears sting her eyes at seeing him struggle to take the few necessary steps to seat himself in a standard chair.

The serving of the first course drew Jane’s attention to her more immediate surroundings. Mr. Collins was already praising the food, while Charlotte ate in silence. The viscount and viscountess, who sat on the other side of the Collinses, did their best to carry on conversation, but an embargo on discussing the Darcys in Lady Catherine’s presence limited the available topics. Even if a mutual topic of interest could have been found, discourse would have been hampered by Mr. Collins’ attempts at currying the favour of the noblemen.

After dinner, the men separated just long enough to satisfy Lady Catherine’s strict adherence to social customs. There was, after all, only so much obeisance any esteemed gentleman could permit, and without the moderating influence of his wife, Mr. Collins was quick to exceed that limit.

Upon the gentlemen’s return to the drawing room, and the company of the ladies, Mr. Collins, in his haste to be near his patroness, claimed the one seat that could be moved to accomodate her favoured nephew.

Unable to place Mr. Fitzwilliam near his cousin, and presumed betrothed, the footmen did as the infirmed man requested and placed him next to Jane.

For several minutes, the two simply stared at each other. “Miss Bennet,” Richard Fitzwilliam breathed. He had hoped to be more composed at their first meeting, but her appearance this evening had been somewhat unexpected. His heart was pounding, and his throat had suddenly become parched. Still, knowing he needed to say something, he added, “I had not expected to see you so soon.” He gently cleared his throat.

Jane smiled pleasantly in response, unsure if he was pleased by the chance meeting. “Colonel Fitzwilliam, it is good to see you.” She nervously opened and closed her fan. “I hope your injuries are not long in lasting.”

“Please, it is simply Mr. Fitzwilliam now. I will be retiring from the service soon.” His face clouded over for a brief moment. Trying to sound upbeat, he said, “As for my injuries, it remains to be seen. My shoulder seems to be healing well.” He smiled, searching for some indication of her feelings.

Of his wishes, he was perfectly aware. He had been a complete idiot to think he could ever be indifferent to her. Just looking at her made him forget his constant pain. Hearing her sweet voice, he could believe himself dead and being serenaded by a choir of angels. But now what? His situation had not changed; he had even less to offer now than before he left for the continent.

Before he had decided how to proceed, Jane said, “I… I understand there is to be a happy announcement concerning you and your cousin.” She dropped her eyes to her lap, but he caught her peeking at him through her lashes.

Fitzwiliam pursed his lips, uncertain how to respond. He burned with indignation. If he and Anne were to be married, he should have been the one to tell her. He easily guessed his aunt had been the source of the news, but in truth it did not matter how she had learned of the supposed engagement.

He felt the irony of the situation. How many times had he teased Darcy over Aunt Catherine’s desires as she spouted her assumptions about his engagement to Anne? Now, it was he who was the focus of his aunt’s machinations; at least Darcy had been understanding and had not retaliated as he was certainly justified in doing.

Despite his deepest desires, he could not tell Jane what she had heard was untrue. Quietly he said, “Nothing has been settled, and not everyone is open to the match. It is mostly the musings of my aunt, who believes she has found a more captive target, now that Darcy is married.” He smirked ruefully and patted the wheeled-chair.

His jest did nothing to alleviate the awkwardness of the situation, and silence once again descended. Jane’s strained smile communicated her discomfort, and he knew he needed to change the topic. “Have you seen Mrs. Darcy since your arrival in Kent, Miss Bennet?”

“I did. She was able to visit the parsonage yesterday. She seems very pleased with her situation.”

“I must apologize for my aunt’s attitude towards her. She has visited Rosings only twice, and those visits were of short duration.” With an amused twinkle in his eye, he added, “Darcy will not tolerate any slight against her.”

“I could not be happier for them. It would appear my fears were unfounded.”

Another silence fell between them. Fitzwilliam had not missed her reference to their past discussions. Still, there was little he could say that would bring her any comfort. His once easy tongue was tangled between his heart and mind. His hands itched to take hers, his heart pleaded for him to declare himself, yet his mind would not allow either. Finally he managed, “The rest of your family, are they well?”

“They are.” She swallowed hard and looked down the floor.

Throughout the remainder of the evening, chatter rose and fell, yet the two who had the most to say to each other, were silent. Questions, feelings, and words weighed heavily on each of them. Still they said nothing. So with things still unsettled between them, the evening ended.

Colonel Fitzwilliam watched as the Collinses took their leave, and then as Jane smiled one last longing smile at him and left. He shivered as an emptiness settled about him. Were he not bound to a wheelchair, he may have followed her and damned the consequences. As it was though, he could hardly stand, much less walk.

Alone, fatigue quickly settled in. He signalled for the footman, and with only the most perfunctory of civilities, returned to his rooms.

It was late by the time the residents of the parsonage returned home. Having had their fill of tea, food, and conversation, they retired immediately. For one though, sleep did not come.

A single candle burned as Jane stared at the dark ceiling of her room. Every once in a while, she let out a wistful, if not mournful sigh. She had been thrilled to see Colonel Fitzwilliam alive and recovering well. Before dinner, they had exchanged several looks, and she was hopeful, despite Lady Catherine’s declaration of his engagement.

Then, after dinner, her hope diminished. He had neither confirmed the engagement, nor denied it. “Not everyone is open to the arrangment…” he had said. From his tone, she assumed he was one of those opposed to it, yet she could not be certain. Was it possible he was considering the match? Perhaps he did not want to say anything because it was not public yet. Maybe it was Anne who was not open to the match. Then again, he had mentioned the similiarty of Darcy’s engagement to Anne; it was a figment of Lady Catherine’s imagination. Dare she still hope?

There were so many questions she wanted to ask, so much she wanted to tell him, but as a lady, did not dare, and certainly not while they were in company. She blew out a breath of frustration, wondering if perhaps just this once she should have thrown propriety to the wind. At least she might have had some answers. Now, she was back at the parsonage, not knowing when she would see him again, and filled with more questions and yearning than ever.

What she would not do for just a few moments of private conversation, a note, or something. She would understand if he was obligated to marry his cousin. She would! She understood she had little to offer, and with Rosings, he could afford the best medical care. The change would also be beneficial to Charlotte. With Colonel Fitzwilliam in charge of the parsonage, perhaps Charlotte would have more room to run things as she saw fit, rather than having to bow to Lady Catherine.

Still, at the thought of Richard marrying another, tears welled up, and one rolled down her cheek to the pillow. If only everything was settled, then I would know how to act. She turned onto her side and let a few more tears drip into her pillow.

With some comfort, she recalled Elizabeth would visit tomorrow. She would talk to her sister, for surely she was privy to the family’s goings-on. She would ask her sister to walk out with her, and when they were assured of some privacy, she would speak her mind. She would tell Elizabeth everything, and hope she could shed more light on the situation.

The following morning, Richard sat in the east parlour with Anne, as he had done each morning for the last four days. It was Lady Catherine’s idea that he wait on her daughter daily, no doubt in an effort to press the engagement. Though he had protested being ordered about, Lady Catherine and his father had given him no options.

It was not that he had any objection to being in his cousin’s presence – for who could complain about a silent companion – though he would have preferred some place out of doors for these constitutionals. Lady Catherine, however, had insisted that Anne’s health would not permit that, and so each morning they met in the puce east parlour.

Making the best of the situation, he basked in the sun streaming through the windows, trying to recreate the warmth he had felt last night in Jane’s presence. Unsuccessful, he looked down blankly at the book in his lap. With no interest in reading, he cast a look at Anne, who sat on a nearby sofa working on a sampler, and then Mrs. Jenkinson, who sat chaperoning in the far corner. No one spoke.

He looked again at his book and sighed. He did not want to read. He could not read. His mind was too troubled to concentrate. It vacillated between comforting thoughts of Jane, his family’s expectations, his financial situation, and his own desires. They were all tied so intricately together.

He wanted to be independent, to live his own life, but he had little income. His family wanted to keep Rosings in the family, which required he marry Anne. If he married Anne, he would not have any financial troubles, but he wanted to marry Jane. However, with little fortune, he had little to promise Jane.

Tired of mulling over the same dreary thoughts, he decided it was time to resolve some matters. He and his cousin would have an overdue discussion.

“How are you this morning, Anne?” he asked. He looked over at Mrs. Jenkinson who was nodding off as usual.

Anne’s head shot up, clearly startled at being addressed. She stared at him in disbelief. Finally she murmured, “As well as can be expected.”

Richard felt the urge to roll his eyes, but dared not offend his cousin. He needed answers. His father was growing impatient, and a decision had to be made. “What ails you this morning?”

Anne cocked her head sideways in confusion. No one ever asked her what was wrong; they - the doctors, her mother, and even Mrs. Jenkinson - simply told her.“I… I…” she paused. “Nothing serious. Just a bit of a cold.” She attempted to return to her stitches, but her hand trembled, making the task nearly impossible.

“I am sorry to hear that. Has it been troubling you long?”

“No. It comes and goes.” She slipped her needle into the material and then placed the sampler aside.

Getting to the matter at hand, he asked, “Has your mother spoken to you of our marriage?”

“She has told me we are to wed.” Anne shrugged. “But she had also said I was to marry Darcy.” Richard was surprised to see a hint of disapointment in her face.

“Anne, did you wish to marry Darcy?”

She smiled briefly. “He was always kind to me.” Her eyes darted about the room while her hands twisted in her lap.

“But did you wish to be his wife?”

“It is my duty to marry,” she replied quickly. She took a deep breath, trying to maintain a sense of calm, but her face was beginning to flush.

Richard became annoyed with such stoic replies, and almost threw up his hands in frustration. Only his cousin’s distressed countenance stopped him. Though, not wanting to allow her to eschew her share of the outcome, he mustered a gentle voice that often worked with Georgiana. “Anne, please look at me.” When she raised her head, he looked her in the eye. “But what is it you wish? Did you want to marry Darcy? Do you wish to marry me?”

“I… I… do not know.” Her face coloured deeply and her eyes were wide with fear and wonderment. “Why are you asking me?”

Fitzwilliam closed his eyes and counted to ten. He could see the effects of being raised by Lady Catherine. Anne was so used to taking orders, she had turned into nothing more than a puppet. Now, faced with a decision that would affect the rest of her life, she had no idea how to respond. In a placating tone, he said, “It is all right, Anne. You do not need to answer.”

He was relieved when Anne seemed to have calmed herself and picked up her sampler again.

In the following silence, Richard Fitzwilliam made his decision. Though he pitied Anne, and would discuss the situation with his brother, he knew he could not marry her. He could not subject himself to living with his overbearing aunt, nor a wife in which basic conversation was a chore. His father had mentioned taking up a mistress, but he could not disrespect his cousin like that, and there was only one woman he truly wanted, and he would never consider disgracing her that way.

Jane. The night she had come to dinner, he was certain not even Helen of Troy could have compared to her beauty. Unconciously, he fingered the worn threads he had intended to give her. He needed to speak with her and explain himself. Surely she would understand he could not reduce her to poverty. Wouldn’t she? With a Darcy connection, she would make an eligible match. Perhaps Lord Blakeslee would pursue her again. His heart twisted at the thought, but he refused to be swayed from his resolution.

While Colonel Fitzwilliam was visiting with Anne, Jane was enjoying the company of her sister in the grove that separated Rosings and Hunsford. Charlotte had already declared she could not accompany them, and Maria chose to attend to some correspondence. Time for a private conference between the sisters could not have been more conveniently arranged.

“So tell me, dear sister,” Elizabeth began, “how did you enjoy your dinner at Rosings? Were the boiled potatoes as fine as they are at Longbourn?” The two girls laughed.

“I am sorry you could not be there, Lizzy.”

“It matters not. I quite enjoy my small, intimate dinners with Fitzwilliam and Georgiana.”

“I am pleased to see you so happily situated. I was very concerned when you first told me of your engagement, but Col...” she paused. “I am just very happy for you.”

“So not everything went well while you are at Rosings.” The tone was a mixture of inquiry and fact.

“Everything was fine, Lizzy.” Jane bit her lip, and then squared her shoulders. “It was very good to see Mr. Fitzwilliam so well recovered.”

“Yes, we are all quite thankful for that. I have been told he will be walking again soon.” Had Jane’s bonnet not hidden her face, she would have noticed the curious manner in which Elizabeth was watching her.

“Is it certain he will marry his cousin?” Jane finally asked in a soft voice.

They stopped and sat on a nearby bench. “Fitzwilliam does not believe so, but nothing has been said definitively. He believes Mr. Fitzwilliam to be waiting until he is well enough to travel before informing his aunt and father.” With a sniff, she said, “I have already sent ahead to Arryndale and Pemberley to have a room made ready for him.”

At this, Jane’s eyes grew wide. “His family would not…”

“No, I do not think Lord Matlock would disinherit him. It may, however, be uncomfortable living under the same roof for a bit.”

The two sat in silence for a while, listening to the sounds of nature. Jane picked absently at a leaf she had torn off a nearby plant. Did she dare hope? Elizabeth had said nothing was definitive, and therefore the marriage might still take place. Still, if her sister was preparing a room for Mr. Fitzwilliam… How she wished she had the privilege of others to wait upon Rosings without invitation. To be able to see him and speak to him at will.

“Jane, do you have feelings for Mr. Fitzwilliam?”

A tear trickled down Jane’s cheek. “It does not matter,” she whispered. She fell against her sister’s shoulder, suddenly releasing all the tension of the last month. “Oh, Lizzy. I would not mind so much, if only he would tell me he does not love me. But I saw such a look in his eye… Maybe I was mistaken again?” She let out a sob of frustration. “I wish…” Abruptly she drew herself up and dried her cheeks with the proffered handkerchief. “Forgive me, Lizzy. I shall be fine.” She forced a smile. “Will you do something for me, Lizzy?”

“Of course, dearest.”

Jane smiled, feeling blessed to have such a kind sister. “When his engagement is decided with certainty, will you tell me right away? I do not wish to be left wondering.” She looked away, afraid tears might begin again.

Elizabeth embraced her sister tightly. “Of course.” She pulled back. “Jane, does Mr. Fitzwilliam know of your feelings?”

“There has been no opportunity to discuss it.” Jane said just above whisper. “There may not be time.”

Elizabeth nodded thoughtfully. A moment later, they rose from the bench and wandered a little while longer in grove, speaking on less emotional topics, until Jane felt equal to being in company again. Then, they returned to the house.

“Good afternoon, Richard.” Though the greeting was pleasant, Stephen’s tone was not. He sank into the chair next to the bed.

Richard returned the greeting cheerfully. He was glad for visitors these days, especially his brother. It had been two days since Jane had dined at Rosings, and any distraction from thoughts of her was welcome. He slept when he could, but presently sleep was elusive. Truthfully, he was only in his room because it was the established routine. The mornings were spent downstairs with Anne; the afternoons in his rooms, resting. Lady Catherine had deemed it the best regiment for proper healing, and the dutiful footmen had no choice but to do her bidding. Until he was well enough to travel, Fitzwilliam too, had few options. Thankfully, that day was not far off.

Silence reigned; the viscount’s agitation was palpable. “Are you escaping father or Lady Catherine?” Richard finally asked. He raised his brows when his brother bristled at his jest and the crease of Stephen’s brow deepened. “What bothers you?”

The viscount sighed, rose dully, and began pacing. His mind was plagued by the tender scene he had witnessed yesterday morning in the grove. He was not one to spy on another man, much less his own cousin, but he could not pull himself away. In all his years, he had never witnessed such a genuine display of affection between a man and woman; not between his parents, not amongst any of his peers, and most certainly not in his own marriage. It was as if God had deliberately set out to show him everything that was missing from his own life.

He had always considered himself fortunate. Compared with some of his peers, he had little to complain about. As first son, his future, fortune and title were secure. His health and life had never been in jeopardy, though he may be a little soft from inactivity. His parents made few demands on his time. His marriage was not unhappy. He and his wife were fairly compatible; they talked frequently. He adored his son, and was pleased that his wife was once again increasing. But even with that happy news, he felt something was missing. Yesterday, he had been shown a glimpse of what it was – it was love. He and his wife did not love one another. They liked, esteemed and cared for one another, but that was the extent of it.

Having such a marriage, it was not surprising he did not understand why Darcy had stood so stalwart by his decision to continue dining with his wife. He risked the censure of the family, and yet remained unmoved. He had said in no uncertain terms that he would not partake of the evening meals at Rosings until Lady Catherine apologized and gave Elizabeth her due.

Stephen was not daft. He had become used to seeing Darcy light up at the mention of Elizabeth, and had learned to dismiss the secret looks they exchanged, but he had attributed it all to the initial bloom of marriage. He had even said as much to Darcy; only to receive a wry smirk, which at the time he did not fully understand.

After seeing Darcy and his wife in the grove, however, new understanding dawned. This was not a passing fancy; an initial bloom that would soon wither and die. Darcy was deeply in love with his wife, and she returned those feelings.

It all boiled down to a simple fact; Darcy would do anything rather than risk losing Elizabeth.

The worst of it was, Stephen could not fault him. Love had changed his cousin; to what else could Darcy’s walking out with the expressed intent of picking wild flowers be attributed? Or the rich laughter that had now become all too frequent from him. If asked, Stephen would have covered all his lands in wild flowers to just once be the recipient of such a squeal of delight and look of adoration as Darcy had received.

Inspired by those events, Stephen had come to his brother’s rooms. He had to know he was not misinterpreting what he saw the other night at dinner; he had to hear it from Richard before he did anything hasty, like speaking to his father. “You love her, do you not?” he finally asked.

“Pardon?”

“Do not play daft with me, Richard. I asked a simple question. You love Miss Bennet, do you not?”

Richard was rendered mute by his brother’s surprising statement, and could do nothing but stare.

Stephen cracked an amused smile. “It is not as if you have gone to great lengths to hide the fact. You stared at no one but her when she came for dinner. I thought you might become miraculously cured and walk over to her.”

Richard ran a hand through his hair. He had not realized he had been so obvious. Though it did explain Lady Catherine’s ire the following day, and his father’s growing impatience. Quietly he said, “I do.”

Stephen reclaimed the seat next his brother and shook his head with a chuckle. “First Darcy, now you. Perhaps some day you shall have to inform me of the secret power of the Bennet ladies.” Seeing his brother’s mood sour, he said, “Pray, Richard. If you love Miss Bennet, why are you considering an engagement to Anne?”

“I am not. I do not intend to marry,” came the bitter reply. “Miss Bennet has no dowry, and all I have to offer her is a life tethered to a half-cripple.”

Stephen suddenly understood his brother’s dilemma. It was one thing not to marry; Father would come to accept that. It was another thing for Richard to marry where he wished, especially where there was no fortune. While Richard was not poor, until he received his inheritance, he was dependent on the allowance his father gave him and his military pay.

“You would give up Miss Bennet, even though you love her?”

“She is a gentleman’s daughter and deserves someone who can provide well for her.”

“I see.”

Stephen wondered if Darcy would have been so noble if he were faced with a similar situation. The family had understood Darcy’s marriage to be one of convenience, but after seeing the two of them, Stephen knew it was love match from the start. Had Darcy used the family’s ultimatum to marry the woman he loved? He knew Lord Matlock could not object.

More important, did Richard understand what he was turning his back on? He certainly had not when he had married. He had believed the insipid comments he and his friends had always espoused; love was nothing but a fanciful plebian notion written in lady’s novels to amuse the masses. Now he knew better.

Stephen stood again, and without saying a word, headed towards the door. Just before leaving, he said, “Richard, if you love her, and she loves you, do not let anything stop you from marrying her. You have sacrificed enough in the name of expectations, honour, and family duty. Do not sacrifice your own happiness and Miss Bennet’s. You have enough to provide her a good life.” Without waiting for a reaction, he quit the room.

To say Richard was shocked at his brother’s directives would be understatement. For several moments, he stared at the door his brother had just walked through. His brother – the person who held family duty and honour above everything else – had just told him to defy the family and marry a woman without consideration for fortune or connections.

What has gotten into him? He could think of nothing. What could have had such a profound effect on Stephen? What would inspire such a change? And will it last? Most importantly, he wondered if Stephen was right. Should he declare himself to Jane and let her decide? What if she rejected him? Could he endure that? The questions swirled about him in a dizzying array. Suddenly exhausted, he closed his eyes. He needed to think

Lady Catherine was not pleased, but was unwilling to risk the health of her daughter’s suitor. After decreeing Richard was in need of much rest, and that he would spend the day in his rooms, undisturbed, she returned to her usual day.

In the privacy of his room, leaning heavily on his crutch, he took a few careful steps, putting as much weight as he could on the wounded leg. “One… two… three…” he bit out, as he walked. He fell into the nearby chair, breathing heavily, and wiped his brow with his handkerchief. Four steps and he was exhausted.

Just as he was mustering the strength to try another few steps, he heard the anticipated knock on the door. “Enter,” he called. He sat up straight, knowing the visitor to be his father.

“Good morning, Richard,” Lord Matlock greeted, while motioning for Richard to remain seated. After helping himself to a glass of wine from the side bar, he sat. “You wanted to see me?”

Richard returned the greeting and then schooled his features, prepared to do battle. “I have come to a decision.” As expected, he received a relieved smile.

“I am glad to hear it. I do not know how many more of my sister’s diatribes I can bear with equanimity.”

Before his father could continue, Richard interrupted him with an raised hand. “I will not marry Anne.” Instantly, his father’s mien turned grim. Before Lord Matlock could spout whatever invectives were on his tongue, Richard continued, “I understand your motives; you wished to keep Rosings in the family, and since my marriageability has declined since my injury, you were looking out for my best interests, but I can not marry Anne. I have spent every morning for the past seven days with her, and the only feeling she engenders is pity.”

His father blew out a slow breath; conveying both understanding and disappointment. “If you do not intend to marry, Anne, what do you intend to do with your future?”

“I do not require a large house with a host of servants. I can live comfortably enough on my inheritance.”

Lord Matlock took a drink of wine, taking the time to taste it. His brow was creased, and he let out more than one heavy sigh before speaking. “Are you certain this is what you want? You should at least remain at Langford until you are more recovered.”

“Darcy has also offered me a room at Pemberley… I can manage on my own though.”

There was more silence. Lord Matlock stood and paced slowly about the room. Finally, just when Richard was expecting to see the full force of his father’s anger, Lord Matlock said, “I should like to hold off any announcement to Catherine for a few more days.” He turned a stern glare towards his son. “In the mean time, I hope you will reconsider your decision.”

Though he had no intention of changing his mind, Richard knew there was no point in voicing these thoughts. His father was a stubborn man, and frankly had handled the news with more aplomb than expected. He nodded, and watched his father leave.

After taking a few minutes to wallow in the life of solitude he had just relegated himself to, he picked up his crutch once again and hoisted himself upright. The sooner he was walking, the better. “One… two… three…”

Charles Bingley rode through the streets of Meryton, gently tipping his hat in greeting to everyone he knew. Had he not already purchased Wortham, he would have been tempted to purchase Netherfield, if only for the amiable townsfolk.

Since Jane’s departure to Kent, he had spent a considerable amount of time with the other four and twenty families of the area. Just the other day he had spent a good portion of the day fishing with Mr. Harris and his two sons, and Mr. Phillips. A few days prior, he had gone riding with Mr. Goulding and a few other gentlemen of the area. He had yet to find one family he would describe as unpleasant.

When he was not busy with sport, he applied himself to the improvements of Netherfield, working with his steward for Wortham, the family accounts, oiling his guns, and perfecting his fly lures.

Evenings were often spent in the company of one neighbour or another, as he was rarely without an invitation to dine. There were some families he was certain entertained hopes that he might look at one of their daughters, but he knew where his heart lay, and currently it lay in Kent.

The nights were the most difficult. Caroline had returned to London in the Hurst coach two days after Jane had departed, and he was unused to being alone. While he did not spend a great deal of time in his sister’s company, even when they were under the same roof, he found comfort in the simple knowledge of her presence. That being said, his feelings of loneliness were easily overcome with the peace of not having to listen to her dronings on the insufficiency of the area. And while her absence made it more difficult to entertain, the neighbours did not seem to take any offence.

Overall, for the first time in many months, Bingley could say he was happy. He was continuing to improve himself, and hoped by the time Jane returned, he could say he was worthy of her. He prayed the words of the bard rang true; that love’s tide would flow strong. If it did, then his happiness would soon be complete.

Though a million questions filled her head, Jane sat quietly in the phaeton, not wanting to break her sister’s concentration. When Elizabeth had invited all the principal residents of the parsonage to dinner, she had expected a carriage to be sent for. Since Mr. Collins, unwilling to risk the censure of patroness, had declined on behalf of his wife and sister, she was not very surprised to find only a small vehicle waiting. There were simply no words, however, when she saw Elizabeth climb into the phaeton and take the reins! Her sister, who did not even particularly like horses, was driving a phaeton!

“It is not so very hard once you get the hang of it,” Elizabeth said, with an amused smile. “It is only a few miles of country road.”

Jane’s fears and astonishment must have been too easily read, because Elizabeth then added, “I have promised Fitzwilliam I will not drive while in London, but in the country, there is little danger.” With a laugh, she added, “Even Miss de Bourgh is known to drive when her health permits.”

Jane merely nodded, uncertain what else to say.

That night after dinner, Elizabeth pulled Jane aside while Georgiana entertained her brother by playing the pianoforte. Elizabeth had been quieter than usual at dinner, and currently wore an odd expression. Hoping for an explanation, Jane waited patiently for her sister to begin.

“I need to confess something,” Elizabeth said. Jane held her breath, as her sister’s expression did nothing to relieve her anxiety. “I brought you here under false pretences.”

Thoroughly confused, Jane’s brow rumpled. “I do not understand.”

“Fitzwilliam and Stephen have arranged for you meet with Richard early tomorrow morning. I brought you here, under the pretence of dinner so not to arouse Mr. Collins’ suspicions.” With a merry trill, she added, “It was most obliging of him to decline the invitation on behalf of his wife and sister.” Once again in a more serious tone, she said, “However, for the plan to work, you will have to spend the night.”

Jane’s eyes widened, and for a minute, she could not say a word, as her heart had leapt into her throat. An arranged meeting with Richard? Planned by the viscount and her brother? of all people? Something was either dreadfully wrong, or dreadfully right. She was not sure which she feared more. “But my clothes. I do not have any of my clothes,” she finally said dumbly.

Elizabeth smirked. “If you wish to see Richard tomorrow, I will send the Collinses a note explaining you developed a headache and will be spending the night, and request a change of clothes. Will that be sufficient?”

Still unequal to intelligent discourse, Jane simply stared. Slowly, everything sank in. All she had to do was say yes, and she would see him again. Tomorrow. She could tell him everything she had wanted to the other night. This time, though, she would not be so timid; this time she would throw caution to the wind; this time she would not leave with so many questions. With an unusual surge of excitement, she threw her arms around Elizabeth. “Oh, thank you, Lizzy!”

After a sharing a small giggle, Elizabeth shared the details of the meeting. Jane was concerned about the propriety of it all, but her desire to see Richard was greater. Her apprehension was somewhat assuaged knowing Elizabeth and Darcy had approved the plan, and they would not let any trouble come to her.

After a while, the two joined the others. The rest of the evening was spent in merry conversation and card games. Though Jane did her best to remain attentive to her hosts, only one phrase rang through her head – ‘Richard at dawn.’

Richard Fitzwilliam woke to the feeling of the bed shaking. He cracked open his eye, and realized that it was not the bed that was shaking, but him. More precisely, he was being shaken. He let out a warning growl.

At the sound of a scoff, he opened both eyes, and was surprised to see his brother and his brother’s valet, Connors, standing over him. “What the devil!”

“Quiet, or you will wake the house! Now get up, we have not a moment to lose.”

“We? And what, pray tell, are we doing?” His voice was ripe with sarcasm, and if anything, he buried his head further into his pillows.

“Going for a stroll.”

“In case you have forgotten, I have not walked more than twenty paces in two months,” came the muffled reply.

“Very well, then we shall ride. Now do you wish to see Miss Bennet or not?”

As expected, this drew Richard’s full attention. He bolted upright. After uttering a curse at the pain that shot up his leg from the sudden movement, he asked, “Miss Bennet? What has she to do with this?”

“She is waiting for you, you dumb ox. Now get up, so Connors can help you dress.”

Richard did as he was bid. While Connors worked to dress him like a dandy, he pressed Stephen for details. “What do you mean she is waiting for me? How do you know? Where is she?” Much to his annoyance, and his brother’s amusement, Stephen refused to answer any of his questions. The only response he received was, “You will have to ask Miss Bennet.”

Finally, with the help of the two men and his crutch, Richard was able to make it out the front doors, where a curricle was waiting. After several painful steps, curses, and sweat, Richard found himself riding towards an unknown destination. The glow of the coming sunrise was peeking over the tops of the trees, and not even the birds were awake.

Richard’s heart was pounding in anticipation, and his mind was congested with questions. Something important must have happened to Miss Bennet for Stephen to rouse so early. Was she injured? Was she ill? Calm down, man. Think clearly! Stephen had said she was waiting for him. But why?

Neither the invigorating morning air, nor the presence of his companion, could hold his attention. He had been promised Jane, and his eyes continually searched the area for her lovely form.

Finally, as they neared the grove that separated Rosings and Hunsford, the curricle slowed. It took Richard but a minute to spot a small group gathered by a bench. Then, like curtains of the stage, Elizabeth and Darcy stepped back, revealing a form he cherished. He drank in the vision - from the golden curls that peeked out from her bonnet, to the tip of a dainty slipper peeking from under her skirt - like a man drowning at sea.

In the next moment, he found himself sitting next her. How he came to be there, he did not know. For all he knew, he had floated there, for surely he would have remembered the pain of descending from the curricle, would he not?

“Miss Bennet,” he whispered. He reached out to touch to her, still somewhat in disbelief the vision in front of him was real. In the early light, sitting as she was, she could have easily been an apparition of one of his dreams.

He snapped from his dream-like trance when his brother whispered in his ear, “Tell her.” He turned a wide-eye at his brother, and then back to Jane. When he turned again to look for the others, they were already gone. He and Jane were alone.

“How do you find Kent, Miss Bennet?” he barely managed. Awkwardly he stretched his neck, trying to loosen the knot in his cravat.

Jane smiled nervously. She turned, searching for the support of her sister, only to find Elizabeth walking about the grove, a good distance away, with her husband and the viscount. She turned back and caught Richard’s eye. For a moment, not a breath was drawn. Then, unable to hold his gaze any longer, she turned her eyes towards her lap. “It is very pleasant,” she said, barely audible. She bit her lip, wishing to say more, but the words she had rehearsed last night, now seemed to elude her.

“I… I… hope you…” He took a deep breath. “I hope you have not been waiting long.”

Jane shook her head. “No. I arrived only moments ago, with my brother and sister.”

“Might I ask if I was the only one kept in the dark about this meeting?” He smiled sheepishly. As if he sensed her uncertainty, he quickly added, “Please do not misunderstand. I am quite happy… It is just that it has been many years since my brother has tossed me from my bed.” He let out a nervous laugh, and relaxed a bit as Jane smothered a giggle with her fingers.

“My sister told me of the plans last night. I was invited to dine at Brandyhatch, and then remained there for the night.” She blushed at confessing her part of the subterfuge.

At this, Richard laughed. “I see we find ourselves amongst a host of conspirators.” In a fit of agitation, he brushed an errant leaf away. Only his injuries prevented him from pacing around the bench. After more awkward silence, he blurted out, “I am not marrying my cousin Anne. Whatever you heard, or whatever I may have led you to believe, is not true. We will not be married.”

Jane’s eyes widened. “Oh?”

“It was the wish of my father and my aunt, Lady Catherine. I have never wished for the match.” He received a weak, hopeful smile in return.

Behind the placid façade, Jane was a tumult of emotions. Her heart was pounding, and her eyes stung with unshed tears. Hope was taking a new foothold, but she fought to remind herself that he had not declared himself. Just because he was not marrying his cousin did not mean he intended to marry her. Not trusting her tongue, she simply uttered, “I see.”

Richard was not faring much better. He had seen that glimmer of hope in her eyes, and wanted nothing more to assuage both their hearts, but his mind kept telling him she deserved better. “My father is going to forward me my inheritance. I will be staying at Shoreview.”

“That is very good of your father. I hope you will find it very pleasant.”

Realizing he might not have another chance to speak with her so plainly, he said, “I must apologize, Miss Bennet.” At this, Jane finally looked at him, but her pretty face was marred by a wrinkled brow.

“I have acted abominably.” He paused. “I… I… let my feelings get ahead of me, and made promises I could not keep. I am so sorry.” His voice was ripe with pain and remorse.

“Did you…” Jane blushed deeply at her forwardness, but pressed onward. She had promised herself answers, and she would get them. “Did you love me?” she whispered. She turned away, and dabbed her eyes with handkerchief.

Richard closed his eyes and breathed deeply, preferring to have died on the field of battle than witness her tears. “I have nothing to offer you, Jane… Miss Bennet. Surely you understand.” He wound the threads in his hand around his finger tightly, preferring the pain it caused in his finger to the pain in his heart. “I have but a small estate, and little outside of that.”

“My father has but small estate.” Her tone was more bitter than she intended.

“Shoreview is nothing compared to Longbourn. My income is but half that of your father’s.”

Jane turned abruptly towards him, her eyes full of despair. “It must be in man’s nature to change his mind. You all have your occupations and pursuits and such outward circumstances must take precedence over your feelings. Please accept my best wishes for your health and future happiness.” The tears she had been holding back burst forth.

Richard’s eyes widened in horror. He desperately wanted to reach out to her and comfort her, but could not. “No!” He pleaded. “You are used to having servants see to your every need, fine gowns and dinners, and nights at the theatre.” His voice softened. “I can give you none of that.”

Jane screwed her eyes shut and let out a held breath. Through a watery voice, she said, “Do you think me devoid of every proper feeling? That I would only wish to marry someone with a large income and grand estate? I would gladly trade all of that for true affection and faithfulness.”

Silence once again reigned. A sound from one of the carriage horses caught Richard’s attention and he saw his brother walking with Darcy and Elizabeth. “Do not let anything stop you from marrying her,” Stephen had said.

He breathed unsteadily. Dare he follow his brother’s advice? Dare he throw caution to the wind? Dare he believe that despite how grim things appeared, he could make them work; that somehow he would be able to provide Jane a comfortable living? Dare he believe her? Stephen had given him his blessing, but what would his father say? Did he care?

Unable to consider these questions any longer, he said, “Jane… Miss Bennet… Do you mean it? Would you truly be happy in a small house with only a servant or two?” At Jane’s tentative nod, he smiled brilliantly, “Then I think I should tell you how ardently I admire and love you. I have little more to offer than a roof over your head and my love for you. It is not what you deserve, but it is all yours. If you would consent to be my wife, I shall work the rest of my days that you might never regret it. Will you Jane? Will you do me the honour of becoming my wife?”

For several minutes, Jane said nothing. Tears once again streamed down her cheeks as she nodded vigorously, and a smile lit her face. Finally, she cried, “Oh Richard!” She sniffed. “Yes! Yes, I will marry you! I love you.”

Richard grinned brightly and threw his arms around Jane. Feeling no pain, he pulled her tightly to his chest. “My Jane,” he murmured. “I promise, I will live the rest of my life that you might not regret your decision, my dearest.”

For a while, no words were said as the newfound felicity washed away unpleasant memories, doubts and fears.

“Can you ever forgive me for being such a coward?” He kissed the top of her head. “I have missed you so.”

Jane nestled herself against his chest, impatiently wiping away tears of joy. Finally, remembering they were not alone, Richard pulled back. “It will be at least another week before I am able to travel. I will not be able to ask your father’s permission until then.”

Jane smiled tenderly. “It matters not. I will wait.”

“I will ask your brother’s permission in the meantime. Would that suffice?”

Jane let out a little giggle. “Perhaps I should speak to Lizzy first. It would ensure my brother’s acquiescence.”

Richard placed a kiss on her nose and laughed. “I never thought I would see the day Darcy would cow to another.”

“And I did not think I would see the day Lizzy was so in love.”

They revelled in each other’s embrace for a bit longer before Richard put a more proper distance between them. “I am afraid I am ill prepared. I have no ring to give you.” He smiled sheepishly. Then remembering the macramé, he said, “I… uh… I had purchased this for you. The men on the ship make and sell them for extra money. I had… um… Perhaps we could use this until I can get you something more fitting?” He looked down, still holding out the colourful knotted threads that had begun to fray.

“It is very beautiful.”

“I apologize for its condition.” He dared to look at her. “I…” He breathed deeply. “Holding them would bring me comfort after I was injured. It made me think of you.” He became a little more relaxed at Jane’s tender smile.

“I shall wear it always.”

With a brilliant smile, Richard wasted no time in fastening it around her wrist, just above her glove. After which, Jane looked down at the colorful threads knotted together and fingered them lightly, then looked up to him with a beautiful smile.

A loud throat clearing caused both their heads to jolt in another direction.

“Thank heavens!” Stephen said, with a curled lip. “I was uncertain how many times I could carry the heavy lout down those stairs.”

With a struggle, Richard stood and leaned heavily on his crutch. He bowed his head and said, “Thank you, Stephen.” He looked to Darcy and Elizabeth and repeated the expression.

“Do not thank me, until I have given my consent.” Darcy replied. To this, he received a playful slap on his arm from Elizabeth, who dropped her husband’s arm and moved towards Jane. “Do not concern yourself, Jane. He would not dare say no.” She embraced her sister and then turned back to Darcy. “Or he will have both an unhappy wife, and two unhappy sisters.”

Darcy let out a dramatic groan, and everyone laughed.

The sun had risen, and it was decided that Stephen and Richard should return to Rosings. It was Richard’s first time out, and he had likely tired long ago.

Before claiming his brother’s shoulder for assistance, he left a fervent kiss on Jane’s hand and whispered, “God bless you.”

“Do not thank me yet, Richard,” the viscount quipped with an amused shake of head. “You have yet to tell Father and Aunt Catherine.” With a snigger, he added, “Nor have you obtained Mr. Bennet’s permission.”

Richard’s face fell for just a moment, before the happiness returned. “I have already told our father I did not intend to marry Anne.”

“But you did not tell him you intended to marry Miss Bennet.” Taking his brother’s silence as confirmation, Stephen snorted. “Father may bluster for a few days… all right, a few weeks… but he will eventually see reason, and Mother is too relieved you are alive to protest.”

“I hope so,” Richard murmured. There were still obstacles to overcome, but he had survived a confrontation with the French army, surely he could face his parents, could he not? Jane was certainly worth a few days of cold silence from his father.

Before much more could be said, they were at the house, and Richard was left to determine how to relay the news of his good fortune to the rest of the family.

Back in the grove, Jane and Elizabeth giggled and chatted merrily while Darcy stood some distance away, giving the two a bit of privacy. He knew better than to interfere on such an occasion.

“Oh, Lizzy!” Jane gushed. “I did not think such happiness was possible.”

She received a giggle in return. “I am very happy for you, Jane. Though I must say, I did not expect an offer of marriage so quickly.”

“Nor did I.” She blushed. “One moment he was saying goodbye…” Recalling her words, she buried her face in her hands. “Oh dear, what he will think of me once he has a moment to recollect.”

Not unexpectedly, Elizabeth laughed in return. “Jane, the man is so besotted, you have nothing to fear.” She squeezed her sister’s hand. “But, I do believe my Fitzwilliam is growing impatient, and we need to return to Brandyhatch before we are discovered by Mr. Collins.”

“Thank you, Lizzy.” Jane whispered, unable to hide the large smile. Together, the two sisters stood, embraced, and joined Darcy at the carriage.

Under the advice of his brother, Richard delayed announcing his engagement to the rest of the family until the physician determined he was well enough to travel at least as far as London. Though he was anxious for the engagement to be recognized, and the ability to see Jane, he could not argue with the wisdom of it, especially since Stephen, Darcy, and Elizabeth had agreed to courier their letters in the meantime. Needless to say, notes between Rosings and Hunsford were numerous, sometimes more than one per day. The letters were sufficient consolation, and as Jane had written, any short delay now was a small sacrifice in the larger scheme of things.

But letter writing would soon be a thing of the past. Now, he was anxiously waiting in Rosings’ main drawing room for the arrival of his parents and his aunt. To calm himself, he went over the precautions that had been taken. The valet his father had hired for him had packed his belongings, and the head groom had been notified to have a carriage ready, in case a hasty retreat to Brandyhatch was required. Darcy and Elizabeth would be waiting at the parsonage with Jane and her trunks, so she could be removed from the parsonage, if need be. Finally, Stephen was lying in wait, in case things with the family became too contentious.

Never had he expected his brother to aid in a matter such as this, and he was excessively grateful. In truth, the change in Stephen was welcomed. It reminded him of days gone by, when Stephen had been more carefree. He shook his head and laughed at the memories of terrorizing their housekeeper and their nurse.

The sound of approaching footsteps drew his attention, and he squared his shoulders, prepared to do battle. If only it was as simple as red versus blue.

His parents and Lady Catherine entered, with Stephen following in their wake. With her usual haughtiness, his aunt said dismissively, “Sit up straight, Richard.” He automatically did as he was bid, cringing inwardly only afterwards.

“I have an announcement,” Richard began. A pleased, proud look spread across the face of both his father and his aunt; his mother’s face remained placid. He braced himself for the yelling and hollering that would no doubt ensue in a matter of seconds. “I have made an offer of marriage to Miss Jane Bennet, and am pleased to report she has accepted me.”

For several long moments there was nothing but silence. “What is the meaning of this, Richard?” Lady Catherine finally exclaimed. “You can not offer to Miss Bennet, you are betrothed to my Anne!”

“I never agreed to such an alliance, Lady Catherine. The marriage between Anne and myself was something conconcoted by you and my well meaning father. I never agreed.”

“You did not need to; your father spoke for you. It is as good as done.” Lady Catherine sniped, drawing herself up.

Richard opened his mouth to respond, but was interrupted by his father. “Richard,” he said with narrowed eyes, “you said you did not intend to marry. Were you decieving me then, hoping to lessen the blow? Because I can assure you, it did not work.”

Richard pursed his lips a moment. “I spoke the truth, father. At that time, I did not intend to marry, but I was shown the error of my ways.” He flicked a glance at his brother. “I love Miss Bennet, and she returns the sentiment.”

“And pray, how do you intend to support the two of you, much less a family?” Lord Matlock continued. “You can not think I will forward you your inheritance after disappointing the family in such a manner, do you?”

“You forget father, Miss Bennet is the sister of Mrs. Darcy. How can marrying her be construed as a disappointment?” His jaw was set, and there was a steely resolve in his tone.

“I will not tolerate such impertinance in my drawing room, young man!” Lady Catherine hollered, as she pounded her fist on the arm of the chair. “After all I have done for you. I allowed you to recuperate under my roof, and this is how I am repayed? How dare you disappoint my Anne! This must be Darcy’s doing!” Lady Catherine sputtered. “He has made you forget your duty to your family! He and that impudent chit!”

“I am indebted to you for your kindness, Lady Catherine, and I mean no disrespect to my cousin; but I love Miss Bennet, and I will marry her.” Looking at his father, he said, “If you will not forward my inheritance, father, I will find another means to support us. It may not be what Miss Bennet deserves, but that is between her and me.”

“Did I not tell you, Marcus, we should have the papers drawn up immediately? If you had listened to me, we would not be in this situation!” Lady Catherine spat. She then rounded on Richard. “Have you no decency? Can you not see Miss Bennet is playing you for a fool? She is only marrying you for your name, no doubt to bolster the prospects of her sisters. The very idea that such an upstart would bear the Fitzwilliam name… She has an uncle in trade for heaven’s sake! Is the Fitzwilliam bloodline to be thus polluted?” She fell back into her chair as if nearly apoplexy.

At this, Stephen stood. “You are wrong on several counts, your ladyship. I have witnessed Miss Bennet’s deportment. Not only is she as genteel as any lady of the ton, but she also has great affection for my brother. She and Richard shall do well togther, and I will be proud to call her my sister.” He turned to his father. “Forgive me, milord, but I must follow what I believe to be right. Now you may choose to disinherit us both, if you wish, or you can welcome Miss Bennet into the family, as you did her sister.”

For what seemed to be an eternity, the room was silent. Richard looked first to his father, then to his mother. His father’s face wore the distinct signs of displeasure, while Lady Matlock’s remained unreadable. Only her eyes, which darted about the room – first to Lady Catherine, then her husband, and Stephen, and finally resting on Richard – showed her unease over the situation. When it seemed everyone else had said their piece, Lady Matlock stood from her seat, between her husband and Lady Catherine, and walked across the room to her son. “I wish you joy, Richard. Miss Bennet is a fine young lady.” She gave him a peck on the cheek and then returned to her chair.

Lord Matlock could only glare and fume in silence at his wife’s action. Her quick acceptance of the situation thoroughly backed him into a corner. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand in an attempt to assuage the outward signs of his temper. “You are determined to have her?”

“I am.”

To his eldest son and heir, Lord Matlock asked, “And you, you support this? Even if I were to disinherit you?”

“I do, sir. Richard has done his duty to his country and his family. It almost cost him his life.” Stephen replied, staring down his father.

Seeing he was defeated, Lord Matlock slumped against the sofa. “Have you procured Mr. Bennet’s approval?”

“I have not. I was waiting until I could approach him in person. Darcy, acting as Miss Benent’s brother, however, has given his consent.”

The Earl sighed heavily and rubbed his forehead with his thumb and index finger. “I am uncertain when we turned into a democracy, but it seems I have little choice, outnumbered as I am.” He shook his head slowly. “If Mr. Bennet gives his consent, I will not stand in your way.”

At her brother’s defection, Lady Catherine turned red in the face and began sputtering vituperations at everyone in the room, finally ending with Richard. “Get out, you ingrate! Until you come to your senses, you will not be welcomed here.”

At this, Richard heaved himself to his feet. Leaning heavily on his crutch, he bowed as best he could. “Thank you, Father.” Turning to Lady Catherine, he said, “I thank you, Aunt Catherine, for your hospitality. My things are already packed. I shall be gone within the hour.” He exchanged a look with his brother, who then also took his leave.

Jane sat in Hunsford’s only parlour, nervously trying to attend to her sewing, and waiting for news from Rosings. Elizabeth and Darcy had arrived earlier that morning, but after spending a fair amount of time in the company of Mr. Collins, had expressed a desire for a walk in the gardens. For what felt like the hundreth time that morning, she looked out the window, looking for any sign of Richard. Seeing only nothing, she smiled at Charlotte, who returned a sympathetic look.

In preparation for today’s events, she told Charlotte of her engagement last night, and explained a hasty departure may be required. As expected, Charlotte offered her a warm wishes for joy, and promised to keep her confidence until it was necessary to enlighten her husband.

Ten minutes later, a servant entered the room and announced Lord Fitzwilliam. Jane’s stomach sank to the floor. It had not gone well, else Richard would have come as well. Perhaps her happiness was only to be short lived.

“Mr. Collins, Mrs. Collins, Miss Bennet,” the viscount greeted. He wasted no time in supplying the requisite information. “My family is pleased to welcome you into the family, Miss Bennet. However, I am afraid Lady Catherine is not well pleased, and I think it is only a matter of time before she finds her way to the parsonage. My brother is waiting in the carriage, with Darcy and your sister. I would recommend an imminent departure.”

For several moments, Mr. Collins stood bewildered, looking between Lord Fitzwilliam and his cousin. It was only when his wife called for a servant to fetch Jane’s trunks that he realized what was happening.

Bowing low to Lord Fitzwilliam, he inquired, “Forgive me, milord, but might I inquire what my cousin has done to distress my patroness? I assure you, it was inadvertent, and she will do whatever is necessary to correct the situation.”

“Mr. Collins,” Jane said gently, “I must beg your forgiveness for keeping such happy news from you.” She smiled shyly. “I am engaged to Mr. Fitzwilliam.”

Mr. Collins eyes went wide, and he began spitting and sputtering. “But… but… that is not possible. My dear cousin, you heard it from the great lady herself. Mr. Fitzwilliam is engaged to her daughter, the beautiful Miss Anne de Bourgh.”

“I am not,” came a firm, but laboured voice. Everyone turned to see Richard standing in the doorway. With eyes only for Jane, he said, “I am engaged to Miss Bennet.” The smile on his face lit the room, and for some moments, the two lovers simply stared at one another. Tearing his eyes from his betrothed, he turned to Mr. Collins. “I would strongly advise you against spreading any word to the contrary, Mr. Collins.”

Mr. Collins wiped his brow with a handkerchief, torn between disobliging the illustrious people in his home, and his loyalty to his patroness. Uncertain what else to do, he simply nodded and muttered to himself.

Jane stepped towards her betrothed, and could not help the bright smile that broke free. Her eyes glistened with unshed tears of happiness. “You should have waited as your brother instructed, Mr. Fitzwilliam. You need to rest.”

With his free hand, Richard grabbed Jane’s hand and squeezed it, before placing a fervent kiss - that given the company lasted longer than it should have - upon it. “It is Richard, Jane, and I could not wait any longer to see you. I am well enough.”

Jane blushed profusely, and turned away. Understanding they were not alone, she simply said, “I am very pleased to see you… Richard.”

“I believe we should be under way,” Stephen announced. “Richard, you can ride with me, and Miss Bennet with the Darcys.”

Just before Richard voiced his objection, he caught his brother’s teasing smirk. “I shall ride with Jane and Mrs. Darcy. Darcy can ride with you.” He countered.

A few minutes later, the Fitzwilliam and Darcy carriages departed Hunsford, leaving behind an anxious Mr. Collins.

After Mr. Fitzwilliam’s expulsion from Rosings, he, along with Jane and the Darcys, resided two days at Brandyhatch, before they all headed to London with Lord and Lady Fitzwilliam.

They had even been pleasantly surprised when the evening before they were to depart for London, the Earl and his wife joined them for dinner at Brandyhatch, and offered their congratulations and blessing on the marriage. Jane would never forget the happiness that suffused Richard’s face at that moment.

They spent a few days in days in London, to prepare the settlement papers, obtain a special license, and make preparations for a stay in Hertfordshire.

Jane returned to Hertfordshire with a mixture of anxiety and giddiness. The days in London and at Brandyhatch had been blissful, allowing her and Richard to spend many delightful hours together. Though Richard was steady enough on his own, so long as he used a crutch, he still tired quickly. For that reason alone, they did not venture far, sticking mostly to public rooms and the gardens. Despite these limitations, they were never in want for topics of conversation, or other forms of entertainment.

However, once they arrived in Hertfordshire, there would be a number of other things to distract them. The greatest of these, Jane found standing outside the house as the Darcy carriage came to a stop in Longbourn’s drive.

“Oh, thank goodness you have returned, Jane. I do not understand why you had to be gone so long. What if Mr. Bingley had returned to London during your absence? We must invite him to dinner this evening.”

“It is good to see you, Mama.” Jane said softly. Before she could say more though, her mother’s attention had turned to her escort.

“Oh, my dear Mr. Darcy!” Mrs. Bennet exclaimed. “How pleased we are to welcome you back at Longbourn!” She looked around a moment. “But where is Lizzy? Oh, do not tell me she is already walking about… Oh, that girl!”

Mr. Darcy bowed, “Elizabeth is at Purvis Lodge, madam. She found herself much in need of a rest after so much travel. We will visit Longbourn as soon as she is able.”

“Mr. Darcy, may I offer you some tea?” Jane asked politely.

“I thank you, but I should be going.”

Mrs. Bennet opened her mouth to protest, but Darcy had already mounted his horse again.

“Thank you again for your kindness, Mr. Darcy.” Jane said with a curtsey and a blushing smile.

“Oh yes!” Mrs. Bennet crooned. “You must come for dinner this evening!”

Mr. Darcy tipped his hat. “Might I defer dinner until tomorrow? My cousins have travelled with us, and I would not wish to leave my guests alone so soon upon our arrival.”

Mrs. Bennet was clearly displeased, but had little choice but to accept the decision. “Very well, I shall expect you all to dine with us tomorrow.”

Once Darcy had departed, Mrs. Bennet followed Jane to her rooms, spouting all the latest gossip, especially that pertaining to Mr. Bingley. “He has been most attentive to us while you were in Kent, Jane. He dined with us at least once each week, and had tea with us several times.” With a scowl, she added, “My sister says he was often at the Watsons’, but now that you have returned, it is of no matter. You are far prettier than that Catherine Watson.”

Jane listened patiently to her mother while helping the maid unpack her trunks, interjecting the appropriate nods and monosyllable responses. With that chore completed, she said sweetly, “I think I would like to rest, Mama.”

Mrs. Bennet readily agreed. “Yes, of course, Jane dear. We must have you looking your very best when Mr. Bingley calls.”

After closing the door behind her mother, Jane took a cleansing breath and stretched out comfortably on her bed. She stared at a ceiling a moment, and then giggled realizing how unaffected she had been at the news of Mr. Bingley. She could honestly say she was indifferent to him. That is not to say, however, she wished him ill, or was unconcerned about his welfare. She was incapable of such maliciousness. But his attentions towards Catherine Watson had stirred neither feelings of jealousy nor undue pleasure. In truth, she was surprised to hear he was still in the area; she was certain he would return to London not long after her departure.

With a small frown, she wondered how her mother would accept Richard as her fiancé, instead of Bingley and his five thousand a year. She chose not to dwell on that long, instead turning to more delightful musings. She smiled dreamily, remembering the feel of Richard’s lips on hers, and longed to feel his arms around her once again. She let out out a wistful sigh and surrendered to sleep.

At the pronouncement of Darcy’s arrival, Bingley jumped up from the table where his pistols were neatly laid in a row. After wiping the oil from his hands, he strode quickly towards his friend, with his hand extended in greeting. “Darcy! So good to see you!” He vigorously shook Darcy’s hand and clapped him on the shoulder.

“Bingley. It is good to see you.” Darcy greeted with a smile.

“Is Mrs. Darcy or Miss Darcy not with you?” He looked about, as if expecting to see one or both of them.

“They are both at Purvis Lodge with my cousins.”

Bingley showed Darcy to a seat, and offered him a glass of wine. After seeing his guest comfortable, he said, “You are welcome to stay at Netherfield. I have rooms for your cousins.”

“I would not wish to impose on you so greviously,” Darcy replied evasively.

Bingley waved him off. The two spent a few minutes more exchanging the usual pleasantries and general news, before Bingley excitedly showed him his latest acquisition. “It is a German Flintlock Pistol from the early seventeen hundreds. I acquired it at an auction, just before arriving in Hertfordshire,” he said proudly. He grinned at the appreciative look on Darcy’s face.

“A splendid piece,” Darcy remarked. He held it out, as if to shoot it, checking its weight and balance. “The owner must have been loath to depart with it.”

Bingley grinned. “He was, but he was more than happy for the pounds he received in exchange.”

“And how is Wortham?” Darcy asked.

“Splendid, if my steward is to believed,” Bingley crowed. “I can only hope the neighbours are as agreeable as they are in Hertfordshire.” Darcy nodded. “But enough of Wortham,” Bingley said. “Tell me of Kent. Colonel Fitzwilliam is well?”

Darcy momentarily looked thunderstruck. “He… uh… he has retired from the service, but is healing well enough.” He stood and took a few slow steps behind his chair. His brow was tightly creased. “I need to tell you something.”

Cautiously, Bingley nodded, prodding Darcy to continue. The sudden change in his friend’s mien was disconcerting. “When I advised you to return to Hertfordshire, I was concerned about you. You… you were not yourself. You seemed to have lost your way. I thought that perhaps with some time away from town, you would pull yourself together, and it seems as though you have.” He forced a wan smile.

Growing impatient, Bingley interrupted. “You were correct, I was not myself, but... Darcy, it would be easier if you just spoke your mind.” There was a note of impatience or exasperation in his tone.

Darcy drew in a breath. “It concerns Miss Bennet.”

Bingley stood abruptly, nearly knocking over his chair. “Is she well? She did not fall ill did she?” He looked torn between shaking Darcy for details, and running to Longbourn.

“She is well.” He paused. “She is engaged to be married. To my cousin, Richard. I am very sorry, Bingley. I did not know her affections had changed.”

For several moments, Bingley stood motionless, his mouth hanging open. Finally, he dropped back into a chair, struggling for breath. “I… I…” He swallowed hard. “Thank you for telling me,” he murmured. He stared blankly at the line of pistols in front of him.

Darcy quickly walked over to him and placed a hand on his shoulder. “I am truly sorry, Charles. If I had known…”

“No… no… it is not your fault.” He shook off his friend’s hand. “Please… I would like to be alone.” When Darcy hesitated, Bingley said only slightly more composed, “I will be fine. I… it is just unexpected.” After a few more minutes, he added, “I should have Snyder pack my trunks.”

Darcy placed his hand on friend’s shoulder again and squeezed it. “Of course. If there is anything…”

Bingley dismissed him with a wave of his hand. “I know…”

Early the next morning, Mrs. Phillips burst into the breakfast room at Longbourn in a high state of agitation. “Sister! Have you heard?” she cried, bypassing all the usual greetings, and ignoring the others at the table.

“Heard? Heard what?” Mrs. Bennet cried. Instantly, her lather matched her sister’s.

Mr. Bennet wasted no time retiring to his study, taking his unfinished plate with him. Nothing good could come from such an early call from his wife’s sister.

“Mr. Bingley has left Netherfield! It is said he leaves for good this time, and no one knows why.”

Jane nearly choked on a piece of breakfast meat upon hearing the news. Surely this can not be because of my engagement. He could not have possibly heard already, Papa has not given his consent! Surprise quickly turned to relief as she realized the encounter she was dreading had been averted, or at least postponed. It would have been awkward seeing Bingley again, especially if his intentions had not changed. She did not want to hurt him, but could not regret her decision to marry Richard. At least we can avoid that situation. Mr. Bingley will read the marriage announcement soon enough.

“What?!” Mrs. Bennet shrieked in disbelief. She began fanning herself with her napkin. “Oh, I knew this would happen!” She turned on Jane. “Did I not warn you this would happen! Oh why did you have to go to Kent? Now we shall have to wait for your sister to go to London and invite you.”

“But I heard the Darcys have returned to Purvis Lodge, and with a large party.” Mrs. Phillips countered. There was a conspiratorial gleam in her eye. “Surely, Mr. Darcy will have heard if anything troubles his friend. When will the Darcys visit?”

Mrs. Bennet’s eyes brightened instantly. “We must go to them directly after breakfast. Mary, ring the bell and have the carriage readied.”

“Mama,” Jane implored, “Lizzy may not be ready to receive visitors. They arrived only yesterday.”

Mrs. Bennet waved a dismissive hand. “I am her mother. Of course she will receive me.”

“But Mama,” Jane said, a little more insistently, “it is not just Lizzy. The Viscount and Viscountess may not look upon precipitate guests as favourably.”

Mention of the titled visitors gave Mrs. Bennet pause, and she again deflated in her seat. “Well, perhaps you are right, Jane.” Suddenly she drew herself up again, quite pleased. “Mr. Darcy promised to come for dinner tonight. We can speak with him then.”

Mrs. Phillips smiled approvingly at the plan, and the two matrons began discussing the dinner courses.

Jane let out a quiet, but relieved sigh. Richard had said he would call that morning, with the intent of speaking to her father. She had no doubt her mother would have dragged her to Purvis Lodge with her, and she did not wish to miss a chance to see him.

Bingley jolted awake, noticing the stillness of the carriage. He looked out the window, and realized they were already at the first stop. The fact that he had dozed off was not entirely surprising. He had slept little the previous night.

Truly, it was one of the most difficult nights of his life. Emptiness consumed him. He had not felt so alone since the day his father died, leaving him as the young head of the family. Even that, he reflected, was not as bad. His father had been suffering the cough so long, it was almost a relief when he had passed. No, this was much worse.

Yesterday, after giving the orders to have Netherfield closed up, he retreated to his rooms. Unequal to keeping up appearances for the servants, he remained there, not even quitting for meals. Then, like a phantom, he slipped out of Meryton at first light.

He hoped his new friends would pardon the abrupt departure, but he was in no attitude to take his leave of the area. It is unlikely I will see them again, anyway. He would never return to Meryton; not even after she was married. How could he? The area now held only painful memories and reminders of what he had lost.

A footman opened the door to the carriage, but Bingley waved him off. He had no patience for innkeepers trying to make a few extra pence with cheerful promises of good food and drink. He was dying inside, and had no desire to be amongst the living.

Some time later, the carriage door opened again. Without a word, one of his footmen left a small basket of wine, bread, and an apple, and then closed the door again. A moment later, the rhythmatic rocking of the carriage indicated they were under way again.

Bingley stared at the offerings, knowing he should eat. The last meal he recalled was breaking his fast the previous morning. With dark h