Chapter 26 - The last chapter!

Chapter 26

Elizabeth Bennet

The cool, calming moonlight dappled the lush forest floor. They kept to a steady clip, though nothing which might strain the horses. The carriage ride was harried and fretful, desperate to escape London before being discovered. Once switching to horseback, an air of victory stole over the foreigners and they slowed their pace. Elizabeth shook her head, knocking the weariness away. Her shoulders and spine strained at the constant jostling. She tried to keep as much distance between the man and herself as possible, but being that he sat directly behind her, his body pressed to hers, a stiff posture was Elizabeth’s only defense. 

“Close your eyes, mi querida. You are tired.”

She turned her head, glancing at him. Those cold, icy eyes hungrily watching, calculating. “How did you find me?” These were first words she spoke since being taken. 

The foreigner, Philip, he told her at one point–she was to call him Philip when in private–he laughed. “I dreamt of you, over and over. Every night, you ghosted my dreams. I believed you dead, rightfully so.” 

Her glare narrowing, this was no answer. 

“I drew your picture by day, perfecting each stroke and shadow until my dreams came alive. I now see my talents are not as accomplished as I once believed, for you, mi cariña, are a goddess come to life.” A growl formed at Elizabeth’s lips. He reached up to trace the scowl, a devouring grin at his own lips. She knocked his hand away. “Remember, you must be a good girl. Do not allow what happened last time to happen again.” 

Elizabeth secretly dropped another pearl, she would be out soon. 

“How did you find me?” she repeated, her teeth clenched as his fingers eased along her arm. 

“Ah, sí, my story. I thought you dead, a fitting punishment for your misdeeds. Yet, I could not let you go, so I sent a man to trace the location of your corpse–to put you to rest, if you will. Rather, he discovered a soldier at a card table in Whitechapel who recognized the drawing I made of you, Elisabetta. A couple pieces of silver and he revealed everything.” Philip’s accent smooth and rolling. 

“I returned to England to see for myself, soon learning you would be attending the Jasper Ball–famoso even in España. Very cleverly on my part, I must say, I secured an invitation for your sister to attend the ball. Should you judge her threatened, you would be an accommodating companion. The soldier revealed that you were close with your sister.” 

“Who is this soldier?” she demanded breathlessly.

Philip called to a man riding behind them, speaking in Spanish. She heard the name in answer, it turned her stomach sour. “A Mr. Wickham,” the foreigner replied, his face leaning forward to run his nose along her neck. Elizabeth shivered at the touch. “Are you cold?”

“No,” she hissed. 

This explained a great deal. Elizabeth returned from speaking with Lady Claridge, arranging to call on the duchess in a couple of days’ time, only to find Jane dancing with the fiend from that fateful night in Whitechapel. She was paralyzed to the floor, her limbs quaking and her voice lost to shock. When another man, his words thick with accent, approached Elizabeth from behind and threatened to harm Jane if she did not go with him, there was little she could do. While in the carriage, Philip told her that should she scream or attempt to run, he would have his men go to Longbourn and kill the little boy who very curiously resembled her. Elizabeth’s world dissolved into a dark, hopeless chasm of no escape. She must do as he bid. Perhaps selfishly, Elizabeth left a trail of pearls behind in hopes of Mr. Darcy discovering her before it was all too late. 

The horse leapt over a fallen tree, propelling Elizabeth into the man behind her. His arm clutched at her waist, digging her further into his body. 

“You do not want me,” she said agitatedly, desperately. “I… I have two ugly, terrible scars beneath my gown. They will–they will disgust you. If you should see them, you will look on me with nothing but repulsion.” 

“From the stabbing?” he asked suspiciously.

“Yes. The jagged scars are puckered and… and unsightly.” 

Philip stiffened, his hand loosened and he fell silent. Several minutes went by without a word from him. Elizabeth hoped he was considering just abandoning her in the woods; surely she could make her way toward home until Mr. Darcy or Lord Claridge found her. 

“I will see them,” he said at long last. “The scars.” 

“But they are beneath my gown,” she cried, her heart beating much too quickly. 

“Then we remove the gown,” Philip said in a wickedly pleased tone. He called to his men, giving orders Elizabeth did not understand. Each man pulled at the reins of his horse, bringing the convoy to a halt. Philip, however, kept their horse moving until alone in the forest. When he stopped, they were in a small clearing. All to be heard were the sounds of rustling leaves and shadowy woodland creatures stirring early for the dawn.

The foreigner jumped down first, stretching his arms and legs after the long journey. Next, he reached for Elizabeth, taking delight in grasping her body. He spun her around and ripped her gown near in half.  

“No!” she protested, tugging at the beautiful silk she so adored. “This is my only dress.”

“I will have a new wardrobe prepared for you. My lady dresses as I deem fit.”

“Do you have a dress waiting for me now?” Elizabeth pressed, bearing the full weight of her dark eyes down upon him. 

“Hmm… fair point. It will be several days before we arrive in Spain. Perhaps I have been hasty. I tend to do as I like, when I like.” Elizabeth let out a breath. “Nevertheless, I will see these scars.” With one finger, he motioned for her to step closer. Frantically, she scanned the darkness encircling the clearing, finding no help, no escape. She slowly inched toward him. Philip gently pulled lace-after-lace, Elizabeth closed her eyes, bringing Mr. Darcy to mind. At last, the chemise was loosened, and covering herself as best as she could, the scar on her back was revealed. Philip laughed. 

“That is all?” Ripping his jacket off, he rolled up a sleeve and presented a long, pink scar which ran from elbow wrist. “This is but one of my marks. Your scar is easily overlooked when a goddess such as yourself bears it.” Elizabeth stumbled back as Philip’s eyes roved over her. 

“Please, they will hear us.” She knew not what to do, how she might flee. Panic erupted in her bones.  

“Yes, that is a consideration,” he nodded, closing the space between them. “The moonlight upon your skin is… irresistible.” A single finger traced the fine line of her jaw. “I believe I must have you now.”

Elizabeth lifted her arm to push him away, he caught her wrist not to let her go. “What of your men? D-Do you wish them to see us?” Tears poured over her cheeks, as much in helplessness as in anger. 

“They know not to interrupt in any measure.” His hands were then around her, she struggled but he would not let go. Elizabeth’s strength, weakened and wearied from months of recovery, could never match his. Philip threw her to the ground, staring as he began to tug at the fall of his pants. Elizabeth tried to scrabble away, but he stepped on her dress, grinning. Philip bent to his knees, and began to crawl overtop her body. Elizabeth cried out, she did not know what to do. 

“I will kill you, and I will enjoy it,” said a voice from behind them. 

Philip rolled over, his cool eyes flaring. He fastened his breeches, smiling and laughing softly, cruelly. 

“Fitzwilliam,” Elizabeth wept. His grey eyes flickered toward her, emotion of every sort roiling deep, then a cold emptiness overtook him.  

“Remain there, Elizabeth,” he demanded, his voice hollow. Mr. Darcy stepped into the clearing, brandishing a long, gleaming sword. Philip called into the darkness to summon help, his hand slipping toward his discarded jacket and the blade hidden inside. Elizabeth grabbed it first, throwing the fine coat out of reach. Philip slapped her across the cheek. Darcy charged forward without another warning. 

It all happened so fast. Elizabeth could hardly recall those fateful minutes. Lord Claridge burst through the trees, taking Elizabeth into his arms and pressing her face to his chest. He would not have her see the bloodshed. The ache in her chest thrummed painfully at each rapid beat, fearing for Mr. Darcy. Shouts and grunts and the shriek of ripping skin blared into the clear night sky. These would be sounds which echoed into her dreams for years to come. 

“Elizabeth,” Mr. Darcy finally called to her. “Elizabeth, are you hurt? Dear God, tell me he has not hurt you.”

She did not answer. Elizabeth briefly pressed her forehead to Lord Claridge’s chest before breaking free to run into Mr. Darcy’s outstretched arms. She stepped over the body with only the slightest of considerations. Catching Elizabeth with a strangled grunt of pain, and stumbling back a step, the gentleman took her tight into his clutch. Over and over, he whispered her name. A song, a poem, her name became an echo of legend, their legend. Mr. Darcy gingerly took her face in his hands, his nose pressed to hers. He said nothing more, he need not, their touch was enough. 

Berkes, with a triumphant grin, ripped Elizabeth away and pulled her into his embrace, scolding her for being so foolish. The reproaches tripled as she told the men of Philip’s threats, furious that she would sacrifice her life for Jane’s. Mentioning Mr. Wickham’s role in her capture sent them into a firestorm of rage. A promise to have him sent to Russia for the remainder of his days was made. 

In little time, Berkes and his men gleefully made their way to the sea in order to sink a certain Spanish ship. Mr. Darcy and Lord Claridge remained behind, deciding how best to make their way back to London. The horses, gladdened to be at ease, feasted on the crisp, dewy morning grass of the clearing, relieving their weariness. Elizabeth curled into Mr. Darcy’s side, watching the stallions in a languid stupor. Every once in a while, Mr. Darcy would reach over, kissing the top of her head. Finally, they decided to await a carriage at a nearby village inn. Mr. Darcy lifted Elizabeth onto his horse, swinging up behind her, and they set off in the same direction of Berkes and his men. Elizabeth tucked into Mr. Darcy’s chest as they trotted through the forest. The gentleman wrapped his coat about her shoulders, keeping any brisk winds from her face and arms. When they came upon the inn, Mr. Darcy escorted her to a room above the quiet tavern. Their carriage would not arrive for several hours. 

The small, musty room looked out over the sea, the sun just now climbing over the waters like a soft blaze of flame churning to life. Mr. Darcy closed the door behind him, Elizabeth turned from the graying window to look on him. A sort of madness bathed his countenance. Without his coat, and in the light of the early dawn, she could see the stains of blood coating the white linen of his shirt. He claimed it was nothing, she should not worry at all. Elizabeth, nevertheless, sought out pail of water and some fresh strips of linen in order to bandage him properly. 

“You will see Mr. Farr when we return to London,” Elizabeth insisted. 

“I will not,” Mr. Darcy returned, gingerly sliding his arms back into his waistcoat and standing. “Farr is not a man I purposely seek out.” 

“Do you insist on arguing? For you know I will win.” 

Slowly, the gentleman pulled Elizabeth out of her chair and wrapped his arms about her waist, the palm of his hand resting atop scar on her back. “Yes, my dearest Elizabeth, you will win. You will always win.” Mr. Darcy took a deep breath, then asked, “Tell me, did that man hurt you?” 

Elizabeth knew of what he meant. Her flesh curdled and itched. She needed to scrub herself clean, but this could not be done with water and soap. Only the man before her now could heal the wounds so forcefully opened. “He will be forgotten,” she managed to say. Elizabeth threw herself upon him, tugging at his cravat, pulling his face to hers. Mr. Darcy gave in at once, kissing her back with the force of a thundering stampede of horses. Elizabeth allowed his hands to consume her; his touch, his scent and taste dominated her every thought. Whatever may come, whatever had passed, the man possessing her now in this moment let her free.

Too soon, he pulled away. Mr. Darcy rubbed a hand down his face, steadying his entire body. “Elizabeth,” he whispered, his chest rapidly rising and falling in breathlessness, “Elizabeth, we must stop.” 

“I was scared,” she admitted, tears blurring her vision. “What he did to me, I thought I would never–only you could heal–”

Mr. Darcy grasped her arms, looking fiercely upon her. “That bastard is dead, I only wish I could end him again. Your fear is my fear, your pain is my pain. I would carry it all if only I could. I have only loved but one woman in my life. She has held my heart in her palm since I lifted her from the snow and she curled into my chest.

“I have failed you time and again. Oh Lord! How I have failed you. Elizabeth, you deserve so much better than me. Nevertheless, I am prideful and selfish and I love you more than my own life. Can you ever love me again?”

Bowing her head, tears streaming from the corner of her eyes, Elizabeth did not answer at once. 

“Please, can you ever love me again?” he asked again, lifting her chin. 

“When have I ever stopped loving you?” she returned. Mr. Darcy stilled into a ghostly pallor, a hitch and intake of breath broadened his chest. She reached up, embracing his cheek in her palm. “I may have hated you at times, Fitzwilliam, but I never stopped loving you.” 

Mr. Darcy swooped down, pulling Elizabeth into his arms. He held her as though she were a phantom of some fading vision. “Marry me,” he said at last. “Marry me or I will steal you away to Gretna Green and force you into matrimony through any coercion necessary.” Elizabeth laughed and Mr. Darcy claimed her lips. “Marry me,” he repeated, his body trembling in wait of answer. 

Elizabeth twisted her head back to look into his eyes. She smiled and nodded. 

“Please say the word, milady,” his voice steady. 

“Yes.”

***

The carriage slowly, steadily made its way to London. Lord Claridge sat opposite Mr. Darcy and Elizabeth, his head resting against the back as he slept in restless fits. The gentleman beside her, clutching her hand, remained wide awake. Knowing she herself would soon succumb to sleep, Elizabeth quietly said, “Fitzwilliam, you wished to call on the morrow to speak with me on an important matter, yes?” He nodded, a slight frown pulling at his mouth. “It is the morrow.” 

“I fear you may be upset.” 

“Tell me in any case.” Elizabeth sat up straighter in order to give him her full attention. 

“Well…” He hesitated, “While you were away I have not sat idly by.” Elizabeth encouraged him with a smile. “There is an estate, Willow Run, not three hours from Pemberley. Though I cannot claim it quite so grand as our own manor, I find it to be most stately. The proprietor, Sir Henry Jacobson, has long sought to sell it, and I have made arrangements to purchase it.”  

Elizabeth’s brows drew together in confusion. 

“My love, I wish to hand over Willow Run to James,” he said quickly, turning his eyes away. “I know it can never make up for the loss of Pemberley, nor the pain of his situation. Yet, I will be a father to him in every way I can. Though I cannot properly claim him as my own, he will know who I am and what he is to me.” 

Tears came to her eyes, tears of utter happiness, and fear, and confusion. “How would this be possible?” 

“Yes,” he returned in a torrent, “I fear a difficult transition would be ahead. Many questions raised with false answers. Your parents might be troublesome.” 

“Mr. and Mrs. Bennet are not to accompany Jamie?” 

“No, I spoke to Richard on the matter and he has offered himself as James’ guardian. My cousin eagerly wishes to retire. Richard would be James’ formal and legal guardian.” 

“My father…” 

“He can be persuaded. Longbourn is legally Mr. Collins’ at Mr. Bennet’s death.” Mr. Darcy took both of her hands in his. “Elizabeth, our son will know us as his true parents, when the time is right. He will be safe and provided for. We need not be parted from him often. Moreover, a lovely little chapel comes with the estate. Perhaps Mary might wish to accompany her nephew to Derbyshire?” 

A sob choked her throat, but still she asked, “Can you, can we afford such an undertaking?” 

“My father left me a large fortune at his death, a fortune I have continued to increase. Furthermore, I have some small properties in the north I have been quietly selling away. Elizabeth, I assure, we can provide this for our son… if you are agreeable.” 

Lord Claridge leaned forward, his secret smile at his lips. “James is our family, Elizabeth. We will protect him always. Besides, when your son is named proprietor of Willow Run, we truly will own nearly all of Derbyshire. Leave the murky details of the inheritance to my wife and sister. They thrive on sculpting gossip.” 

Laughing, Elizabeth reached up to briefly kiss Mr. Darcy. “Yes, I am agreeable.” 

Four months later, Elizabeth and Mr. Darcy were finally wed. Cecilia and Agatha insisted there must be proper courtship to display to the London society. Mr. Darcy, however, procured a special license so they might be married not quite a month after the announcement of their formal engagement. Elizabeth was surrounded by her entire family, including her son, when she married the man she loved.  

-----------------------------

This is it!! Thank you so much for coming along with me on this extremely turbulent journey. I know it hasn't been easy. Still, and I will say it again, thank you for reading. I'm still getting the edits together and should have a draft of the final version done soon. I may see if I can find a couple of beta readers before I put it on Amazon, yet it shouldn't be much of a delay. 

Also, I have in mind a short epilogue to follow. But you will have to wait for the published version to read it. I think I have left only one loose end to be tied up, and she needs a little tying up. 

If you have any comments, concerns, questions etc., you can still contact me at jennapatten85@gmail.com or chessiejenna@aol.com or on twitter at @JennaPatten7 I will be making a few announcements in the coming weeks as to my progress. So, if you want, check back every once in a while. 

~Jenna

Chapter 25

Chapter 25

Mr. Darcy

The house on Gracechurch Street presented nothing remarkable. The halls, the parlor, the study, each room intimated the taste and wealth of a middling tradesman. Darcy sat stiffly before Mr. Gardiner, neither uncomfortable nor at ease. Elizabeth departed for Bath not three hours previous. He saw her off, his heart heavy and his conscience uncertain. His cousins assured Darcy that no harm would come to her. She would heal, she would be at peace, Elizabeth would be safe. In her absence, Darcy would set himself to necessary personal matters. His first duty sat before him, the man’s hands folded together and resting atop a simple desk. 

“Are you certain Elizabeth is able to make such a trip?” asked Mr. Gardiner, his thick golden-gray brows pulling together in concern. The tradesman had the appearance of his sister Mrs. Bennet, only younger, plainer and with a bare inkling of shrewd intelligence about his countenance. 

“Every allowance and comfort will be afforded your niece,” answered Darcy. “However, I only tell you of her itinerary as courtesy. My purpose on this day is to do with your other niece.” 

Mr. Gardiner sighed, “Jane.” 

“Indeed, she is under a misapprehension that I perhaps harbor intentions toward her?”

“Yes,” the man agreed, lowering his eyes to his hands with a shake of head. 

“I do not, nor have I ever regarded her in any such a manner. This, I will allow, is partly my doing. She misconstrued my intentions toward Elizabeth when we first met, and I did not recognize to correct her. Nevertheless, her actions towards me directly harm Elizabeth – this I will not permit.” To himself, Darcy confessed this should have been dealt with many months ago. 

Mr. Gardiner turned his head side-to-side, a deep sadness crawling over his heavy features. “Before we go any further, Mr. Darcy, allow me to say that my wife is a good woman. She bids to always do what is right and decent.” 

“Mr. Gardiner,” Darcy warned, his hackles rising. He wished not to extend this call any longer than necessary. 

Holding up his hand, Mr. Gardiner would be heard. “When Elizabeth walked through the door to her late mother’s house, my wife simply could not believe her eyes. To then hear the story of Elizabeth’s, shall I say, adventure, Madeleine acted in anger and fear.” Sitting back in his chair, Mr. Gardiner somehow appeared to have aged ten years in these last minutes. “Mr. Darcy, I must tell you an exceedingly sad truth, my mother’s-in-law home was not a mile east of your infamous lodge. As soon as Elizabeth told Madeleine of the letter, my wife sent her elderly manservant to retrieve it. Old Mr. Dalton rigged up the mule cart and retrieved the note that very day.” 

“Why?” begged Darcy, slamming his fist against the desk. “Do you not know of the angst you have put upon Elizabeth?” 

For some time, Mr. Gardiner simply sat there, his face growing grayer. “Mr. Darcy,” he said quietly, “I understand you have a young sister for whom you are her primary guardian.” 

“Yes,” he answered warily. 

“If you might place her in my niece’s shoes, would you not be suspicious of the gentleman who deserted her? Would you not be anxious to retrieve the letter that not only confessed everything of herself but that of her family as well? Madeleine knew not of your true character and in those tempestuous days, my wife certainly could not trust Elizabeth to think clearly.” 

His heart caught deep in his stomach, Darcy hardly knew what to say. Still, for Elizabeth, he must. “B-But why did you not attempt to find me at once? I could have been found!” 

Mr. Gardiner smiled a little. “My brother-in-law and myself discussed this course extensively, ultimately deciding against such a foolish undertaking.”

“Foolish?” Darcy demanded. 

“If you had been a poor man, an inconsequential man, then we would have something to bargain with for her. However, every indication suggested you to be quite wealthy. We had nothing to persuade you to do right by Elizabeth.” 

“Elizabeth would have been enough for me! Elizabeth would be enough for any man. Do you not see her clearly? Do you not see the affect she has on–”

“Mr. Darcy, you deserted her,” retorted the man. 

“No, I did not. I made a terrible, stupid mistake, I concede! However, I went back for her, I searched for her for years. You kept Elizabeth from me!” 

There again, a deep graying sadness struck the tradesman. “I regret my choices,” he admitted. “Yet, as I stated before, things progressed to a degree where we could not turn back.” 

Narrowing his eyes, straightening his shoulders, Darcy considered Mr. Gardiner carefully. “Do you truly regret your choices?”

“Indeed, most heartily.” 

“If this may be true,” Darcy spoke slowly, suspiciously, “then you may become an ally in my plans. If not, you will further hurt your niece and pull her farther from her family.” 

The man before him sat forward, frowning. His deep brows pulled toward his nose, unsure and careful of how to respond. “Plans?” he questioned. 

Reluctantly, Darcy laid out his intentions with the barest of details. He knew if he were to obtain Mr. Gardiner’s approval, other aspects would be less complicated. Still, this proposal was but in its earliest of stages, and much may go awry. For now, he would move forward to accomplish as much as he could before Elizabeth returned from Bath. 

“As to Miss Jane Bennet,” Mr. Darcy finished. “Would you like for me to speak with her?”

“No, I must.” Mr. Gardiner slumped in his chair, quite defeated. “Furthermore, I will write to her mother, telling Mrs. Bennet in no uncertain terms that Jane and herself must give up any such hopes of a match.” 

“Why did you not do so before?” insisted Darcy. “Surely, you knew well before now of what Elizabeth is to me!” 

To this Mr. Gardiner sat up, “We did, sir! My wife and I both spoke to Jane. She maintained she held no aims, and we took her at her word. I believe it must be my sister who keeps asserting otherwise. Jane is… She is sensitive.” 

“Elizabeth deserves better,” Darcy spat at him.  

“Why do you think my brother-in-law so easily turned over guardianship of his most favored daughter? He saw his mistakes and was willing to do anything to make up for them.” 

“Let us hope he remains remorseful.” Darcy rose, more than eager to be on his way.

“Please, wait, Mr. Darcy.” Mr. Gardiner pushed to his feet as well, standing no taller than Darcy’s chin. “What might be your intentions toward Elizabeth? I have done her wrong, yes, but I do love her dearly.” 

“My intentions…” Darcy might have said a thousand things. He wished to give her the world, to give her happiness and contentment beyond her imagination, and if he were to fall short of any of those intentions, she held his heart fully and unconditionally. To Mr. Gardiner, he declared, “I will beg of her hand, if she will have me.” The tradesman smiled and sent Darcy on his way.

February stepped into March, March crawled into April. Darcy threw himself into restoring his name and consequence, fortunately the task presented few obstacles thanks to the whispers and misdirection created by Cecelia and Agatha. The men at the club welcomed him back into their circles. Invitations to parties were again accepted. He spent a week in the countryside hunting boar with friends. Nothing was denied to the gentleman, nor did he recapture one moment of peace or satisfaction. Everything was done for Elizabeth, and his family. 

In late March, Darcy attended a dinner party. Those wintering in the country were trickling back to town for the high season. A few recently returned close acquaintances would be attending the small gathering. When the Bingleys appeared, so did Jane Bennet. Being the sister of Elizabeth Bennet, the ward of the Earl of Matlock, allowed the elder Bennet to receive invitations well above her standing. Caroline Bingley, in particular, found Jane’s friendship to be most advantageous, as she might secure her access to Lady Claridge and Lady Agatha. She and Caroline were arm-in-arm and quite in each other’s confidences. Darcy occupied himself well out of their sights, conspiring to make his excuses early. At the announcement of dinner, the gentleman placed himself far from the ladies. Fortunately, the squab was well-cooked. 

Before the third course was served, a late arrival was announced. Colonel Fitzwilliam entered in good humor, laughing with the butler. This surprised Darcy, as he did not know his cousin returned from Bath. Hope soared of others returning early as well. As the colonel took his seat down the table, he pointedly looked to Darcy then furtively to Jane, a smirk rising at his lips. Nothing existed between Darcy and Jane, certainly not on his end. If he were to be so luckless as to meet the lady, he offered a mere bow and carried on his way. She, to Mr. Gardiner’s credit, remained coolly civil as well. This night, Jane Bennet smiled only for Bingley. 

Raising his chin, Darcy addressed his cousin despite the five guests sitting between them. “I will speak with you following dinner.” 

“Indeed,” Fitzwilliam answered, raising his glass of wine in agreement. 

Pushing himself away from the table as the pudding was served, Darcy tapped his cousin’s shoulder as he walked by. Fitzwilliam followed him from the dining hall, still chattering with his tablemates until they were outside the room. 

“When are you to make the announcement?” teased Fitzwilliam.

“You have always believed yourself witty, why?” Darcy returned drily. Fitzwilliam wore an arrogant grin. “Why did you not write of your return? Is Elizabeth… are the others with you?”

Fitzwilliam sunk back against a console table, bracing his palms against the dark, highly polished table. “It appears I have outpaced my letter.”

“The others?” Darcy pressed. 

“No, they remained in Bath. I, however, needed to be in London to meet with Worthington. It appears I will be sent north for much of the spring and summer. Do you intend on keeping Georgiana in Buxton?”

“I do. She seems contented there.”

“I agree.” Colonel Fitzwilliam pushed himself up and moved them into an empty parlor. He eased himself against a chair, perching on the armrest. “She deserves much better than the two of us.”

“Too true,” Darcy returned, hoarsely. 

“Georgiana is a young lady of whom I am exceedingly proud to have had a hand in raising. One day she will make remarkable lady in her own right, better for the mistakes we have made as well as the mistakes she has made.”

“I believe you are correct.” 

“I will visit while stationed in the north.” 

“Georgiana will be glad of your company.” Darcy hesitated, his fists flexing. He searched the corridor for nothing in particular, if only to prolong the ease between his cousin and himself. “Has… Have you been well, Richard?” 

Fitzwilliam offered a mild smile so familiar Darcy sighed. “Indeed, very well. Bath allowed for rest. Our time was simply spent.” Leaning forward, the colonel placed his palms on his knees, concern dropping at his mouth. “And you, Darcy, how have you been?”

“Eager,” replied he. Exhaustion tugged at Darcy’s shoulders. “If I am honest, there is great deal I wish to discuss with you. Can you make time for me on the morrow?”

“Certainly.”  The colonel pressed his lips together. Darcy nodded, turning to leave. “You know I do not choose Lizzy over you; nor would I ever. This time apart, perhaps foolishly done, was to give you both the opportunity to choose for yourselves. Whatever that may be.” 

“I never had choice with Elizabeth, Richard.”

“Perchance that is true, there is something about her beyond my understanding. However, if you desire for something or someone otherwise, I believe your obligations have been satisfied.” Fitzwilliam’s voice quieted, “Lizzy will want for nothing.” 

Choking heat swelled across Darcy’s neck. “You are correct, for I will give her everything.” 

Colonel Fitzwilliam made no reply, only laughing a little.

Darcy decided he rather be home than remain at the party, and bid Fitzwilliam goodbye. Yet, before departing he asked, “Is she well?”

“Lizzy heals… beautifully.” 

***

The opening of the Season meant one must attend the exclusive Jasper Ball. The late Duchess of Newcastle-upon-Tyne inaugurated the grand gathering more than a generation prior. To receive an invitation firmly placed the attendee in the graces of the London elite. Even Darcy viewed this particular event with the due respect it commanded, going so far as to solicit a new blue coat, waistcoat and a fine pair of breeches. This year, however, the significance of the Jasper Ball penetrated his every heartbeat with trepidation and anticipation.

Drifting amongst the collections of people, each one dressed with the precise purpose to impress and be admired, Darcy made distracted conversation, awaiting each new announcement of a guest. To his utter astonishment, Jane Bennet was pronounced to the gathered. Mr. Gardiner escorted her. Few looked in their direction, and those who did, lingered but mere moments. 

“Mr. Darcy, how grand to meet you here!” said Mr. Gardiner, coming upon the gentleman with a smile. Darcy grudgingly respected the tradesman’s poise in the distinguished company. 

“Mr. Gardiner, Miss Bennet,” he tipped his head in their direction. Jane Bennet curtsied, lifting her blue eyes to meet his, her cheeks becoming with blush and soft painting. She wore a gown of verdant green silk, a garment well beyond her uncle’s means. He began to wonder where she might have procured a dress so fine; more concerningly, he doubted how she might have received an invitation to the Jasper Ball at all. The question was not asked, his focus went to the butler who cracked his cane to the marble floor. Any expectation plummeted as Lord Coventry strode forward.

Jane Bennet and Mr. Gardiner, much too diverted by the spectacle of pomp swarming about, offered but few words of conversation. Darcy altogether forgot about them as he watched the doors to the great hall. Eventually the minuet faded away. The many conversations silenced, eagerness for dancing gathered on their stilled breaths, tasting something like hot honeyed wine. Then all together, the conversations resumed louder and with quivering fervor. 

“Mr. Darcy?” Jane Bennet said, speaking as though repeating herself.

“Excuse me,” Darcy returned, dropping his cold eyes to her. 

Jane Bennet twisted to see who else was in attendance. “Will Mr. Bingley and Miss Bingley come?”

“I cannot imagine they were invited. Will you please pardon–” A late crack of the cane silenced him, the rising crush of conversation hushed anew. Lord and Lady Claridge were announced, along with Lady Agatha and her. 

She wore a gown which might be made of liquid sky. Strands of pearls were strewn through her hair with a single string delicately draped above her brows. More pearls hung around her neck, dipping temptingly toward her breathtaking décolletage. Elizabeth set her fathomless, midnight stare on room, devouring it whole. She radiated health beyond anything before seen, she was the moon rising over the infinite ocean horizon. 

Until now, Darcy had not known of the life languidly seeping from his body, emptying him of all which mattered. But then, as Elizabeth’s gaze caught on him, an otherworldly vitality sang into his starving veins. 

Elizabeth took a deep breath, gentlemen across the ballroom inched closer to the lady. 

“My goodness,” Mr. Gardiner groaned.

Claridge noted the subtle shift of the room and tucked Elizabeth’s arm into his. Lady Claridge and Lady Agatha smugly grinned to one another, urging their small party into the hall. With his great height, Darcy ably traced her every step, the flutter of sky swaying in her wake. 

The first dance began, the couples lined themselves atop the gleaming floors. Expectancy swelled like the crash of a mighty wave. This very dance might well be the genesis of many epic stories. In the commotion, Darcy lost sight of Elizabeth, then suddenly she was there. “Jane!” It was the voice of his dreams, a haunting which called to him every night. A temptation from the most awesome depths. “Dearest, you are beautiful.” 

“Oh Lizzy!” 

Darcy turned to watch the sisters embrace. There were countless moments when he desired nothing so compelling as to throw Elizabeth over his shoulder, stealing her into the night. In this moment, he doubted whether they would ever return from wherever he stole her to. Darcy’s fingers twitched.

“Mr. Darcy,” Elizabeth said quietly, a curtsy accompanying her greeting. A magnificent bloom spread across her cheeks, though she hardly lifted her eyes to his. Returning to her sister, she said, “Jane, your gown is splendid.”

“Oh yes, it arrived with the invitation. Well, the silk in any case. I told our aunt how I thought the color best suited you, Lizzy. To be sure, I do believe we best switch gowns, for your blue would match my eyes, and my green your complexion.”

“The blue becomes Elizabeth,” Darcy said quietly to himself. The bloom over Elizabeth’s cheeks went dark crimson and he somehow stood taller.  

“T-The silk arrived with the invitation?” Elizabeth stammered, resuming their previous topic. “Have you become close with the duchess?” 

“I have yet to meet our host. My invitation arrived only days ago, we were most surprised.” Jane glanced around the room, as though the mysterious benefactor would appear. 

“Well, I am glad you have come,” Elizabeth replied, her voice kind though reserved. She looked over her shoulder to Darcy. Her eyes met his, she offered him the smallest of smiles and returned to the ball. At her neck, a gleam of gold chain reflected under the chandelier candlelight.  

“Good evening, Lizzy,” Mr. Gardiner inserted. “You are lovely, my dear. Quite healed, I see.” 

“Uncle,” she returned coldly, her hand sliding to her side, settling over the stab wound. 

Darcy immediately stepped between them. He stared down at Elizabeth and she up at him. For a moment, he reached out to cover her hand with his, to protect her so she need not. The crowds of people swarming nearer to the ward of Lord Claridge made him pause. 

“What are you doing here?” Lord Claridge came up behind Elizabeth, taking her arm in his. The earl directed his intimidating glare at Mr. Gardiner. Jane Bennet covered her mouth to hide her gasp.

“Ash,” Elizabeth warned quietly, “do not be rude.” They shared a look, neither relenting. Rather, Elizabeth changed the subject, “Have you been well, Jane?”

“Yes, very well. When did you return?” Jane shifted uncomfortably. Darcy had yet to turn his eyes away from Elizabeth. He called earlier in the day, but Agatha insisted he must wait until the ball to meet with Elizabeth, despite his protests.

“Only last evening. Tell me how you have been occupying your time in London. I have not had a letter for near a fortnight.” 

“Oh, Aunt Gardiner and I have been frenzied preparing for the ball.”

Elizabeth feebly smiled, “As it should be.” 

Before they could speak more, their party was interrupted by an acquaintance of Lord Claridge’s, first entreating Elizabeth’s hand for a dance then requesting a brief audience with the earl. 

“My lord, I am not dancing tonight.” She pressed her lips into a pout. “Lord Claridge has denied me the pleasure, unnecessarily worrying over my arm. None of my arguments could persuade him otherwise. He is terribly stubborn.” Once again, Elizabeth turned to Claridge with narrowed eyes.

“There are none so stubborn,” the lord agreed, leering at Elizabeth. 

“Just last evening,” Elizabeth said in an aside to Jane, Darcy listening, “I made Ash dance with me to prove I am quite healed; nevertheless, he would not yield. Either we attend and I do not dance, or we remain at Abbington Park–those were my options.” 

Lifting his hand, Darcy made to draw Elizabeth into the dance. The longing to move with the music shimmered in her eyes. He needed her pleasure; he needed her. 

“Darcy, come with us,” compelled Claridge, demanding his attention. “There are issues with the grain tariffs. Damn Prinnie.” 

He followed, Claridge tugging Elizabeth along as well. He placed her with his wife and sister before they made their way to a secluded room off of the main hall. Any animosity between the cousins slipped away at once as they stood side-by-side, looming over their prey, battling and exhausting whatever mark they desired. The lord shrinking before them now stupidly believed he might negotiate to his advantage. He, in fact, negotiated quite to his detriment. Thoroughly defeated, Claridge escorted the man into the card room to plunge him into whiskey and diversion. Darcy returned to the ballroom. 

He heard her laughter before he saw her. His feet took him to her by instinct alone. Elizabeth lifted her face, pleasure and pain trembling in her expression. A reflection of his own countenance. Lord Coventry stood beside her, much too closely for Darcy’s liking. Those making up the rest of the small circle of conversation listened intently to his story of first meeting Elizabeth. She apparently spilled tea on him, and rather than apologizing she tried to convince him it was his fault for making her laugh. 

As the others dully snickered, Darcy surreptitiously bent down to whisper in Elizabeth’s ear, “I wish to speak with you.” Elizabeth lowered her chin, nodding but once in response. “Let us meet in the garden.” 

Elizabeth arrived some minutes after he, Cecelia as her companion. His cousin raised her brows, but said nothing to allow them to speak privately. Elizabeth spoke first, “I would like to thank you for the letters.” Darcy shook his head, not following. “The letters from Mrs. Collins you brought from Kent,” Elizabeth clarified. 

“Oh… right,” Darcy returned. “Mrs. Collins is a kindly lady.” 

“One of my dearest friends. We had a bit of a disagreement before I… before I left Hertfordshire. I am glad we have been able to resume our friendship.” 

“Let us walk,” Darcy suggested, voices intruding from the veranda. 

Elizabeth took a step ahead him, allowing him to follow them. “Have you been well, Mr. Darcy?”

“No,” he said simply. 

“I am sorry.” Elizabeth slowed to withdraw a letter from her reticule. “Perhaps, this will cheer you. I-I know we do not speak often of… him.” Elizabeth shook her head, anxiously thrusting the parchment into his hand. Opening it, Darcy discovered large, nearly illegible scratches resembling his Christian name scrawled across the page. A tiny handprint in ink was smudged into the corner, along with several other smudges. “Jamie wrote this for you. Mary has been trying to teach him his letters. He is much too young of course, I guided his hand.” 

“I…” Darcy’s fingers began to tremble just holding the small token. “I thank you, Elizabeth.” It took a great deal of effort to keep his voice steady. “When did you see him?” 

“On our way home from Bath,” Elizabeth spoke quietly. “We spent above two hours with him. Ash shooed my mother away as though she was an alley cat.” She smiled back at him. They had reached the edge of the small garden and turned back. Their time together would be at an end soon. “Jamie has grown so! I dare say he might be taller than you one day.” 

“Elizabeth–”

“He is the picture of well-being,” she interrupted, her voice rising higher, more anxious. “He is the picture of you. Though, of course, Agatha claims she sees much of me in him. I do not know.”

“Elizabeth–”

“Perhaps in the set of our eyes. He is so very observant. Jamie must have stared at Ash a full ten minutes. The little sire even insisted Ash hold him so he might inspect him closer.” She shook her head, her steps skipping quickly over the grass. “Ash does not hold children easily, yet he did well with Jamie.” Darcy grabbed Elizabeth’s arm, pulling her back and into his chest. Cecelia cleared her throat, Darcy reluctantly let Elizabeth go. 

“Elizabeth, please allow me to speak.” She turned her head away, a single tear falling down her cheek. Darcy quickly wiped it away. Then tipping her chin toward him, he asked, “Did you miss me?”

“How can you ask such a silly question?” Elizabeth begged. 

“Did you?” Darcy bent his head lower so they were almost nose-to-nose.

“Did you miss me?” she returned in sudden furor. 

“More than anything in this world, Elizabeth.”

Elizabeth dropped her voice. “Truly?”

“Do not question my devotion to you, my dearest Elizabeth. Will you allow me to call on you on the morrow? There is a matter of which I am most impatient to discuss with you.”  

Before she could answer, Agatha descended from the veranda to steal Elizabeth away. They were summoned to meet with the duchess for formal introductions. Before he could protest, Elizabeth disappeared into the crowds of the ball. Lady Claridge remained behind. 

“Do you not need to attend?” asked Darcy. Lady Claridge nodded and started back toward the manor house, expecting Darcy to walk with her. 

“She does well, Fitzwilliam. Our girl is strong and stubborn.” Lady Claridge chuckled to herself. “She is exceedingly stubborn. Moreover, she is becoming who she was born to be, something extraordinary. Can you not see this? Can you not feel it? She is electrifying.” 

“Do you suggest I am not worthy of her?” he quipped. Lady Claridge only smirked in response. “And who, might I ask, is her equal? For certainly, you and Agatha have someone in mind.” Lady Claridge lifted a wry brow, not to answer. “What if she chooses me?”

“I suppose Lizzy could do worse,” laughed the lady. They found themselves looking in on the ball. “I am surprised to find Jane Bennet in attendance. You are not responsible?” 

“Of course not,” he said, his eyes rolling. 

“Hmm… A mystery.” And the lady removed herself to join Cecelia and Elizabeth. 

Darcy found himself standing between worlds, a bystander of his own life. Every plan he might make, every step forward, every arrangement determined, nothing mattered without Elizabeth by his side. Tonight’s taste of revelry, intrigue and society felt like cold treacle on his tongue. The flash of liquid sky striding through the crowd bid him return to the ball. Elizabeth summoned him like a siren’s call in the wind. 

Dinner was soon announced. Seated at opposite ends of the long and teeming dining table, Darcy could do no more than watch Elizabeth. The flicker and haze of the candles set her aglow in an otherworldly radiance. She ate slowly and little, her food was anxiously poked from one end of the plate to the other. She smiled and laughed as she must, not quite as wanted. The spark of health, nevertheless, remained. Whenever she peeked over at him, her cheeks blossomed, a rose in the height of summer. His sights traveled to his cousin. Claridge commanded over his companions on either side, saying little, needing not to. In his distraction, Darcy missed his own dinner companions inviting him to the card room following dinner. Nor did he recall agreeing to join them. Less than an hour later, his pockets lighter, he escaped the raucous revelry of the cards for the ballroom, for Elizabeth. 

Among the couples dancing he noted Jane Bennet with a handsome, dark-haired man he did not recognize. Darcy spun on his heel, striding toward the far end of the room. He could discover Elizabeth easily enough from anywhere he might stand. Before long, a small crowd of acquaintances gathered around Darcy, demanding his notice. The agitation of before roared back into being. If only he could find Elizabeth, he would dance with her. Claridge would not stop him. 

When the music concluded, the crowds simmered in wait for the next movement to begin. Those around him multiplied. Jane Bennet approached as well, smiling and breathless. 

“Miss Bennet, where is your sister?” he asked at once. 

“Oh, indeed, I have not seen her since dinner. Perhaps she is with Lady Claridge?”

Again searching for Agatha and Cecelia, Elizabeth was not with them. Ashford remained in the card room.

“My dear, who were you dancing with?” asked Miss Hartnet, an incorrigible gossip. 

Jane Bennet flushed at being so addressed, her fine lashes fluttered and fell to the floor. “He is a nobleman of Castile, in Spain,” she said shyly. “His name is Don Carrillo de Figueroa, of the first class,” added Jane Bennet more assuredly.

“Do tell!” Miss Hartnet encouraged. All the ladies nearby inched closer to hear of the handsome stranger, as did the men. 

Jane Bennet went on, “He did not speak a great deal. But is he not a lovely dancer?” The ladies all agreed. She told the little she had to tell. Darcy resumed his surveying of the room. In little order, the orchestra began again. The crowd around him thinned. His advantage grew, as did his unease. Elizabeth was not to be seen. 

Lord Coventry, with two glasses of punch, approached. He looked back and forth, a furrow to his brow. “Have you seen Miss Bennet?” he asked. 

“I am here, my lord,” Jane Bennet replied timidly, dipping her chin, cheeks aglow.

Coventry’s lips turned down, studying the woman for a moment. “Do excuse me, I meant Miss Elizabeth Bennet.”

“When did you last see her?” Darcy demanded of the lord. 

Placing the cups on a nearby table, Coventry rubbed his forehead. “Before the preceding dance, I saw her by a gentleman I did not recognize. She bore a grimace,” he said quietly so the others would not hear. “I thought she might be in need my company.” 

Darcy offered no excuse as he stalked out of the ballroom and into the card room. Claridge was not present. He inquired as to where his cousin had gone, and told to seek him out in a neighboring salon. The worry in Darcy’s countenance when interrupted was enough for Claridge to immediately excuse himself from the conversation he held with their host. 

“What is wrong?” he demanded. 

“Elizabeth,” Darcy returned. “I cannot find her.”

Claridge answered, “You have not searched properly.” Darcy opened his arm, inviting him to find Elizabeth in his stead. 

The men returned to the ballroom, seeking out Cecelia and Agatha. The ladies’ disquiet reflected their own. Claridge summoned his footmen, sending one to retrieve Berkes from Abbington Park, the other was to search the meager grounds. Darcy, likewise, had his footmen comb the immediate streets. 

Then, as though a cane to the back of his knees, he glimpsed the brilliant gleam on Jane Bennet’s face as she once more told of the handsome foreign gentleman she danced with. Going to her, Agatha at his heels, he interrupted, “Miss Bennet, where did you say the gentleman was from?”

“Castile, Spain.” 

Agatha gasped, then covered her mouth as the truth hit her as well. “H-He came back for Lizzy?” she whispered to Darcy. “The man who–who hurt her in Whitechapel?”

“So it would seem.” The horror which wracked his words was a distant second to the horror clutching his heart.

They quickly learned that the foreign man left immediately ensuing his dance with Jane, rather hurriedly in fact. His men had his carriage waiting for him. Moreover, he only arrived as dinner was concluding. Still, there was no indication Elizabeth entered the carriage with him. When Berkes arrived, a furor and determination directing his every movement, he learned the details while walking. He asked only one question, and that was of Jane Bennet. 

“What color were the eyes of the man you danced with?” She stumbled over her words, too frightened to reply. It was Lady Claridge, in a calm yet forceful manner, who pried the answer from Jane. They were bright blue.

“What happened?” Mr. Gardiner asked, coming upon them quite unnoticed. 

“Have you seen your niece?” Claridge spat at him. 

“Lizzy? No, not since she slipped into the garden a while ago. I believed she must need air.” 

“And you did not stop her?” Darcy bellowed, drawing the attention of several standing nearby. 

Berkes had no time for an argument. He snapped his fingers to beckon the men who awaited him at the front of the hall. They were to set out, tracking the foreign gentleman’s carriage–a difficult task, especially at night. 

Over the next hours, they pursued carriage tracks through the city and into the countryside east of London. When the road turned north, Berkes paused the group of ten men astride their braying horses. 

“What is it?” Claridge said impatiently. “The tracks turn north.” He pointed to the wheel track they followed.

“They halted here,” he returned in distraction. “See they disturbance in the brush, just there? And the footprints.” They studied the evidence. An untrained eye would never note anything amiss. Darcy wanted to keep moving; movement and effort kept him from fixating on the peril Elizabeth faced. 

“Still, the tracks lead north,” said one of Berkes’ men. 

“Why go north?” he snapped back. “What in the bloody hell lies to the north which appeals to a Spaniard stealing an Englishwoman from an overcrowded ball?” Berkes turned an accusing eye on Claridge. The earl swallowed any retort. 

Darcy, likewise, averted his eyes, combing the trampled bracken. A heated disagreement as to their course forward broke out between several of the men. The road led in only one direction, to follow was logical. Nevertheless, Berkes possessed a strange and dangerous sense for these things. Darcy hopped down from his horse, hoping to find anything of Elizabeth, if only to assure himself they were trailing the correct carriage. Then, kicking at the brush, he saw them: three flawless pearls reflecting the moonlight. They were scattered on a narrow grass trail. Several paces into the forest, Darcy spotted another pearl, leading him east. 

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Thanks for reading! I was going to post earlier in the week, but I figured many of you would be busy preparing for the the 4th of July here in the states and miss the post. I should have the next (and last) chapter up soon! 

About Jane: 

1. I think we can all agree that Jane Austen's P & P is a masterpiece of literature which has withstood the tests of time because is near to perfect in craft, plot, character and story. 

2. The one aspect I find less than ideal (and feel free to disagree and argue otherwise) is Jane. She is integral to the plot, yet I find her character to be almost too perfect. I suppose that is fair, as Austen supposedly based the character of Jane partly after her real-life sister Cassandra. 

3. Therefore, when I set out to write this story, I thought I would add a little spice to Jane. Give her a dimension that isn't usually seen. I wanted Jane to be flawed, as to be flawed is to be human. Perhaps I made her too flawed, too selfish? In a way, I suppose, I worked backwards with Jane, rather than character growth, she declined. 

4. Spoiler: Jane will not be redeemed, in any classic sense, she will simply remain flawed. In my eyes, the beauty is that Elizabeth loves her sister despite everything. 

~Jenna