Although Colonel Fitzwilliam arrived at Rosings Park with Darcy's physician before dawn, it was not, alas, in time to save Charlotte's baby. Only an hour before she had screamed out in pain one last time and then fainted as she miscarried. Now she lay sleeping while Lizzy still sat besides her, anxiously watching her friend seemingly slip away from her. She had remained in the room all night, assisting both doctor and nurse when needed, but mostly praying that Charlotte and the baby might live. Darcy had also kept vigil for much of the night in a nearby chamber, sending a servant for regular updates of Mrs. Collins' condition. Hours earlier he had demanded an audience with the local doctor in the hall outside the patient's room, whereupon Lizzy heard Darcy shouting, insisting that the man cease his treatment of Mrs. Collins with leeches. An argument ensued between the men, but Darcy prevailed and Lizzy was much relieved when the doctor at last consented to the removal of the horrid creatures. He had also ordered food and drink delivered to those within the chamber, of which the physician and nurse readily partook, but for which Lizzy had no appetite.

Now, as the new doctor from London entered the room and began his examination of Mrs. Collins, Lizzy slipped out into the hall and walked to her room, where she poured water into the basin and bathed her own face. Glancing in the mirror, she could see dark circles shadowing her eyes and suddenly realized how very tired she was. She lay down on the bed and closed her eyes with the intention of resting for only a moment; it was four hours later before she awoke. Quickly changing into a clean frock, she brushed and pinned up her hair, and stepped out into the hall.

"Miss Bennet," Colonel Fitzwilliam greeted her.

Lizzy acknowledged him and then asked of Mrs. Collins' state.

"I believe she is a little better, although very weak."

Tears of gratitude pooled in Lizzy's eyes and she looked away, attempting to hide the emotion engulfing her.

"Miss Bennet, are you unwell?" the colonel asked.

"No, I . . . I am overcome with feelings. During the night I feared the worst for my friend. Is she truly better? You would not say that to spare me, would you?"

"I would not," he said with great compassion, "I know how concerned you have been, indeed, how we all have been. I must say, however, if it were not for Darcy's physician, the outcome might have been much worse."

"Yes," Lizzy breathed, "I must thank him. I admit I was surprised that Mr. Darcy was so vehemently opposed to the treatment Mr. Bonner prescribed. I thought I was the only one so squeamish about leeches."

"Darcy has good reason to abhor such action. He watched his mother suffer through the same treatment while she was dying shortly after the birth of his sister. I know leeches are en vogue among most practitioners here in England, but Mr. Benwick, Darcy's personal physician, has studied and worked on much of the continent and his ideas are far more progressive than those of a rural doctor. Among the most enlightened in Frankfurt and Paris, leeches are no longer so quickly prescribed."

"I am glad to hear that," Lizzy agreed. "If you will excuse me, Colonel, I will look in on Mrs. Collins." The colonel bowed and Lizzy hurried to Charlotte's chamber and was much relieved to observe her friend sleeping peacefully, Mr. Benwick remaining by her side, along with the nurse. Satisfied that she could do nothing to aid in the situation, Lizzy walked downstairs and joined the colonel at the breakfast table.

"You must be very tired, sir," she said, observing the droop of his shoulders and evident fatigue in his eyes. "Forgive me for not expressing my gratitude to you. If you had not ridden all night to fetch Mr. Benwick, I fear my friend . . ." she broke off, unable to speak without crying.

"Please do not concern yourself, Miss Bennet, it was the least that I could do. I, as well as Darcy, highly regret the loss Mr. and Mrs. Collins have suffered, and the fact that our aunt has caused this, even though quite unintentionally, causes us no little compunction."

Lizzy recovered her composure and sipped her coffee before answering. "It would seem that we all must practice tolerance with some of our family members. Is my cousin even aware of what has happened?"

"Yes, I told him myself. He was quite shocked, as it seemed he did not even know of the existence of the child."

"No," Lizzy murmured, "I would think not."

Their conversation was then interrupted when Darcy entered the room and with the briefest of nods toward Lizzy, poured himself a cup of coffee at the sideboard and addressed Fitzwilliam. "Are you still insistent upon leaving in the morning?"

"As I told you earlier, Darcy, I have no choice. I can delay no longer. My regimental duties demand my presence. I thought you, also, had pressing business in town."

"So I do," Darcy replied tersely, "but how can I leave Rosings with the situation as it is?"

"Lady Catherine seems to be recovering nicely," Fitzwilliam answered. "Will she not be back in control within days?"

From the sounds I've heard coming from her chambers, Lizzy mused, she's never relinquished control. She said nothing, though, continuing to pay particular attention to the muffin on her plate.

"She will be up by the end of the week, I am sure," Darcy answered his cousin, "but you know as well as I do, that the outside problem must be handled by me. It is not a job for a woman, even one of Lady Catherine's stature."

"We can take care of it this evening, Darce, before I leave on the morrow."

Darcy glanced quickly at Elizabeth and then motioned for the colonel to adjourn the room with him. Lizzy frowned, wondering to what they referred, but she dismissed it as none of her affair, and finishing her meal, she returned above stairs to Charlotte's room. There she stayed for much of the day.

Late that evening just before dusk, Lizzy left the mansion and walked to Hunsford cottage, intent on retrieving her collection of letters in order to reread those from Jane and Wickham. About an hour earlier the thought struck her that she had hardly thought of him during the last few days, her mind and emotions so consumed by all that had transpired. The very idea made her ashamed and she did hope that by now he had received her conciliatory letter and would forgive her for believing the gossip and rumors of his engagement to Mary King.

After securing her correspondence plus one of her favorite books, she walked up the lane on her return to Lady Catherine's house. It was only twilight, but dark clouds now covered the sky causing it to grow much darker than normal for this time of day. Feeling the humidity build in the atmosphere, Lizzy hurried her steps, not wanting to be caught in a storm.

She had walked only a short way when rustling in the tall grass beside the road caught her attention and as she turned to look, four or five wild looking youths, both male and female, set upon her, knocking her to the ground and grabbing at her bag, hoping it contained valuables! Lizzy screamed and fought against them, but she was no match for that many youngsters. Dirty hands pulled at her hair and gown, ripping a sleeve and stealing the pins securing her curls. Another hand snatched the garnet cross from around her neck, breaking the chain as she screamed for them to stop!

"Away from her!" a strong voice yelled, and as Darcy jumped from his horse and waded into the middle of them, swinging his riding crop right and left, the ruffians disbursed, running into the grove of trees. Colonel Fitzwilliam pursued them on his mount, shooting his pistol toward the sky.

"Miss Bennet!" Darcy cried as he knelt beside Elizabeth and clasped her shoulders, lifting her to a sitting position. "Are you hurt?"

She shook her head, angry that she was unable to control the tears spilling from her eyes. Darcy then raised her to a standing position, aware that she was shaking visibly. He did not remove his hands from her shoulders, but gathered her closer. Elizabeth made no attempt to move from his embrace; instead, she leaned against him, clutching at his waist, grateful for the haven she felt resting against the warmth of his body. Although she was not cold, she could not keep her teeth from chattering, her entire body trembling even more so. With one hand Darcy nestled her head against his chest, stroking her hair and comforting her as he would a child. How long they stood thus is unknown, but neither chose to move away from the other.

At last they heard Colonel Fitzwilliam returning and Lizzy stepped back from Darcy's arms. The colonel dismounted with a single leap and rushed to her side. "Are you unharmed, Miss Bennet," he cried. When she nodded, he looked to Darcy for confirmation and seeing agreement in his eyes, the colonel released a deep breath. "I've sent them packing, Darcy. They will not trouble this neighborhood again."

"I thought we had already accomplished that fact," Darcy replied angrily.

"Who . . . who were those people?" Lizzy asked.

"Gypsies," said the colonel. "Darcy discovered their camp last week in the copse some distance behind Lady Catherine's stables. We both thought they could do no harm and simply needed a temporary place to squat. Darcy even had food and blankets sent out to them. They repaid us by stealing our aunt's chickens. We broke up their campsite and routed them about two hours ago, thinking they were already well on their way out of Hunsford Village by now."

"A mistake I will not make again," Darcy said, bitterness evident in his tone. He took Elizabeth's hand in both of his and looked deep within her eyes. "Are you certain you are unharmed, Miss Bennet?"

When she nodded, he said, "Fitzwilliam, please conduct Miss Bennet to Rosings. I will provide a personal escort to the gypsy band, myself. They will be well out of town before I return tonight."

Hours later, after bathing and eating dinner in her room, Lizzy crawled into bed and attempted to sleep but her efforts were unsuccessful. Each time she closed her eyes, once again she saw the frightening, dirty faces of her attackers and felt their hands clawing at her dress, her hair and her neck. She looked at the clock over and over and the last time, seeing that it was after midnight, Lizzy arose and slipped her dark blue robe over her nightgown. Taking a candle, she opened the door and hearing no sounds within the hallway, she left her chamber and ventured down the great staircase. Dim candles still flickered along the way so she knew at least one of the servants was still on duty, but observing no one, she walked into the great library where the remnants of a fire still glowed, providing the only light other than her candle.

The storm had begun shortly after Colonel Fitzwilliam had delivered Elizabeth safely to Rosings. Thunder had resounded against the massive walls of the mansion all evening and flashes of lightning still lit up the sky through the damask drapes, although it did seem to be at a greater distance now than earlier. Lizzy walked to the fireplace and stretched her hands out to its warmth. Sitting on the sofa, she glanced at the high-backed chair nearby, recalling her surprise when she had awakened and discovered Darcy asleep there. Had that happened just yesterday? It seemed like forever. So many things happening within such a short period of time, coupled with very little sleep caused Elizabeth to feel quite bewildered, almost as though she were caught in some strange dreamlike state.

That must be the reason, she told herself, that I feel so confused about . . . Mr. Darcy.

And confused was an apt description of the state in which she found herself. Three days ago she knew her mind. She disliked the man intensely, she found his character utterly unfavourable, and he could do nothing to change her assessment. Now, however, her brain was befuddled as though it had been stirred and sifted and all jumbled up with protruding feelings that insisted on piercing the armor with which she had encased her heart.

Prior to the last few days, Lizzy had entertained no qualms about her objections to Darcy. Her first impression of him as a disagreeable, haughty and rude man she considered right and just not only from observation of his behavior in Hertfordshire, but upon learning of his shockingly ill treatment of Wickham. Coupled with the knowledge that he had participated in the destruction of any possible connection between Jane and Bingley, and culminating in his deplorable excuse of a proposal, Lizzy had felt no scruples about her intense dislike of the man, certain that her original sense of his nature was correct.

Now, she was not so sure.

She could not reconcile her prior reasoning with Darcy's behavior of the past three days. He had been consumed with care and sympathy not only for his relatives, but for hers, as well as seeing to the well being of the servants of both houses. He had dismissed his own needs, looking to that of others first, including herself. He had spared no expense in securing the very best doctor for Charlotte; he had even personally tended Mr. Collins, performing menial tasks she knew were beneath him and without the least word of complaint. True, they had been thrust into a somewhat unusual situation, but still, Lizzy could not imagine Caroline Bingley lowering herself to take on the responsibilities that Darcy had (she rolled her eyes at the thought of Miss Bingley emptying a chamber pot!), and she had previously considered both Caroline and Darcy as somewhat kindred spirits, at least in their presumption of their own importance in society.

And his treatment of me, Elizabeth thought, how do I reconcile that with the man I thought him to be? True, he had earlier declared his love for her, but at the time she had considered the remark in no way a sensible statement. He may have felt some attraction for her, possibly because she was the one woman in the country who did not want him, but Lizzy had not believed for one moment that Darcy truly loved her. No man who did would have proposed to her in the clearly uncivil and insensitive manner he had used. By the same token, no man would continue to look upon her with favour after being refused with such incivility as she had employed. And yet he had.

Elizabeth leaned against the back of the sofa and closed her eyes, remembering the different ways Darcy had gone out of his way to look after her in the last three days. Not only had he aided her in caring for her ill relatives, but he had urged her to mind herself, taking it upon himself to see that she ate and rested - here she blushed once again at the thought that he had carried her to this very sofa, removed her shoes, and evidently tucked her in while she slept, and then spent the night watching over her, sleeping upright in a chair within the very same room. She recalled his deliberate and repeated warnings not to linger outdoors after dark, warnings that she now realized should have been heeded. And then she remembered his rescue of her - how she had welcomed the sound of his strong voice and the sight of his liberating presence as he drove her assailants away.

Not to mention the safe harbour she had felt within his arms, his strong but tender hands cradling her head against his heart.

As the memory of that warm sheltering embrace washed over her again, Lizzy caught a strand of her long dark hair flowing over her shoulders and began to curl a ringlet around her fingers, rubbing the hair between her thumb and forefinger again and again, as though she might somehow rub out the feelings that memory evoked. At last she stood and clasped her hands together, walking first to the fire and then, picking up the candle, she moved to the massive bookshelves lining the walls.

I will think on this no longer, she told herself. I must sleep. Perhaps a tedious book from Lady Catherine's collection will dull my mind.

Within a few moments she had selected Annesley's Principles of Household Procedures and turned to the door when she heard voices coming from the other side. She gasped, recognizing Darcy's voice as he bid Colonel Fitzwilliam goodnight. Earlier, after safely depositing Elizabeth within the care of her maid at Rosings, the colonel had left to join Darcy in his quest to make certain the gypsies did truly leave the area. Lizzy assumed they had both returned long before now and retired for the night. She closed her eyes and sighed when she saw Darcy open the library door, his wet boots dripping water onto the carpet. He carried a large candle and two of Lady Catherine's bloodhounds accompanied him.

Elizabeth backed into the shadows against the bookshelves, as though she could make herself unseen, but to no avail. The dogs approached her immediately, wagging their tails and hoping to be petted. Darcy raised the candle in surprise, his eyes taking in her dressing gown and long curls spilling loosely down her back.

"Miss Bennet?"

Lizzy nodded slightly, saying nothing.

"I trust you are well?" he inquired, walking toward her and with the snap of his fingers, ordering the animals aside.

"Yes. . .I am . . ." she stammered, "perfectly. I thought everyone had retired, sir, or I would never have left my room in this attire."

"Colonel Fitzwilliam and I have just returned. I had no idea anyone was awake or I would never have intruded."

"Oh, no, " Lizzy interrupted, "you have made no intrusion. I am at fault."

Darcy smiled then. "This conversation seems to be futile. Let us reconcile our disagreement and say neither of us is at fault. I am in great need of a drink. Will you join me?"

Lizzy opened her mouth to refuse, but Darcy added, "At times a glass of wine is an invaluable aid to hasten sleep. I take it you may be experiencing such a problem since I see you have selected one of my aunt's most interesting books?"

Lizzy nodded then and accepted the glass he offered her. She sat on the edge of a chair on the far side of the sofa and sipped the wine, while Darcy poured himself a glass, walked to the fireplace and poked at the remaining log, provoking it to blaze anew. The hounds settled themselves close to the hearth.

"I have not thanked you, sir, for your timely rescue this evening."

Darcy dismissed her words, saying there was no need for thanks, but Lizzy continued anyway. "I cannot think of it without apprehension. If you had not arrived when you did, I . . ." she broke off, looking away, unable to speak.

Darcy immediately went to her side and sat at the end of the sofa closest to her. "I sincerely regret what happened, Miss Bennet. It was my fault entirely." "Your fault? How can you say that when you warned me more than once not to stray from the house after dark? If you had not come when you did, I cannot think of what would have happened."

"I should have driven that bunch of scalawags from the property the day I first discovered them, instead of waiting for proof that they were stealing from Lady Catherine's hen houses. They are such wretched creatures, though, poor and needy. Please do not fear that they would have done more than rob you. I do believe they were simply looking for anything to sell."

"Then I fear they will be vastly disappointed with what they took."

"You lost nothing of value?"

"Only to me. They took a parcel of letters I had saved from my sister and . . . a friend."

"Nothing more?"

She shook her head slightly. "Little more. I had gone to the parsonage to retrieve the letters and a favorite book."

A strange look descended upon Darcy's countenance at this news. "You lost a book? Was it the Wordsworth collection?"

Lizzy turned to look at him. "No, it was a novel by Fanny Burney . . . but, how did you know I liked Wordsworth?"

Darcy stood then and walked back to the fire, avoiding her look. "I confess, Miss Bennet, that I stumbled into your bedchamber at Hunsford cottage by mistake the night I went to see after Mr. Collins. I saw books on the nightstand and observed your edition of Wordsworth on top of the stack. I assumed he was a favorite of yours."

"He is," Lizzy agreed, "but I have been in no mood for poets lately."

"So the book remains at the parsonage?" Darcy asked.

Lizzy nodded, unable to ascertain the reasoning behind his apparent concern for the volume. "Are you interested in Wordsworth, sir? Would you like to borrow the book?"

"No," Darcy answered quickly. "That is, yes, I do like the poet, but I have my own copy."

Well, of course you do, Lizzy said to herself. What could I have that you would possibly want?

"And so the gypsies took nothing more from you? I know they tore your dress and I will be glad to replace it."

"That will not be necessary," Lizzy answered. "And the only other thing I lost was a necklace my father had given me many years ago."

"The garnet cross?" Darcy asked immediately.

Lizzy said nothing, incredulous that he would know its stone and design.

"I've never seen you without it. You must let me replace the necklace."

Elizabeth stood then, placing her glass upon the end table nearby. He even remembers what I wear, she thought, suddenly aware of the entire inappropriateness of their conversation, of her state of undress, the rain beating anew against the windowpanes, and of the fact that they were quite alone in a dimly lit room. "No, Mr. Darcy," she said quietly. "I thank you, but you may not buy me another necklace. It is not your place to do so." She then bowed slightly and departed the room.

Darcy opened his mouth to protest, but then the substance of her refusal dawned upon him as he watched her retreating back. After she closed the door, he drained his glass and with sudden force, threw it into the fireplace.

It rained steadily at Kent for the next two weeks, a somewhat unusual occurrence for springtime in that part of England. The roads became nigh to impassable, clogged with mud puddles and dangerous potholes that easily ensnared carriage wheels, and in some places the path was completely washed out. At length, the continuous rain did let up, but each day remained cloudy and plagued by at least two or more showers. The entire atmosphere seemed soggy, unable to dry out, causing it to be unseasonably cool.

Colonel Fitzwilliam had returned to his regiment the day after Lizzy's unfortunate incident with the gypsies. Darcy remained at Rosings even though Lady Catherine was up and about by the end of the first week in which she had been stricken with illness. She insisted that Anne remain confined to her bed for two weeks because of her naturally delicate constitution, but Maria Lucas and Mr. Collins, as well as all of the servants had also recovered within a week. Mr. Collins did lose several pounds during the ordeal and his clothes now hung on him, rendering his appearance even more pitiable than normal. Already in need of a haircut when first becoming ill, his lank, oily hair now seemed to dwarf his face as he plastered the thin strands across his forehead in even longer than usual unfortunate attempts at waves. It occurred to Lizzy that her cousin bore a strong resemblance to a mole. Lady Catherine was more than ready for the Collins family and their guests to decamp her house and return to the parsonage, but Mrs. Collins remained weak and sickly, seemingly unable to regain her natural vitality. Darcy had kept his personal physician at Rosings to tend her, but no potions he prescribed or strengthening foods he ordered brought about the anticipated return of Charlotte's health. She had not left her bedchamber since arriving there.

Elizabeth spent much of each day with her friend, anxious to fulfill her slightest desire for food or drink that might grant her strength, and more than willing to while away the tedious hours by reading to her or simply talking. The majority of the time, however, Mrs. Collins slept and Lizzy often wandered from window to window watching the rain, feeling imprisoned in the great mansion, and longing for an opportunity to escape into the lush green park.

She avoided both Darcy and Lady Catherine as much as possible, but was compelled to join them for dinner each evening and afterwards in the drawing room while the great lady held forth her excellent opinions on various and sundry topics. In fact, there was no subject on which she did not presume to possess infinite authority and she was only too pleased to share her expertise with her captive audience. Darcy said little, looked extremely bored, and made excuses to retire early each evening, while Mr. Collins resumed his fawning, adoring attention toward every jot or tittle emanating from his noble patroness.

By the middle of the third week after the spring tonic episode, even Lady Catherine had grown weary of Mr. Collins' excessive adulation. She requested a private audience with Darcy and Mr. Benwick, the physician.

"Can Mrs. Collins be moved to her own home without danger of further illness?" she demanded.

"She can if the rain will cease long enough for us to make the transfer," the doctor replied. "She must not walk, of course, but if you will provide a carriage, perhaps Mr. Collins can personally carry her downstairs to the transport."

Darcy rolled his eyes. "I will carry Mrs. Collins. The rector may possibly still be in a somewhat weakened state."

"You?" his aunt queried in her imperious manner. "It is not your place, Darcy, to carry her. Let her husband or one of the servants do it. Morris, the footman, possesses a hearty constitution."

Darcy sighed. "Mrs. Collins is too much of a lady to be consigned to transmittal by a servant and would you chance Mr. Collins dropping his wife and thus causing an extension of their visit due to further injuries? I will do it, Aunt."

Lady Catherine was quite put out by this turn of events, but seeing that it would rid her house of these extra guests, she fumed and fussed but did not disallow it. That evening she visited Mrs. Collins in her room and announced the moving plans for the next day. Charlotte rejoiced at the thought of returning to her own bed, but no more so than Lizzy at the thought of removing herself from the presence of Lady Catherine and Darcy.

Although she had avoided him for the most part, each time she found herself in Darcy's presence she experienced a disquieting uneasiness. Her senses seemed to heighten, her heart would beat faster, and she feared the light in her eyes might reveal her confused emotions. She had resolved to put all thoughts of him from her mind, but Lizzy discovered that feelings were not that easy to master. They proved impervious to resolve, no matter how strong or determined; they invaded her thoughts at the most inopportune moments during the day, and at night - well, the night produced dreams of a somewhat shocking nature, or perhaps the more correct term would be dream in the singular tense, for it was the very same dream that haunted her night after night..

Mornings would find her waking to warm and deliciously happy feelings, reveling in the memory of the way it felt to be held in the safety and comfort of a strong man's arms, resting her head against his chest, and basking in the caress of powerful yet tender hands stroking her cheek and holding her close in unspoken intimacy. Slowly returning to consciousness, her mind would search for the identity of the man who embraced her in the dream. Surely it was Wickham, for he was her betrothed, but no, not once had Wickham appeared in this dream.

It was always . . . Darcy.

Each time that it happened, the realization stunned Lizzy anew. She would sit up in bed gasping for air, quickly arise as though she had been caught in some indiscreet situation, and immediately splash cold water on her face in a futile attempt to wash away the relentless emotions that tormented her.

The fact that Wickham had not replied to her letter written some three weeks ago had not helped. Why did he not write? Had she wounded him so by her accusation that he no longer cared for her? And if so, what was to be done? Lizzy knew that according to the unwritten rules of the society in which she lived, a betrothal was almost as binding as marriage and breaking one marked a woman with scandal; however, could the fact that this engagement was of a secret nature alter the situation? Would it be possible to dissolve it without dishonor? Did she even want to dissolve it? Did Wickham? So many questions and no way to communicate with the man in question. Lizzy felt certain by now that he had returned to Meryton - why did he not write to her?

It was too much of a jumble to sort out; what a relief to have the task of packing her belongings, thereby offering temporary respite from the constant merry-go-round of her thoughts. After finishing with her own bags, she assisted the maid with Charlotte's things and then checked on Maria, shaking her head at wonder that the girl had packed and repacked her trunk six times, trying to follow Lady Catherine's instructions to the letter. How good it would be to escape the great lady's oppressive presence!

After breakfast the next morning, the sun actually appeared, brightening the morning and providing some much needed warmth for the transference of the Collins party from Rosings Park to the parsonage. Darcy carried Mrs. Collins to Lady Catherine's carriage, accompanied by Maria, Elizabeth, Lady Catherine, and a bowing, scraping Mr. Collins. The latter expressed his appreciation and undying approbation for such undeserved condescension and kindliness to such an excessive amount that even Lady Catherine tired of his flattery and cut him off with a curt remark. Elizabeth wondered if her cousin had ever thought about the fact that it was Lady Catherine's overbearing intrusion into their lives that had caused this entire fiasco. No, she thought while rolling her eyes, even though she had poisoned them with her spring tonic and as a consequence Charlotte had miscarried, in Mr. Collins' eyes, Lady Catherine could do no wrong. What a stupid, stupid man!

The nurse assisted Darcy in helping Charlotte recline on one of the carriage seats, propped up with pillows and quilts. That left only the opposite seat for the rest of the party to settle themselves; Maria had quickly popped inside, and Mr. Collins would by no means refuse the great honour of riding in Lady Catherine's carriage, hoping intently that he would be observed on the short excursion by some of his parishioners. This was one of the smaller carriages belonging to her ladyship and Lizzy could see that it would be a very close fit if she also chose to ride with the family; thus, she insisted that she would much rather walk to the parsonage, that she looked forward to the fresh air and exercise. Mr. and Mrs. Collins' servants had returned to Hunsford cottage some days earlier to open the house and prepare it for their homecoming, so Lizzy knew the maid would be there to see that Charlotte was cared for and there was no need for her to hurry. A solitary walk was exactly what she desired.

As she started down the great walkway, Darcy called out to her, "Miss Bennet, if you will wait one moment, the servants are fetching the curricle. There is no need for you to walk in all this mud. I will be glad to drive you."

Lizzy's heart beat faster at the thought of sitting close beside him in the small vehicle, quite aware that there would be no one else to accompany them, but her good sense prevailed. I need no more intimate moments in Mr. Darcy's company, she thought, and so she quickly replied, "Thank you, sir, but do not trouble yourself on my account, as I prefer to walk."

Darcy said nothing, simply raised one eyebrow and watched as she started down the great walk in front of the house. Stubborn woman, he thought. Walk then by all means - walk right out of my life. He instructed the servant to bring his horse with the intention of reaching the parsonage by the time Mrs. Collins needed his assistance again. He mounted the steed and, although there was no need for haste, urged him into an immediate gallop, passing Elizabeth without another glance.

By the time Lizzy reached the cottage, the footmen from Rosings were unloading the last of the baggage and she entered, observing for the first time how dirty the bottom of her skirt and petticoat had become on the walk. There was a flurry of activity inside and Lizzy thought it best to get out of the way, so she ran up the stairs, intending to disappear into her chamber. The door was open to her room and she saw her bags sitting beside the bed, not yet unpacked. She removed her bonnet and unbuttoned her spencer, throwing them across the bed. She might as well unpack for herself, as she knew Charlotte would need the servant's attention for now. After hanging her gowns in the armoire and placing her bonnets on the shelves in the closet, Lizzy picked up her packet of stationery and lay it upon the stack of books beside her bed.

"Is everything in order, Miss Bennet?"

Lizzy looked up quickly to see Darcy standing in the open doorway watching her. "Yes . . . it is, thank you, sir."

"None of your other books are missing? The Wordsworth is still intact?"

Lizzy lifted the stationery and the book beneath it and recognized her book of poems below. "It is here," she replied, a puzzled expression in her eyes. This is the second time he has asked about that book, she thought.

"I hope you will soon be in a mood for poetry, then." With a long look and nothing more, he turned and departed the house.

A mood for poetry? Lizzy could make no sense of his statement nor decipher the reason for his question. Once again, her first impressions of him surfaced - a difficult, unreadable man, one she would be much better off avoiding.

This was the most conversation between the two since the night Darcy had rescued her from her assailants. Today on her walk back to the parsonage, upon reaching the point where the attack had occurred, Lizzy had blanched at the sight of trodden grass, remembering how she had been thrown to the ground. The breeze rustled the tall grass beyond, and she had shivered slightly and hurried past the scene, her breath becoming shallow at the fear it still evoked. She did not want to remember that night, for it haunted her thoughts enough - not only the attack . . . but the rescue.

Now that she was back at the parsonage, she need have no fear of seeing Darcy on a daily basis. Perhaps then she could put these confusing thoughts to rest. Hopefully, he would soon leave Kent and return to town and she would eventually be able to return to Longbourn.

Lizzy quickly placed the remainder of her belongings in the bureau and hastened to Charlotte's room. The door was open, the maid was still unpacking with Maria's oversight, and Mr. Collins continued to wax eloquent ad infinitum on the great condescension and generosity his family had just been afforded by Lady Catherine de Bourgh. Lizzy could see the pallor of Charlotte's complexion, the shadows under her eyes still prominent, and her energy spent. This was no time for her to endure any more of her husband's absurdity.

"Mr. Collins," she began, "have you checked on the condition of your garden as of yet? Has the rain caused it to flourish or might it be suffering from the recent deluge?"

"I have not, Cousin Elizabeth," he replied, "but how thoughtful of you to remind me. I will attend to it directly, for Lady Catherine does enjoy my petunias and I do believe a large bouquet would be the very thing to bestow upon her for her great and exceedingly kind assistance in our time of need."

"Indeed," Lizzy nodded, "I think it deserves your utmost attention, sir. Do not concern yourself with Mrs. Collins. I will remain with her."

With further felicitations and even more praises of his patroness, the vicar finally left the room, demanding the services of his manservant in the garden posthaste. Lizzy followed him out onto the landing, watching him descend the stairs two at a time. "And perhaps a jar of fresh honey from your hives might be just the thing to tempt Mrs. Collins' appetite," she called.

"Oh yes, my bees, my bees," he cried, searching for his coat and yelling for the servant once again. "A jar for Lady Catherine will be the icing on the cake. She has guided me so with her excellent advice on tending my swarm, I cannot help but return the favour with a sample. Thank you, Cousin, your advice does you credit."

Lizzy shook her head and sighed. Does he even hear me? I suggested the honey for Charlotte, but, I should have known it would go to Lady Catherine. Oh, how I hope those bees sting him precisely where it hurts the most!

Closing the door inside Charlotte's room, she could see the fatigue the short trip home had caused her. She had begun coughing two days ago, a new development the doctor attributed to the continual dampness in the air, and each spell of coughing seemed to wrack her body, tiring her even more. Charlotte coughed now, her spasms quite violent, and Lizzy hurried to offer her a glass of water, but it did little good. Maria and the maid had finished their task by now and Elizabeth sent the servant to fetch hot tea, while Maria went to her room to see to her bags.

"You are exhausted, are you not?" she asked Charlotte.

"I never thought that such a short trip could be so tiring."

"It was too soon to move you. We should have remained at Rosings."

"No, oh no," Charlotte replied. "I am so glad to be home in my own bed, with my own things around me, and with you here, dearest Lizzy."

"And without certain other people?" Lizzy smiled.

"If you mean a certain personage held in high esteem by my husband, then I must admit I was more than ready for some distance between us." She smiled slightly, a sight Lizzy had not seen for more than two weeks, but it did not last long. "Oh, Lizzy, when am I going to get well? I have never been this ill in my life."

"Soon, Charlotte, I am certain of it. You have experienced a great shock to your system. You must give yourself time to recover."

Charlotte looked away, a mist forming in her eyes. "I regret losing the baby, although I cannot say I am truly grieved. I did not even know I was expecting, Lizzy, so I had not yet formed an attachment. Still, I do want a child more than anything . . . someone I can really love."

Lizzy heard the desolate tone in her friend's voice. "You will, Charlotte; there will be more children."

"How can you know for sure?"

"Has the doctor made any indication otherwise?"

"No," Charlotte replied slowly, once again looking away, "but he said I must regain my strength completely before attempting to bear another child."

"And so you shall. You will eat good food which I shall personally direct Cook to prepare, you will get plenty of rest, and you will be good as ever before you know it."

"Oh, Lizzy, you are such a dear friend. I could never have borne this without you to help me. Sometimes I think you are closer to me than my own sister. I know it is selfish of me to ask, but will you stay until I feel better."

"Of course," Lizzy agreed, "I will stay as long as I am needed." She smiled then and rose, as the maid appeared with a tray containing the afternoon's tea.

Will I ever get back to Longbourn, she wondered, and if I do will Wickham be waiting for me?

The next two weeks brought a slight improvement in Charlotte's condition. She could now leave her bed and even spend part of the day down stairs, resting in a chair or lounging on the sofa. She still tired easily and had not resumed her duties as mistress of the house, relying on Lizzy to fulfill those tasks. The dark circles beneath her eyes refused to lighten, her complexion remained pale and drawn, and the cough had only increased both in severity as well as persistent occurrence. A disheartened mood seemed to envelope the entire parsonage because the rector's wife could not recover her previous vitality.

One afternoon after helping Charlotte retire to her bed for a nap, Lizzy escaped for a rare tramp through the woods in Rosings Park. The rain had ceased for several hours and even though she muddied her shoes and skirts, it was worth it to be out in the countryside, a place her spirit seemed to need to survive. Upon her return, she was surprised to hear several male voices in the parlor, recognizing one to be that of her cousin, and the others as Mr. Benwick and Mr. Darcy. Knowing her appearance was unsuitable, she climbed the first three stairs, intending to retire to her room, when the maid stopped her.

"Beg your pardon, Miss, but Mr. Darcy asked that you join the gentlemen in the parlor when you returned."

Lizzy frowned and sighed, but with a quick smoothing of her hair, she handed her bonnet to the maid and entered the room, unaware that the exercise had brought a bloom to her countenance and sparkle to her eyes that did not go unappreciated by Darcy. He had told himself that he would look upon her as little as possible, but somehow his eyes would not heed his prior determination.

Lizzy curtsied briefly to the greetings of the gentlemen. "I was told you wished to see me."

"Yes, Cousin Elizabeth, come in. While you were out, Mr. Benwick arrived from London for his weekly check on Mrs. Collins and he has told us some alarming news. Mr. Darcy, as well as I, desire your assistance."

"What is it? Charlotte is not worse, I hope!"

"Mrs. Collins' condition is no worse, Miss Bennet," the doctor answered, "but she is not improving as I had hoped and now the addition of this cough, which has settled in her lungs and refuses to abate, is most disturbing."

"What is to be done?" Lizzy asked, concern evident in both her tone and look.

"She is in dire need of a warmer climate," Mr. Benwick announced, "and after consulting the almanac, we have discovered that this part of England is predicted to have greater than normal amounts of rainfall and much cooler temperatures for the next two months."

"Two months?" Lizzy repeated. "And you believe it dangerous for Mrs. Collins to remain in such conditions for that amount of time?"

"I do," he nodded. "Two more months of the same will, at the best, do her no good and deter her recovery. At the worst, it could cause a much greater deterioration of her health, possibly to the extent that she might never regain her previous well-being."

A look of alarm covered Lizzy's face and she asked quickly, "Then what is to be done?"

Mr. Collins spoke up, "I suggested she return to Hertfordshire with you and Maria . . ."

"Oh, yes, that is a wonderful idea," Lizzy interrupted, amazed that the man could entertain such a sensible notion. "Maria and I can look after her on the trip and her mother would be the very person to nurse Charlotte back to health!"

"Unfortunately, Cousin, I then remembered that Sir William told me that he and Lady Lucas were to leave for an extended visit to Scotland three weeks ago. They will not return for several months. My wife's family is of the nobility, as we all know," he said, smiling and simpering as though such connections rendered him the next thing to an earl, himself, "and I believe Sir William's brother in Scotland is perhaps being considered for the knighthood, also. I understand he is in great need of Sir William's excellent counsel on the matter. I would not be surprised to hear of his being presented at St. James' court by the end of . . ."

"The pertinent point is," Darcy interrupted, irritation evident in his tone, "that it would not benefit Mrs. Collins to return to Hertfordshire. Her parents will be away and aside from that, Bingley has recently written that the county is also enjoying an unusual amount of rainfall this spring."

Lizzy appeared dismayed for Charlotte's sake, but the news from Bingley gave her hope for Jane. "Then Mr. Bingley has returned to Netherfield?"

"No," Darcy answered, "he simply passed on news of which his steward has informed him." Seeing the immediate crestfallen look on Elizabeth's face, Darcy averted his gaze. She still has hopes for her sister, he thought. There is no way she will ever forgive me for my influence on Bingley.

"Then what is to be done?" Lizzy asked once more.

"This is where we are indebted most heartily to Lady Catherine's beneficence, Cousin. Her charitable condescension and unending benevolence cannot be praised enough!"

"I do not understand," Lizzy answered. "Of what are you speaking, Mr. Collins?"

The doctor interrupted at this point. "The best prescription I can give Mrs. Collins would be several months' stay within the warm climate of the seashore. I believe the southern breezes and salt air may be just the antidote for this condition that has settled in her lungs."

"And less than half an hour ago, Lady Catherine has offered us the use of her seaside cottage at Brighton, Cousin Elizabeth!" Mr. Collins could not be still, so enthralled was he at the very notion of such favour bestowed on his family.

"I also recommend Brighton," Mr. Benwick added, "I have a colleague there, a Mr. Russell, who is having remarkable results with the curative powers contained in sea water, not only in sea-bathing, but as a medicinal dose as well. I will write to the doctor immediately, informing him of the particulars of Mrs. Collins' case and request his attendance upon her."

"And as we all well know, Cousin Elizabeth, summers at Brighton are now becoming known for attracting the most fashionable of society. Lady Catherine says even the Prince of Wales owns property there and is considering building a mansion overlooking the sea so that he may reside in proper splendor while he partakes of the ocean's restorative powers. Cousin, can you grasp the significance of such an honor - to dwell within the same neighbourhood of the highest echelons of society, for you know that Lady Catherine's cottage must certainly be fixed within the very best of families, and you understand that I use the word cottage as an enormous understatement, because I am assured that the chimneys alone at her cottage cost upwards of five . . ."

"The dwelling is adequate," Darcy interrupted. "Our family has used Waverley as a summer house on many occasions and my aunt maintains a retinue of servants there at all times. They will be at the service of Mrs. Collins and yourself, Miss Bennet."

"Myself?" Lizzy asked, confusion obvious in her manner.

"Yes," Mr. Benwick interjected, "we hope, that is, Mr. Darcy suggested that you would be the perfect companion to accompany Mrs. Collins and her sister to Brighton. Your proficiency at nursing has not gone unnoticed during the recent spate of illness experienced here at Kent, and I would feel quite relieved to know that you were in attendance upon your friend. Miss Lucas obviously cares deeply for her sister, but she is of such a tender age that I would not feel safe at leaving her in charge of such a delicate patient."

Lizzy sat down then, the idea of such a responsibility causing her to suddenly feel the need of a chair. Go to Brighton? How can I go to Brighton when I am in great need of returning to Longbourn, she thought. "Mr. Collins, could you not hire a nurse at Brighton to attend Charlotte? And with you there to oversee, along with Maria, would that not be sufficient for her care?"

"Me? Oh no, cousin Elizabeth, I cannot remain at Brighton!"

"Why ever not," Lizzy demanded, "when your wife is in such great need of your assistance? Surely, Mr. Collins, this would be an enactment of your wedding vows which I witnessed not more than five months ago - 'in sickness and in health' - would it not?"

Mr. Collins appeared quite taken aback at these chastening remarks. "Of course, I will assist my wife! How can you entertain such a question?" he sputtered. "I will accompany her to Brighton and see that she is well settled in Lady Catherine's summer house. That will enable me to report to my patroness on the upkeep and general condition of the dwelling, whether the servants are proficient in their work, and . . ."

"Lady Catherine's servants are well able to look after the place," Darcy interrupted. "They have been employed by her for many years and are well trusted."

"Oh, I did not mean to infer otherwise," Mr. Collins began to bob up and down toward Mr. Darcy, anxious to alleviate any misunderstanding he might have caused. "It is common knowledge far and wide that Lady Catherine de Bourgh would never employ any servant that was not of the highest caliber and competence! I simply meant . . ."

"Mr. Collins!" Lizzy said. "Why can you not remain at Brighton with Charlotte until she is well enough to return home?"

"Cousin, how can you ask me such a question? You, of all people, know that I must be in attendance upon my noble patroness! Have you not witnessed during your visit with us how often she calls upon me for my attendance at her side, how my presence is required at least once a week at her dinner table? What if she needed me and I was miles away at the seaside? And she has said, herself, that I cannot absent myself from my pulpit and parish for months on end. The congregation will tolerate a visiting curate for only so long and then there might be a general uprising of discontent. I cannot subject Lady Catherine to such distress. After all, she is the reason that I have this generous living."

Lizzy glared at him, rose from her chair and walked toward the door, shaking her head at such inanity. How could Charlotte have married such a man?

"Cousin?" he called as she neared the doorway. "Will you not give us your answer? Will you accompany us to Brighton and tend Mrs. Collins at Waverley Cottage?"

Lizzy sighed audibly, gritted her teeth, and turned to face the three men. She saw the fearful look on her cousin's face, the anxious countenance of the doctor, and the amusement evident in Darcy's expression. She said only one word in reply, "Yes," for if she had spoken her mind, Mr. Collins would still be reeling from the onslaught!

The next day Elizabeth had just left Charlotte's room after instructing the maid to begin packing her mistress' belongings for the trip to Brighton. They were scheduled to leave the first of next week and she was consumed with supervising the preparations. Charlotte was far too weak to be of much help other than to ask for certain gowns and books and personal effects to be included. Maria was in charge of securing her own baggage, which had thrown her into a tizzy. Once again Lizzy reminded her that Lady Catherine would not personally inspect how she folded her gowns even though they would be transported in the great lady's second-best carriage, for Darcy had insisted that his aunt lend them the vehicle, adamant that Mrs. Collins was not strong enough to bear the inconvenience of public coaches. The formidable woman had such an effect on Maria, however, that Lizzy doubted she would ever relax until they some day returned to Hertfordshire.

Descending the stairs intent on reminding Mr. Collins that he must see to obtaining sufficient amounts of Charlotte's medicine from Mr. Benwick before they left, Lizzy was surprised to see through the window the doctor, himself, as well as Mr. Darcy approaching the parsonage.

She opened the door and welcomed them. The doctor climbed the stairs to check on his patient and Lizzy, unsure of why Darcy had accompanied him, glanced quickly at him and then averted her eyes. He said nothing and thus they stood for some moments in a somewhat awkward encounter. At last, she invited him into the parlor and they both seated themselves at opposite ends of the room, unsmiling, tense, and at a loss for a suitable topic of conversation. Finally, Lizzy offered to order some tea for him, but he refused.

"I can stay but for a moment. I came to bid Mr. and Mrs. Collins and Miss Lucas . . . and you farewell."

"We do not leave for yet four days, sir," she replied.

"But I depart this afternoon."

Lizzy's face registered her surprise and she felt a sudden unexplainable loss welling up from deep within her. "Oh," was all that she could say.

"I have pressing matters of business awaiting me in London and I must return Mr. Benwick to his practice, as well."

"Of course," she murmured. "I know you have extended your stay far beyond what you had planned because of my family's distress. I hope it has not caused you any inconvenience that cannot be rectified."

"Nothing that I cannot handle," he said, dismissing her concern.

Of course not, Lizzy thought, is there anything that you cannot handle? Suddenly the image of Darcy handling her thrust itself into her thoughts and her face began to flush, her breath growing shallow, as she remembered how he had held her trembling body close to his, caressing her face and hair after rescuing her from the gypsies. Why can I not rid myself of the feelings that memory evokes? She floundered for something to say, but found herself rendered completely helpless at the mercy of her emotions.

Darcy remained unaware of her distress for he was battling his own demons and the decision of whether to speak or not. Knowing he might not ever again see this woman he loved, at length he swallowed his pride. "Miss Bennet, I know it is not my place to speak as I am about to, but I am resolved to do so just the same."

Lizzy caught her breath, afraid that he would renew his affections for her once again and uncertain of her own response this time. She said nothing, but gripped the arm of the chair in which she was seated, her knuckles turning white.

Mr. Darcy's words, however, were not what she expected. "I must confess that when I suggested you accompany Mrs. Collins to Brighton, it was not solely for altruistic reasons."

"Indeed?"

He cleared his throat before speaking. "I may be in error, but I assume that the man to whom you are secretly attached resides in Hertfordshire."

Lizzy turned pale at the reminder that she had revealed her engagement to Darcy. She lowered her head and could not meet his gaze.

"In suggesting that you not return home, but attend Mrs. Collins instead, I hoped that if you spent considerable time away from Hertfordshire, it might give you time to consider the wisdom of such an engagement. I would counsel you to give serious thought as to the character of a man who would induce you to enter into such an agreement. Is he truly deserving of your love and fidelity? Will you be content if bound to this man for the entirety of your life?"

Lizzy lifted her head then and met his gaze. "Mr. Darcy, it is not your place to advise me on such a personal matter."

He did not flinch, but held her look, willing her to listen. "I am well aware of that fact, Miss Bennet, but you and I both realize that my affections and regard for you have not diminished. They dictate that I not remain silent. I may never see you again. I entertain no hopes that you will ever look upon me with favour and I offer this admonition only because I care what happens to you. Men exist in this world with less than honourable intentions and I cannot rest without warning you to be on your guard."

Lizzy heard the raw emotion so evident in his tone and when she spoke, her own voice came out somewhat ragged. "I thank you, sir, for your concern and for all that you have done for my family. Please do not alarm yourself on my account any further. I am not a child, Mr. Darcy. I am well able to discern whether a man is worthy or not." She rose then and he did in return. "I will leave you now, as I must attend Mrs. Collins and see to the doctor's last instructions." She curtsied and met his eyes once more, her look lingering a bit longer than necessary, before quitting the room.

I shall never see her again, Darcy thought as he watched her exit through the door. ,i>She is truly walking out of my life.

*As Prince of Wales, George IV was a regular visitor to Brighton to treat swellings of glands in his neck with seawater. He bought a large farmhouse with a sea view and later built the Royal Pavilion with an ornate Chinese interior and Indian-style exterior.

**Richard Russell was a doctor in Brighton famous for advocating the healthy effects of bathing in and drinking seawater. The success of this cure drew fashionable society to the town to take the waters.

The trip to Brighton proved long and tedious. Charlotte sat up as much as possible, sharing her seat with either Mr. Collins or Lizzy, but the majority of the trip she had to recline against pillows and covers, thereby forcing the other three occupants of the carriage to share the adjoining seat. Fortunately, Maria was the one to sit squeezed between Mr. Collins and Lizzy and when he fell asleep, which occurrence happened not infrequently, his head lolled about, either against the side of the coach or even sometimes falling upon Maria's shoulder, either way accompanied by loud and noisy snores. It was a most uncomfortable journey.

The only bright spot had happened at the very beginning upon boarding Lady Catherine's carriage at Hunsford cottage. A servant from Rosings Park ran up the lane, announcing that he had secured the mail for both Rosings and the parsonage. This news was much exclaimed over, as the post had been delayed for several days because of the relentless rain. Thus, all three of the ladies had letters from family to read on the journey. Lady Lucas had written to both her daughters from Scotland and after Mr. Collins' inquiries as to the procession of Sir William's brother's chances of attaining the knighthood had been satisfied, Charlotte and Maria were free to read and reread their letters. Lizzy had a letter from her father, one from Mary, and another from Jane, telling her that she was now back at Longbourn and catching her up on the family news. Jane did not mention Mr. Bingley, but Lizzy read between the lines and sensed her disappointment. It was evident that he had never called while she was in London and it seemed all hope of an attachment with him was now gone.

"Lizzy," Maria said, "I received a letter from Kitty. Did you?" When she shook her head, Maria went on, "Your family told you that Lydia is going to Brighton, did they not?"

"Lydia? No, they said nothing about that. Mary did write that our youngest sister has been pestering Papa to take the whole family there for the summer, but she was quite plain in saying my father would not hear of it. I know nothing about any of my family going to Brighton."

Maria handed her a letter. "You may read mine, if you wish. It says that Lydia is going to Brighton as the particular friend of Mrs. Forster, and Kitty is very upset that she was not selected to accompany her, as well."

"Mrs. Forster?" Lizzy was stunned at the thought, as she turned to read the letter.

"I always knew that Mrs. Forster favoured Lydia," Maria went on. "Now, it seems the entire regiment is removing to Brighton and lucky Lydia is going along, too. Just think of the balls there will be and all the officers in attendance and Lydia right in the midst of every one of them." Her face reflected her unguarded envy, but suddenly she brightened. "I just remembered! I shall be there, too. Oh, Charlotte, do you think I might attend the balls, also?"

Charlotte smiled weakly. "Only if Lizzy accompanies you, for you are far too young to participate alone in such a company of officers. Mama would never forgive me if I allowed it."

When Maria turned to Lizzy for confirmation, she frowned and answered, "If we are invited, Maria, you may certainly accompany me."

"There is no doubt we will be invited, Lizzy, what with Lydia staying with the Forsters and you being such a favourite of so many of the officers."

When Lizzy dismissed the last statement, Maria added, "Everyone knows at one time you preferred Wickham, and Kitty writes that he is not to marry Miss King after all, so he is free once again."

Lizzy's attention was caught by this statement and while Maria rattled on and on, Lizzy scanned Kitty's letter to read the news about Wickham for herself. Sure enough, Kitty had written,

Everyone is thrilled that Wickham is not to marry that freckled little Mary King! It seems her uncle did not approve of the match and removed her from Wickham's presence by taking her off to Liverpool. Mrs. Forster thought it was hilarious and entertained the whole party at Mrs. Philips' house last evening by describing how angry Miss King's uncle was at the thought of his niece marrying a fortune-hunting soldier. Lydia is beside herself at the thought of being in his constant presence at Brighton, for she says Mrs. Forster is quite partial to him. I still do not understand why I was not invited to accompany Mrs. Forster, for I am two years older than Lydia and . . .

Here Lizzy ceased reading, uninterested in her sister's complaints. Her head throbbed at the thought of such gossip about Wickham being voiced throughout Meryton society. Gossip was often erroneous, but rarely did it start without some flicker of truth to give rise to a blaze. There must have been some flirtation, some sort of attention on the part of Wickham toward Mary King to cause such talk. She thought of how charming he could be, how perfect his manners and conversation, and how studied his attention upon the person with whom he conversed. Might such interest be mistaken for more than it was, or was she fooling herself by believing Wickham's last note wherein he did not actually deny the accusation, but instead turned it around to accuse her of listening to gossip? Where does the truth lie? She wished she had that last letter to reread, but it had been included with Jane's letters and stolen by the gypsy youths.

Maria's constant chatter grated on Lizzy's nerves and she spoke without thinking. "Maria, will you not be quiet for a while? This journey will prove twice as long if we must endure both the constant din of Mr. Collins' snoring and your nattering!"

Maria's eyes grew big and round and it was a full 10 seconds before she thought to close her gaping mouth, such was her surprise at Lizzy's rebuke. Charlotte, also, was quite astonished to hear such chastisement from her friend, but she took her side and admonished her sister to be silent for a while. Lizzy felt her wondering eyes upon her, but she refused to meet her gaze and chose to turn to the window and watch the passing countryside. Her mind was in such a whirl of confusion and doubt and, yes, even fear, and she had no one in which to confide. I have never felt so alone in my life, she thought.

At that very moment, Darcy's image appeared before her and she heard him say once again, "I offer this admonition only because I care what happens to you. Men exist in this world with less than honourable intentions and I cannot rest without warning you to be on your guard."

Waverley Cottage, Lady Catherine's summer house at Brighton, appeared as a miniature version of Rosings, minus the trees and luscious park. Sitting on a much lower portion of the cliffs on which a large part of Brighton stood and somewhat apart from its neighbors, the house's stone edifice was built to withstand any hurricane or other storm that blew in from the sea, and although it was smaller than the original in Kent, it contained sufficient room to house several families within. Lady Catherine's husband had bought several acres surrounding the cottage, thus insuring the family more privacy than many of the mansions built side by side on the higher cliffs. The front of the cottage faced the town and the massive downs beyond, while Waverley's back presided over the sea. A rough stairway had been cut out of the chalky cliff, which when descended, placed one less than 200 yards from the breakers, and the wild voice of the sea greeted the travelers, a great roar they would hear night and day.

Charlotte's maid had traveled on the coach with the luggage ahead of the family and had arrived in adequate time to prepare her mistress' chamber. Assisted by Waverley's housekeeper, she unpacked Charlotte's clothes and belongings and placed her personal pillows on the bed, a fact that was much appreciated by Mrs. Collins as she was quite exhausted by the journey. Since Mr. Collins had slept through most of the trip, upon arrival he felt quite lively and was at his most annoying, exclaiming over the sumptuous dwelling, the magnificence of the fireplaces and staircases, and driving all of his family to take refuge in their personal chambers. Lizzy and Maria had rooms down the hall from Charlotte, both of which faced the sea and Lizzy felt her mood lighten when she opened the windows, inhaled the salt air and felt the warm breeze fan her face. It would be difficult to remain anguished in such a surrounding.

She took a deep breath and then turned when she heard someone enter the room. Maria stood at the entrance, uncertainty in her eyes, and Lizzy immediately felt ashamed that she had taken out her fears on this young girl.

"Do you like your room, Lizzy?" Maria asked timidly.

"How can I not?" Lizzy smiled. "The view is worth the entire journey." She beckoned the girl to join her at the window and Maria replied that she enjoyed a similar prospect from her room.

"I am sorry I was so noisy in the carriage," she said.

Lizzy put her arm around her and replied, "There is nothing to be sorry for, Maria. If anyone was at fault it is I for being so short-tempered. Please forgive me. I had no cause to speak to you in such a way."

Maria beamed, obviously relieved to enjoy the good graces of her older friend whom she greatly admired, and they spent no little time discussing the ocean lying beyond the dunes, wondering when they might venture to its shore and whether they would be brave enough to wade in the surf. Their wish came true not long afterwards when Mr. Collins asked them to join him in an examination of the beach. Charlotte was resting until supper, but she urged the young women to stretch their legs. The dark stony beach appeared like black sand from a distance as they climbed down the rough-cut stairs. After picking her way across the rocks, Maria squealed in anticipation when she finally experienced the spray of the surf blowing into her face. Mr. Collins had brought his parasol with which to shade himself from the afternoon sun, but ended up using it as a cane to guide him across the stone covered shore. He began walking up the beach facing the town.

"Lizzy," Maria called, "what are you doing?"

"Removing my shoes," she answered, "and if you will come and shade me from Mr. Collins' eyes, I shall pull off my stockings, too."

"Lizzy!" she cried while hurrying to her side. "How shocking!"

"Shocking, indeed! But I do not intend to get this close to the sea and not feel it between my toes." Working deftly, she tore off her stockings and placed them, along with her shoes upon the stones, safe from the incoming tide. With reckless abandon, she lifted her skirts enough to let the cool wavelets wash up to her ankles. "Come, Maria, you must do the same, for it is a wonderful feeling!"

The young girl quickly followed her friend's example and soon they both felt the refreshing pleasure of the water covering their feet, the squishy delight of digging their toes into the warm sand, and the joy of giggling and running further ashore each time a larger wave threatened to reach their skirts. Mr. Collins had not even noticed their play, for he was too busy scanning the horizon for possible incoming ships and then looking toward the houses closest to Lady Catherine's cottage. He examined them from afar and was quite pleased to find the majority of them wanting, compared to the grandeur of his patroness' dwelling in which he resided. With a great sigh of self-satisfaction, he began to pick up stones and attempted to skip them across the waves. His efforts were quite awkward, as he had never possessed the slightest degree of athleticism, and Lizzy and Maria could not keep from laughing when he bent over to select another stone and a large wave caught him from behind quite unawares, knocking him sprawling. He sputtered and gasped and was quite put out to think that nature would play such a trick on him.

"For shame! Look at me - I am quite soaked! Come, ladies, it is time to return to the house." Without consulting them further, he began picking his way through the stones, squishing along in his waterlogged shoes, holding his arms out as though that action might cause them to dry. He no longer looks like a mole, Lizzy mused, but more like a great unwieldy turtle.

That night Lizzy slept well. She had left the windows open, reveling in the cool evening breeze, and had fallen asleep to the sound of the surf hitting the shore, which no longer seemed a roar but more like a lullaby. The joy of this beautiful setting had even erased from her mind the fears and doubts she entertained about Wickham. Once again, the optimistic nature, which she had inherited from her father, along with nature's splendor, had enabled her to banish temporarily any situation for which she had no answer. Earlier in the evening she had helped Charlotte to walk out on the terrace where they had sat on a stone bench side by side with Maria and watched the lavender, red and gold streaks of the sunset. She knew it was only hopeful thinking, but Lizzy hoped her friend's relaxed, peaceful countenance signaled the beginning of a return to her former health.

Mr. Collins spent less than a week at Brighton, during which time he toured the town thoroughly each day, introducing himself to anyone who appeared even slightly important, unconcerned or ignorant that his actions were against the rules of society, intent on only one thing - informing the populace of his connection with his esteemed patroness and the great condescension and favour she had bestowed upon him by installing his family at Waverley.

During the evening meal on the eve of his departure, Mr. Collins reiterated the names of each fashionable gentleman at Brighton with whom he had conversed, cautioning his wife and cousin to do their utmost to further these acquaintances. Lizzy said nothing, but Charlotte nodded, assuring her husband that if any of the wives of these illustrious personages called at Waverley, she would welcome them.

"And cousin, did I tell you I met Colonel Forster at the town square yesterday?"

Lizzy looked up immediately.

"He was buying tickets at the Theatre Royal for a revue on Saturday night. He informed me that he and Mrs. Forster are staying in Webster House on _____ Street. Since they have just recently arrived, I would think it suitable for you to call on her, as we have been in residence for almost a week, now, and they are prior acquaintances."

Lizzy nodded, amused at his attempt to educate her in the manners of society visits. Maria asked if the regiment had also come, which Mr. Collins answered in the affirmative. Much conversation ensued then about when they might make their first call and Maria grew quite excited at seeing Lydia again, wondering if she would be surrounded by officers at Colonel Forster's house. Lizzy did not wish to think of officers at the moment, especially one in particular, and so she asked her cousin if he had yet consulted with the physician recommended for Charlotte by Mr. Benwick.

"Mr. Russell is in London at present," he answered, "but his housekeeper informed me that the doctor will be returning next week. She also told me that even the Prince of Wales heeds his advice and bathes in the sea at least three times a week when he is in residence. Just think, my dear, you are to be treated by the same physician as royalty!"

Mr. Collins departed the next day and the entire household breathed a huge sigh of relief. He returned to Kent by public coach, as Darcy had prevailed upon Lady Catherine to leave her carriage at Waverley for the use of Mrs. Collins. Lizzy and Maria had accompanied Mr. Collins into town to see him off and they were all smiles as they waved farewell.

"Now," Lizzy announced, "let us explore some of Brighton."

Maria was more than willing to embark on such an adventure and they spent much of the morning peering into shop windows, admiring the theatre building, and at last, stopping at an inn for tea. They settled themselves at a table beside the window and enjoyed the sunshine's warmth while partaking of fresh scones and jam.

Suddenly Maria began to cough, having taken too large a bite, and then trying to talk while eating. Unable to speak, she pointed out the window with great excitement.

"Maria, what is it?" Lizzy cried. "Here, drink some tea before you strangle."

After finally clearing her throat, the girl exclaimed, "Look, Lizzy! Is that not Lydia and two of the officers crossing the street?"

Lizzy followed her pointing finger and recognized her youngest sister, laughing and flirting, clinging to the arms of both Denny and Wickham, and yes, they were walking in the direction of the inn. Why is she out all alone with the officers, was Lizzy's first thought, and then another took its place - she was to face Wickham for the first time in more than three months.

Lydia continued to giggle as the trio entered the inn, causing many to notice the exuberant young girl. Maria rose to greet them just as Lydia spied her sister and friend across the room.

"Lizzy! Maria!" She hurried through the tables and hugged both of them. "Whatever are you doing here?"

"We might ask you the same thing?" Lizzy answered, but she smiled in return, obviously happy to see one of her family. As she looked up, she saw Denny approaching while Wickham held back, standing in the doorway, the expression on his face undoubtedly one of surprise.

Lydia and Maria both chattered at once while Denny greeted Lizzy and then nodded at his friend, motioning him to join the group. Wickham by that time had recovered his aplomb and immediately walked over and bowed to Maria and Lizzy, taking the latter's hand and kissing it. "Miss Bennet, how nice to see you again, and you, too, Miss Lucas."

Maria blushed at his greeting while Lizzy suddenly became aware of how icy cold her hand had turned. She spoke his name in greeting and then said, "How surprised you must be to find us here at Brighton."

When both men responded in the affirmative, Maria explained where they were staying and why, telling all about Lady Catherine's spring tonic and its effects upon her sister. "Did not Colonel Forster inform you of our arrival? Mr. Collins said he had met him in town only yesterday."

Lydia replied that he had not, but it was no matter, she was so happy to see them. "And Lizzy, you and Maria must come to the ball Colonel Forster is throwing in two weeks! All the officers will be there and since I am well acquainted with all of them, I shall be glad to introduce you."

"Thank you, Lydia," Lizzy answered, "but we have not been invited by Colonel or Mrs. Forster."

"That does not matter, for I shall see to it immediately. I am Mrs. Forster's companion, you know."

Denny added his wishes that they should be invited to the ball and after ordering tea, they visited at the table for some time. Lydia then announced that they were going to the promenade at the sea wall, whereupon Denny asked for the pleasure of their company on the outing. Wickham had said little during the entire visit, which did not go unnoticed by Elizabeth, but because of the younger girls' incessant conversation, it had not been observed by the others. She now glanced at him, searching for his agreement that they should accompany the three. He did not smile, but he did look directly into her eyes and the look was not unfriendly, so Lizzy accepted the invitation and Maria clapped her hands with excitement.

The five young people made their way to the edge of the community, enjoying each other's society and the beauty of the day and the sea splashing below them. The surf made such a noisy roar that it was necessary to draw quite close to each other to hear any conversation. Lydia and Maria led the way with the former linking her hand within Denny's arm. That left Wickham and Lizzy to walk together and she was aware that Wickham was purposefully lagging behind the others. They had said nothing to each other since leaving the inn, both appearing nervous and ill at ease.

At last Lizzy spoke, "How did you leave Miss King?"

She noted that Wickham did not even blanch, but simply looked out to the ocean before answering. "Very well," he said. "I believe she was going on to Liverpool to join her uncle's family when Mrs. Forster and I last saw her."

"Yes, I heard that, too. In fact, I have heard she left rather quickly as her uncle was quite eager to remove her from a certain person's company."

"Indeed? I had not heard that news and I, myself, observed no undue haste, but I was not much in Miss King's presence while in Lancashire. In fact, I believe she left without my having the opportunity to even bid her farewell, as I was much concerned with other matters at the time, so whether it was done quickly I cannot say."

Lizzy marveled at how smoothly he explained himself and without the slightest hint of guilt. Could he truly be innocent of all the charges she had heard? Was it simply all gossip? She glanced at their companions ahead and longed for a private meeting with Wickham, a time when she could question him enough to learn the truth.

At that very moment, almost as though she were reading her sister's mind, Lydia proposed that they climb down the steps to the beach. Maria and Denny were all for it, but Lizzy held back, professing her lack of suitable shoes to go walking in the sand.

"I shall take mine off!" Lydia announced. "Can you not do the same, Lizzy?"

"Lydia!" her sister protested, but to no avail, for she had already tripped down the steps and pulled her slippers off, not caring that her stockings would be blackened by the damp sand. Denny laughed and helped Maria to descend the steps. When she looked up at Lizzy for approval, she could only join in the laughter by that time, aware that she had set the same example for the younger girl on the evening of their arrival. No young men had been in attendance at the time, though.

The three made their merry way on to the water's edge while Wickham remained above, standing next to Lizzy on the sea wall. They were quite safe from their friends' hearing now, and Lizzy took advantage of the separation.

"Mr. Wickham, did you receive my last letter?"

"I assume you refer to the one where you accused me of engaging myself to Miss King," he answered flatly.

"No, I wrote to you after receiving your reply to that letter."

"I do not know of any such missive. I never heard from you again, Eliza." His tone and expression gave all the appearance of dejection.

"I wrote you my apologies for doubting you, sir. I sent the letter to you at Lancashire."

Wickham looked up then, turning to meet her eyes, hope once again reflected within his own. "I must have returned to Meryton by that time. The letter never reached me."

"And is that why you have not written to me since then?"

"Why, yes, Eliza, I assumed you did not accept my explanation, that you believed the gossip about me. Was my assumption in error? Do you no longer doubt me?"

At this, Elizabeth looked away from his gaze, directing her eyes to the splashing waves. She spoke slowly, unsure of what she was feeling. "At the time I wrote my last letter to you, I did not doubt you. I was quite relieved that you discounted my accusation. Since that time, I have had time to think over what you wrote and I realize now that you never offered any real explanation, sir. You only accused me of listening to gossip. I know not what to believe, Mr. Wickham."

"No explanation?" he exclaimed. "Madam, I suggest you read the letter again. I am sure that I explained my actions!"

"I cannot read it again, for it is lost forever."

"Lost? Do you mean you burned it immediately?"

"No, it was stolen from me," she replied and then explained briefly how she was set upon by gypsies at Kent and lost both his and Jane's letters. He did not profess any dismay on the dangerous occurrence she had experienced, nor did he even ask if she was hurt during the ordeal. His only question was whether the letters might be found by anyone of significance, anyone who knew them and might discover their secret attachment.

"I doubt it, sir, for Colonel Fitzwilliam and Mr. Darcy ran the band of ruffians out of town and I am sure they have traveled far from Kent by this time."

Wickham looked relieved at this news, but his interest was pricked by the news that Darcy had visited Kent at the same time as Elizabeth. He went on to ask her how she liked the colonel and how long the two men had visited their aunt. She replied that she liked Colonel Fitzwilliam very much indeed and she also told of how much assistance Darcy had provided while their families were ill.

"It seems Mr. Darcy can be quite helpful when he chooses," Wickham observed. "Has your opinion of him perhaps been altered?"

"In some ways it has for he has proved an invaluable friend in time of trouble."

"I see," he said crisply, averting his face. "And have Mr. Darcy's manners improved, for I dare not think he has changed in essentials."

Lizzy smiled at the suggestion. "No, his manners are much the same and as for essentials, I know not how to answer you. I do not mean to imply that he has changed, but it may be that I was mistaken in my previous judgment."

"Indeed?" Wickham murmured, but he could say no more upon the subject, for by that time their companions had returned and they soon parted company, but not without the young women making plans to meet again the next day. Lydia assured them that she and Mrs. Forster would call at Waverley Cottage while making their rounds.

As the gentlemen made their farewell bows, Denny said, "Wickham and I also hope to see both of you again very soon." Wickham said nothing, but the steady way he gazed into Lizzy's eyes indicated his definite agreement.

At the table that evening Maria entertained Charlotte with a recital of the day's adventures while Lizzy said little. She remained quiet, watching her friend, glad to already observe an improvement in her color. The cough still troubled her, but Charlotte appeared much more at ease since her husband had returned to Kent and it warmed Lizzy's heart to hear her laughter as Maria told how she and Lydia had walked on the beach in their stocking feet.

"And where were you, Elizabeth, while this escapade transpired?"

"She stayed on the sea wall with Mr. Wickham," Maria answered for her.

"And how did you find Mr. Wickham? Is his countenance downcast since his recent disappointment with Miss King?"

Lizzy sipped her wine before answering. "I observed no particular change," she said quietly. "He appears much as he ever was."

"He paid particular attention to Lizzy," Maria added. "Even Lydia complained to me that whenever her sister is around, she can no longer command Wickham's attention."

"Lydia is a child," Lizzy said quickly. "I declare, Maria, you must not believe half of what she says for she possesses a dramatic imagination!" She stood then and said, "Shall we retire to the terrace, Charlotte?"

"You go, Lizzy. I have been up longer than usual today and if Maria will assist me, I shall turn in early."

Lizzy offered to help, but Charlotte assured her that she could manage with her sister's help. After they had gone above stairs, Lizzy wandered outside. Not content to remain on the terrace, she made her way down to the edge of the cliff where she leaned against the rock wall and gazed out at the sea. The sun was barely visible along the rim of the horizon and she knew it would be dark before long, but she reveled in the long days this time of year provided. This truly was a lovely place and how she wished she had nothing on her mind but the beauty of her surroundings.

Wickham, however, soon invaded her thoughts. She knew not what to make of their encounter earlier in the day. If, as he said, he had failed to receive her letter of apology, that would explain his subdued demeanor upon their meeting. She frowned at the remembrance of how easily he explained away her inquiries about Mary King. Did that mean he was innocent, for if he were truly guilty, would he be able to do so with such little effort? On the other hand, how could Mrs. Forster tell such a tale if it were not true? The woman appeared to be vain, highly caught up in her own pleasures, and it was obvious that she enjoyed flirting with young officers, but she did not appear to be one who would engage in blatant dishonesty. If Lydia did succeed in bringing her to call on the morrow, Lizzy intended to question her in more detail about the entire situation. Perhaps there has been some mistake, some misunderstanding on the part of Mrs. Forster. Now, I sound like Jane, she mused, ready to make everything right on the part of everyone.

How she wished for the companionship and counsel of her older sister. Talking things over with Jane had always made her feel better, and she longed to see her again. Thinking of Jane brought Bingley to Lizzy's mind and she wondered how Jane had adapted to the obvious dashing of her hopes in his regard. She must write to her tonight and induce her to respond with her true feelings on the matter. When they could confide in no other, the two girls had always been able to reveal their deepest secrets to each other.

Thinking of secrets led Lizzy's thoughts back to Wickham. She began to walk along the cliff, chewing her lip at the thought of her secret attachment to him. I felt nothing but apprehension when I saw him, she suddenly thought. In my heart I felt no excitement nor attraction; he did not even appear as handsome as I had once thought him to be.

Without warning Darcy's face appeared before her; she saw his dark eyes locking hers with that look that caused her such consternation; she smiled at the way his dark curls often fell across his forehead, and she felt his arms around her once again, his breath on her cheek and his hand on her hair. Her heart beat faster and she stopped walking, finding it somewhat hard to breathe.

How can I think of Mr. Darcy in such a way? I cannot love him. Much of the time I do not even like him! What kind of woman am I to be engaged to one man and think such thoughts about another.

In London Darcy stood at the window of his study seemingly engrossed in watching the carriages pass in front of his townhouse. In truth, he could not tell you what he saw, for his mind was otherwise engaged. It had been less than a fortnight since he had last seen Elizabeth Bennet, and yet it seemed more like a year. He had thrown himself into activity, willing himself to forget her. Business needs preoccupied him for the first few days, but they were soon completed. Socially, he visited often with Bingley and his sisters and renewed other acquaintances in the ton, attended the opera, and even considered putting in an appearance at a ball that was to be held that night, although he acknowledged that he would be quite bored with it all. He spent much time with Georgiana, listened to her play the pianoforte, encouraged her to be at ease among his friends, and had served as her escort to dinner at Bingley's just last night. He threw himself into physical exercise, visiting his fencing master almost daily, and in the evenings he often went for long walks in the park.

And still, it was not enough.

Darcy had resolved to put all thoughts of Elizabeth out of his mind. Standing at the window, he had to admit that none of his efforts had succeeded. He missed her more than he had ever thought possible. His need for her rose from somewhere deep within him, so deep that he could not fathom how it came to be, where it came from, nor how to rid himself of it. Darcy was lost.

As he looked out the window at the fading sunshine, he wondered where she was at that very moment. Was she enjoying her stay at Brighton? Was she engaging in long walks on the beach and did she walk alone? Did her curls now appear somewhat lightened from the sun? Whom did she spend her days with and who was the fortunate person on whom she bestowed her sparkling smiles? Had she at last been in a mood for poetry once again?

And, had she heeded his advice to think seriously on the worth of this man to whom she was attached? Who could he be? Darcy had tortured himself for endless hours in detailed consideration of the men who presided near Longbourn. He could think of no one he had met there whom he would deem the equal of Elizabeth. How could I ever have considered her as inferior to me?

"William?"

Darcy started when he felt a soft hand touch his arm.

"I'm sorry. I did not mean to startle you." Georgiana said.

Darcy turned to face her and she continued, "I called your name more than once. I can see that you are deep in thought and apologize for the intrusion."

"There is no need to apologize," he replied. "Your intrusion is not unwelcome. My thoughts," he stopped and sighed, " . . . my thoughts are ones I would gladly put aside."

"James has brought in the mail. I left it on your desk."

Darcy walked to the desk and sifted through the envelopes without opening them. "Georgiana, are you ready to return to Pemberley?"

"If you wish. You know I am not at ease in London society. I much prefer the country."

"Yes, I, too, have a longing to see the peaks of Derbyshire once again. I believe Pemberley may be just what I need."

Georgiana looked at him intently. "You surprise me, for you have been in London such a short time and I thought you preferred the town."

"Yes, well, perhaps my taste has changed, for I am ready to depart as early as next week."

"Will you not be somewhat lonely without the company of your friends?"

"Lonely?" If you only knew how lonely I am, he thought, but said only, "I have the remedy for that - I shall invite Bingley and his sister and Mr. and Mrs. Hurst to accompany us. No one can be lonely for long with all of them along."

Georgiana said nothing, but walked to the chaise and sat down.

Darcy noticed her lack of response. "Do you not like my idea?"

"Whatever you decide."

Darcy walked around the desk, still holding the mail, and sat down on a chair close to his sister. He laid the letters aside and took her hand in his. "What is it, Georgiana? Tell me why your countenance has fallen."

The girl immediately sought to reassure him. "You are mistaken, William. Truly, if you want to invite your friends, I shall be glad to have their company although . . . your mood does not lighten when they are present."

"My mood? What do you know of moods?"

"I know when something is troubling you, William. I wish you would share it with me."

Darcy rose and walked back to the desk, averting his face from his sister. "I could say there is nothing troubling me, but I would not be honest. What troubles me, however, is a situation that cannot be changed," he said, staring out the window again.

Georgiana joined him behind the desk and once again touched his arm lightly. "Is there nothing I can do to relieve your suffering?"

Darcy shook his head and spoke quietly. "When something cannot be made right, nothing remains but to accept it. No good will come from dwelling on it, so have no fear for I shall conquer this." He turned away from her and repeated under his breath, "I shall!"

Georgiana frowned to hear the tone of desperation in her brother's voice but when he picked up the mail once more, she returned to the chaise. Upon reading the return address on the last letter, Darcy groaned. It was from his aunt and he debated on whether to open it now or wait until tonight after he had partaken of a good amount of Madeira. He then remembered that he had promised to attend a ball that evening and knowing it would be late when he returned, he slit open the envelope and read its contents and then groaned, "Blast!"

"What is it, William? Is something else wrong?" asked Georgiana.

"Lady Catherine desires my presence at Rosings once more. It seems she is in need of my assistance."

"Is she ill again?"

"No, it concerns an incident that happened while Miss Bennet was there."

"Miss Bennet? Is this the same Miss Bennet you told me plays and sings so beautifully?"

Darcy felt as though someone squeezed his very heart at the remembrance of Elizabeth singing, but he simply nodded in affirmation.

"What happened?"

"Some gypsies stole her necklace and some personal items and Lady Catherine writes that one of the scoundrels is still in the area and tried to sell Miss Bennet's jewelry to the innkeeper in Hunsford Village. Fitzwilliam and I had alerted the local constable as to the robbery and he has now arrested the youth who attempted the sale."

"That is good news, but I do not understand. Why must you return to Kent?"

"The youth denies the theft. He says he bought the necklace from someone else and no one can identify him as a participant in the crime except Fitz or I or . . . Miss Bennet."

"And is she still residing at Brighton? I believe you said she had gone there with her friend and would remain for some time."

Darcy nodded and walked to the window once again. He had no desire to return to Kent, to once again see the groves where Elizabeth had walked, the sofa in the library at Rosings where she had slept, the lane between the mansion and the parsonage where she had been attacked and he had rescued her . . . where he had held her in his arms. His memories needed no reinforcement; they were well and alive on their own. I cannot go back there now, not until I have rid her from my mind, until I have accepted the fact there is no hope, he thought.

"Does this mean we shall have to delay leaving for Pemberley?" Georgiana asked.

"No," Darcy said with more force than he had intended, "I shall call on Fitzwilliam and see if he can go in my stead. I have no wish to return to Kent."

In Brighton Lizzy sipped her tea and sighed, wishing she could escape to the beach instead of entertaining Mrs. Forster and Lydia in the parlor of Waverley Cottage. The colonel's wife was a pretty sort of woman and extremely vivacious, but Lizzy found her conversation somewhat affected and frivolous and exceedingly long. She liked her share of gossip, but this woman seemed absolutely dedicated to it. She had spent the last half hour regaling Charlotte and Maria and herself with news of Brighton's society, who was involved with whom, who wished to be involved with whom, and certain other intrigues and scandals pertaining to people that Lizzy did not know and had no desire to meet. She frowned at the thought of Lydia spending the summer in this woman's company, for her youngest sister was already flighty and silly and as her father often said, had very little sense. Mrs. Forster seemed to do all she could to encourage such behavior in Lydia.

But since the woman was such a maven of gossip, Lizzy determined to make use of her knowledge. As soon as Mrs. Forster paused to catch a breath, she asked, "Can you enlighten us on some news we heard at Kent? Is it true that Mary King became engaged to Mr. Wickham and then broke it off?"

Mrs. Forster began to laugh merrily. "Oh, that was the strangest and shortest engagement I have ever encountered. Miss King was quite enamored of Mr. Wickham, you know," here she stopped to laugh again and give Lydia a knowing look, "as we all are. Poor Mary - she should have known it would never work."

Lizzy's face paled as she strained to understand Mrs. Forster. Charlotte noticed the frown on her friend's face and so she asked, "It is true, then? They were actually engaged?"

"Well," the colonel's wife replied, "as I said, it was all so strange. Mr. Wickham did pay special attention to Mary and I sensed an intimacy between them. She confided to me in the strictest of confidences that he wished to marry her, but there was no public announcement and he never made any mention of it in my presence. It was almost as though they had entered into a secret engagement and then all of a sudden her uncle whisked her off to Liverpool. I do believe he did not approve of Mr. Wickham." She had to stop and giggle at this thought and then went on, "A very proper gentleman, you know, and one not open to his relations marrying below themselves."

There was much talk and laughter after that, but Lizzy said nothing. She clasped and unclasped her hands, gazed out the window and chewed on her lip. Charlotte knew that this news about Mr. Wickham had upset her somehow, but as to why she had not a clue. At last the visit ended with not only an invitation to Colonel Forster's ball, but a promise from Maria and Lizzy that they would soon return the call on their guests.

Maria departed to the music room to practice her lessons on the pianoforte, which left Lizzy and Charlotte alone. Lizzy helped her friend to recline on the chaise lounge, plumping the pillows behind her head and shoulders. "Can I get you anything, Charlotte? Perhaps some more tea or the novel you have been reading?"

"No, Lizzy, thank you, I am fine. What I really want is a chance to talk with you."

"Oh? Have we not been talking for the last hour? I would think you tired by all this chatter."

"There has been much conversation, true, but not between just you and I and that is what I desire."

"Very well," Lizzy said, seating herself close to her friend on a great stuffed ottoman covered in rich green brocade.

"Lizzy, this is none of my business, but I cannot refrain from asking you if something is wrong? Each time Mr. Wickham's name is mentioned, a very strange look covers your countenance."

"I don't know what you mean, Charlotte."

"There it is now, Lizzy. If you could see yourself, you would understand what I am saying. The very mention of Mr. Wickham causes you to pale. What is it? What do you know about him?"

Lizzy rose and walked to the window. Should I confide in Charlotte? I long to do so, but is it right to burden her when she is still not recovered?

"Lizzy?" Charlotte called from the chaise. "Are we not the closest of friends? Can you not trust me with your confidence?"

"Of course I trust you," Lizzy said, returning to her friend's side. "It is just . . . that I have given my word to another . . . not to reveal certain things, and so I cannot feel justified in telling you. But, oh, Charlotte, I would very much like to, please believe me."

"I would not ask you to betray a confidence, Elizabeth. But tell me this, at least. Am I right that your secret has something to do with Mr. Wickham?"

Lizzy said nothing, but bowed her head and traced the ornate design in the Persian rug with her foot. At last she nodded in agreement.

"I hope you are not in love with him."

Lizzy did not reply but searched her heart for the last time. It was but a moment before she shook her head and said plainly, "I am not."

"Good. From what I have observed he is not worthy of you. Gossip follows him wherever he goes. We have just received confirmation of his actions while in Lancashire. My mother has written me of whisperings about him in Meryton, how he gambles excessively and is overly fond of drinking in taverns. Oh, I know he is exceptionally amiable in the presence of company and possesses the most pleasant of manners, but have you noticed how he seems to take delight in telling his tale of woe to any and every available ear, whether he is well acquainted with them or not?"

"But, Charlotte, it is true that Mr. Darcy treated him in an infamous manner!"

"Perhaps, but has anyone ever asked Mr. Darcy for his side of the story?"

"I have . . . well, I did not exactly ask him . . . but I gave him the opportunity to defend himself and he did not."

Charlotte was surprised at this revelation. "How did that happen, Lizzy? Can you not tell me that much?"

Lizzy sighed and looked over her shoulder, making certain that Maria was still occupied elsewhere. "You must keep this in strictest confidence, Charlotte."

When her friend promised that she would, Lizzy said, "While I was at Kent, Mr. Darcy proposed to me."

Charlotte's eyes widened and she sat up, leaning forward to listen more closely. "Proposed? I always suspected he had feelings for you! What did you say, Lizzy?"

"I refused him, of course."

"But how could you? Think of what such a marriage would bring you! How could you slight a man who is of far greater consequence than any other of our acquaintance?"

"Charlotte," Lizzy pleaded, "listen to me. When you accepted Mr. Collins, I was not happy for I hoped you would marry for love. You set me in my place. You told me you were not romantic, that all you longed for was a good home and a respectable situation and I have accepted that. But, Charlotte, you must understand me, now. I am romantic. I do not wish to marry for titles or houses or money. I hope to marry someone whom I admire and respect, a man that is above all others in my estimation, a man that I love more than life itself."

"And Mr. Darcy is not that man?"

Lizzy looked away then, aware of a yearning deep within her soul to see his face just once more . . . but she said nothing.

"Lizzy, are you reconsidering Mr. Darcy? Is that what is troubling you so and what does it all have to do with Mr. Wickham? How shall it all be made right?"

At that moment Maria entered the room, announcing luncheon. The conversation was ended and Charlotte received no answer to her question. She was left to wonder and, in truth, Lizzy was, too.

Early the next week the physician, Mr. Russell, called on Mrs. Collins and examined her. He was a likeable man, very distinguished in his appearance, and quite tender in his handling of his patient. Before Mr. Collins had returned to Kent, he had shown Lizzy and Maria the doctor's great house built on a huge bluff overlooking the ocean. He was a man who knew the sea and believed strongly in its curative powers. He prescribed a bottled potion of seawater mixed with other ingredients known only to him to be administered three times a day. His second prescription was much easier to digest - three visits per week to the beach.

"Do you wish for Mrs. Collins to enter the sea in a bathing machine?" Lizzy asked. She had watched with interest ladies going into the strange looking "smoakers" pulled out into the surf.

"Not yet," the doctor replied. "Eventually I hope she will be strong enough to be dipped by Martha Gunn, for she is a local who is much experienced in the art. For now, I simply want her to sit on the beach, let the sea breeze warm her and if she feels strong enough, she may briefly stroll along the shore."

After Mr. Russell had departed, Charlotte sighed and said, "Well, I rejoice that the doctor did not prescribe those sea-bathing treatments immediately. Just getting to the beach will be exercise enough for me."

"Mr. Russell is sending a litter tomorrow for your use," Lizzy said. "Two of the men servants can carry you down the steps, Charlotte, and Maria and I will attend you. You need not worry. We will not allow you to overdo."

"I am quite looking forward to it," Charlotte answered with a smile.

And, indeed, the next day proved to be quite pleasant for all concerned. The ladies took great pleasure in their time on the beach. Cook had packed a picnic lunch for them and Charlotte thoroughly enjoyed reclining on the pillows and rugs placed far back from the incoming tide. She allowed the breeze to blow through her hair and even took off her bonnet at Lizzy's urging. Maria and Lizzy once again removed their shoes and walked along the edge of the water and Maria spent much time searching for shells up and down the beach. At last she returned and after showing Charlotte and Lizzy her treasures, she joined her sister on the rugs and both of them soon fell asleep.

Lizzy had no desire for a nap and so she walked a long ways up the shoreline, watching the gulls calling to each other as they flew back and forth from the sand to the water. A line of pelicans flying in perfect formation low over the water's edge delighted her so that she laughed aloud.

Ahead not more than 200 feet, Lizzy saw how the waves splashed against huge stone formations jutting out into the water. They were placed around a curve in the beach and she determined to explore them, even though it hid her completely from the view of her friends. In fact, she saw no other people who had ventured that far down the shore. When she reached the great black rocks, she climbed upon the lower part, hanging onto the rough points. With great caution, she managed to sit along the edge, dangling her legs off the side. What a delightful spot, she mused, quite enchanted each time the waves bounced against the rock and sprayed her lightly with salt water.

Once again, nature's wondrous mystique soothed her troubled spirit and she felt peace flowing within. All thoughts of Wickham vanished as though he had sailed away to the edge of the sea and fallen off on the other side. The other sensations that had tormented her just last night - the memory of Darcy's eyes upon her, his dark curls damp from the rain, a glimpse of one of his rare smiles, the strength of his arms, the way his skin smelled, and the haven of safety in his embrace - all of these feelings now seemed natural and right as she lay back against the stone and immersed herself in the presence of this place. Lizzy and Darcy and the sea all seemed to connect in some mystical manner within her heart and she gave herself up to its pleasure.

How long Lizzy sat by the sea she knew not, but when her reverie was disturbed, it came with a shock. Someone was calling her name from the sand below and when she looked, Mr. Wickham stood within her view.

"Miss Bennet, will you not come down? Or do you require my assistance in doing so?"

"No," Lizzy cried quickly, attempting to smooth her wind-blown curls and conscious that she had left her shoes and stockings with Charlotte. She scampered down the rocks and had only to hold Wickham's hand in a brief clasp when he offered his assistance at the lowest level. With unspoken but overt immediacy, she withdrew her hand from his upon reaching the beach.

"You startled me, sir, for I did not expect anyone. What are you doing out here?"

"Mrs. Forster sent me to invite you and Miss Lucas to luncheon tomorrow, and Mrs. Collins, too, although we understand she is not yet making calls. When your friends could not see you anywhere on the beach, I offered to go and find you."

"I see. You now serve as Mrs. Forster's personal courier, in addition to your other duties. How convenient for her. Please thank Mrs. Forster for the invitation and tell her we accept with pleasure."

Wickham ignored her barb and changed the subject. "You certainly walked a great distance from your friends. Mrs. Collins pointed out the direction, but from her site none of us could even see you."

"If I alarmed anyone, I shall apologize."

"No alarm. Just curiosity." Wickham smiled and continued, "Why did you stray so far?"

"I did not stray. I simply went exploring and found a lovely spot to enjoy the view."

"Well, you made a most lovely spectacle perched on that rock, almost like a mermaid sunning herself," he said, his voice growing low and inviting.

Lizzy began walking faster and said nothing in return.

"Come, Eliza why do you hurry? Are you avoiding me?"

"Sir, this is hardly the time or place to address me in so familiar a manner."

"But why? There are no others here and your friends cannot see us around this bend in the shoreline," he said, his tone quite intimate, "and you know my greatest desire is to be alone with you." He reached for her hand, but she snatched it away. He frowned, "Eliza? What is wrong? Your actions do not portray that of the woman who is to be my future wife."

Lizzy stopped and looked directly into his eyes. "Am I to be your wife, sir? Or are you engaged to Mary King? And is your relationship with her a secret betrothal as well? Are you perhaps making a collection of fiancées?"

"Eliza, keep your voice down. You know not how far the wind carries sound and we are not that distant from Mrs. Collins."

Lizzy began walking again, taking even faster steps. "I will be glad to keep my voice down, Mr. Wickham. I will be glad to not ever speak to you again!"

He grabbed her shoulders then and turned her around to face him. She shook off his touch and stepped out of his reach. "Please keep your hands from my person, sir."

"I want an explanation, Eliza!" he demanded. "Why are you acting in this manner?" Lizzy began pacing back and forth on the sand, too angry to even begin to speak. Wickham's voice held a tone of exasperation, also. "Surely you are not still angry about those rumors of Miss King and myself. I have explained the situation many times, as you are well aware."

Lizzy stopped walking then and looked him in the eye. "You have explained nothing, Mr. Wickham. You have evaded my questions, you have accused me of listening to gossip, and you have continued to act in a faithless manner. Every snippet I hear is whispering and gossip about you - your exploits, your flirtatious manners, and your involvement in conduct unbecoming that of a gentleman."

"Well," Wickham said, sarcasm evident in his tone, "I never claimed to be a gentleman. If you recall, I am only the son of old Mr. Darcy's steward. I did not grow up with all the advantages that some have known."

"Perhaps you did not, sir, but I have always judged a man to be a gentleman by his conduct, not by his advantages."

"Then you hold to a quite different standard than the rest of the world. You will recall that since I have been deprived of my living, I have had to make my own way in this world. I have had to live by my wits and intelligence. I do not dwell within a world of privilege as Mr. Darcy does."

"Sir, how easily you have changed the subject once again. I find you are quite skilled at doing so. Many honest men have grown up with much less than you have and they do not make a practice of crying about their lot in life to each and every person they meet! But then I did say honest men, did I not?"

By this time Wickham had begun to pace and his face darkened with Lizzy's last words. "Exactly what are you saying, Miss Bennet?"

"I do not think you are an honest man, sir. I no longer trust you." She stopped and took a big breath. "And . . . I no longer wish to marry you."

She turned her face away from him then, not wanting to see the anger she was certain it contained. Instead, she heard him gasp as though he had been struck and when she looked, he turned away from her and took several steps toward the sea. He said nothing for some time. At last, Lizzy spoke. "Will you release me from our betrothal?"

He turned then and looked at her, no anger in his eyes, but rather what appeared to be utter despair. "How can I, Eliza? You are my life. How can I go on without you?"

Lizzy could not believe her ears. "Come now, sir, you cannot mean it. I am a very small part of your life. Why, for several months we have hardly seen each other and you have done quite well without me."

"But can you not see that is all a façade? That everything I do is an act? I told you in the beginning that we would have to keep our attachment secret and to do so, we must conduct ourselves as though we are quite free. Will you not believe that everything I have done I have done for us?"

He looked so honest, so appealing that for a moment Lizzy almost believed him . . . but only for a moment. Then the memories of all his past behavior washed over her just as the waves were washing the beach and she felt a familiar nausea besetting her.

"Mr. Wickham, I ask you to cease your playacting and be completely honest with me. Why did you ask me to marry you? And do not tell me it was for love, for I will not believe you. I am long past being fooled by endearments. You love no one but yourself; that is evident. I have no fortune and you have need of marriage to a woman of means, a woman like Mary King. I would not hold that need against you, for I am a sensible woman, if . . . you had not already engaged yourself to me! I simply cannot understand why you ever asked me to marry you! Was it just a dalliance? Did you believe I would succumb to you physically, that you would have your way with me and then throw me aside? I cannot believe you could be that low or that you held me in such poor esteem! Come, sir, will you not at last tell me the truth?"

Wickham once again looked as though he had been struck. He opened his mouth to speak but no sound came forth. He then looked out to the ocean's horizon as though searching for an answer. When he made no response for some moments, Lizzy finally said, "I see. You have no answer." She began to turn away.

"I do," Wickham said quickly. "I do have an answer, Eliza. Hear, me, please." When she inclined her head toward him, he sighed and then said, "You say I do not care for you, but I do. I admire you greatly. I like to be with you. In truth, I like the man I am when I am with you." He took his hat in his hands and began to brush at it, seemingly unaware of his actions. "Eliza, I am a better man when I am with you."

He looked her straight in the eye when he said these last words and for some reason Elizabeth believed him. "Tis a pity, then," she said softly, "that you cannot be that man when you are away from me."

"Yes," he answered, "a great pity. But the situation is not hopeless for when we marry, Eliza, I can become that man. I truly want to be a better man, a true gentleman, one that would meet even your standards. With you by my side I know that I can accomplish that feat."

"Sir, I have always believed that a man of worth is the same no matter who is by his side."

"Perhaps, but do you not believe in redemption - that a man who is not yet so worthy may change with the right circumstances, the right advantages?"

"I do believe in redemption. But to exactly what circumstances and advantages do you refer?"

"Why, as I said before, when we marry I will be in your company and that of your family. You and your esteemed parents can only aid in my development and then, of course, the association with your oldest sister when she weds Mr. Bingley can only further our prospects. It will throw us into the company of those who can offer untold possibilities of future advancement."

Lizzy almost laughed out loud then. So that is why he wishes to marry me, she thought, he thinks he can live off Mr. Bingley! She considered informing him that all prospects between Jane and Bingley were off, but she refrained. Instead, she said, "It is a shame, then, Mr. Wickham, that we are not to marry. Now I will not have the personal opportunity to see how far you advance within the proper company."

"Do not say that," he sputtered. "Please, Eliza, I cannot let you go like this. You must give it more thought."

"Believe me, sir, I have thought far too long. I wish to be released from our engagement."

"Well . . . you . . . I . . ." Wickham stammered and stuttered, seeking some way to persuade her otherwise. At last he said, "Think of your reputation, Miss Bennet. A woman who breaks an engagement is marked by scandal. No reputable man will ever marry you."

"Mr. Wickham, our engagement is secret! How can there be any scandal when society does not even know we are engaged?" When he said nothing, she asked again, "Will you release me?"

"I will . . . on one condition. You must give me more time. You must consider this for at least one more week."

"I have no desire to think on it one more hour, sir!"

"Those are my terms. Surely one more week in which you truly search your heart, Eliza, is not too much to ask. I recall that you asked for time to consider your answer before you agreed to marry me and I consented. Is it not your turn to indulge me? Colonel Forster's ball is to be held one week from tomorrow. Promise me that you will think seriously on the consequences of such rash action and give me your decision at the ball."

Lizzy sighed, shaking her head, extremely tired of the entire matter. She looked up the beach and saw Maria in the distance, waving to them and walking in their direction. She knew she could not argue with him any longer. "Very well. I will consider my decision this week, but I can assure you, sir, I will not change my mind."

In London Darcy cursed as he left Colonel Fitzwilliam's quarters. He had just learned that it would be impossible for his cousin to travel to Kent to fulfill his aunt's summons, for he had just received orders to travel to Brighton on regimental duty the very next day. There was nothing to do but swallow the bitter pill and make the trip to Rosings, himself.

While returning to his townhouse, he debated on whether to take Georgiana with him, but knowing her dread of being in Lady Catherine's presence and having seen the results of his aunt's overbearing manner imposed upon his fragile young sister, he dismissed the very idea. He would not even suggest it to her. He would go alone to face his demons, to stare down his memories, and to search for a way to forget Elizabeth.

That evening Darcy wrote to his aunt, informing her that he would arrive early the next week. He then dressed in impeccable evening clothes, drank a prodigious amount of brandy, and proceeded to a ball held at the mansion of an old acquaintance. There he danced with every young fortune-hunting lady whose mother forced her upon him. He searched the eyes of each woman, looking for the sparkle that lit Elizabeth's eyes; he examined their hair - blonde, auburn, or raven-colored - seeking the shine and perky bounce that had always possessed Elizabeth's curls; he gazed upon the lips of each woman and saw none that he wished to kiss as he had Elizabeth's; and he made polite conversation and endured unending flattering remarks and affected airs, none of which could match the intelligence and wit of Elizabeth.

Darcy returned home that night, filled with wine but bereft of pleasure, knowing he had spent another night in useless pursuit - nothing he did could exorcise the ghost of Elizabeth. At last he fell asleep, his heart drowning in her presence and his soul longing for deliverance.

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