The Engagement

chapter 11

Elizabeth and Maria arrived promptly at Webster House on the next day to partake of luncheon with Mrs. Forster and Lydia. Maria could hardly sit still, such was her anticipation of enjoying the coming event, but Elizabeth dreaded it and had consented only because it was a requirement of polite society. She had never thought highly of Mrs. Forster and being frequently in her presence here in Brighton had not raised Elizabeth's estimation of the woman. What gave her the greatest trepidation, however, was the possibility that Wickham might also be in attendance. At their last meeting on the beach, she had said as little as possible to him in the presence of Charlotte and Maria, and had proved successful in avoiding any further private audience with him.

Today they entered the house through a commodious portico, noting the Italian influence in design. The day was warm, but the setting of the house was such that the southern breeze blew softly through the large windows and Lizzy noted that it was a most artfully arranged building. As the servant led them down the spacious hall, the tinkling of a piano could be heard coming from the salon, along with much female laughter.

The sight that greeted Lizzy and Maria was surprising to say the least. Mrs. Forster stood embraced in the arms of an extremely tall, skinny, gangly-looking man. His beak of a nose pointed so directly at the ceiling that he gave all the appearance of a strutting popinjay. He danced her around the room in the most intimate of postures and both of the girls were quite shocked at such a display.

From a chair nearby Lydia clapped her hands and giggled, calling encouragement to her older friend as the couple circled the room. A bespectacled, middle-aged, redheaded lady played the piano with deep concentration, rarely lifting her long, hooked nose from the sheet music.

Suddenly Lydia spied her sister and friend and before the servant could announce them, she cried, "Lizzy! Maria!" and ran across the room to greet them.

Mrs. Forster and the funny-looking man ceased dancing and he signaled to the lady to quit playing. "Miss Bennet and Miss Lucas, do come in," Mrs. Forster said. "I am so glad you have arrived early. This way you can join in our lesson."

Elizabeth looked at Maria and then back at Mrs. Forster. "I was told we were to come at this hour, Ma'am. We would never have presumed to call so early had we known you were otherwise engaged."

"No, no, it is nothing. Wickham probably got the time wrong. His head is in the clouds most of the time and I seriously doubt that he listens to half what I say. Now, if it was Lydia talking to him, that would be another story." She laughed and raised her eyebrows at her young friend, but Lydia just giggled.

"Lizzy, you must learn this new dance!"

"Oh, yes," Mrs. Forster agreed, "Mr. Henley-Higgins here is teaching us the latest dance from Vienna." She then went on to introduce Lizzy and Maria to the dancing master and then his sister, who rose from the piano and bowed slightly. "They have just returned from the continent where the waltz is all the rage. Do sit down and we shall demonstrate for you. Maestro?"

The tall man nodded at his sister and she began once again to play a tune that was actually quite lovely, although totally foreign to the guests. Maria sucked in her breath when she saw how Mr. Henley-Higgins took Mrs. Forster into his arms and began to move her around the room, never releasing her as in most country dances, but holding onto her in the most shockingly close position. Lizzy finally whispered for her to close her mouth when it was still standing open at the conclusion of the number.

"Oh, Lizzy, is it not the most romantic dance?" Lydia cried with a great sigh.

Before her sister could answer, a loud snore emanated from a corner of the large room and Maria jumped so that it made everyone laugh. When Lizzy glanced in that direction she saw Colonel Forster reclined in his chair, his newspaper spread across his stomach and his eyes closed, sound asleep. "Do not mind the colonel, " Mrs. Forster said, frowning. "As usual he has been asleep for over an hour."

"I do wish he would snore in time with the music," the dancing master sniffed, pulling out a lace-tipped handkerchief and dabbing at his forehead.

"Is Colonel Forster not interested in learning this new dance?" Lizzy asked.

"My husband rarely dances, Miss Bennet, and as for learning anything new, that is asking far more than he is willing to give. Never mind him for now. I am so glad you are here, for I want you and Miss Lucas to learn the waltz, too."

"Me?" Maria cried. "I could never do that!"

"Oh, pooh, Maria," Lydia exclaimed, "It's very simple. Here, let me show you." She walked into Mr. Henley-Higgins' arms and as the music began, they whirled around and around the room.

Although admittedly shocked at first sight of the new dance, Elizabeth found herself smiling as she watched the graceful movements of this new waltz and before she knew it, she began to tap her toe in three-quarter time. At the close of the number, Lydia began once again to entreat Maria to try it, but she still refused, adamant that she would not unless Lizzy did it first.

And so, Elizabeth stepped forward and allowed the dancing master to place her right hand upon his shoulder while he placed his hand at her waist and then took her left hand in his. "Now, Miss Bennet, it is very simple. Just count one-two-three and follow me."

Lizzy was surprised at how easy the number was to learn. Once she relaxed and allowed the strange man to lead her, she had no difficulty in mastering the simple steps. When it ended, she had to admit that she had quite enjoyed herself. It took only a few more times for Mr. Henley-Higgins to pronounce her as quite proficient and ready to perform the waltz at the colonel's ball on Saturday.

"Do you mean people will actually dance this way at Colonel Forster's ball?" Maria asked, her eyes widening in unbelief.

"Oh, yes," Mrs. Forster answered, "Several of the local gentry who will attend have already learned the waltz at other balls held here in Brighton. We will be quite behind the times if we do not include it with our country dances on Saturday night."

"But can any of the officers dance the waltz?" the young girl asked.

Lydia smirked, "Well, if they cannot, it is not for lack of teaching! Mrs. Forster and I have spent the last week dancing every night with more than I care to count, trying to teach them these steps. You cannot imagine how awkward Lt. Sanderson is, though! He stepped all over my feet last night and they still hurt!"

"Yes, ladies," Mrs. Forster added, "do avoid the poor lieutenant if at all possible. Captain Carter and Denny, however, are quite proficient, and then, of course, Mr. Wickham outshines them all. I have never seen a more polished dancer and I have danced with the very best, you know."

Lizzy raised her eyebrow at this news. "Mr. Wickham is a quick learner, then, I take it?"

"Actually, when Mr. Wickham takes me in his arms, I would have to say that I am the learner, would you not agree, Lydia?"

Lydia giggled. "Oh, yes, Lizzy! Wickham knew the waltz long before Mrs. Forster or I had ever heard of it. In fact, he is the one who suggested we include it at the ball."

"I see," Elizabeth murmured, "Mr. Wickham seems to be very well rehearsed in the latest ballroom behavior."

Mrs. Forster laughed. "Mr. Wickham is well rehearsed in all behavior that pleases the ladies. He is a definite charmer."

"That he is," Lizzy agreed, gritting her teeth.

Colonel Forster then woke with a snort and they all shortly thereafter went into the dining room for the mid-day meal.

~ * ~

Darcy was already angry when he arrived at Rosings Park. He was angry that he had to make this trip at all. Kent was the last place he wished to visit and his only desire was to take care of the business at hand and quit the place as quickly as possible. Thus, when Lady Catherine announced they would entertain Mr. Collins at supper, Darcy had to literally bite his tongue. The very thought of enduring a meal with that toad of a man did nothing to improve his mood. When he had asked for the whereabouts of the constable and his prisoner - the reason for his visit - Lady Catherine dismissed his question, stating he could see them on the morrow. Tonight he must satisfy her. She wanted to know all about Georgiana, whether she was applying herself with diligence to her lessons and, in particular, her mastery of the pianoforte. Darcy put up with such questioning as long as he could and then excused himself from his aunt's presence with no explanation.

In the great hall he summoned the butler and asked for a servant to be sent into Hunsford Village to the constable's quarters with news of his arrival. He sought an immediate audience with the youth being held in custody who had tried to sell stolen goods. Then Darcy secreted himself in the library and awaited their arrival. He thought that room would provide a rest from his aunt's ceaseless prattle and afford him some relief, but no actual respite was found. True, the library was free of empty talk, but the memories of that room flooded his senses. He could see Elizabeth asleep on the sofa; he could feel her body in his arms as he lay her down; he remembered the scent of her skin and the pucker of her lips; he saw her standing by the bookshelves clad in her robe, her rich, dark hair streaming over her shoulders, and her eyes luminous in the candlelight. He now heard the rain hit the windowpanes just as it had the last night he sat close to her before the fire. How could this great room which belonged to his aunt and which he had visited since childhood now harbor such an essence - the very essence of Elizabeth?

Darcy was haunted - desirous of staying where he could feel her presence surrounding him and yet wanting to run from it. Relief arrived when a servant entered and announced that the constable awaited him in an adjoining room. He strode from the library and greeted the peace officer tersely. A coarse looking youngster cowered nearby, his hands tied behind him, while another man held onto his arm.

"Is this the youth?"

"Yes, Mr. Darcy," the constable answered, "he's the one who tried to pawn the necklace off on Henry Adams at the inn."

Darcy took the parcel handed to him and began to unwrap the scraps of paper that held the necklace within. There it was - Elizabeth's garnet cross - none the worse for wear except for the broken chain. He could see it encircling her neck, the dark red stone resting against her creamy skin. The thought of any man's rough hands touching her drove his senses wild and he put his hand to his mouth to keep from cursing.

"Is that the lady's jewelry?" the constable asked. When Darcy nodded, he went on, "And is this boy one of the gypsies you ran out of town, sir?"

Darcy raised his eyes to those of the boy, seeing the fear within. He said nothing but stared at the youth for some time, uncertain whether he had seen this boy traveling with the band of gypsies. At last, he spoke to him, "Where did you get this?"

When the boy said nothing and stared at the floor, the constable yanked his chin upward. "Answer the gentleman and mind your manners!"

"I already told them. I bought it off a man." The lad's speech was rough and his accent made it plain that he was not from around Kent.

"What man?" the constable pressed.

"I don't know his name."

"And how did the likes of you happen to meet this man?"

When further questioning led to nothing of significance, Darcy interrupted. "Did you steal the necklace from a young lady?"

The boy's eyes grew wide with fright once again. "No, sir, I never touched no lady! I never stole from any woman!"

"But you did steal it from this man you speak of, right?"

When the boy dropped his eyes to the floor, both Darcy and the constable could see the truth. "He's not one of the gypsies. I never saw him before," Darcy said.

"That's right," the youth cried, "I ain't no gypsy! But it was gypsies that I got the jewelry off."

"Where were they?" Darcy asked.

"Camped up north. More'n 20 miles from here."

"And what were you doing up there?"

The boy averted his eyes once again and said nothing. The constable twisted his arm and said harshly, "Answer the gentleman!"

"I . . . I met up with the gypsies after I left London."

Darcy looked him in the eye. "What are you running from? Are you wanted by the law?"

The boy shook his head, "No, sir. Just my stepfather. He's a drunk and powerful mean and after my mam died, I lit out. I didn't mean to do no wrong. I couldn't find no work and I was hungry. I thought I could sell the lady's necklace and get some food and enough money to make my way down to the coast. I was hoping to get work on a ship."

Darcy motioned to one of his servants. "Take him in the kitchen and feed him. Then take him down to the stables and let him sleep there."

The constable frowned, "But, sir, do you want the likes of him at Rosings Park?"

Darcy turned to the youth. "Are you bent on making a seaman or would you be satisfied watching my aunt's flock?"

The boy's eyes grew huge with wonder at this undeserved kindness. "No, sir, I mean . . . yes, sir. I . . . I'll do anything you say, sir. All I want is a job and a place to stay."

"You do honest work and I will guarantee you a permanent place, but if you lie and refuse to work or engage in any other dishonesty, my aunt will turn you over to the constable once again, and believe me, son, you do not want to incur the wrath of Lady Catherine. Do I make myself clear?"

"Yes, sir," the boy said quickly, nodding his head up and down, "thank you, sir." The servant took him to the kitchen and the constable soon left. Darcy wrapped the necklace up in the bits of paper it had come in, slipped it into his pocket and then rejoined Lady Catherine and her audience in the salon.

That night in his bedchamber, Darcy emptied his pockets and placed the packet containing the necklace on the desk. His valet brought him his robe, hung his clothes in the armoire, and after turning down the bed and stoking the fire, he was dismissed. Darcy poured himself a glass of brandy and opened the scraps of paper, once again holding Elizabeth's garnet cross in his hand. He examined where the chain was broken and could see it would take no great expertise to repair it. I should give it to Collins, he thought, and let him return it to Miss Bennet. The thought of giving up this last piece of her, however, saddened him anew as though she was being torn from his very arms.

He threw the necklace on the desk and strode to the window, staring out at the stormy clouds moving swiftly across the dark sky. Why does she prefer another man to me? Am I what she says . . . truly selfish? How did she put it? Full of conceit and prideful disdain for the feelings of others? Darcy stood there for no little time, examining his actions since he had first met Elizabeth Bennet. He relived every instance of their time together, starting with their meeting at an assembly in Meryton. He frowned when he thought of how often in the beginning of their acquaintance he had spoken disparagingly of her or members of her family. He grew embarrassed when he thought of how overconfident his proposal must have sounded in her ears, how pompous he had appeared as he listed the inferiority of her connections, and how totally without regard for her feelings he had declared his willingness to marry her in spite of all this.

I am a fool! I have done nothing to warrant her love or affection. In truth, I have done everything to destroy it!

He ran his fingers through his hair and twisted his signet ring around and around his finger. At length, Darcy returned to the desk and gazed at Elizabeth's necklace. He picked it up and straightened the chain where it had begun to twist when he had thrown it onto the desk. Elizabeth, if I could place this around your neck . . . he thought and then he laid it on the desk once again, realizing he would never have the right to do so.

The scraps of paper in which the necklace had been wrapped littered the desk and Darcy picked them up, intending to toss them in the fire, when the writing on one side caught his attention. . . . beth Bennet was all that he could make out. He turned it over and examined the other side. Only a portion of the writing was legible; he picked up a candle and held it close so that he could read: . . . must conclude, then, that Mr. Bingley does not care for me as I do for him. Do not concern yourself about me, dear Lizzy . . . The words, Bennet and Bingley jumped out at Darcy and he read and re-read both sides of the scrap.

He then quickly picked up the other bits of paper, trying to put them together to form an entire sentence. On one piece he could see some words that were readable . . . scent of your skin drives my passions to excess, and the memory of the taste of your lips . . . He turned it over and on that side it was torn in such a way that he could only make out the name Eliza at the jagged top and Longbou at the bottom. The remainder of the writing was blurred beyond recognition, an obvious consequence of the paper getting wet.

Darcy stumbled backward, sitting heavily on the great bed, completely unaware of his movements. The writings possessed him. He examined them over and over again. Two different hands had written the messages, of that he was certain. A decidedly feminine hand had written that referring to Bingley, a fact that was plain to see when he thought about the message. It must be Miss Bennet who had written it and these must be parts of the letters that Elizabeth had lost in the robbery. What had Jane Bennet written? Mr. Bingley does not care for me as I do for him. Darcy swallowed, wondering if he had been as wrong in his assessment of her feelings for his friend as he had been about Elizabeth's regard for him? If true, his actions were not those of a prudent and wiser friend as he had considered himself to be, but interference of the very worst kind.

He stood and then began to pace, re-examining the second piece of paper. From the name Eliza on one side along with Longbou, it must be a letter written to Elizabeth at Longbourn. For some unexplainable reason the handwriting appeared faintly familiar to him. How could that be? Darcy sickened as he read the passionate words on the opposite side once again. The man's expressions left no doubt that it was written by a lover. This man had held her close, so close he spoke of her scent . . . he had kissed her lips . . . he knew Elizabeth intimately.

Darcy crushed the scrap of paper in his fist and slammed it against the wall, crying out with a curse of anguish too mournful to describe.

~ * ~ Elizabeth stepped out of the apothecary's shop in Brighton, having purchased a headache powder for Charlotte, and was surprised to hear her name being called.

"Miss Bennet!"

She looked around and was delighted to see it was none other than Colonel Fitzwilliam! They greeted each other with great felicity and stood in the open sunshine renewing their acquaintance. The colonel explained that even though he was not in uniform this morning, he had traveled to Brighton on regimental business and would remain until next week. They spent some time reviewing the health and status of their mutual friends. The colonel was relieved to hear that Mrs. Collins seemed to be improving and that Elizabeth and the young Miss Lucas were greatly enjoying their stay at his aunt's residence. He, in turn, informed them that Lady Catherine had completely recovered from her spring illness, as well as his cousin, Anne.

"And Mr. Darcy?" Lizzy finally asked, since he had failed to make mention of him. "I trust he is well?"

"Yes, very well, although the last time I saw him he was quite put out," he laughed.

"Indeed? And did you find that unusual?"

Fitzwilliam laughed again. "I see you know my cousin better than I thought, Miss Bennet."

"One need not know Mr. Darcy well to know that ill humor often besets him," she smiled sweetly. "Was there some particular reason this time or did the sun fail to shine exactly as he preferred?"

"Actually, he was compelled by my aunt to return to Kent when he had planned to return to his home in Derbyshire."

"But your aunt, you said, is well?" "Oh, yes, Lady Catherine is fine. Darcy was called there to be a witness. The local constable arrested one of the gypsies who accosted you and my cousin was needed for his conviction, I believe."

"Oh," Lizzy said softly, the memory of the incident suddenly flooding her mind and her senses. Her face turned quite pink and she felt herself growing somewhat faint.

"Are you unwell, Miss Bennet?"

"A sudden headache. Perhaps I should return to Waverley."

"Then let me escort you," he said, offering her his arm. They walked across the street to where Lady Catherine's carriage awaited Lizzy. As the footman opened the door to the vehicle and the colonel assisted her on the first step, a voice called out to her and she turned to see Denny and Wickham riding by on their horses. It was Denny who had spoken and she smiled and waved to him. Wickham also nodded, but Lizzy dropped her hand when she saw him.

The colonel noted the exchange and after he had safely deposited her into the carriage, he asked, "May I ask, Miss Bennet, are you acquainted with both of those officers?"

"Yes, they were quartered at Meryton during the winter."

"I see," he said, frowning. He looked up to watch them ride on down the street and saw Wickham turned around in his saddle, his eyes regarding him with suspicion and a frown likewise knitting his brow.

"Do you know them, Colonel?"

"I know Mr. Wickham slightly and what I know of him does not bode well."

Lizzy looked closely at the colonel's expression. "May I ask if your impression of the man is influenced by Mr. Darcy's dislike of him, for I know he does not care for Mr. Wickham, or do you have personal knowledge of him?"

"Unfortunately, my dislike is due to the latter, Miss Bennet. I am not at liberty to discuss the situation, but I would caution you to have as little to do with him as possible. He tends to leave the taint of scandal in his wake."

With a promise to call at Waverley soon, Fitzwilliam bade Lizzy good-bye and they both went on their way. She wondered at the particulars of the colonel's warning but in her heart she was not surprised. The unfailing first impressions that Lizzy had always prided herself upon were beginning to fall like toy soldiers. Upon arriving in Hertfordshire, Wickham had appeared as all that was good and worthy and now she was quite convinced he must surely be the opposite. How could she have been so wrong about him?

Had her father not always praised her astute judgments of others? Yes, the memory flashed before her of his satisfied smile at a pertinent example of her sagacity compared to the blind optimism of Jane or the witless, hopeful acceptance by her younger sisters of any and every male caller who made their way to Longbourn. Perhaps Mr. Bennet's commendations had swelled her own head a little too much. If he could see her now . . . and the dreadful mistake in judgment she had committed, what would he think?

Lizzy leaned her head against the back of the carriage seat, willing the few remaining days to pass quickly until Colonel Forster's ball. In the most clear-cut manner possible, she would tell Wickham that her decision remained unchanged and then she would be free of him at last; thankfully, neither her family nor friends would ever know of her foolishness.

~ * ~

Outside Rosings Park, Lady Catherine's imperious voice faltered when for the umpteenth time she questioned Darcy as to why he must accompany Mr. Collins to Brighton and he gave her no further information than, "I have business there."

She was quite put out that he had cut short his visit to Kent, for she had entertained high hopes that with this visit he might possibly be nearing the time when he wished to make his formal proposal to Anne. After all, they had been thrown together far longer than usual during the spring tonic episode, and even though she had seen his eyes dwell on that uppity Miss Bennet more times than she liked, she knew for a fact that Darcy was too sensible to ever fall for any of her arts and allurements. Why, the girl had no family or connections to attract him! No, Lady Catherine had felt quite smug in her heart that he would not have hurried his return to Rosings were it not for the added attraction of being near Anne. Now here he was, having stayed only long enough to dismiss the charges against that vagabond youth, and today departing for Brighton with nary a "by your leave." She was quite vexed by it all.

Mr. Collins, on the other hand, was beside himself that Mr. Darcy had called on him personally only two days ago and asked him to share a carriage to the seashore. A quandary did present itself when his noble patroness had objected to his absenting his pulpit so soon after he had returned from depositing his wife and family at Brighton, but Mr. Darcy had prevailed, insisting that a man's first priority should be the health and well being of his wife. All in all, the parson was quite done in by so much attention from two such esteemed personages.

Darcy, himself, was in a foul mood. He was excessively tired of Lady Catherine's incessant whine and he dreaded with a passion the close company of Collins on the long ride to Brighton. He had insisted on the rector's making the trip, knowing he needed the man to be in residence at Waverley so that he might stay there also, but he did not relish the thought of spending several days in the boorish man's company. At least Mrs. Collins would be at the house, as well as Miss Lucas . . . and Elizabeth.

In truth, Darcy had been in the blackest of moods for two days since the very night he pieced together Elizabeth's bits of correspondence. Again and again he had tortured himself, racking his brain as to the identity of the man who had written the letter of passion and wondering why the handwriting appeared vaguely recognizable? Once more he went through the list of men he knew in Longbourn whom Elizabeth might possibly consider. The sole resident who fit the bill and whose script Darcy would know could only be Bingley. The very thought of his friend penning such a note to Elizabeth was ludicrous. In the first place, his affections lay with her sister, plus this hand hardly compared to Bingley's ink-blotted scrawl.

Eventually, Darcy's mental inventions even progressed so far as to suspect Fitzwilliam! Could the colonel have entered into such a base arrangement with Miss Bennet? Surely not! Still, he did admire her and he had made no attempt to hide his regard. Could Richard have asked her to keep quiet their attachment until he persuaded his parents to accept her? Darcy dismissed the idea, seeing that they had not even met until just before Easter. His cousin could not possibly have secured her affections so quickly . . . or could he? Darcy thought back to the night Elizabeth lay sleeping on the sofa in Rosings and Fitzwilliam's words, "I could put up with a lot to be married to such a woman."

From there Darcy's mind raced to his last visit with his cousin in London and his excuse for not making the trip to Kent - Fitzwilliam was required to travel to Brighton on military matters! "On military matters, my Aunt Fanny!" he shouted aloud in his chambers.

He then scoured his room, his books, his papers, anything that might contain a sample of the colonel's handwriting, but to no avail. If it had not been after midnight, he would have awakened Lady Catherine and asked to see correspondence she might have saved from her nephew, but thankfully, Darcy did look at the clock before engaging in such action and by morning his good sense had returned. He knew his cousin was far too reasonable a man to engage himself to Miss Bennet, a woman with no fortune or connections. Richard was a younger son and his future depended upon his marrying well. No, the passionate letters could not have been written by Fitzwilliam.

The realization that a man had such access to Elizabeth as had been suggested in her lover's letter still shocked and inflamed Darcy's senses. When at last he had ceased reading the inflammatory words over and over again and eventually calmed himself, he attempted to be rational - after all, she had admitted she was engaged to another. Did not such an attachment afford her intended such liberties? Indeed, if he were so fortunate as to be in that man's position, would he not take every opportunity to touch her cheek, her hand, her hair, to take her into his arms and satisfy his desire to kiss her until he could somehow slake this tormenting hunger? Yes, he had to admit that he wanted the right to do all that and more, but the very thought that another man had the privilege was driving him mad.

For this reason his first reaction had been a most urgent desire to drop off the necklace with Collins and make haste to Pemberley without the slightest backward glance, putting all of this far behind him. But then he thought of Jane Bennet's letter to her sister, how desolate her words had sounded, how Darcy could identify with her feelings of despair. The thought that he had contributed to the sorrow of such a kindred soul was what finally drove him to make this trip to Brighton. If he had been wrong about Miss Bennet's feelings for Bingley, if she truly did care for him, he must make it right. He must correct his part in the misdeed, but first, he must make sure that he had not misread the scraps of paper. He would have to see Elizabeth one last time and ascertain whether her sister truly did love Bingley.

Darcy told himself that was the sole reason for this trip, that it was for this noble cause that he would endure the torment of her presence one last time. He told himself that more than once . . . and as it gave him comfort, he desperately tried his very best to believe it.

And of course, a voice deep within added, it will do no harm to observe Fitzwilliam's behavior when he is in the company of Elizabeth.

chapter 12

Mr. Collins and Darcy arrived at Waverley Cottage without prior warning. There had been no time for a letter to reach Mrs. Collins before they departed Kent, and thus, none of the ladies in residence at Brighton were expecting them. They entered the house in late afternoon and received greetings only from the servants. The housekeeper informed Mr. Collins that his wife and sister-in-law were resting in their chambers. As for Miss Bennet, she had gone out some time ago and had not yet returned.

Much excitement ensued when Charlotte and Maria discovered their presence. They both descended the stairs and Mrs. Collins ordered tea served in the parlor. She was quite surprised by the visit from her husband, but even more so by Mr. Darcy, and could only speculate that it must be due to his continued interest in Elizabeth. She was at a loss to explain where her friend had gone, but supposed it to be for a long walk, as they all agreed that Miss Bennet was an excellent walker. After paying his respects to Mrs. Collins and assuring himself that her health appeared to be improving, Darcy excused himself with the proffered reason of allowing Mr. Collins time alone with his family. In truth, he sought the relief of time away from Mr. Collins.

He retired to his chambers for a short while, but the view from his window drew Darcy just as it had when he was a boy. He had always loved the sea and remembered with pleasure the seasonal occasions he had spent in this house with his parents before Georgiana was born. His mother also particularly cared for the ocean, and as Lady Catherine did not, it was the Darcys who frequented Waverley more than the de Bourghs, at least in the years prior to his mother's death. He tried to remember whether he and his father had ever brought Georgiana to Brighton, and could recall only one time when she was quite small. Memories at the place particularly stirred the older Mr. Darcy's grief and thus, they had never returned. For the first time Darcy had some inkling of the deprivation and pain his father must have experienced in the loss of his wife. Elizabeth still lived, but she was as good as dead in Darcy's life.

He felt himself growing morose and resolved to put away such thoughts. A walk on the beach was in order. It would surely lift his spirits as it exercised the constraint of travel from his limbs. He changed to more casual clothing and slipped out the back entrance, hoping to escape any notice of company and especially that of Mr. Collins. After descending the steps of the chalk cliff, he turned away from the more populated eastern beach and headed west. Once again, he rejoiced that his uncle had bought property on the outskirts of Brighton, affording a much more private shore. Darcy's favorite haunts were the rock cliffs straight ahead around the bend. There he could appreciate nature's majesty, watching the waves splash against the dark rocks, the edges spewing ripples of foam.

The sea was rough today, its roar deafening, but Darcy welcomed it, for it drowned out the voices in his head, the voices that repeated what a fool he had been for falling in love with a woman who did not want him and what a fool he continued to be for seeking her out once again. He resolved to use this walk to collect his thoughts, to prepare himself for her presence. He would refuse to allow his emotions to rule his actions. He would ask her of her sister's true feelings for Bingley and then he would know how to act. If he had wronged the couple, then he would make it right. Once that was done, he need have nothing more to do with the Bennet family. He need never see Elizabeth again. There, he had worked it out. It was a good plan, one that he would stick to, one that he would carry out with no diversion.

As Darcy congratulated himself on this sensible resolve, he leaned against the huge black cliff jutting out into the ocean. He remembered how, as a boy, he and Fitzwilliam had often climbed on it, what fun it had been. He even smiled in remembrance when . . . he looked up and to his utter amazement saw Elizabeth climbing down from that very rock!

"Mr. Darcy!" she cried when she saw him, her eyes wide with shock.

"Miss Bennet!" was all that he could say.

"I . . . that is . . . I thought you were in London, sir . . . I had no idea . . ."

"I . . . I just arrived an hour ago. You are . . . all wet."

Lizzy's eyes widened even more as she remembered that her damp clothing had precipitated her sudden descent from the cliff. A larger than usual wave had caught her unawares as she had perched on the rock and now her gown and hair were quite soaked. She had intended to run back to Waverley before anyone might discover her in such disarray.

"Yes . . ." she stammered, "an unexpected wave . . ."

Darcy's eyes took in how the damp gown clung to her body, outlining her curves, the pale peach color appearing almost the color of her skin when wet. When his eyes returned to her face he could see how embarrassed she was and he tried mightily to avert his gaze. He raised his hands to assist her, but just then Lizzy's foot slipped slightly on the wet rock and she started to fall. Instinctively, Darcy's hands encircled her waist and he caught her in his arms, her face next to his, her scent enveloping him and his senses on fire with her nearness. When her feet touched the sand, Darcy held onto her, his eyes upon hers, neither breaking the gaze. Then his eyes traveled to her lips and he was helpless to break his fascination. Slowly, so very, very slowly, he leaned down toward her mouth.

Elizabeth had caught her breath when first he touched her, but now necessity dictated that she breathe and her breathlessness came forth in a gasp, her bosom moving against his chest, her body trembling within his embrace, and . . . reality returned. Darcy met her eyes once more and then released her. "Here, take my jacket," he said quickly, shucking his coat and placing it around her shoulders.

"Thank you," she murmured, obviously flustered. "If you will give me a moment, sir, I must find my shoes."

Darcy smiled slightly. "So you have misplaced them once again?"

Lizzy turned away from him and closed her eyes, recalling the awkward moment at Rosings to which he referred. "I know where they are this time, as I put them safely inside this cleft at the base of the rock." She walked around the side of the cliff, but much to her dismay she discovered that the tide had washed in much farther than anticipated and now her slippers were somewhere at the bottom of the deep. Why must this man repeatedly come upon me in the most embarrassing of circumstances? she fumed.

When she returned to Darcy's side still barefoot and pursing her lips, he asked, "Is there some difficulty, Miss Bennet?"

"It seems that the sea has claimed my shoes. Excuse me." She bowed slightly and began walking rapidly toward Waverley.

Darcy could not refrain from smiling at this lovely girl's attempt at dignity in such a disconcerting position. She held her head up and gave every appearance that she was quite used to walking down the beach in a thoroughly wet gown, sans shoes, and clad in a gentleman's jacket far too large for her slender frame. He started to call to her, but decided to let her go. Perhaps she might even consider that as the gentleman-like thing to do. Only moments before he had come dangerously close to acting less than a gentleman. How could he have allowed himself to almost kiss her? She was engaged to another man. He had no right to her. Had he not determined less than an hour ago to banish all thoughts of her from his mind other than to question her about her sister and Bingley? Yet at first sight of her, the impulse to claim her lips with his had overwhelmed him, overpowering his reason as easily as the waves washed over the rocks on the sand. He had no more strength against his desire than a grain of sand could withstand such a deluge of water. Had Elizabeth realized what was about to happen? Was that the reason for her audible gasp? If so, her opinion of him had no doubt dropped even more. Darcy turned back to walk along the beach, his thoughts in tumult, and a smile no longer gracing his countenance.

~ * ~

That evening at dinner Elizabeth avoided looking directly at Darcy. She was busy enough ignoring knowing glances from Charlotte. From the beach Lizzy had slipped into her room with only the servants' knowledge of her appearance and she had sworn her maid to secrecy when she entrusted her with the return of Darcy's coat to his valet. She knew, of course, that the servants would talk among themselves, but as long as none of it drifted back to Charlotte or Maria or, even worse, Mr. Collins, Lizzy felt that her escapade on the beach would remain between Mr. Darcy and herself.

Mr. Collins had occupied most of his wife's time before dinner telling her of all that had occurred at Rosings Park since her absence, so that Charlotte had no time to discuss with Lizzy the possible reasons for Darcy's visit. Now, at the table, there was no mistaking her obvious matchmaking.

"Mr. Darcy," Charlotte said, "do you not find all of our complexions improved since we have the benefits of the sea air, and in particular, Miss Bennet's?"

Darcy looked at Lizzy and a faint smile could be seen playing around his eyes. "Most assuredly, Mrs. Collins. I would say the climate agrees with both you and Miss Lucas. As for Miss Bennet, I believe she and the ocean seem to possess a mutual attraction for each other, for I have never seen her look better."

Lizzy blushed under his perusal and determined to change the subject. "I recently met with an acquaintance of yours in Brighton, sir."

When he looked up from his drink, she went on, "Colonel Fitzwilliam. I assume that is the reason for your visit, that you have business with him?"

Darcy's eyes narrowed and he looked at her intently, searching for some preference on her part for his cousin. "Yes, Richard told me he was coming to Brighton and I do have plans to see him soon. Did you say he has called on you?"

"No, I met him by chance while on an errand, but he has promised to call and we look forward to it with pleasure."

Darcy measured her words carefully, searching for any clue that there might be some tie between the colonel and Elizabeth. Had her eyes sparkled a bit more when she spoke of him? Did she appear slightly more animated? He heard his name called then and struggled to focus his attention on Maria Lucas.

"Mr. Darcy, will you and the colonel not attend Colonel Forster's ball on Saturday?"

"The colonel is hosting a ball?" Mr. Collins interjected. "How splendid! I do love a ball!"

Lizzy rolled her eyes at the thought of having to endure another dance with her bumbling cousin. "Surely, sir, you will not leave Mrs. Collins here alone."

At this point Charlotte quite shocked her friend. "Actually, Elizabeth, I am quite looking forward to attending the dance."

"Charlotte!" Maria cried. "Will you go?"

"Do you think that is wise?" Lizzy asked.

Charlotte smiled, "I think it is if I go as an observer. Mrs. Forster has assured me there will be an abundance of comfortable seating and my physician has given his approval. He believes getting out in society will do me good."

"That is wonderful, Charlotte!" Lizzy said.

"Indeed," Darcy echoed. "And, Miss Lucas, to answer your question, if Fitzwilliam and I are invited to the ball, we shall attend I am sure. Did I understand you correctly, though? Did you say Colonel Forster? Could this be the same Colonel Forster who was with the militia in Meryton?"

"Oh, yes," Maria answered, blushing at the man's attention, for she was still quite in awe of him. "It is the very same. He and his soldiers have been here in Brighton as long as we have, is that not correct, Lizzy?"

Lizzy nodded and watched Darcy's expression grow dark. He realizes Wickham is here, she thought. Perhaps he will not attend the ball after all.

~ * ~

Darcy was gone for much of the next day. He returned to Waverley late in the afternoon and brought Colonel Fitzwilliam with him. Their timing was most unfortunate, as it coincided with the conclusion of a visit to Mrs. Collins by some of the younger officers. Denny, Captain Carter, and Wickham had just risen and were making their farewells when Darcy and Fitzwilliam entered the house. Being in uniform, the officers, of course, greeted the colonel with great respect and then spoke to Darcy. He, in turn, greeted each of them until he came to Wickham. With an abrupt turn and less than a curt nod, he stalked to the opposite end of the room and stood gazing out the window. Upon first seeing Darcy, Wickham had appeared quite startled and then with the realization that he was obviously in residence at Waverley, Wickham had looked from Elizabeth to Darcy and back again quite pointedly. Colonel Fitzwilliam, as well, had very little to say to Wickham. It was a visibly awkward moment and the three young men soon left, assuring all that they would see them at Colonel Forster's ball.

Mr. Collins immediately applied to the colonel as to his health and well being and positioned himself in a chair nearest the gentleman so that he could enlighten him on the status of his aunt when last he had seen her at Rosings Park. Elizabeth could not keep from watching Darcy even though she attempted to listen attentively to the conversation about her. Why could Darcy not even be civil to Wickham? Was it guilt that caused such discomfort in his presence? Lizzy acknowledged that Wickham was far less of a gentleman than she had originally thought, but why did Darcy positively detest him? Surely his faithlessness with women could have no bearing on Darcy's opinion of him. Why would that cause him to withhold the living his father had promised to Wickham in his will? It was all such a puzzle.

Darcy, on the other hand, struggled exceedingly to gain control of his temper. The thought of Wickham setting foot in his aunt's house grated on him exceedingly, not to mention the idea of his calling on Elizabeth. Oh, he knew according to society, the officers were calling on Mrs. Collins, but it was plain to see that the appeal drawing them to Waverley had to be the unmarried ladies, the most attractive of which could only be Elizabeth. It angered him anew each time he thought of the untruths about him that Wickham had obviously fed her. If only she had read his letter at Rosings, she would know the truth. Did it matter what she thought of him? After all, she would never be his, and yet, Darcy could not rest thinking Elizabeth believed he was capable of the malicious deeds of which Wickham had accused him. I must find a way to tell her, he thought.

Eventually, Mrs. Collins invited Colonel Fitzwilliam to stay for supper. They spent much time visiting and after dining, Elizabeth was prevailed upon to play and sing for them. The colonel sat beside her and dutifully watched the music in time to turn the pages, but it was Darcy who watched Elizabeth.

Sometime earlier he had satisfied himself that his suspicions about his cousin and Elizabeth were false, mere delusions brought on by his frantic jealousy. Upon Darcy's introduction of her name several times during the course of their day spent together, Fitzwilliam had shown no undue or excessive interest. The colonel, in turn, had spoken long and passionately about a certain Miss Bradshaw whom he had met at a soiree in London shortly before leaving for Brighton. Darcy considered that such talk might be nothing more than a ruse to hide the truth, but Fitzwilliam did appear quite smitten with said lady. The final confirmation that his fears were in error occurred when he observed the colonel sign a voucher for a lace handkerchief purchased for his mother's upcoming birthday. In no way did his handwriting compare to that of the author of the love letter to Elizabeth. Relief had washed over him at the thought that his cousin was not the guilty party, for by now Darcy was convinced that any man who thought so lightly of Elizabeth as to engage her in a secret manner and yet avail himself of her charms as this man so obviously had done, could be nothing but a rogue.

Now that Lizzy had finished, Maria took her place at the pianoforte and Fitzwilliam told the company that he and Darcy had eaten luncheon with the Forsters that same day and they had issued an invitation for them to attend the ball on Saturday.

"And did you meet my sister, Colonel Fitzwilliam?" Lizzy asked.

"Ah, yes, the fair Miss Lydia. I did, indeed."

Lizzy noted the frown crossing Darcy's brow. "I do hope she behaved herself, for she is at that most trying of ages."

"Most ebullient, but quite charming in her own way," he answered graciously. "She was quite excited over a recent game encountered at Sir Andrew Mayhew's house the other evening. What was it named, Darcy?"

"I do not recall," he replied, obviously uninterested.

"It is where one person acts out a title to a novel or a play or perhaps a line from a poem and the others must guess what it is. The actor is bound to say nothing, as though he were a mime. Let me see, why can I not remember it?" He then snapped his fingers, "Oh yes, of course, that's it - Charades! Have you ever played it?"

When all assembled answered in the negative, Fitzwilliam went on to repeat some examples Lydia had related. "Your sister said that names of songs were quite easy to guess and, of course, titles from Mr. Shakespeare's plays."

"It sounds quite challenging to me," Charlotte remarked. "I doubt that I could think of any way in which to portray something without speaking."

"I think it would be great fun," Lizzy said, "although I do believe the most difficult to interpret would be lines of verse, simply because there are so many."

Darcy stood up then and poured himself another glass of brandy. "That would be the advantage, then, would it not?"

"What do you mean, Darcy?" asked Fitzwilliam.

"Those like Miss Bennet, who are great lovers of poetry, would be certain to win." He turned to Elizabeth and said, "Surely you could guess lines acted from William Wordsworth's collection, could you not? Is he not a great favorite of yours?"

"I suppose it would depend upon the skill of the actor."

"Well, say I did a line from It is a Beauteous Evening, Calm and Free such as, 'The greatness of heaven broods o'er the sea.' Would that not be fairly simple to portray?"

"Certainly not for me, Darcy," the colonel replied.

"Nor I," Charlotte added.

"The greatness of heaven . . . hmm, surely I could act that out," Mr. Collins intoned, standing and beginning to flap his arms around.

"Well, if you did, you would be in error, sir," Lizzy said with an arch look, "for Mr. Darcy has misquoted Mr. Wordsworth."

"Have I now? I think not." Darcy said, staring at her over his glass.

Colonel Fitzwilliam laughed, "Enlighten us, Miss Bennet, please. It will give me great pleasure to see you correct my cousin."

"The line is, 'The gentleness of heaven broods o'er the sea.'"

Darcy shook his head. "No, I take exception, Miss Bennet. I am sure the word is greatness, for why should the poet speak of the sea as gentle or heaven for that matter? Are not both of them more aptly described as great? No, I am sure you are wrong."

"I am not wrong, sir. I know the poem well."

"I beg to differ, Madam. You are mistaken."

"I am not."

"Does it really matter?" Charlotte interrupted, unhappy to see discord arising between the couple.

"I believe it does matter, Mrs. Collins," Darcy replied. "Tell me, is there a copy of Wordsworth in the house? I know that my aunt has no ear for poetry and keeps no editions in Waverley's library, but perhaps one of you might have a collection?"

Lizzy looked at Darcy intently, suddenly knowing full well that he had misquoted the poem on purpose. He was telling her to read Wordsworth. Once again he was directing her to the poet. What was he trying to say? She stood up and placed her glass on the table beside her. "I have a copy among my things. Shall I retrieve it for you, Mr. Darcy?"

"There's no need for me to see it, for I am quite certain of what is contained therein. But do take the time to look it up and report back to us, for I am most interested in your discovery."

His words said one thing but Lizzy had the strangest feeling that his eyes were sending her a completely different message. All three gentlemen stood as she left the room, but Darcy's eyes were those that followed her.

When Lizzy had not returned over an hour later, Charlotte sent Maria to check on her. The young girl tapped lightly on the door and upon entering, was quite surprised to find Lizzy sitting in the middle of her bed surrounded by pages of correspondence.

"Lizzy, are you not returning? Colonel Fitzwilliam is about to leave."

Elizabeth looked up, her eyes clouded as though she did not comprehend Maria's message, as though she were somewhere far away. "What? Oh! Please make my excuses, Maria. Bid the colonel good-evening for me and tell him I hope to see him again very soon."

"Then you are not coming downstairs?"

"What? No, no, I . . . I cannot. Not tonight."

"Lizzy, are you unwell?"

"I have a slight headache, but please, do not concern yourself, Maria. Go now and do as I ask."

She turned toward the door, but then stopped again. "Lizzy, what about the poem?"

"The what?"

"The poem - the lines in the verse. Did Mr. Darcy quote it correctly or did you?"

"Oh, yes, the verse." Lizzy picked up the book of Wordsworth poems and handed it to Maria. "Here, take the book to Mr. Darcy. He can see for himself what it contains and . . . what it no longer contains."

With a confused expression on her face, Maria took the collection and left the room. Soon thereafter, Colonel Fitzwilliam made his farewells for the night and all except Darcy soon made their way above stairs to retire. Charlotte looked in on her friend briefly and found her in the same position that Maria had seen, surrounded by what appeared to be pages from a letter.

"Is everything all right, Elizabeth? Maria said you have a headache. You have not received an alarming post this late in the evening, have you?"

Lizzy quickly gathered the pages together and attempted to fold them. "No, Charlotte. This is not a recent letter. It was written some time ago."

"And yet it has disturbed you, has it not? Yes, I can see from your countenance that you are upset. Why must you read it again?"

Lizzy turned her face from that of her friend. "At times it is essential to face the truth, is it not?"

"What truth, Elizabeth and why tonight? What was it that happened between you and Mr. Darcy? I had the strangest feeling you were not arguing about lines in a verse. Can you not tell me about it?"

"I wish that I could, Charlotte, but it involves others and I am not free to do so."

"You do know that I love you as a sister, Lizzy. I will do anything that I can to help you."

"Aye," she said, putting her arms around her friend and kissing her lightly on the forehead, "and I feel the same toward you. Now, please, go to bed and do not worry about me."

After Charlotte left, Elizabeth walked to the window seat and pushed open the panes, gulping in the salt air, hoping it would lessen the constriction she had felt in her chest since opening the book of Wordsworth. True enough, as she had suspected, contained therein she had found much more than poetry. The letter Darcy had tried to give her in Rosings Park the morning after his proposal tumbled to the floor when she opened the book. This time she no longer refused to read it and its contents were all that she feared and much, much more.

Lizzy had stormed all over the bedchamber upon reading the first portion of the letter. Darcy believed that Jane Bennet had no strong feelings for Bingley and he, along with Bingley's sisters, had concealed knowledge of her presence in London from his friend. He had done all that he could to dissuade his friend from pursuing her because of her lack of fortune, her connections, and the want of propriety betrayed by her family, but most of all because he did not believe Jane showed any peculiar regard for Bingley. Insufferable presumption!

The second part, however, had caused Lizzy to sit down. Darcy gave a detailed account of his dealings with Wickham, how they had grown up together and how his father had cared for him and supported him at school and at Cambridge after Wickham had lost his own parents. Mr. Darcy, Sr., had died some five years previous and in his will left a valuable living to Mr. Wickham hoping he would make the church his profession, but by that time George Wickham's behaviour had grown quite dissolute. He refused the living and was granted the sum of 3,000 pounds in its place. Darcy had lost all connection with him until last summer when he discovered Wickham attempting an elopement with his sister, Georgiana, who was but 15 years old! Darcy had arrived just in time to foil the scheme. He then had referred Elizabeth to Colonel Fitzwilliam for the veracity of his statements, saying he was well acquainted with all of the particulars.

She was stunned. Astonishment, apprehension, and even horror oppressed her. She had come to suspect on her own that Wickham was a ladies' man, but to be a trifler of young girls. How could this be? How could he have deceived her so? How could she have allowed herself to be so taken in? She felt like such a fool. Over and over again she returned to the letter, refusing to believe it and then seeing the truths contained therein.

Elizabeth grew absolutely ashamed of herself. Of neither Darcy nor Wickham could she think without feeling that she had been blind, partial, prejudiced, absurd. "How despicably have I acted!" she cried, "I who have prided myself on my discernment! I who have valued myself on my abilities! How humiliating is this discovery! Pleased with the preference of one and offended by the neglect of the other at the very beginning of our acquaintance, I have courted prepossession and ignorance and driven reason away where either were concerned. Till this moment I never knew myself."

The clock struck midnight when Darcy took his glass and walked out on the terrace. The moon was almost full and cast a shimmering path over the whitecaps from the shoreline to the dark horizon in the distance. A light breeze ruffled his hair, but it was warm and pleasant. He sipped his drink and listened to the call of the ocean for some time. At length he left the terrace and walked down to the rock wall. There he leaned against it and let his thoughts wander. What had been Elizabeth's reaction to his letter? She evidently had an aversion to even being in his presence or she would have rejoined the party tonight. Perhaps she would never want to see him again. He thought with regret of the harsh things he had written about her family. If possible, he would have erased that part of the letter, for he had no desire that she read his angry outburst in that regard; but he did want to defend himself against her accusations of his mistreatment of Wickham. He would not be held liable in her eyes for that scoundrel's losses.

What did her opinion of him matter, anyway? She belonged to another and once he corrected his part in the situation between her sister and Bingley, he would leave and never see her again. The very thought made his heart ache and he turned to look up at her window, searching to see if a candle still burned therein. Instead, Darcy saw the door to the terrace open and Elizabeth standing there, her figure illuminated by the light inside. He held his breath, silently willing her to walk out, and when she did, his relief was palpable. He stood perfectly still, waiting to see if she would remain on the terrace, but she continued walking straight toward him. When she reached his side, they both turned and leaned against the wall, staring out at the moon and the water, looking at everything and anything but each other. For some time, the only sounds heard were those of nature.

At last Elizabeth said, "You were wrong about the poem."

"Yes."

"I was wrong about more serious things."

"Miss Bennet, I know you could not accept the letter from me because of your . . . attachment, but I felt it was imperative that you know certain facts. I could not rest without defending myself against Mr. Wickham's false accusations. As you have obviously guessed by now, I placed the letter in your book when I went to Hunsford Cottage to see about Mr. Collins the night everyone was so ill."

"Very clever. I marvel that I have never discovered it since that time, but then my mood has not turned toward poetry as of late." She began to walk back and forth along the rock wall, turning her face from his. "Mr. Darcy, prior to tonight I had discovered that Mr. Wickham is not a man to be trusted, but your revelations are shocking. I believe I owe you an apology. I should not have believed his lies about you."

"Mr. Wickham has the happy manners that enable him to make friends easily and they likewise make him appear very believable as well. You were no more taken in by him than any other."

"Well, perhaps a little more," Lizzy sighed, "but I now know what kind of man he is and have only to regret any association we ever had."

Nothing more was said for a few moments and then Lizzy spoke anew, "What I cannot forgive, Mr. Darcy, are your accusations about my sister's lack of feelings for Mr. Bingley. The charges against the rest of my family may be just, although I have no appreciation for your unkind detailing of them, but you are quite mistaken about Jane!"

"I am very glad to hear that."

"And if you think I will stand here and permit . . ." Lizzy stopped and turned to face him. "I beg your pardon? What did you just say?"

"I said I am very glad to hear that I am mistaken about Miss Bennet. I had reason to suspect that I was in error on that point and that is actually the reason I made this trip to Brighton - to talk to you and learn the truth on that point. If your sister truly does have a strong regard for Bingley, then I shall write to him first thing tomorrow and correct my part in discouraging him from his pursuit."

"She does! Truly she does care for Mr. Bingley!"

Darcy smiled. "I rejoice to hear it for both their sakes and I apologize for my interference. I also hope you will forgive me for my rudeness concerning your family. I confess I wrote in anger that night and I should not have said what I did."

Lizzy smiled slightly and cocked her head to one side. "True. You should not have, but I will forgive you, for as I recall, I said some terrible things to you as well."

"Nothing that I did not deserve. The recollection of my conduct, my manners, and my expressions that day are inexpressibly painful to me. I shall never forget your reproof - 'Had you behaved in a more gentlemanlike manner.' You know not how those words have tortured me."

"I had not the smallest idea of their ever being felt in such a way."

"I can easily believe it. You thought me then devoid of every proper feeling. And now I must ask your forgiveness one last time for contriving this way for you to read the letter when your conscience so clearly forbade it because of your . . . engagement." He looked away then, unable to hide the sorrow in his voice.

"There is no need, sir," Elizabeth said softly, "for I did not violate my conscience. I am no longer going to marry."

A lump then appeared in Darcy's throat so large that he could not speak. He turned to look upon her beautiful face, the moonlight reflecting in her eyes, and the softness of her cheek illuminating the shadows, but it was all so unclear, as though he were in a dream. Elizabeth said no more, but with a long look into his eyes, she left him and walked into the house. It was then that Darcy realized he watched her go through an unexpected mist of tears.

chapter 13

The next evening much bustle and excitement ensued above stairs at Waverley as everyone dressed for Colonel Forster's ball. Maria ran back and forth between her chamber and those of her sister and Lizzy, asking first one thing and then another. Should she wear her pearl necklace or her gold locket? Could she borrow Charlotte's amber bracelet? What about her hair? Had the maid styled it in a pleasing array or should she make her begin all over?

"Maria, please," Lizzy laughed. "You must calm down or you will have no energy left for dancing."

"Oh, Lizzy, do you think any of the officers will ask me to dance?"

"Of course they will."

"Truly? You believe they truly will?"

"I do. Now, go and see if you can help Charlotte and don't pester her with any more questions. She has coughed very little today and I do not want to hear her commence."

The young girl ran down the hall and Lizzy stepped into her gown while her maid fastened the back. She had just turned around to face the mirror when Maria returned once more.

"Oh, Lizzy, that colour is lovely on you."

"Thank you, Maria," Lizzy smiled, inspecting the skirt of the light rose gown. She sat before the mirror so that the maid could finish her coiffure. "I thought you were going to help Charlotte."

"I am, but I saw Mr. Darcy in the hall. He bid me bring you this message. He asks that you meet with him downstairs on the terrace before we leave for the ball. Oh, Lizzy, he looks so handsome tonight. Upon my honour, if he were not so fierce, I would deem him quite the catch for you!"

Lizzy rolled her eyes and dismissed the young girl, reminding her not to upset her sister. She wondered what Darcy wished to see her about and hoped there was nothing wrong. This ball held enough trepidation for Lizzy - what with it being Charlotte's first outing at night since being so very ill, Mr. Collins being in attendance, Darcy and Wickham attending the same function, and most of all, the evening when she would obtain the final release from her attachment to Wickham. If she had felt any concern for his feelings before, since reading Darcy's letter, those misgivings had long vanished. Now, she had only to be ashamed of any connection with him and could not wait until it was all put far behind her.

She had not seen Darcy all day, for he had arisen early and left Waverley before Lizzy had breakfasted. Mr. Collins informed the morning table that Mr. Darcy had an urgent letter to post - the thought of it being the one to Bingley that would correct things with Jane giving Elizabeth much hope - and another errand, as well as plans to meet with Colonel Fitzwilliam that afternoon. Mr. Collins was quite pleased that he should announce Mr. Darcy's schedule for the day, as though he had become the gentleman's confidante, privy to all his plans. He simpered and preened as he drank his morning coffee and reminded Elizabeth of how far his high connections would eventually carry him. She said nothing, but just allowed him to talk unimpeded. It was all so much simpler that way.

Lizzy was somewhat relieved at Darcy's absence, as she now felt a bit shy at the thought of seeing him again. I have never been shy in my life, she thought, why now? At the recollection of all that had passed between them the night before, she wondered how he truly felt about her now. He could only have been shocked when she told him she was no longer engaged to be married. Could that be why he had made no response? Did he now think of her as a fallen woman just as Wickham had warned? Was she to be marked by scandal even though the attachment was unknown by others? Why did she care so much what Darcy thought of her? To think a gentleman would renew his offer after being refused in such a way as she had rebuffed Mr. Darcy was impossible. He could have any woman he chose; she entertained no serious hope that he would ever come begging for her hand a second time. Lizzy decided to put all thoughts of Darcy aside and concentrate on the evening. She would see Wickham alone as quickly as possible and secure her release and then she would spend the evening dancing. She had made a huge mistake, but dwelling on it would do no good. This was an evening for enjoyment.

Now with a final pat at her curls, she left her chamber and after making sure that Charlotte was progressing in her toilette, she descended the stairs. Unseen by her, Darcy stood in the doorway of the library and watched her come down. She was even lovelier than she had appeared last night in the moonlight. Her throat and shoulders appeared almost luminous contrasted against the lush rose color of her gown. He felt his heart beat faster just to look at her.

When she reached the final steps, Darcy stepped forward and offered his hand. "Miss Bennet," he said, with a bow.

She responded in kind and allowed him to lead her across the great hall and out onto the terrace.

"You look especially well tonight."

She murmured her thanks and then said, "I was told you wished to see me."

"Yes, I have something for you." He reached in his pocket and held out a small box. Lizzy took it, looking at him with wonder in her eyes.

She could not help but gasp when she opened it, for inside lay her garnet cross. "My necklace! Mr. Darcy, how did you find this?"

"I cannot take the credit. It was stolen from one of the gypsies and then, as luck would have it, the youth tried to pawn it off the innkeeper in Hunsford Village. The constable contacted Lady Catherine, who wrote to me. Here, let me fasten it for you." He took the delicate chain from her and placed it around her neck.

"I assume you are responsible for its repair, sir?"

"Tis the least I could do." His fingers lingered against the back of her neck as he worked the clasp. Her skin was so very soft and a dark curl hung enticingly near. A light breeze blew through it, causing it to sway and her scent to wash over him. How he would have loved to have run his fingers through her hair, to have undone her curls and seen them fall in all their glory.

"I thank you, sir, very much," she said then, bringing Darcy back from his reverie. "I confess I feared that I would never see this necklace again and it does have great significance for me."

"Your father gave it to you, I believe."

"Yes. I wish I had some way to repay you for your kindness."

"Then do me the honour of dancing the first with me."

Lizzy's eyes sparkled and she smiled, "I thank you, sir, I shall." Without thinking, she reached up and smoothed an unruly curl blown across his forehead by the breeze. Why she did so, Elizabeth did not know; it was an action as natural as breathing. He, in turn, responded without forethought; catching her hand, he placed his lips against the inside of her wrist.

"Elizabeth," he breathed, his voice low and deep.

"Mr. Darcy! The carriage awaits us!" Mr. Collins' dreaded voice bellowed from just inside the doorway. "Have you seen my cousin, sir?"

Fortunately, Darcy stood with his back to the house and with Lizzy directly in front of him, Mr. Collins had not been privy to their encounter. Now, they both turned and walked toward him, appearing to the parson much as they always did. Little could he know that the very air between them crackled with exhilaration. Lizzy's wrist retained the warmth of Darcy's kiss and she was grateful when the breeze fanned the blush from her cheeks. He acknowledged the tumult of her presence by an even deeper repression of his emotions. Thus, Darcy appeared quite stern as he informed Mr. Collins that he had ordered his carriage for the evening in addition to Lady Catherine's. He strongly suggested that Miss Lucas and Miss Bennet accompany him so that Mrs. Collins would not feel crowded on the drive.

"A very sensible and generous offer, Mr. Darcy," Mr. Collins fawned, congratulating himself that Brighton society could not help but note the arrival of two grand carriages from Waverley. "Your great condescension and liberality can only be compared to that of your esteemed aunt, Lady Catherine de Bourgh."

"It is kind of you, Mr. Darcy," Elizabeth added. "And cousin, with two carriages, you may take Charlotte home early if she begins to tire."

It was apparent that this idea did not set well with the vicar, but he could hardly refute it. He assisted his wife into the closed carriage and they set out for the ball. Elizabeth was pleased to see that Mr. Darcy's landau had the hood down and she and Maria sat beside the other, while Darcy occupied the seat across from them directly behind the driver. Nervousness caused the younger girl to chatter more than usual, but it solved the dilemma of conversation between the other two. Lizzy need only answer in monosyllables while Darcy was free to maintain his silent stare.

The ball was held at a local assembly hall, as Colonel Forster's residence was not adequate to house this large a congregation. The assembly hall in Brighton, however, was far greater than that of Meryton, much larger and more ornate. Floor to ceiling windows surrounded the great round saloon and tonight they were all open to admit the warm evening breeze blowing in off the sea. Outside the hall was covered with a semi-circular porch supported by huge white columns. The great round dome beckoned from afar with its dancing, sparkling lights.

Mrs. Forster had ordered the tables adorned with local blossoms artfully arranged amid sea grasses and the china and crystal settings twinkled and glistened in the glow of the candlelight. Although it was not as grand as the Netherfield Ball, the surroundings promised to provide a more exotic setting for the community of finely dressed ladies and gentlemen, a great host of the latter who were garbed in their regimental dress uniforms. The musicians sat on a somewhat raised dais and when the party from Waverley arrived, the violinists were already tuning their strings. After greeting Colonel and Mrs. Forster, Darcy escorted both Elizabeth and Maria into the ballroom and were soon spotted by Colonel Fitzwilliam.

"Miss Bennet and Miss Lucas! How delightful you both appear! I hope you have both come eager to dance and that I may claim your hand for the first, Miss Bennet?" the colonel said.

"She has promised the first to me," Darcy answered for her, standing close beside her as though he personally would repel all who sought her hand.

The colonel smiled and turned to Maria, "And are you likewise engaged, Miss Lucas?"

The young girl turned three shades of pink and cast her eyes to the floor before shaking her head and murmuring, "No, sir, I am not engaged."

Lizzy beamed in approval as the colonel escorted Maria to the floor, grateful for his attentions to her timid little friend. Darcy took her hand and led her to the place beside them; as the music began, Lizzy felt younger and more light-hearted than she had in months. During this dance Darcy rarely spoke, much as he had done when they had danced together at Netherfield, but it did not bother Lizzy tonight, for he smiled often and there existed between them a natural grace and communication that seemed to have no need for words. The beginning reel lasted nigh onto half an hour, but when it ended Lizzy felt no need to rest. She could have persisted in such communion with him for the remainder of the evening.

While refreshing themselves at the punch bowl, Lizzy and Maria were surprised when approached by old friends from Meryton, Mrs. Goulding and Mrs. Long. They had been much in conversation with Charlotte while the girls were dancing and explained that they were come to Brighton to partake of Mr. Russell's famous sea potions, as Mrs. Goulding was suffering from rheumatism and Mr. Long's gout was acting up. In fact, the latter sat against the wall on a chair with his affected foot propped upon a stool. Lizzy noted that Charlotte was imprisoned beside him and suffering through one of his long-winded monologues in between puffing on his ever present cigar, a definite social faux pas. She excused herself from the ladies and made her way to the side of Mr. Collins, who was waxing eloquent to Colonel Forster on his favourite subject, the chimneys at Rosings Park.

"Mr. Collins, may I speak with you?" she interjected at the first moment he paused to take a breath. When he gave her his attention, she alerted him to his wife's unhealthy position and urged him to rescue her. "I cannot believe Mr. Long is smoking in the presence of a lady. It will not be long before Charlotte is consumed with coughing if you do not remove her from upwind of Mr. Long's cigar."

Although he complained at having to cut short his entertainment of Colonel Forster, the vicar did accompany Lizzy to his wife's side wherein he occupied the gentleman's attention while Lizzy escorted her to the opposite side of the room. She had already begun to cough slightly.

"Charlotte, why did you not excuse yourself from Mr. Long's presence?"

"That was my desire, Elizabeth, but he was quite persistent in detailing his own health complaints to me."

"You are far too polite. You should have departed when he first sat down. Here, this looks like a comfortable spot away from the draughts. I shall fetch you another cup of punch and soon return."

"I need no more to drink, Lizzy, please. Do not fuss over me. Enjoy yourself as you were doing. I could not help but notice how well you and Mr. Darcy danced together. Were my eyes deceiving me or did he actually smile at you several times?"

Lizzy smiled and shrugged, but made no answer. Just then she heard her name called and turned to see Lydia striding across the room. "Lizzy! Charlotte! Is not this great fun? I have lost count of how many officers I have promised to dance with! How do you like my gown? Does not this green color set off my eyes? You look very nice, tonight, Lizzy. Is that a new gown? You must promise me that you will not monopolize Wickham, for I wish to dance with him, too, especially when they play the waltz!" The girl went on and on, not pausing for even a breath until the first notes of the next number began and Denny appeared to claim her as his partner. Lizzy and Charlotte simply laughed, for there was little else that they could do where Lydia was concerned.

"I do hope my sister dances on the opposite side of the room from Mr. Darcy," Lizzy said, "for I fear she has not yet learned to tame her exuberance any more so than she exhibited at Mr. Bingley's ball."

"And Mr. Darcy disapproves of youthful exuberance?" Charlotte asked.

"Charlotte, I disapprove of Lydia when she carries it to such excess, and yes, she does fail to meet with Mr. Darcy's approval. I do not blame him. Such censure is correct, even to be sought, only I wish it were not my sister's behaviour that merits it, for she brings disgrace upon my entire family as well. If only my parents had taken a firmer hand with her."

"Do not worry yourself, Elizabeth. Lydia seems quite popular here and if I am not mistaken, Mr. Darcy's attention appears to be concentrated squarely upon another person tonight. I doubt that he is even aware that your sister is in attendance." With a slight nod of her head Charlotte indicated that her friend look in a certain direction, and when she did, there was Darcy standing against the wall, steadfastly gazing upon her. She could feel the intensity of his stare across the entire room, willing her to come to him.

"Excuse me, Charlotte," she murmured and left her friend behind, walking straight toward Darcy. She was almost there when a man in uniform stepped in front of her and bowed.

"Miss Bennet," Wickham said. "How lovely to see you." He took her hand and kissed it before she realized what he was doing.

"Mr. Wickham," she responded, withdrawing her hand in obvious distaste, and then in almost a whisper, she added, "Where and when may I speak to you privately?"

"I do apologize, but I have no time for conversation at the moment. Mrs. Forster commands my presence."

"But . . ." Lizzy was left in mid-sentence and mid-floor as she watched him quickly retreat to the side of their hostess. When she turned back to Darcy, he met her look with his angry dark countenance of old. There was no mistaking that he had seen Wickham's greeting. Just as Lizzy began to walk toward him, she was once again stopped, this time by Mrs. Goulding, who insisted on wondering aloud about the remote possibility of Jane's securing Mr. Bingley. As Lizzy dreaded for Darcy to hear such public gossip, she steered the older lady toward the opposite side of the room, finally depositing her at Charlotte's side.

Colonel Fitzwilliam then asked Lizzy to dance, as did Denny and Lt. Sanderson. It was quite some time before she even had time to look for Darcy. Between dances she did attempt to speak to Wickham again, but each time he managed to elude her presence, dancing often with Mrs. Forster or with Lydia. Was he trying to avoid her in particular, she wondered.

It was not long after this that the musicians began the infamous first waltz. A buzz of excitement swept over the crowd and there was much talking behind fans and raising of eyebrows, wondering who would be the first couple to exhibit themselves in such a familiar embrace called for by the waltz. About seven bars into the song, Wickham led Mrs. Forster to the floor, took her into his arms and began moving to the music. A great swell of oohs and aahs accompanied them and then gradually other couples bravely joined in. Soon a great amount of dancers filled the floor, swaying to the lilting beat of three-quarter time.

"Well, Miss Bennet," Darcy said, "will you entrust me with the honour of this dance?"

Unaware that he was even nearby, Lizzy was quite surprised not only to discover him standing directly behind her, but at his request. "Are you much acquainted with the waltz, sir?"

"A little," he replied, escorting her to the floor. He gathered her into his arms then and began leading her around the floor in perfect step. Lizzy had no difficulty in following him, although she was somewhat flustered when she first felt his warm hand encircling her waist and drawing her close. The strength of his presence and the command with which he held her allowed him to guide her where he would. The music and whirl of candlelight as he turned her round and round, along with the almost perfect way their bodies moved together proved quite intoxicating. Lizzy thought she had never experienced anything more exciting than waltzing with Darcy. She silently blessed the person who had invented such a means by which two people could hold each other in such an intimate manner in public and to the accompaniment of such beautiful music. How she wished this dance would never end!

But end it did and in the most unfortunate of circumstances, for when the last note sounded, Darcy and Elizabeth found themselves bowing to each other immediately next to Mrs. Forster and Wickham. Before Darcy could lead Lizzy from the floor, Mrs. Forster exclaimed, "Why, Mr. Darcy, I see that you are an excellent dancer! I had no idea any man here could best Mr. Wickham at the waltz, but I do declare I have never seen such superb dancing. Wickham, you could take lessons from this gentleman."

Neither of the men said a word. Darcy glowered at Wickham and then turned his face from him, while Wickham frowned and looked at the floor. Lizzy's joyous mood evaporated at the awkward, angry encounter. Mrs. Forster was completely oblivious of what she had caused and continued to chatter and flirt, doing her utmost to cajole Darcy into asking for her hand during the next waltz. He did not respond, but bowed stiffly to the lady and stalked to the other side of the room. Mrs. Forster seemingly did not suffer from his slight, as it was highly unlikely that she even observed it, for she was a woman so caught up in her own vanity she could not fathom any man who was not besotted by her charms. She made her way to the musician's stand to instruct them to employ great haste in playing another waltz. Wickham and Lizzy were left standing next to each other. Her eyes had followed Darcy, concerned at his anger, and Wickham had not missed her distress.

"Shall we take some air, Miss Bennet?" he asked, indicating that they retire to the covered porch just outside the hall. "It will provide a quieter place for conversation."

Lizzy continued to watch Darcy's retreating back and then with a sigh, she allowed Wickham to lead her from the room. Once they were outside, she noticed they were quite alone, but still she walked to the farthest corner to be completely out of hearing distance of any other guests.

"Sir, you cannot help but know why I wished to speak to you."

"I assume it is to give me your decision about our engagement."

Lizzy took a deep breath, but her tone was even and direct. "It is. Since our last conversation I have not changed my mind. My decision remains unaltered. I no longer wish to marry you."

"Well, judging from your behaviour this evening, I must say that answer is no surprise. No one could witness your repeated dancing with Mr. Darcy and not see that your intentions are now bent in that direction. Tell me, have you succeeded in wrangling a proposal from him yet, or must you charm him with your wiles a bit longer?"

"Sir, you are quite mistaken! I have no designs upon Mr. Darcy and I resent such inference."

"Oh, come now, Eliza. You are not talking to a novice here. I am well aware that he is the best catch in the county. You cannot expect me to believe that you have not imagined yourself mistress of Pemberley time and time again. Believe me, I have watched women throw themselves at Fitzwilliam Darcy all my life, but let me warn you, so far none have succeeded. However, from the way I've seen him regard you tonight, you might just have a chance, although you may have to sweeten the offer to entice him to marry so far beneath himself."

"You are insulting, sir!" Lizzy took a step to move past him, but he caught her by the arm and pulled her back.

"Not so fast, Eliza. We are not through."

"I have nothing more to say to you and you can certainly say nothing that I wish to hear."

"You forget, my dear, I have not yet released you from your obligation. You will listen to me and you will answer my inquiries. Is it Darcy you are after or is it Colonel Fitzwilliam? I saw the two of you together in town the other day and you looked quite cozy. Was it truly necessary for him to stand so close to you? Do not use the excuse that he was assisting you into the carriage, for you are a healthy girl and have never needed the prolonged assistance he provided. What is your plan with the good colonel? Are you keeping him in hand in case you fail to land Darcy? Even though he is the younger son, your rank would certainly rise in such a marriage. Why then, you can claim connection with an earl and forget your relatives in trade, can you not?"

Lizzy was incredulous! She could not take in how twisted and mercenary his thoughts were, how utterly scheming and deceitful his accusations. Her shock and anger were such that she found it hard to breathe. Never had he spoken to her with such cruelty or rudeness. Never had he been so completely himself in her presence. "Mr. Wickham, you accuse me of despicable acts and motives. They are not even worthy of denial, but I will deny them utterly and completely. I do not propose trapping either Mr. Darcy or Colonel Fitzwilliam into marriage."

"But they are both enamored of you. Any fool can see it - especially Darcy. Tell me, how would he take the news that you have secretly engaged yourself to me, the man whom his father loved like a son and the man to whom Darcy denied a valuable living? Do you think that bit of information would please him, Eliza?"

"I understand that you refused the living, sir, and that you were well compensated for it. I will hear no more of your untruths, for I have the whole of the story from Mr. Darcy."

"Aha! So you are close enough that he has told you his side of the story. And of what else has he informed you?"

"That you behaved in a most dishonourable way with Miss Darcy, that you attempted an elopement with her just to avenge yourself on her brother. What have you to say for yourself in that regard?"

Wickham actually managed to look taken aback that Darcy had revealed this episode to her. He had not thought Darcy would openly share his sister's humiliation with anyone. He must truly be serious about Elizabeth to disclose such mortification.

"It is just as well that you do not deny it, Mr. Wickham, for I would not believe you. We can have no further words to say to each other."

She attempted to brush past him, but once again he stopped her. "I beg to differ, Eliza. I have much more to say and when I am through, you will regret your inconstancy."

"What do you mean, sir? You have no means by which you may compel me to marry you!"

"Do not be too sure of that, my dear." He then turned on his heel and rushed inside, leaving her standing there alone, confused and concerned.

"Oh!" she cried, breathing deeply and attempting to calm her demeanor before returning to the ball. What could Wickham have meant? Surely he did not think she would consent to remain in this sham of an engagement. There could not exist any way in which she would be forced to do so, or could there? Her letters! Elizabeth suddenly thought of how she had written to him while they were apart - would he stoop so low as to threaten her with exposure of said documents? She gasped at the very thought and, suddenly feeling alone and fearful in the darkness of the porch, she began to tremble. Quickly, she made her way to rejoin the warmth inside.

The musicians had ceased playing and the crowd had now somewhat hushed as Colonel Forster stood before them on the dais. He put out his hands to quiet the entire throng and cleared his throat. "My friends and neighbors, I stand before you with an important announcement - an announcement of some surprise, but one in which we can surely rejoice. My young officer here, Mr. Wickham, has just told me . . ." he broke off and motioned for the man to join him on the platform. "It gives me great pleasure to inform you that Mr. George Wickham and Miss Elizabeth Bennet are engaged to be married!"

A great swell of astonishment swept over the assembly. They not only turned to look at each other in surprise, but their eyes searched for the bride. Where was she? And why did she not join Mr. Wickham? Was she that timid? They grew silent once again when it was apparent Colonel Forster had more to say.

"Not only is the happy couple engaged, but I have just learned they have been secretly thus betrothed since early March!"

Now the entire room was abuzz with talk and whispers. Raised eyebrows and knowing glances accompanied furtive looks and frowns, as well as much raucous laughter from the men and nervous twitterings from some of the women. A cold mask descended upon Mrs. Forster's face, and Lydia burst into tears.

"How could Lizzy do that to me? She knew I fancied Wickham!" she wailed.

"Oh, do be quiet!" Mrs. Forster hissed.

Beads of perspiration popped out on Mr. Collins' forehead and he began to flutter around, muttering, "Oh dear! Oh dear! The talk this will cause! It cannot do my reputation any good. How could my cousin engage herself in such a manner? Secret engagements are in the same league with intrigues. What will Lady Catherine say when she hears this news?"

Charlotte took no notice of him. She stood and craned her neck in search of Elizabeth. Maria's eyes had widened at the news and she began to giggle, all smiles at the thought of her friend being the center of such a romance. Colonel Fitzwilliam's jaw had dropped at the announcement and a serious frown darkened his face. He immediately began looking through the crowd for Darcy, and when he spotted him against the far wall, their eyes met and the colonel made haste to push his way through to his side, for there was no mistaking the vehement anger so very evident upon Darcy's countenance.

Elizabeth had just stepped inside the saloon when the announcement reverberated in her ears like a blast of cannon. She could not have been more shocked if actual artillery had gone off amid the crowded throng! How could Wickham have done such a monstrous thing? She staggered back against the window casement and her first impulse was to climb through the opening and run as far as she could. Suddenly conscious of those around her turning to smile with their congratulations, however, deterred any thought of escape. She found herself being propelled toward the center of the great room, pushed and pulled by friendly hands and urged to join Wickham on the stage.

"And here is the blushing bride-to-be!" Colonel Forster merrily intoned, motioning to Wickham to assist Elizabeth in stepping up on the dais. "Come now, man, bring your lovely lady up here so that we may offer our felicitations!"

No matter how Elizabeth attempted to refuse such recognition, the crowd was adamant that she stand before them and with their goading from behind and Wickham and Colonel Forster's outstretched hands pulling at her, she had no choice but to take her place between the men, above the crowd, her discomfiture evident for all to see.

She glared at Wickham, but he was all smiles, basking not only in the undivided attention of all present, but at his one-upmanship of her. She would be his wife, now. There was no getting around it. Since their secret was made known to all of society, no woman in her right mind would willingly enter into a public scandal of this magnitude by denying it. Lizzy's mind was all a jumble as her thoughts darted frantically, seeking some avenue of escape. What could she do? How could she extricate herself from this nightmare? When Colonel Forster began to speak once again, she could not comprehend his speech.

"And now, let us hear a word or two from the happy couple. Mr. Wickham, what do you have to say for yourself?"

Wickham stepped forward, smiling and looking bashful in that self-deprecating way he had that had endeared him to the hearts of so many women. "Sir, I can only say that I count myself the most fortunate of men to have secured the hand of Miss Bennet. She is a prize I have long sought and my only regret is her insistence that we keep our news private for so long. I am now the happiest of men to be able to share with all of you the great joy I feel in revealing that Miss Bennet has pledged herself to be my wife. She is a woman of unequaled intelligence and integrity as well as charm and I am quite sure she will please me, and I might add, already has, as no other woman could ever do."

These remarks were met with much applause and knowing winks among some of the men, as well as laughter. It is to be noted that not all men present had such a reaction, for there were two in particular on whose faces smiles did not appear, but rather angry expressions most foul. Colonel Fitzwilliam gritted his teeth; Darcy coiled his hands into fists.

Colonel Forster then suggested that the happy couple be allowed to lead the next dance by taking a few steps alone before the audience and he recommended that the musicians play another waltz. "I am not up on these latest steps, but my wife informs me that the waltz is the most romantic of dances," he said with a laugh.

As the song began, the crowd parted to allow the two sufficient room to perform and Wickham offered his hand to Elizabeth to assist her in descending the raised area. I cannot do this, she thought. I will not be subject to such degrading manipulation by this man! I care not what the cost may be, I shall not be forced into such a union! Instead of taking Wickham's hand, she brushed past him and addressed Colonel Forster.

"Sir, if I may, I should like to say something."

"What?" The colonel was caught by surprise that a woman would wish to speak publicly, but he quickly recovered and gallantly quieted first the musicians and then the crowd. "This is somewhat unusual, but the bride wishes to make some remarks. I suppose we should not be surprised, as Miss Bennet is known for her cleverness and intelligence, as well as her beauty. Yes, Wickham was a lucky man the day you decided to accept him, Miss Elizabeth. What do you have to say to us?"

Lizzy stepped forward and although her throat was exceedingly dry, she forced herself to swallow. She tried mightily to quell her shaking hands, but to no avail. At last she clasped them together and said, "I thank you, Colonel Forster, for your kind remarks and all of you for your congratulations . . . but I fear they are both given prematurely and in error."

A low murmur of surprise struck the crowd. Lizzy swallowed again and raised her voice once more. "It is true that Mr. Wickham and I entered into an engagement some months ago, but as I told him more than a week ago, I cannot marry him. The attachment is broken and at my doing."

Without another word, Lizzy climbed down from the stage and ran from the room. At first silence covered the room and then the crowd erupted in an uproar, stunned by such public disgrace, and alive with suspicion and gossip. Colonel Forster was flabbergasted but when he turned to confront Wickham, the man was nowhere to be seen. He, too, had vanished. Mrs. Forster quickly instructed the musicians to play and so the chaotic circumstances were made even more so by the addition of strings and horns, which only caused the whispered outrage to grow louder. Now, one had to shout in order to be heard above the din.

Sweat drenched Mr. Collins' forehead and began to run down his face and beneath his neck cloth as he mopped his head valiantly with his handkerchief . "Oh no! Oh no! What can cousin Elizabeth be thinking of to jilt Mr. Wickham in such a public manner? She will bring indescribable scandal upon our heads! What shall we do?"

"We shall find Lizzy and take her home, Mr. Collins. Immediately!" Charlotte announced this edict with stronger force than she had ever employed before in speaking to her husband.

"Of course! That is the very thing to do. We must remove her from society and first thing tomorrow we must send her packing to Longbourn. We cannot afford to be seen in her company nor allow her to remain at Waverley. Oh, the dishonour she brings upon not only us but upon our noble patroness!"

Charlotte turned to her husband then and drew very close, speaking distinctly and directly into his face. "Mr. Collins, I will not hear another word spoken against Elizabeth. Do you understand? Find her and bring her to me. I shall be waiting in the carriage. And do not plan on riding with us, for I will not subject Lizzy to your insulting remarks. I repeat, do you understand?"

"Mrs. Collins!" he cried, completely shaken by her outburst.

"Not another word!" she said evenly, staring him down, her large brown eyes refusing to blink, daring him to repudiate her, a challenge the man was not brave enough to accept. As he backed away, she left the room, while her husband nervously sought Elizabeth. Where had all these changes come from? First his cousin and now his wife - how had these submissive women he thought he knew become so altered, so utterly uncontrollable overnight?

Darcy and Fitzwilliam, meanwhile, had kept their eyes on Wickham and followed him outside. As he descended the steps and made his way across the drive, the two men quickly caught up with him; one on either side, they escorted him into the shadows around the side of the building.

He protested their handling, but to no avail. With a verbal onslaught, Colonel Fitzwilliam lit into Wickham, accusing him of trickery, deception and willful destruction of a lady's good name. Darcy said not a word, but stood close, his presence powerful and menacing in its anger.

"You will say nothing derogatory about Miss Bennet in the future, do you understand?" the colonel barked. "In fact, you will remain silent whenever her name is introduced into any conversation. Is that absolutely clear?"

"What gives you the right to make any such demand?" Wickham shouted.

"The right of a gentleman, something of which you have no understanding, and also the right as your superior officer. You are through, Wickham! Can you grasp the significance of what I am saying? Your career in the militia is over. I shall immediately inform Colonel Forster of your past dishonourable behaviour with Georgiana, of your profligate gaming debts, brawls and intrigues with young women from Derbyshire to Meryton, and now Brighton. You shall soon find yourself booted from the militia and utterly devoid of any future. Darcy and I have spent the last two days canvassing Brighton and we have discovered how much debt you have already encumbered in the short time of your residence here. Without the ability to claim your commission, you will soon find yourself hauled into prison until you can make good your arrears."

Wickham began to sweat, his brow knit in a frown, his eyes darting back and forth between the two men. "Oh, I see what this is all about. You would blacken my name because the both of you have designs of your own on Eliza Bennet. Tell me, to which of you has she promised herself, for it is plain to see that she threw me over to make a more advantageous match. It must be you, Darcy, for the colonel is but a younger son. I'm sure your fortune proved a much greater draw than his father's title or my humble offer." He could see Darcy's jaw tighten at the very mention of her name and knew that he had struck home. He began to laugh and said with a sneer, "When you take her in your arms, however, do remember this. I had her first."

That was when Darcy hit him! And hit him he did - Wickham went down like a rag doll, collapsing in a most unbecoming sprawl and out cold. Darcy gave him not another look, but stalked past the fallen figure, with the colonel following.

"When they are ready to depart, Fitzwilliam, will you see Miss Bennet and Miss Lucas back to Waverley?"

"Of course, Darcy, but are you not returning with them?"

Darcy shook his head and marched down the drive, unheeding direction or course. His only desire was to remove himself from the premises. He could not bear to look upon Elizabeth. He had been so angry upon first hearing the announcement, his original impulse had been to physically pull her out the door and shake her, demanding to know how she could have entered into such an alliance! The pain he had experienced upon realizing that it was Wickham to whom she had been engaged was unbearable. Now, he berated himself for not acknowledging the signs earlier, for not recognizing Wickham's handwriting. Naturally, it appeared familiar to him - had he not seen it time and again throughout his life? How could he have overlooked her obvious preference for the scoundrel? It had been much talked of at Netherfield by Caroline Bingley and Mrs. Hurst. And had she not, herself, defended him when Darcy had first proposed? But the rogue was so far below her, so unworthy that Darcy could not comprehend how she had ever been persuaded to accept him.

He walked on and on until he found himself at the sea wall that separated Brighton from the beach. Leaning on the rock wall, he yearned to throw himself into the water and swim until the ocean washed away the anger and betrayal eating at his heart. How could she have given herself to Wickham? And how intimate had they been? Darcy could not believe Elizabeth would dishonour herself completely by entering into a premarital liaison. She was too excellent, too upright, her character too fine to allow that libertine to have his way with her. Still, he had to admit that betrothed couples often carried things too far before the actual ceremony. It actually was quite common among many of his acquaintances. And Wickham, he knew, would have pushed all boundaries, seeking the ultimate of liberties.

Darcy slammed his fist on the rock wall at the very thought, unaware that in doing so he bloodied his hand. He did not feel the tear of his skin. No physical pain could begin to compare with the ache that tore at his heart.

Chapter 14

"I tell you, Mrs. Collins, I cannot locate my cousin. I have looked inside the assembly hall and out and she is nowhere to be found." Mr. Collins said, feverishly mopping his dripping wet brow while he paced back and forth beside the window of Lady Catherine's carriage.

From inside the carriage his wife began to cough. "Did you ask Mr. Darcy where she might be? Perchance he knows."

"I cannot find Mr. Darcy, either! Oh dear me, what are we to do? I cannot go back to the ball and face all those people, not after the shocking scene involving cousin Elizabeth. I think we should return to Waverley with all haste, my dear."

"Not without Elizabeth!" Charlotte coughed in earnest now, the night air irritating her lungs. Just then she saw Colonel Fitzwilliam approaching and leaned her head out the window of the carriage. "Colonel, perhaps you might aid us in finding Miss Bennet. Have you seen her?"

"I have not, Mrs. Collins, but Mr. Darcy's driver only recently returned and informed me that he had taken her to Waverley."

"Waverley!" Mr. Collins sputtered. "Well, she could at least have been kind enough to tell us she was going. I have been searching high and low for her for more than half an hour!"

"Thank you, Colonel Fitzwilliam," Charlotte interjected. "Mr. Collins, if you will return to the ball and look after Maria, I shall immediately go to Waverley and see to Elizabeth. I shall send the carriage back for you directly."

"But, my dear, you know how I feel," he began to whine.

"Sir, Maria must not be left to the mercy of Mrs. Goulding or Mrs. Long and their gossip."

"Come, sir," said Colonel Fitzwilliam, "accompany me, if you will. I have need to speak to Colonel Forster."

With the colonel's generous offer of his presence, the vicar assumed more of an air of courage and allowed his wife to depart. The horses could not run fast enough to suit Charlotte, for she was in great apprehension at the state in which she would find Elizabeth. When they reached the house at last, she hurried inside, calling for her friend. A servant informed her that Miss Bennet had retired to her chamber and so Charlotte climbed the stairs quickly, completely out of breath by the time she reached the floor above. She had to stop for a moment to quell her coughing, but then she rushed to Lizzy's door and, knocking lightly, she did not wait for an answer, but pushed open the door.

"Elizabeth! Are you all right? What are you doing?" Charlotte was dismayed to see Lizzy's trunk open and half filled with clothing from her armoire. "Why are you packing?"

"Oh, Charlotte, how can you even ask me such a question? Is it not obvious that I must leave Waverley and the sooner the better for all concerned?" Elizabeth's voice was flat, hopeless and resigned in tone. She continued to fold garments as she talked. "I shall board the morning coach and return to Longbourn."

"No, Lizzy, you must not. You cannot leave."

Lizzy said nothing, but the look she bestowed on Charlotte said that idea was ludicrous. There was no lull in her activity, rather a steadfast persistence in filling the trunk.

Charlotte went to her and physically stopped her hands. "Listen to me, Lizzy," she pleaded, and then paused to cough. "I do not want you to leave. You promised to stay with me. I am depending upon you."

"Charlotte, sit down," Lizzy replied, leading her to a chair. "Your cough is growing worse. Please do not try to talk me out of this. I know what shame, what humiliation I have wrought on you and Maria and Mr. Collins. I must leave Brighton. There is no other way. As long as I stay, you will be shunned along with me. No one will call on you, nor will you be invited anywhere."

"I am not afraid of shunning, Lizzy, and besides, you do not know that will happen. Perhaps everyone will shun Mr. Wickham, which is the way things ought to be." Charlotte took hold of Lizzy's hands once again. "Oh, my dear, how you must have suffered and how I wish you had shared your plight with me. Together we might have thought of some way to prevent tonight's public disgrace."

"Charlotte, if I had ever suspected Mr. Wickham capable of such betrayal, I would have acted much differently. Until tonight I truly never knew how wicked his heart. I should have, though, for Mr. Darcy warned me."

"Mr. Darcy?"

When Lizzy nodded, but said no more, Charlotte said, "He is still in love with you, is he not?"

Lizzy sighed and closed her eyes. "I do not know, but after tonight - well, we both know there is no chance." She looked away then and the sadness in her eyes permeated her entire being, causing her to appear so forlorn that Charlotte rose and embraced her. Such sympathy was more than Lizzy could bear and she then gave in to her despair, beginning to sob while laying her head on her friend's shoulder. "Oh, Charlotte, I have made such a mess of things."

"Hush, my dear. Do not say any more," Charlotte remonstrated, patting her back. She continued to comfort her for some time, finally convincing her to recline on the bed while she washed her face with a wet cloth. "Lizzy, promise me you will do no more packing tonight. I will not allow you to leave on the morrow. We must talk about this again when you have had time to recover. Do be sensible. What you need now is rest and sleep."

When she, at last, secured Lizzy's agreement, Charlotte left the room, but sleep would not come for Elizabeth. She lay there for some time going over and over in her mind the horrendous scene at the ball - Colonel Forster's announcement of her engagement to Wickham, his false words of affection, and her scandalous statement that she would not marry him. The last thing she had seen as she fled the stage was Darcy's face. She would never forget the appalling, horrified look that encompassed his countenance.

Now she heard footsteps and voices in the hall; that of Charlotte and Maria, and then Mr. Collins, along with doors being opened and shut and, at last, silence. Where was Mr. Darcy? Had he not returned from the ball? Perhaps he did not even care to stay under the same roof with her, since she was such a woman. Lizzy arose from the bed and undressing, she slipped her gown over her head. She then washed her face and unpinned her hair. Pulling back the coverlet on the bed, she slipped between the sheets, but still sleep refused to come.

When the grandfather clock in the hall chimed two in the morning, she arose once again and lit a candle; then going to the window, she pushed it open and sat in the window seat, staring out at the full moon brightening a portion of the ocean and shore. She inhaled the salt air and let the breeze blow through her hair. How she longed to be down there, to run along the beach, allowing the wind and spray from the surf to wash away her fear and despair; or even better, to board a ship and sail off to God knows where, never having to face anyone she knew again.

And then Lizzy thought, I would never see him again . . . Darcy. And that thought caused her to cry once more, the tears sliding silently down her cheeks as she realized how bleak her future would be without the chance of ever hearing his voice, feeling his presence, or looking up to meet his eyes fixed upon her. With the backs of her hands she wiped at her eyes and sighed deeply. Then looking out at the ocean once again, suddenly she perceived a figure walking back and forth at the edge of the water. She strained to peer into the darkness and it was then that she could make out a man's figure striding furiously back and forth, in and out of the moonlit portion of the shore. The distance was too great for recognition of his face, but there was no mistaking that walk - it was Darcy who paced the beach in such evident turmoil.

Lizzy's heart ached at the sight of him; she felt certain that he beat a path into the sand because of his anger with her, because of the foolish absurdity that had allowed her to ever be swayed by Wickham's treacherous charm. Why did I not see Mr. Darcy's true character before I pledged myself to the one man whom he could never forgive me? It was at that very moment that Lizzy realized she loved him. She truly loved Darcy and it was too late.

She stood then and leaned out the window, allowing the wind to softly drift through her nightgown, causing her hair to blow back from her face. How she yearned to reach out to him, to tell him how sorry she was for all that had happened. Unexpectedly, the figure on the beach ceased his pacing. Spotlighted by the moon, he turned to look up at Waverley. Lizzy realized he could see her outline, that the candle behind her must be illuminating her figure in the window. He did not move, but stood there for what seemed like forever, gazing at her. Neither made any movement until a sudden gust blew through the window and quenched the candle. Now there was only darkness and Lizzy saw the figure walk out of the light and although she continued to watch for some time, he did not return.

~ * ~

Early Sunday morning Colonel Fitzwilliam called early at Webster House in order to inform Colonel Forster of Wickham's tawdry past. His attempts to do so the night before at the ball had been unsuccessful, as the colonel had his hands full appeasing his wife for making such an announcement and causing her such dreadful embarrassment. No longer had she been the center of attention as she gracefully danced in Mr. Wickham's arms, nor was Mr. Wickham even in attendance after vanishing so quickly after Elizabeth's denial. Lydia also was quite upset, although she soon overcame her pique when a line of young officers asked her to dance. Mrs. Forster, however, endured the remainder of the evening only through sheer determination. She had never been fond of Elizabeth Bennet, and now she knew why, for the thought of Wickham engaging himself to such a creature was beyond her comprehension. The young woman was all wrong for him. His charm was wasted on her and the very idea that he had attached himself to her without Mrs. Forster's knowledge upset her no end.

Thus, Colonel Forster had put off talking with Colonel Fitzwilliam last evening and asked him to call this morning. When Fitzwilliam arrived, however, he discovered the Forsters climbing into their carriage, and he only just managed to catch the colonel's attention before he instructed the driver to walk on.

"Ah, Colonel Fitzwilliam, I am glad you caught me," Colonel Forster said, as he left his wife's side to speak privately. "I am sorry, but there is no time for us to talk just now. You said this had something more to do with Mr. Wickham?"

"Yes, and the matter is of great importance, sir."

"I have had it up to here with Wickham," the older man said, gesturing toward his throat. "I would be relieved not to hear his name spoken for at least 24 hours. My wife, you see, is still quite disheartened by all that occurred last night, the spoiling of her ball with such scandal, you know. And she blames me for making the announcement, although I have told her and I assure you that I would never have consented to such a statement if Wickham had not informed me with great surety that Miss Bennet's father had consented to their union. No, I would never have taken it upon myself to do such a thing had I known the true circumstances."

Mrs. Forster leaned her head out the window of the carriage then and cried, "If we are to make Eastbourne by noon, sir, we must leave immediately."

Her husband shrugged and laughed lightly, indicating to Colonel Fitzwilliam that he was entirely at his wife's mercy. "You see how it is, sir. I must restore myself to her good graces and my wife desires to leave Brighton today to visit her sister at Eastbourne. She, too, does not want to hear Mr. Wickham's name mentioned nor even that of Miss Bennet. In fact, she has left Miss Lydia here at Webster House. You are welcome to call on her, if you like, but I must be on my way. We shall not return until late tonight, so do call in the morning, Colonel, and I will hear what you have to say then."

With that, the Forsters departed and Colonel Fitzwilliam was left to swear in exasperation. He had promised Darcy that he would reveal Wickham's past to the colonel as soon as possible, and twice now his plans to do so had been thwarted. Now, instead of calling on Lydia, he rode to Waverley. There he was surprised to learn from Mr. Collins that no one had seen Darcy since the ball. The servants reported that his bed had not been slept in, nor had his presence been detected anywhere in the house. The vicar was exceedingly nervous that his cousin had seriously damaged his reputation with both Lady Catherine's nephews and Colonel Fitzwilliam granted him no reassurance that his fears were in vain, for he refused to even discuss the previous night's occurrences. Once he learned that Darcy was absent, he departed almost immediately.

Elizabeth did not leave her room on Sunday. Breakfast was brought to her on a tray, but she did not touch it, other than to sip the coffee. Charlotte urged her husband to take Maria to church services, although he greatly protested, not wishing to meet with Brighton society in the glare of the morning after. His wife insisted, however, and at last he and a somewhat sleepy Maria left the house. It was not through any desire to encourage worship on the part of her husband and sister that Charlotte had advocated their leave-taking, but rather an opportunity to remove them from the house so that Elizabeth might feel easier about emerging from her chamber.

It did not work. Lizzy remained in her room, although she did allow her friend admittance. Alarm registered in Charlotte's face at the sight of her. She sat curled up in a corner of the window seat, still dressed in her nightgown, her hair undone, and here it was long past breakfast.

"Lizzy, are you unwell?"

"I am not ill, Charlotte," she answered, her voice still full of despair.

"Will you not dress and come downstairs with me? Shall I help you? What about this frock? Will it do?" She held out a pale green dress, one that Lizzy wore frequently. The girl took it, but then lay it aside and made no attempt to move.

Charlotte sat beside her on the window seat and looked out at the scene below where Lizzy's eyes remained fixed. "It appears to be a fine day for walking on the beach. Will you not take advantage of it?" When the girl shook her head, Charlotte took her hand. "Lizzy, please, talk to me. Of what are you thinking?"

"Of what else, Charlotte? Of what all of Brighton is surely talking."

"Not all of Brighton. Some are at church this Sunday morning. I have sent Mr. Collins and Maria there, so you need not fear their presence if you would like to venture out. And," she added, "Mr. Darcy is not here either. Indeed, he did not even stay the night."

"I saw him," Lizzy said flatly.

"You saw him? But where?"

"On the beach, early this morning, sometime long after midnight."

"But how, Lizzy? Where were you?"

"Here. I could not sleep and I opened the window to get some air and there he was, pacing back and forth in the moonlight. He looked so incredibly sad. Oh, Charlotte, what am I to do? I have ruined so many things!"

"Now, listen to me, Elizabeth. You have ruined nothing. Ruin would have occurred if you had married Mr. Wickham. Think of the life you might have led tied to such a man. It is plain to see he possesses neither true regard nor respect for women, for if he had, how could he have exposed you to such humiliation? No, Lizzy, you are much better off for having had the courage to say no. And I, for one, am proud of you."

"Oh, Charlotte, you are too kind, for I know you will suffer for befriending me. What about Mr. Collins? Is he not wishing to be rid of me immediately?"

"Leave Mr. Collins to me, and as for suffering, I do not entertain any such fears. I can live without Brighton's society. Remember, Lizzy, I am only a temporary resident. My home is in Kent and within a short time, I shall leave here. I have only need of the sea and my physician and his potions, and you, dear friend. The loss of visits from Mrs. Forster and the few other acquaintances we have met here will cause me no hardship, I assure you. Come now, get yourself dressed and walk to the beach. It will do you good."

But Lizzy refused. Even the lure of the seashore could not persuade her to leave her chamber.

~ * ~

Colonel Fitzwilliam rode his horse through Brighton, searching the inns and taverns for any sign of Darcy. He canvassed the sea wall and scanned the shoreline below, but still did not find him. He passed the churches and observed those entering the sanctuaries, although he did not expect to see Darcy among them. He doubted seriously that his friend was in any mood this day to give thanks. At last, he doubled back and returned to Waverley, this time making his way to the stables. There, he questioned the servants and rejoiced when a young lad said, "Yes, sir. Mr. Darcy come here before dawn and had me saddle me' best horse. I barely got the cinch tight when he mounted him and tore out of here somethin' fierce!"

"In which direction did he ride?" the colonel asked.

The young man pointed toward the South Downs and, flicking his reins, Fitzwilliam took off once again, this time not sparing his steed. He rode along the high white cliffs overlooking the ocean for some time and, at last, he was rewarded with the sight of Darcy sitting on the ground of a rounded hill of chalk, staring out at the sea. His horse, untended, nibbled at the sparse grass nearby. Darcy looked up briefly as Fitzwilliam dismounted, but then returned his gaze to the water below. Amazement overtook the colone