My Aunt Philips delights in quoting proverbs. She also delights in repeating them on occasions she deems appropriate. Actually, she delights in repeating almost everything she hears whether appropriate or not, but that is neither here nor there.

As for proverbs, her favourite is Happy is the bride that the sun shines on. She echoed it incessantly during the seven days before my wedding (which happened to be the entire length of my engagement) and on the morning of said event, when the heavens erupted in a storm of such magnitude the likes of which I cannot describe to this day, she shook her head, rolled her eyes and tsk-tsked at such length that Mamá finally threatened her with banishment if she did not give over.

That morning an explosion of thunder awakened our household at dawn with such force that I fully expected to witness Napoleon's cannon outside my window. If truth be told, such woe could not have been less welcome than the ceremony awaiting me. I stood at the window, looked out at the storm clouds unleashing their fury, and judged the day perfect for my wedding.

At the hour we were to walk the short distance to the church, a hard, steady downpour caused Mamá to call for the carriages instead. I am sure it was a festive sight to see - a bevy of black umbrellas shielded our small bridal party of relatives as we hurried from Longbourn church to the carriages and then back to our house for the wedding breakfast. And shortly afterwards, if perchance any villagers had ventured out in such a storm or peeked through their windows, they would have seen me step quickly to avoid the puddles between the entrance to my childhood home and my new husband's carriage bound for London. What they would fail to see was that part of me that yearned to splash through the mud in the opposite direction and lock myself safe within the house.

I now watched the raindrops trickle down the carriage window while the cumbersome vehicle lurched back and forth on the road to town and my new life. Obviously, the mud grew deeper, for we seemed to reel from rut to rut. The farther we traveled the greater the storm progressed in strength, as though heaven, itself, could not but weep at the travesty of the union I entered into less than four hours previous. The man who sat on the opposite seat averted his face, choosing to pay as close attention to nature's deluge outside his window as I did.

We had said little to each other since the journey began; indeed, what was there to say? Ill at ease with nothing in common, thrust into an awkward situation, each one wary of the other, we had ridden in silence for at least the last ten miles. I smoothed the creases in my skirt, observing that the black bombazine melted into the ebony of the fine leather seats. Propriety deemed that I could have worn grey or at least a mixture of black and white, perhaps a stripe, especially since I was a bride, but I chose the same shade I had worn every day since the funeral. Black shoes, gloves and cloak, as well as a dark veil over my bonnet caused me to appear as one in deep mourning, which, again, I considered appropriate for the day.

I swept my eyes over the interior of the coach, noting its richness and lustre. The upholstery gleamed almost as much as my companion's highly polished boots had shone earlier in the day. Now flecks of mud spoiled the reflection. My eyes traveled from his boots to the long grey coat that he wore, evoking memories of the times I saw him wear it before - at Netherfield in the earliest days of our acquaintance almost a year ago when my sister, Jane, had been taken ill and convalesced there and most recently on the morning after I refused his first proposal of marriage. What were those words with which I rejected him - I had not known you a month before I knew that you were the last man I would ever marry!

"Are you warm enough?" Mr. Darcy asked, jarring me back to the present. "There is a rug available if you are chilled."

"Perfectly, sir. I have no need of anything."

He turned his face back to the window. "We should reach town by sundown if this blasted storm does not delay us."

I closed my eyes in dread at the thought and turned my countenance back to the rain soaked landscape. This would be our wedding night and a more reluctant bride did not exist. Of course, I had been assured there would be no intimacy until I desired it, for that was a spoken term of the marriage, if not a written one. I blushed at the remembrance of Mr. Darcy's words, "You need have no fear that I shall demand my conjugal rights. The marriage will not be consummated until you come to my bed willingly."

"It may well be a frigid day in July before I do!" I replied.

"As you like." He raised one eyebrow, piercing my carefully preserved armor of indignity with his dark, brooding stare. "But I do expect an heir, Miss Bennet. That is one of the terms of this contract. Make sure you have a change of heart before you are past child-bearing years."

"Then you had better take back the word willingly, Mr. Darcy."

"I shall not. I have never forced my will on any woman and I shall not begin with you. If you cannot foresee eventually having my child, then you must refuse this offer."

"Have I not already? Did I not refuse you six months ago at Hunsford, sir?"

"You did, but circumstances have changed, as you are well aware."

I blanched at his words and remembered how carefree I had been in the spring whilst visiting Charlotte and Mr. Collins, how I had dismissed Mr. Darcy's first proposal with all my righteous anger. And I had been correct in doing so. Never had a man proposed in so insolent a manner. He assumed I would drop to my knees and thank him for his great condescension in stooping to marry one so socially inferior. Well, I had put him in his place by refusing him with an equal omission of civility and from the look on his face, I could tell that my words had penetrated his arrogance. Only three days later my light-hearted world had crashed about me. A post arrived at midnight announcing the death of my beloved father in a hunting accident. His gun had discharged as he bent to retrieve a bird he had just bagged. In April, when new life burst forth all around us, my gentle, kind father had died a most violent death; a death that should not have happened; a death that had far reaching consequences for, you see, my father's estate was entailed away upon his cousin, Mr. Collins, and he left only the smallest of fortunes to provide for his widow and five daughters. He had never been a man who looked ahead and with a spendthrift wife who loved to dress her daughters as well as herself in the latest finery, extra funds evaporated before they could be tucked away.

Now, here in the carriage I sighed as I remembered how I boarded the early coach for Meryton the next morning. I did not even spare time to take leave of Lady Catherine. I arrived home to find my sisters devastated and I was struck at how suddenly small and lost my mother appeared.

Mr. Darcy looked up at the sound of my sigh, but said nothing. We continued on our journey in silence, a state that suited me. He was such a taciturn man, perhaps we would avoid conversation throughout this marriage, saying as little as possible to each other. I had no desire to talk to him and I knew he felt the same, for in the whole of our acquaintance, he rarely carried on any conversation with me. Instead, he attempted to wither me with his long, steady, disapproving looks. He was mistaken. I refused to wither.

Lightning flashed through the windows and a crash of thunder shook the carriage. I heard the sound of additional horses and voices and sat forward to look out, observing that we had arrived in a small village. Our vehicle pulled to a stop and I could hear the shout of men's voices. Mr. Darcy immediately opened the door.

"The bridge is out up ahead, sir," the driver said. The locals say we can't get through until the storm subsides."

"Is there not an alternate route?"

"No, sir. This road be the only one passable in this kind of weather, sir."

"Blast!"

"There is an inn, sir. It's not much, but at least it's dry."

Mr. Darcy nodded and closed the door, brushing the water from his coat. "It seems we have no choice. We shall have to spend the night in this God-forsaken place."

"It matters little where I stay."

He pressed his lips together and clenched his jaw.

The inn was small and rustic to say the least. Mr. Darcy's footman had gone ahead and per orders, informed the owner that his master was a gentleman and required the very best suite of rooms. We walked in to overhear him inform the man that it was our wedding night. The fat, balding little man laughed coarsely and elbowed his wife in the ribs.

"Their wedding night? They will have no need of a suite, then, will they, dearie? Just a great big bed! Which is a good thing, as we got naught but one room vacant in the whole house. See that other fancy carriage out there? A family of four got here just a'fore you. We done let the other two rooms to them."

The footman argued repeatedly, offered more money, and finally resorted to threats, but to no avail. Only one empty room remained and the owner could not conjure up another. Mr. Darcy swore and attempted, himself, to persuade the innkeeper to find more accommodations, but it was useless. I followed Mr. Darcy and the man up the stairs into the available bedchamber, all the while conscious of his wife's stares and whispers to the barmaid. "I never seen no bride dressed in black before."

The room was small, but clean. Mr. Darcy stomped around inspecting it while the innkeeper lit the fire. An old chaise that had seen better days sat on the left just inside the door, two straight chairs and a small table were placed near the fireplace, a narrow armoire rested against one wall with a dresser and mirror opposite and, of course, in the most prominent position in the room sat the bed.

"Supper will be ready in about an hour, sir, and my missus can assist your lady whenever she's needed. Is there anything else I can bring you, Mr. Darcy?"

"A bottle of brandy," he said, his speech clipped and angry.

"Yes, sir, right away, sir," the innkeeper repeated several times as he hurried from the room.

I walked to the fireplace, removed my bonnet and shook the raindrops from it. I stretched out my hands to the warmth of the blaze and could not help but smile slightly at the sight of Mr. Darcy pacing back and forth.

"It is not so bad," I said at last.

He stopped and looked at me. "You think not? No, you would not, for you at least have a bed, while I shall be forced to sleep upright on a hard bench in the common room."

"If you do, it will cause talk."

He gave me an inquiring look.

"Your servants are aware this is our wedding night and it seems they have informed the innkeeper. If we spend the night apart, they will know this marriage is a sham. I have nothing to lose by that revelation, but I would think you wish to avoid such disclosure this early in the game. I recall that you said we were to act as though we are married in every respect when in the company of others. Was that not one of your requirements?"

Mr. Darcy stared at me, as though measuring my intent in reminding him of his demands. From head to toe and back again, he slowly surveyed my form. I felt a flush creep up my neck to my face and when I spoke, I was disconcerted that my voice came out somewhat higher than usual. "I did not say that, sir, to invite you into my bed. I have no objection, however, if you sleep on the chaise. Perhaps you might request an additional blanket."

Mr. Darcy looked at the lumpy old chaise, its springs sagging with an obvious sway in the middle, to the bed and back again. "Very well," he said at last. "If you have no objection, Madam."

"None, as long as you afford me privacy to dress for bed and retire while you remain below stairs."

"I would not have it any other way," he said and stalked out of the room.

For some reason his last words stung. Why, I did not know, but it felt as though he rejected me physically, a feeling I did not like. Six months earlier at Hunsford he had declared that he loved and admired me, that almost from the beginning of our acquaintance he had felt a passionate regard for me. His second proposal contained no like statements, but I assumed some slight feeling still existed on his part, even though the subsequent offer was more like a business arrangement than any semblance of romantic application. I drew near a mirror on the far wall and smoothed the slight frizz of my curls caused by the humidity outside. Peering at my image, I noted the dark smudges under my eyes and the pinched hollows in my cheeks. I was much thinner than when at Hunsford, and I had slept little since this whole marriage idea had been thrust upon me. Did Mr. Darcy now find me unappealing? Had I lost the bloom that attracted him in the first place? And if so, why should it matter? I disliked the man exceedingly.

A knock at the door preceded the entrance of the innkeeper's wife carrying a china pitcher and bowl. The barmaid followed with towels draped across one arm and a well-worn quilt on the other, and the innkeeper walked in with a tray containing two glasses and a bottle of brandy which he placed on the small table near the fireplace. The maid spread the multi-colored quilt over the foot of the bed, smoothed it out and turned it back so that it might be easily pulled up in the night.

"Here's your husband's brandy, Ma'am," the man said, "although from the number of drinks he's had downstairs, I doubt he'll need much of it when he returns to you." He laughed and poked his wife in the ribs once again. Believe me, if he were my husband, I would put a stop to those pokes.

"Go on with you, now," she said, shooing him out, "whilst I help the lady with her toilette. You'll be wanting to dress for dinner, I suppose, Missus, although around these parts it's more of a cold supper."

The maid poured water into the basin and placed the towels on the dresser beside it.

"No," I said, "I shall go as I am."

"As you wish, Ma'am," the woman said, but I caught her raising her eyebrows at the maid. "Is there anything you be needing then?"

I shook my head and the two women made their exit. I could see no reason to dress for dinner in that place. Surely Mr. Darcy would not expect it, especially since I wore my very best dress already, my very best mourning dress, that is. Once again, I recalled the look of surprise on his face when I appeared at the altar that morning dressed completely in black. My mother and I were the only ones to be so attired. Even Jane had discontinued the deep mourning clothes and resorted to grey and black pinstripes some months back. My younger sisters had discarded theirs much sooner and now wore only dark ribbons on their bonnets, Kitty sometimes neglecting even those. At times I felt that all of them had forgotten our father, except for me. My mother rarely wept any more, especially since she was no longer to be thrown out of Longbourn. Was I the only one who still felt his loss with such a piercing bite?

Well, whatever Mr. Darcy felt about my dress had been the least of my concerns when I walked down the aisle. Getting through the marriage vows was the task that had almost caused me to run from the church.

"Wilt thou have this man to thy wedded husband, to live together after God's ordinance in the holy estate of Matrimony? Wilt thou obey him, and serve him, love, honour and keep him in sickness and in health..."

I heard the vicar read the familiar words from the Book of Common Prayer, but when he paused and looked up to hear my assent, the lump in my throat ballooned to such a size that it constricted my breathing. I had to swallow twice before whispering, "I will."

When he continued and I heard Mr. Darcy utter his vows aloud, it sounded like a dull roar in my ears and I could not have told you one word that he uttered. Then it was my turn to repeat after the minister, but all I could hear was the same voice in my head scream over and over, "You are lying! Lying! Lying!"

Swaying slightly, I closed my eyes and shook my head with the tiniest of movements as though I might somehow clear the voices from my mind.

"Miss Bennet?" the vicar said softly, indicating that it was my turn to respond.

I opened my eyes and searched the old man's kind-looking face. He must have assumed I simply suffered an attack of nerves and so repeated the words for me to say. This time I forced myself to listen and I responded in kind.

"I, Elizabeth, take thee, Fitzwilliam, to my wedded husband, to have and to hold from this day forward, for better for worse, for richer for poorer, in sickness and in health, to..." here I faltered, wishing to beseech the vicar. Could he not see the desperation in my eyes?

"To love, cherish and to obey, until death us do part..." he prodded.

I took a deep breath. I could feel Mr. Darcy's presence beside me and I turned slightly toward him to see if he would permit me to stand there and lie before God and these witnesses, but his face was turned away from me, his gaze straight ahead, the light in his eyes having turned deadly grey.

"To...to love," there, I had said it. Now I could continue and repeat the rest of the phrase, but my voice sounded toneless and dead in my ears.

Mr. Darcy must have put a ring on my finger, for I felt it now as I washed my hands and face with the water provided, but I had no memory of his placing it there. I blocked out the remainder of the entire ceremony, the short wedding breakfast thereafter, the best wishes of the few guests in attendance, my Aunt and Uncle Gardiner, the Philips, and of course, Mamá and my sisters. Was there anyone from Mr. Darcy's family in attendance? I could not remember. Surely someone had stood up with him, as Jane had done for me. Oh yes, Colonel Fitzwilliam. I vaguely remembered him press my hands before we left Longbourn and the sympathetic look in his eyes as he bid me farewell. Why could not he have been born heir to a fortune and asked for my hand? I do not love him, but I do hold him in high regard. His kindness and pleasing manner are in such contrast to that of his cousin. Surely I could be a wife to him with ease and affection.

Suddenly a great weariness washed over me and I sank down upon the bed and closed my eyes for just a moment. Some two hours later I vaguely sensed someone's presence. I opened my eyes to see Mr. Darcy standing close to the bed. With a swift motion, he raised his hand to smooth his hair. Had he been about to touch me? I immediately sat up and looked around, observing the darkness outside the window.

"When you are ready, we can go down to supper," Mr. Darcy said, turning away to stoke the fire. The logs had burned down somewhat; the ashes now threw sparks of blue and orange in response to his prodding.

"I am ready." I glanced in the mirror and patted my hair. I swayed slightly as I stood and reached for the dresser to steady myself.

"Are you ill?"

"No, I must have risen too quickly. That is all."

"Then let us depart." He strode to the door and I followed him, conscious of the smell of alcohol about his person as he held the door open.

The main dish at supper was cold mutton, the fat so heavily congealed that I almost gagged at the sight of it. I picked at the sweetbread pie, but I could not abide any other dish. Mr. Darcy drank more than he ate, bidding the barmaid fill his glass over and over. I had never before eaten a meal with a complete lack of conversation. I grew conscious of the give and take between the family members at the only other table in the room. The girls teased each other and their mother softly chastised them when they became too boisterous. A wave of loneliness for my sisters, especially Jane, swept over me The noise of the men in the common room adjoining the small dining area, some of whom were Mr. Darcy's servants, seemed to call even more attention to the silence at our own table.

At last, I gave up and, placing my knife and fork across the plate, I sat back in my chair.

"Do you care for anything more?" Mr. Darcy asked and when I shook my head, he raised one eyebrow. "You have hardly touched your plate. Are you certain you are not ill?"

"I am perfectly well. I simply have no appetite."

"With what we've been served, I can well understand." He stood and indicated we should leave.

"I can make my way alone, sir, if you prefer to remain here."

"I shall see you to the room."

"It is not necessary."

"I shall see you to the room." His words were hard and insistent.

"Very well," I said, my tone equally cold. I could feel his eyes upon me as I climbed the stairs, knowing he was right behind me. The wooden steps were worn to a dull shine, the handrail likewise a burnished chocolate colour, facts of no importance but a scene I can still see to this very day.

Inside the room Mr. Darcy poured himself a glass of brandy and walked to the window. I dropped my shawl on the bed and stood, waiting. Silently, he nursed his drink and peered out into the dark, wet night.

At last I spoke. "I shall require at least an hour alone before retiring and I have no need of the maid. I can manage on my own."

He turned and looked at me long and hard and then placing his empty glass on the table, he proceeded to the door.

"Mr. Darcy, I would caution you not to drink excessively. The staircase is steep."

He turned, his hand on the doorknob. "Your concern is touching, but if I fall and break my neck, would that not solve your problem? You would then be a rich widow." He uttered a laugh short and mocking, then closed the door behind him with sudden force.

I took a deep breath and let it out slowly, feeling the animosity in the room envelop me. How had my life come to this? And how could I bear this future before me, a future bereft of love or happiness? Slowly I unbuttoned my dress and removed it. After washing myself, I slipped out of my chemise and pulled on a long, white nightgown. Mamá had packed it herself, but it was Jane, I knew, who tucked the dried sprigs of lavender between the folds. They both were such optimists, hoping to the end that I should grow to care for my husband. My mother, indeed, could see no reason why I should not be elated and grateful for a proposal from such a wealthy man, but Jane, who knew my heart and soul as no other, understood my despair and yet still believed Mr. Darcy would turn out to be a good and loving husband after all.

I sighed, closed my eyes, and shook my head slightly at the folly of such hopes. I pulled the pins from my hair and released my curls, reaching for the brush to smooth out the tangles. How I wished Jane there to brush it for me as she did so many nights of my life. No, what I truly wished was to be home at Longbourn with Jane and not trapped in that dismal little room with a man I did not love.

After folding my chemise and placing it in my trunk, I hung my dress in the armoire and placed my shoes there along with my bonnet and cloak. I stirred the fire and walked to the window one last time; the storm had not lessened. As I passed the table, the bottle of brandy stood there, still containing enough for a glass full. I was not accustomed to drink stronger than wine, but tonight I felt the need of warmth and comfort. Perhaps it would help me sleep. I walked around the room and blew out the candles as I sipped the sweet brandy. I left one burning on the mantle for Mr. Darcy's use. Finally, there was nothing left to do but crawl into bed. I settled down between the sheets, then sighed and arose once more. Taking the extra quilt from the bottom of the bed and one of the pillows, I tossed them onto the chaise.

A good wife would at least make up the couch for her husband, would she not? No, a good wife would never have banished him from her bed. But since when had I wanted to be a good wife to Mr. Darcy? With a toss of my curls, I pursed my lips and blew out the remaining candle. Let him find his own way in the dark. I then gave myself up to the call of the bed. Even though the sheets were cold, it turned out to be a fairly comfortable mattress and it was not long before I succumbed to the relief of sleep.

Sometime in the night, I grew aware of a pleasant, cozy warmth, as though someone cradled me in his arms. I struggled to awaken, but the effects of the brandy and the exhausting strain of the day kept me from conscious thought. I told myself I must be dreaming and, if I was, I liked the way it felt.

The morning after my wedding, a slow, steady thump awakened me. A continual rhythmic cadence resonated in my ear, somehow soothing in its perfect repetition. It skipped not a stroke. I felt the pillow under my head move slightly up and down with each beat, in and out, in and out. A beat! That was it - a heartbeat!

Slowly I opened my eyes, struggled through the fog of sleep, and attempted to focus on the strange room in which I had spent the night. Oh yes, it was the inn. Now, I remembered. But what was that sound and why did my head go up and down in a slow, persistent manner?

I raised my eyes and saw him - Mr. Darcy! I lay with my head on his chest, my arm thrown across him, and both his arms around me, clasping my body close to his. How could this have happened? He slept soundly, lying on top of the covers, fully dressed except for his boots. Most of me, fortunately, was under the sheet and counterpane, although I know not how I came to use his chest for a pillow.

I sat up immediately, calling forth his name - "Mr. Darcy!" - with sufficient force that he jerked upward in such haste that our heads collided. We both cried out at the shock of the blow and I shrank back, as he grabbed his forehead.

"What? What is it?" he muttered, lost in confusion. A stale smell of alcohol permeated his disheveled clothing; his hair was in disarray, and dark stubble covered his chin.

"Get out!" I cried. "Get out of my bed!"

"Your bed?" He blinked in the radiant sunshine that illuminated the room. "But how...how did I...did you..."

"Get out! I do not know what you are about, Mr. Darcy, but I expect you to keep your word!"

"I do keep my word," he muttered, crawling off the bed. When his feet touched the floor, he staggered and grabbed the bedpost to steady himself. He moaned and reached for his head again. "Will you not blow out that blasted candle?"

"What candle? The light is from the sun and not even you, sir, can order it blown out. Now, will you leave this room?"

He blinked again and screwed up his eyes as though they refused to focus. He lurched toward the door, but then turned back once more. "My boots. I need my boots."

They lay beside the bed as though thrown off in a hurry. I crawled across the mattress, picked up first one, then the other, and threw them at him, hitting his stomach with one. He doubled over and glared at me, but did not cry out. Grabbing the boots and hopping first on one foot and then the other, he managed to pull them on. With one last bewildered stare in my direction, he opened the door and stumbled forth.

I was in such shock that all I could do was sink under the sheet, suddenly aware that I had grasped the quilt to my neck even though my nightgown was sufficiently modest. As I slid back into the warmth of the bed, I felt the heat on the sheets underneath the counterpane where he had lain beside me. I was angry. More than that, I was furious. How dare he invade my bed! And yet, I had to admit I had slept more soundly that night than I could remember. I became quite disconcerted when I found myself absently running my arm up and down the sheet, enjoying the warmth he had left behind. I ceased such action immediately.

Had Mr. Darcy taken advantage of me in the night? I knew little of such things, but surely he could not have done so and remained fully clothed and outside the bedcovers. And no matter how well I slept, I knew it would have been impossible to sleep through such an encounter with that man.

By noon we were on our way to London. The river had receded and although the road remained a muddy lot, our horses pulled the carriage through the ruts. I had not seen Mr. Darcy until he joined me in the carriage, having kept to my room all morning. How he shaved and cleaned up, I know not, but there he was looking the impeccable gentleman, except for the tired look about his eyes. His clothes were not rumpled nor even smelled of liquor, although I felt certain they were the clothes he had slept in. He must have an invaluable valet in service. I trust he paid him well if he could work such a miracle.

We said nothing to each other. I did not even grant him the courtesy of a greeting; instead, I turned my face to the window. No, I turned my entire body to the window and busied myself with intense perusal of the passing trees, shrubs and farmland. We rode no little distance in this fashion, when suddenly he cleared his throat and I jumped.

"I beg your pardon," he said. "I did not mean to startle you. Miss Ben...that is, Eliz..." He stopped and blinked as though in search of something. "I do not seem to know how to address you. You are no longer Miss Bennet, but I fear you do not wish to be called Mrs. Darcy. May I call you Elizabeth?"

I worked hard not to smile at his discomfiture. "It is your choice, sir, as long as you do not take the advantage as licence to act more familiar with me."

He closed his eyes as though I had struck him. "I would not think of it. But I must be allowed to apologize for my behaviour last evening."

I nodded oh, so slightly.

"I do not remember last night. I confess I imbibed far too generously of the innkeeper's ale. How I came to be in your bed, Elizabeth, I am sorry to say, is not possible for me to recall."

"Is this generous intake of alcohol a part of your general nature, sir? If it is, you should have told me, for I have no intention of living with an intemperate man."

"Absolutely not!" He spoke forcefully and leaned forward, a pained expression across his face, as he put his hand to his forehead. "I promise you that I do not make a habit of such behaviour."

We said no more for several miles. I returned my attention to the window, but from the corner of my eye, I could see that his headache was severe. Again and again he closed his eyes to the glare of the outdoors. I was glad to see him suffer. His behaviour deserved punishment. I congratulated myself on feeling no wifely sympathies until I remembered the headache that frequently put me to bed. One did not have to be a loving wife to feel compassion.

"Mr. Darcy, would you prefer the shades to be lowered, to shield your eyes from the light?"

Surprise covered his countenance at my suggestion. "Do you not wish to observe the scenery?"

"I do, but I do not suffer a headache."

"Thank you." He reached up to release the dark shade over his window. I did the same and was astonished at the sudden feeling of closeness within the coach with the absence of light. An intimacy enveloped us that made me self-conscious. I wondered if he felt it, as well. Now I had nowhere to look but at my lap or straight ahead, and then it would appear that I looked at him. Perhaps compassion had been a mistake.

But had Mr. Darcy not shown compassion in marrying me? Why did he marry me? I remained unsure of the reason and feared I should do so for some time. His first proposal had been so uncivil and arrogant that I heard little argument for marriage and much against. He openly acknowledged the unsuitability of my family and connections in comparison to his and yet he still asked for my hand. I could see him standing in Mr. Collins' parlor at Hunsford, insulting in his manner and words. What had been his reason for marriage? Something about, "You must allow me to tell you how ardently I admire and love you."

I dismissed his words of love as foolishness because his rudeness had so infuriated me. How could he profess love and treat me as he had?

And the second proposal six months later could hardly be called that. Arrangement would be a better word. How shocked I had been the day he entered my mother's house at Longbourne with my Aunt and Uncle Gardiner. I could still hear my mother's cry upon greeting her brother.

"Oh, Edward, Edward! You are here at last. Whatever are we to do?"

"There, there, Fanny," he soothed. "Ease yourself, sister. I come with good news."

"Good news? You have found hidden funds belonging to Mr. Bennet? We are not to be turned out from Longbourn next week?"

"Not hidden funds, but something better." Mr. Gardiner looked toward Mr. Darcy. Mamá sniffed as she usually did in his presence. She had not even acknowledged him prior to my uncle's words for she disliked him intensely since we first met a year ago at an assembly ball in Meryton. That is when the entire community became acquainted with his arrogant manners. He slighted me when she practically invited him to dance with me, and the one thing my mother would never forgive was a man's refusal to dance with one of her five daughters. Now, she slowly led my aunt and uncle and Mr. Darcy into my father's study, closing the door behind them.

Jane and I were bewildered, as were Mary and Kitty. What could Mr. Darcy have to do with our mother? And could we trust her to keep a civil tongue in his presence? How much better it would have been if Jane or I had been allowed to be in on the meeting.

"Why is he here?" I asked. "And how did he come to know our uncle?"

"They met this past summer," Jane replied, "when Mr. and Mrs. Gardiner traveled to Derbyshire."

"Oh, yes, the trip on which I was to accompany them."

I had not gone, of course, because of Father's death, for I no longer felt free to go on pleasure trips. Mamá was of no use to anyone, totally dependent upon Jane and me and besides that, we were scrambling to find a means by which to support our family. We knew that our mother's profligate ways would soon exhaust her small fortune and although we would not be paupers, our manner of living must be severely reduced. We both sent out inquiries for governess positions and I spent May and June searching for a reasonable cottage in which to move our family. I regretted giving up that trip with the Gardiners. We were to tour the Lakes and see some of the grand houses in the north country.

"But how, Jane? How could they have come into Mr. Darcy's company?"

"His estate is in Derbyshire, Lizzy, surely you remember that. Aunt Gardiner wrote Mamá that they had happened upon him unexpectedly while touring his great house at Pemberley. They had been told he was away from home, but he returned earlier than expected. Our aunt wrote a very pleasing account of his manners in her letter, much different than what we experienced. She said that once he knew of their connection to our family, he overwhelmed them with invitations and civility."

I snorted at the idea. Jane admonished me, "Lizzy, what a noise! You sound like Lydia!"

I blanched at the thought of being compared to my youngest sister, my wild, irresponsible child of a sister who had only added to our woes in the middle of that summer by running off with a blackguard in the militia, a Mr. Wickham. I am embarrassed to say that when I first met the man some seven or eight months earlier, I, too, thought him an amiable, pleasant man. Instead, he turned out to be a cad who preyed on young women of fortune, having even tried his lot with Mr. Darcy's fifteen-year-old sister, Georgiana. Of course, I did not know the truth of his character until after my meeting with Mr. Darcy at Hunsford.

The morning after his first proposal, he gave me a letter outlining his relationship with Mr. Wickham, a far different tale than the one Mr. Wickham had painted. It seems that Mr. Darcy had not cheated Mr. Wickham out of his inheritance, as the latter had told far and wide, but rather that Mr. Wickham had refused the living (a curacy in Kympton) in exchange for the sum of 3,000 pounds. He later attempted an unsuccessful elopement with Georgiana, a fact shocking to hear and I am certain painful for Mr. Darcy to relate. How I regretted not having warned my own sister about his character before she, too, fell prey to his charms. I fear that if my Uncle Gardiner had not paid out vast sums to Mr. Wickham, he would not have married her, but left her a ruined woman deserted in London.

For that very reason, our uncle could be of little financial assistance to us, not after he had been so generous with Lydia. We knew that he had given us more than we could ever repay. Our mother, of course, expected him to rescue us, but Jane and I accepted the fact that it was impossible and we would not allow her to beg him for more. That is why Jane had taken a governess position in August. I, too, sought such a position, but someone had to stay at home and help Mamá and my younger sisters move into new quarters. I had at last found a cottage in Surrey and we were packing to move before Michaelmas when that strange arrival of my relatives and Mr. Darcy occurred without warning.

"Lizzy," Jane said, "perhaps Mr. Darcy has heard of our search for governess positions and he comes with an offer."

"I think not. Mr. Darcy's sister is well past governess age. She now has a companion and will soon be out in society."

"Well, if he does want a governess, I shall go. I know how much you dislike him, but I do not feel as strongly. Besides, since I failed miserably at my first post, I should try doubly hard if I am offered another chance."

"Oh, Jane," I cried, "do not talk so. You did not fail and we all know it." Kitty and Mary quickly agreed with me. Our oldest sister had chosen the worst possible house in Lancashire in which to be a governess. Even though the master was an earl, he had a lecherous eye, and Jane had not been in residence a week, before he invited her to sit on his lap and help him with his figures. When she refused, he persisted with greater advances. Only last week she had returned home, her beautiful eyes filled with tears, ashamed to admit she could not bear the situation. She even tortured herself that somehow she might have caused the earl's aggression.

"Perhaps he thought I was flirting," she said.

"Jane!" Mamá and I cried in unison. "Never! Not you!"

I was so angry I wanted to throttle the man, but that would have only cast me into prison and deprived my family of what little I could earn. After I calmed down, Jane and I once again submitted letters seeking positions and I was determined this time to go with Jane and check out her employer before I left her without recourse.

Now, neither we nor any of our sisters would be forced to work. That had been the argument that finally convinced me to enter into the arrangement I found myself. About an hour after Mamá and our guests had entered Papá's study, she opened the door and motioned for me to come in. Her eyes were aglow and she positively beamed. I had not seen her thus since before my father's death. Actually, I had seen that look only once before - the day my cousin, Mr. Collins, proposed to me, a match she was highly in favour of and which I refused - but it did not occur to me at the time.

I entered the room and saw Mr. Darcy standing by the window, his tall stature outlined by the reflection of the light behind him. He did not smile; he only stared at me, his expression unreadable. My aunt and uncle did smile, as though they were encouraging me to come in with an accepting manner.

"Lizzy, your uncle has something to say to you," Mamá said, pushing me forward with a slight nudge.

He cleared his throat and asked me to sit, but as everyone else stood, I declined. "Lizzy, Mr. Darcy came to me two days ago with an arrangement that will help your family exceedingly."

"Oh, yes," Mamá said, "exceedingly."

I glanced at him, but he stared at the floor for a change. "What is it?" I asked.

My uncle looked to Mr. Darcy. "Should you prefer to ask my niece, sir?"

"No. It will probably have more chance of success coming from you, sir."

Well, I thought, that is the truest statement you have ever made. It was evident he had not forgotten our last parting. I had scarce thought of the man since I had last seen him in Rosings Park. Oh, I had read his letter and at the time found myself much chagrined at how I had misjudged him by heeding Wickham's false tales, but his letter did little to curry my favour when I read his defense of participating in the separation of Mr. Bingley from my sister, Jane. And then my father's death shortly thereafter had caused my life to evolve into a downward spiral of duties and worry. Circumstances caused me to dismiss any further consideration of Mr. Darcy or his letter until that day when his presence filled my father's library at Longbourn.

"Uncle, please tell me what it is."

"Mr. Darcy comes to Longbourne, my dear, to ask for your hand in marriage."

That is when I sat down. Quickly. I felt as though I had been struck. How could he possibly still wish to marry me? I could not grasp the idea after all the harsh words that had passed between us. The shock caused me to temporarily block the remainder of my uncle's statement. I had to ask him to repeat it and that is when my mother broke in with great impatience.

"Oh, Lizzy, are you not listening? Mr. Darcy wants to marry you! Mr. Darcy! Just think of it. Our problems are over! And he not only will marry you, but he has arranged with Mr. Collins for our family to remain at Longbourne for as long as we need to, for life!"

I turned in amazement to look at him again. "How can you do that, sir? The estate is entailed upon my cousin."

He did not have a chance to speak, because Mamá took over once again. "A man of Mr. Darcy's resources can do anything. Mr. Collins is only too willing to forego possession of Longbourn for the remuneration offered, although he does still technically own the estate, I guess. Is that not correct, brother?"

My uncle nodded. "Yes, Mr. Collins has agreed to rent Longbourne to your mother, Lizzy, and Mr. Darcy is willing to pay the rental for as long as your family lives here. In addition, he is willing to settle a generous monthly stipend on your mother and establish dowries for your sisters."

Mamá then began to enthuse prodigiously on the benefits of such a transaction, how neither she nor my sisters would have to move to that horrible little cottage in Surrey where her daughters would have absolutely no opportunity to meet suitable young men of fortune (never mind the fact that Lydia's scandal had already prohibited such occurrence), how she could keep her carriage, her servants, and her place in Hertfordshire society. She went on and on while I sat there, completely baffled.

At last, my aunt sat beside me. She took my hand in hers. "What say you, Lizzy? Are you up for this marriage?"

I struggled to control my breathing and keep my lip from trembling. "How can you ask me that, Aunt? And you, Mamá? All of you? Am I nothing more to you than a bargaining piece? Do I not have a say in all of this?"

"Of course you do, my dear," my aunt replied.

"Lizzy, these kind of arrangements are made all the time," my uncle added. "This is a most fortunate offer, especially since your father is gone."

"If my father was here, he would not push me into such an arrangement! Mr. Darcy is well aware that I do not wish to marry him. He proposed to me six months ago. I refused him then and I refuse him today."

"Lizzy!" Mamá cried, sinking down on the chaise and vigorously fanning herself with her handkerchief. "Do you mean to say you refused such a man at Hunsford? That we could have been free of worry all these months but for your selfish nature?"

"I do not think I am selfish, Mamá," I pleaded. "I am willing to work to support you. I have searched everywhere for suitable housing that we can afford. I will do anything, but do not ask me to marry where I have no desire to do so."

"I knew it! I knew she would not do it. She has always been headstrong, stubborn - her father coddled her, you know - I knew she would let me down again! Mr. Darcy, I have three more daughters, the eldest much prettier than Lizzy and she possesses a much more compliant nature. Will you not take one of them?"

"Mamá!" I cried, unable to believe what I heard.

Mr. Darcy spoke then. "Mr. Gardiner, might I be afforded time alone with Miss Bennet?"

"Oh, yes, that is what you need," Mamá cried, "time to plead your case. Come, brother, come Madeline, let them talk alone."

"Mamá, there is no need for you to leave. I shall not change my mind."

"You will stay and hear Mr. Darcy, Elizabeth! You can do at least that much for me. I insist upon it!"

Seeing the look on my mother's face, I knew argument was futile. I watched the members of my family leave the room, closing the door behind them.

A good five minutes passed wherein neither of us said a word. I had stood when the others left the room; now I sat, waiting. He turned and looked out the window for what seemed like forever and then he walked behind my father's desk, picked up some papers and put them back down. The man was slower than waking Kitty in the mornings! At last, I could stand it no longer.

"Mr. Darcy, do you have anything to say? If not, I shall ask you to refrain from wasting my time."

He raised his head with a look that silenced me. I cannot describe it, but the certainty crossed my mind that one could push this man so far and no farther. I closed my mouth and waited. He took the papers, walked around the desk and sat in the chair next to me.

"Miss Bennet, this marriage contract is the only way to save your family from suffering great disadvantage both economically and socially. If you would look at the figures, I think you will see that I am prepared to provide generously for all three of your sisters, as well as your mother."

"I do not need to look at numbers, sir. I need an answer. Why are you doing this? Why do you want to marry me?"

"You have no other options. You and your sisters cannot attract men of fortune; your youngest sister's unfortunate escapade will essentially bar all of you from the best of society."

I groaned silently to think he knew of Lydia's marriage. I forgot how fast such news traveled. Mr. Collins must have told Mr. Darcy's aunt, Lady Catherine de Bourgh. What great delight she would have experienced in relaying the gossip, for she gloried in her superiority.

"I would think, sir, that Lydia's marriage would certainly bar you from the slightest consideration of making any connection with my family. Do not forget that if you do, Mr. Wickham shall be your brother-in-law."

He winced at my words, but he did not back down. "Mr. Wickham shall never, of course, be permitted to visit Pemberley or my house in London, but your sister is welcome, as is the rest of your family."

"You say I have no other options, but you are wrong, Mr. Darcy. As soon as I see my mother and sisters settled in their new place, I shall secure a position as governess, as will Jane. We thank you for your offer, but we are quite able to provide for ourselves and our family."

"Are you? Come now, Miss Bennet. Governesses make hardly enough to keep themselves clothed. There will be precious little to spare to send home to your family and, knowing the habits of your mother, frugality is not in her nature. Besides that, Miss Bennet is far too fine for the governess trade...as are you."

I could not think of a reply. I never had a head for numbers and I feared he was right about governess salaries. Still, how could I enter into such a marriage?

"Miss Bennet, as you know, I have a younger sister. She is in need of someone like you. Since the...mistreatment by Wickham, which we never speak of and which I insist shall not be mentioned in her presence, she is withdrawn and melancholy. It has been more than a year and still she is timid and shy of everything and everyone."

"Then, could not Jane or I be employed as her companion?"

"You could, although she has a fine companion in Mrs. Annesley, but I want someone permanent in her life, someone full of wit and vitality, able to tease and enjoy life, as you do. Georgiana needs a sister."

"And you would ask me to marry you just to give your sister an outgoing companion? Really, Mr. Darcy, I find that hard to believe. No one is that unselfish when it comes to family members."

He bristled at my remarks. I could see a cold anger descend upon his countenance. "Perhaps you are not that unselfish, but I take my family responsibilities seriously."

"So now you agree with my mother and say that I am selfish because I shall not sell myself to you! Mr. Darcy, there are many other women with wit and vitality and love of life whom you could marry who would assist your sister. Why must it be me? Why do you want to marry me?"

He rose and walked to the window and back. "I have my reasons, Miss Bennet."

"And they are?"

"My reasons."

When he could see that I was not impressed with his lack of candor, he went on to tell me expressly what he would require: in public I was to act as though we were perfectly amiable; I was to serve as hostess and mistress of his houses; however, he would not impose upon me privately until I was ready. That is when I turned on him like a cat and he answered with like anger (which conversation I have related earlier).

I rose, ready to flee the room when he stopped me by catching my hand. "Miss Bennet, do not refuse me today. You have much to think about. Consider it overnight at least and give me your answer on the morrow. If your answer remains in the negative, it will silence me on this subject forever."

My first thought was to cry, "No, a thousand times no!" at him, but something about his eyes, the look in them, a sort of softness I had never seen before, caused me to reluctantly agree to sleep on my decision. The relief on his face at my answer almost made me ashamed and when he released my hand, I could still feel its warmth.

That night my mind was too weary to think straight. Mamá had lectured me for what seemed like hours; my uncle and aunt both took me aside privately to persuade me how beneficial the match would be to all concerned; and at length, even Jane entreated me to consider its benefits. That broke me - the look in Jane's eyes. What she had endured during her brief sojourn in Lancashire had scarred her. She truly feared for either of us to go into service.

"Lizzy," she said, "I wish I was the one Mr. Darcy wanted. I would go in your place if I could."

"How can you say that, Jane, when in your heart you know it is Mr. Bingley that you love? How could you give yourself to another?"

She stopped plaiting her hair and looked away for a moment. It was after midnight and we sat on my bed, spending our last waking moments of the day sharing confidences as we had done almost every night since childhood. "Mr. Bingley does not love me, Lizzy. I have accepted that and I am determined to be practical from now on. I shall marry the first kind, respectable man who asks me. I no longer look for a love match."

"But, Jane! I know love is what you desire."

Her eyes filled with tears. "Not with any other man, Lizzy. I shall love Mr. Bingley the rest of my life."

"Oh, Jane," I cried, pulling her close and kissing her hair. And that is what made me do it. For some reason I felt certain that Mr. Bingley still loved Jane, in spite of his apparent disinterestedness. I suspected he had ceased his attentions to her only because of the influence of his sisters and Mr. Darcy. I did not have power over Mr. Bingley's sisters, but I could make it a condition of marriage that Mr. Darcy right the wrong he had committed upon my sister. At least one of us should be happy in marriage.

The next morning my bed looked like the remains of a wrestler's match, but I was resigned to my fate. Mr. Darcy, surprisingly, did not object to my regulation concerning Mr. Bingley and even asked if I wanted it to be added to the marriage contract. Although I believed that he would do it without such, I asked for it in writing, perhaps because I wished him to know with whom he struck a bargain - not some gullible twit of a girl, but a woman of understanding who would not be taken advantage of.

So, one might say that I married out of purely altruistic reasons, putting the welfare of my family before my own pleasure. Way down deep within, though, and even hidden at the time from my own acknowledgement, there was another reason for the marriage, a reason I was not yet able to put into words, to envision, or admit to myself. Something in me wanted to know Mr. Darcy in his entirety, to put to rest the curiosity excited by his intriguing masculinity. I wanted to understand why my senses quickened in his presence, why I felt every part of life more keenly around him, and what it was that made him want to marry me.

"Elizabeth," Mr. Darcy said, shocking me back to the reality of our journey, "I do not want Georgiana to know the truth of our physical arrangement. I trust that you will honour our contract with discretion."

"Mr. Darcy, if the truth of our physical arrangement were the opposite, do you think that I would be so indiscreet as to share that knowledge with your sister or any other member of your family?" I replied, insulted that he should think I needed cautioning.

"I should hope not, but seeing that you have been reared in circumstances quite different from mine, I shall from time to time admonish you with these warnings just in case."

Oh, the man was an absolute churl! Could he insult my family to any greater degree? Did he think I was a child? With a quick flick of my wrist, I reached over and jerked up the shade on my window. May your head burst, Mr. Darcy!

We arrived at Mr. Darcy's townhouse in London by mid-afternoon. From the moment we first reached the outskirts, the city's parade of sights and sounds entertained me. I had not been in town for some time and the intensity of the noise, odors, colors, confusion and general uproar proved a welcome diversion to the silence that had ensued during the past hour and a half of our carriage ride.

I was not surprised at the stately grandeur of the house, for the Gardiners had described the richness of Mr. Darcy's estate in Derbyshire; I expected no less in London. I was relieved to see upon entering the house that it was tastefully furnished, quietly elegant, without need to impress. Although I did not pretend to know him well, his house reflected the man I thought him to be - a gentleman long used to the best in life, without posturing or affected manner, a certain taking for granted that this was how life was to be. I assumed it had always been that way for him and now it was to be my way of life. That would take adjustment on my part.

In the foyer the butler, Adams, and the housekeeper, Mrs. James, met us. If they were surprised to see a new mistress, their manners were circumspect and unrevealing. Adams informed us that Miss Georgiana entertained callers in the salon and I saw Mr. Darcy frown at the news.

"Did not Colonel Fitzwilliam fetch her last night and take her to the Earl of Matlock's residence?"

"No, sir, the colonel just arrived a short while ago and by that time Mrs. Hurst and Miss Bingley attended Miss Darcy. He has gone above stairs to freshen up before joining them, sir," Adams answered, indicating the direction toward the salon. Mr. Darcy groaned and I almost rolled my eyes at the thought of a visit with my least favourite people.

As he and his butler continued their conversation regarding general news of the household, I ventured a few steps farther so that I might observe the inhabitants of the salon without their seeing me. I wished to have a look at my new sister-in-law before we were thrust upon each other.

I saw a young girl, slender and pale, the opposite in colour to her brother, sitting across from her guests. With what appeared to be caution and some trepidation, Georgiana Darcy poured tea into china cups for her guests. She seemed uneasy with the practice which surprised me, for I assumed she had served as hostess for her brother numerous times in the past, but the presence of Miss Bingley and Mrs. Hurst could contribute to the discomfiture of even the most accomplished of hostesses. How well I knew that!

"You say that you expected your brother to return last night, Miss Darcy?"

"Yes, Miss Bingley," she answered, extending the cup and saucer with a slightly shaky hand.

"Perhaps the storm caused the delay," Mrs. Hurst offered. "The lightning was quite severe at our townhouse."

"Quite," Caroline Bingley agreed. "The thunder disturbed my slumber several times."

"I feel certain they spent the night on the road," Georgiana said. "At least I hope they did. I would not have them caught in the rain somewhere without aid."

Caroline laughed. "Oh, you need not worry, my dear. Your brother is well able to take care of himself. He is so strong and capable. I have not the least fear that he could withstand last night's storm with no harm whatsoever."

"Yes, I am sure that Wills could make his way, but with his bride, I..."

Caroline snorted, coughed, and sloshed her tea into the saucer. She quickly placed it on the table and grabbed frantically for a napkin to mop up the liquid dribbling down her chin. "What did you say, Miss Darcy? I must have misunderstood you!"

"Yes," Mrs. Hurst interjected, casting a horrified glance at her sister, "surely you did not say Mr. Darcy had a bride, my dear, or...did you?"

Georgiana nodded. "Yes. My brother married yesterday at Hertfordshire."

Caroline appeared almost in a swoon, her eyes rolled back in her head in a most unappealing manner. She turned to her sister with a frantic look, and Mrs. Hurst took over the conversation. "He married at Hertfordshire, you say? To...uh, anyone we might know?"

"I do not know whether you are acquainted with her. I have never met her."

"And...and her name, my dear? Would you happen to know her name?"

"Elizabeth Bennet."

Both of Mr. Bingley's sisters now gasped in unison, Caroline grabbing her throat as though she had been shot. Georgiana's eyes grew large as she observed their obvious shock and disbelief. "Do either of you know Miss Bennet?"

"Yes," Mrs. Hurst answered, recovering somewhat, "a little. We met her sister, Jane, when we were last at Netherfield. Her family has a small estate nearby."

"What is she like? My brother has told me little, other than he feels certain I shall like her."

"She is very different from us," Caroline said, having completed her mopping up. "I cannot believe Charles did not tell us of the wedding."

"I do not know if Wills told your brother. It all happened rather fast."

"It must have," Mrs. Hurst said, "not to invite us. Mr. Darcy is an intimate friend of ours." Caroline gave her a quizzical look and her sister explained, "That is, of our brother, and, consequently, of us as well. I know my husband thinks highly of him. I truly cannot understand why your brother would not have at least asked Charles to accompany him."

Caroline's eyebrows shot up as though she had just become privy to a shocking idea. "Surely there was no need for a quick wedding, was there, Miss Darcy?" She and Mrs. Hurst both leaned forward in anticipation.

"I...I do not know what you mean," Georgiana answered.

Just then Colonel Fitzwilliam walked into the salon from an adjoining door on the far side of the room. Georgiana rose to greet him as he swept into the room, the shine on his boots less than sparkling, and his cloak heavy with moisture. He kissed her hand and smiled, and it seemed to me that he searched her eyes as though he might determine how she fared.

"Richard! I am glad to see you!"

"My sweet Georgie. You must excuse my appearance. Since dawn I rode through mud thicker than pudding. Ah, I see you have guests and I intrude."

"No, not at all. You remember Mrs. Hurst and Miss Bingley. They are Mr. Bingley's sisters."

The colonel bowed to each of the ladies. "Yes, of course. I believe we met once before."

"We did," Mrs. Hurst agreed, "at Lord Dalrymple's ball last winter."

"Yes, how could I forget? As I recall, your brother was sick with love for some young thing and my cousin and the two of you worked together all evening attempting to convince him to forget her by introducing him to every eligible young woman at the dance. What was it Darcy kept saying? 'There are some very strong objections against the lady, Bingley. Surely, you can do better.' Yes, that was it. I think he felt quite pleased with himself when he succeeded in thwarting Mr. Bingley's plans."

I felt a flush creep up my neck to my cheeks and I had to bite my lip to keep from crying out, "You speak of my sister!" Fortunately, I restrained myself and looking back to see Mr. Darcy still in earnest discussion with the servants, I moved a little closer to the room so that I might have a better view.

Georgiana offered the colonel a cup of tea, with which he busied himself. He added sugar and cream and stirred the cup with more effort than it seemed to need. Caroline watched him intently. I suspected that she was about to shower him with questions of my marriage and I was soon proven correct.

"Colonel, we have just heard the most surprising news. Miss Darcy told us that her brother was married yesterday and to Miss Elizabeth Bennet. Can this be true?"

"Ah, yes, most definitely. I, myself, stood up with Darcy and he performed his vows admirably."

"But this is so sudden. We did not even know they were engaged," Mrs. Hurst said.

"I believe it was a short betrothal, or at least a rather private one. You may not have heard that Miss Bennet's father passed away some six months ago. That may be why they elected to have a quiet wedding. There was no one in attendance but family."

Mrs. Hurst continued to sip her tea. Caroline sank back against the cushioned settee, her face falling like a pillow robbed of its feathers. Conversation lagged until Georgiana asked that her cousin provide them with more details of the event. There was not that much to tell, he admitted. The wedding had been brief, the wedding breakfast almost as much so, and the couple had left in a heavy downpour. Darcy had requested that the colonel return to London immediately and take Georgiana to his parents' estate just outside of town. Fitzwilliam had been delayed by the storm and had, at last, taken refuge in a small inn, and then rose at daybreak to reach London before the newly married couple. Since he had traveled by a different route than Mr. and Mrs. Darcy, he assumed they had also spent the night on the road and would arrive soon.

Just then Mr. Darcy startled me by clearing his throat. Although my eavesdropping was apparent, he did not censure me for it. He indicated the way to the salon and we proceeded therein. Georgiana rose, a picture of surprise on her countenance that turned to pleasure I assumed at the recognition of her brother, for she rushed to his side.

"Mr. Darcy!" Miss Bingley crowed. Her eyes lit up at his presence, but then narrowed at sight of me.

"And Miss Bennet," Mrs. Hurst cooed, "we have just heard the news."

We all spoke in acknowledgement and then Mr. Darcy introduced me to Georgiana. We bowed to each other and I searched for something credible to say. "I am very glad to make your acquaintance."

"And I, yours," she replied. "I have heard much of you."

That was another time I could have rolled my eyes, but did not. "I hope you will not hold whatever information you have heard against me, for I know your brother is my severest critic."

"Oh, no. My brother has not spoken ill of you, but rather praised you. He said you play and sing beautifully."

"I fear he has exaggerated, needless to say for some mischievous reason known only to him." "My brother never exaggerates. He always tells the absolute truth." There was no mistaking the love and regard in which she held him.

I did not know what to say, so I changed the subject. "I understand that you love music and play very well."

"She does," Mrs. Hurst cut in. "My brother says he has never heard anyone play with such spirit as Miss Darcy. Perhaps we may all have opportunity to hear her during your stay in town. But you must tell us of your wedding! Colonel Fitzwilliam has just this very moment informed us of the event." She continued to utter silly, meaningless phrases that I knew to be untrue and then added, "How delightful and yet shocking, Mr. Darcy! When did this happen and how could you have kept it from us? Does Charles know?"

Before he could reply, she went on, "And where did you marry? Surely, you did not whisk her off to Gretna Green, sir!" How could she ask that when I had just overheard Colonel Fitzwilliam tell them we were married in Hertfordshire?

"Louisa!" Caroline cried. "How can you even suggest such a thing? Mr. Darcy would never consent to an elopement, even if Miss Bennet would."

I was seething by that time. "We did not elope. Why ever would you suggest that I should do so?"

As only she could do, Caroline smiled but did not really smile. "Well, we heard news of your youngest sister and Mr. Wickham. Did they not run off to Scotland to marry this past summer?"

I felt Mr. Darcy stiffen - I did not even have to look at him - and I heard Georgiana's quick intake of breath. What surprised me was the look of ferocity that descended upon Colonel Fitzwilliam's countenance. Mr. Darcy had told me to look to the colonel for verification of his account of Wickham's misdeeds with Georgiana, but I had never discussed the matter with him. Obviously, he shared his cousin's feelings in the matter and was aghast at the impact of Miss Bingley's words on the young girl. Did not the woman have any idea how she hurt the child? Georgiana sat down on the sofa, her hands trembling. I walked across the room and sat beside my new sister before answering. "You are mistaken, Miss Bingley. Lydia married in London two months ago."

"My, my, how strange this must be for you, Mr. Darcy," Caroline continued.

He strode to his sister's side and stood behind the couch, placing one hand on her shoulder. "In what way?" he replied, his tone deadly.

"Why, you are now brother to the son of your former servant. Shall we look forward to seeing him at Pemberley?"

I could sense Mr. Darcy's anger, but before he could speak, Colonel Fitzwilliam came to his rescue. "As much as I would love to continue this visit, I am much in need of returning home, and I would suggest we give Mr. and Mrs. Darcy some time to themselves. Georgiana, Mamá looks forward to your visit. Shall I ask the servant to pack your bag?"

"No," she said quickly, "I shall see to it. If you will excuse me, Miss Bingley, Mrs. Hurst... Mrs. Darcy."

"Georgiana," Mr. Darcy began, but she escaped the room before he could say more.

Caroline and her sister rose and made their farewells; they could hardly do otherwise, since the person they came to visit had just fled from their presence. Mrs. Hurst was effusive in her congratulations and offerings to have us visit at her house in Grosvenor Square, but Caroline did nothing more than nod curtly. Poor Miss Bingley. Her worst nightmare had come true. The man at whom she had literally thrown herself for years was now removed from the marriage market. Little did she know I would have gladly changed places with her.

As soon as the guests left, Mr. Darcy took the stairs two at a time, heading for his sister's room, I presumed. That left the colonel and me alone together. We had never been at a disadvantage for conversation, but neither of us said much of anything. We spoke of the weather again and of how tedious our journeys, but little else. I wondered if Mr. Darcy had confided in his cousin, had told him of our marriage arrangement, or whether he sensed innately that all was not right between us. I remembered how he had looked upon me at the wedding with an expression of sympathy. I did not want his sympathy. The last thing I desired was pity. I had made this decision to marry and for my own reasons. I would not be the object of anyone's commiseration. Perhaps that is why I acted as I did when we heard Mr. Darcy and Georgiana descend the stairs together. Fitzwilliam left to join them but I lagged behind, remaining in the salon, although I did move toward the door where I could see the three of them talking together.

Georgiana had forgotten a favourite book and instead of calling a servant, Mr. Darcy ran up the stairs to retrieve it. I could just make out the conversation between Georgiana and Colonel Fitzwilliam.

"No, Sprout," he said, "it is Darcy's wish that you stay with my parents for at least two weeks and Mother looks forward to your visit. You have always been her favourite, you know, even though I have no idea why." The last words were said in a teasing manner and it was obvious that he was fond of her.

"But Richard, how will it look to Mrs. Darcy if I run off like this? She will think I do not like her."

"Little one, you are talking about a newly married couple. They are thinking of no one other than each other right now. She will have plenty of time later to acquaint herself with you. For now, let them have their honeymoon."

Georgiana blushed and ducked her head. "Oh, Richard, you must think me a silly goose."

"No, just an innocent one." He smiled and lifted her chin with his forefinger. "Do not turn your head away from me, little cousin. You are much too pretty to hide your face."

"I pray you do not tease me. You know that I am not innocent...just stupid." She turned away from him and appeared adamant in her refusal to face him, but he placed his hands on her shoulders and turned her around.

"I do not want to ever hear you say that again, Georgiana. Nothing could be farther from the truth."

"But Richard, after what happened last year..."

"That is behind you now, my dear. Far, far behind you." He gathered her into his arms, cradled her head against his chest, and smoothed her blonde curls as he held her close. "If only you could forget that it ever happened."

"If only it had never happened."

He held her for some time and finally she lifted her face. "Do not be concerned, Richard. Truly, I shall be well." When she offered him a tentative smile, Fitzwilliam's face broke into a relieved grin and I felt almost embarrassed to be privy to their conversation. There was an intimacy there I knew nothing about and I wondered if Mr. Darcy did. For some reason I felt almost envious. How pleasant it would be to have a protector like Colonel Fitzwilliam, to have someone who cared as much for me.

At the sound of Mr. Darcy descending the stairs, they looked up; I decided to make my presence known and joined them. I still do not know why I did it, but I tucked my hand into Mr. Darcy's arm as though we were married in all respects. I felt him stiffen and imagined his surprise, but I did not even glance in his direction; instead, I gave my warmest smile to his sister.

"I look forward to your return, Georgiana. I hope we shall become good friends."

She curtseyed in reply, but did not echo my sentiment. I could see the wary expression in her eyes and after she and the colonel departed, I felt a great weariness descend upon me. The situation would not be easy. This young girl would not welcome me with any degree of warmth. How could she after learning that I was sister-in-law to Wickham?

"You may stop the pretense now, Elizabeth," Mr. Darcy said, straightening his arm.

I withdrew my hand with haste, bristling at his cold tone. Did my touch fill him with such distaste that he must rid himself of it at the first chance? Fine. I had no desire to ever touch him again. If he did not appreciate my efforts at presenting the picture of domestic happiness, then I would be all too glad to oblige him. "I am tired, Mr. Darcy. Will you call a servant to show me to my apartment?"

"I shall take you there. I planned on giving you a tour of the house, but we can defer that until tomorrow."

He indicated that I should climb the wide staircase and I noted the rich gleam of the highly polished balustrade. It was made of the finest mahogany and the intricately curved spindles complemented the dark wine carpet on the stairs. No wonder he had objected to the rough inn we had been forced to stay in the night before. When a man was accustomed to such splendor, it must be hard to adjust to less. Upon reaching the second floor, he led me down the wide hallway to the second door on the left. Inside was a beautiful spacious bedroom, artfully decorated in blues and greens. I was happy to see it contained four narrow, floor-to-ceiling windows facing the east so that I would awaken to the warmth of the sun. They opened upon a small, verdant garden. The trees were turning red and gold and the hawthorn shrubs sprouted the beginnings of red berries. This spot had been designed to please the eye in all seasons with various plantings of flowering bushes.

"This shall be your room," Mr. Darcy said. "Your maid has unpacked for you, but if you desire anything further, do not hesitate to ring for her. Dinner is served around 8:30, so there should be time for you to rest before then." With a slight bow, he walked out the door, closing it behind him.

I spent no little time exploring the room. I peeked into the armoires, for there were two; I opened drawers and noted how little space my nightgowns and underclothes occupied. There was ample room for a much better dressed woman to occupy these quarters. I sat on the sofa before the fireplace and leaned against its cushy pillows. From there I moved to the large four-poster bed and was pleased to feel its comforting depth - neither too soft nor too hard. Well, should I expect less from a man of Mr. Darcy's means?

On the north wall a small writing desk contained two pots of ink, quills and a box of the finest stationery; beside it a door opened to a combination dressing room/bath. I had never before enjoyed the luxury of my own bath and I inspected it with great thoroughness, anticipating the pleasure of a long soak.

On the south wall, I fingered the small china dogs nestled beneath a vase of autumn's last roses sitting on the bureau. Next to it I saw another large door hooded with ornate cream-coloured molding, which continued around the room, crowned the walls and separated them from the high ceiling. I wondered what further personal extravagance awaited me on the other side and so I promptly turned the brass doorknob.

What astonishment I felt at the sight before me! Another completely furnished chamber lay before me, as warm and inviting as mine, but in a decidedly darker fashion. Rich chocolate colours mixed with smoky greens covered the walls, furniture, and linens. At first, I drew back, afraid that I had stumbled into someone's bedroom, but since there was an adjoining door to mine I dismissed that idea, believing, instead, that perhaps it was a sort of study or personal library for my use, for two walls were lined with bookshelves filled to capacity. I saw another desk, larger than the first and fitted out with even more writing materials. I delighted in it, and anticipated writing to Jane that very night. The only strange thing about the room was that it contained another bed, a great handsome bed made up with warmth and taste.

"What need shall I have for two beds," I wondered aloud, and then thought how perfect it would be for Jane when she came to visit, how we would enjoy the benefit of being next to each other. Yes, that was it - the room must be a combination study for me and guest chamber for my most intimate friends. My, I thought, the very rich certainly do have advantages I have never dreamed of. However, at that very moment the door from the room to the hall opened...and a completely unexpected answer to my question walked in.

"Madam?" Mr. Darcy raised one eyebrow in a sardonic expression. "May I presume that you seek my presence, seeing that you have invaded my bedroom?"

I was aghast! "Your bedroom? But...but it connects with mine!"

"It does, indeed." A faint smile crossed his countenance - actually more of a smirk than smile.

I whirled around and marched back to my room, slamming the door between us. I turned to reach for the lock, when the door, itself, was snatched from my hands and pulled open by Mr. Darcy.

"I am not accustomed to having doors slammed in my face," he said, advancing into the room as I backed away from him.

"And I am not accustomed to such high-handed treatment, sir."

"I fail to comprehend your meaning."

"Why does your room connect to mine? How dare you put me in such a situation?"

"Such a situation? Mrs. Darcy, these two rooms belonged to my parents and after their deaths, I naturally took my father's chamber as master of the house. You are now to preside as mistress; thus, I placed you in the very best suite which, obviously, happens to adjoin mine." He enjoyed this; it was evident by the continued smirk on his face.

"Well," I sputtered, "well...I shall require a lock on this door. It does possess one, does it not?"

With what appeared to be a deliberate, tedious turning of his head, Mr. Darcy looked at the knob and then back at me. "It does not."

"Will you see that one is installed this very night?"

"I will not."

"Mr. Darcy! I protest! You assured me according to the terms of our arrangement that our marriage would be in name only until I wished differently. Are you going back on your word?"

"I am not. That is why you have no need for a lock. I do not open doors where I am not wanted."

"And how can I believe that after your behaviour last night? I want a lock."

"My dear, I have apologized for my actions last night; I shall not do so again. But do heed what I am about to say: If you think a lock will keep me from your room, you are mistaken. When I decide to enter, there is no lock made that will keep me out."

Before I could think of an answer, he turned and strode from the room, closing the door firmly behind him. Oh, I could not think clearly for the shock of his statement! How could he speak to me so? I gasped for air and paced the floor ten minutes or longer. Had his performance last night been an indicator of what was to come? Need I fear a repeat of it that night? If so, I would leave the house no matter what arrangement I had consented to. I would not live in fear of his coming through that door at any moment. I fumed and muttered to myself; I even cried a little, but when my emotions were spent and my anger subsided, I sank down upon the sofa, clasped my arms together and hugged them close to my body. Each time I looked at that door, gooseflesh ran up and down my arms. Gradually, I began to realize that neither fear nor even anger caused that reaction, but a sensation I was unable to name, a sensation that made me extremely uncomfortable.

It welled up from somewhere deep within me, spurred by the memory of awakening in Mr. Darcy's arms and with my head upon his chest.

Dinner that evening was a strained affair. I was surprised at the intimacy of the dining room when first I entered until Mrs. James explained that since it was just the two of us, Mr. Darcy had ordered our meal held in the smaller dining room. Naturally! I should have known he had two dining rooms - did he not have two or more of everything? I tried not to look at him, but it was next to impossible when there was little else on which to place my eyes. The crystal and china gleamed in the candlelight and I tried to keep my eyes on both for some time. The food was delicious, perfect in every detail, and if I had not been tormented by a headache, I would have eaten with more appetite. I had thought to decline dinner, begging off with the excuse of my ailment, but then I recalled how servants talk. If they know that Mr. Darcy has a headache and I complain of one, too, will not such ills so early in a marriage alert them to the unhappiness of our arrangement? They would know soon enough - how could they avoid the fact that we slept in separate beds? I knew little of marital intimacies, but it was a well-known fact that husbands and wives shared a bed early in their marriage.

After dinner Mr. Darcy escorted me into the music room and asked me to play and sing for him. I started to refuse, until he spoke again.

"My headache has not let up. Some soft music might do the trick."

"I shall play, sir, but do not ask me to sing. I am not in the mood."

"As you like." He sat down on a sofa opposite the pianoforte.

I chose to play a Beethoven sonata in F minor, feeling his eyes upon me the entire time. Fortunately, the piece required that I watch the keys or music and not meet his gaze. If I had done so, I felt sure he would have had a critical expression thereon, as I fudged and slurred my way through several of the somber chords. At the end of the song, I looked up and saw that he had leaned his head against the sofa back and closed his eyes. Assuming I had put him to sleep, I rose and attempted to quietly slip out of the room and escape to my bedchamber, but he spoke before I could reach the door.

"Thank you, Elizabeth, that was lovely. Will you have some wine?"

"I thank you, no," I said, seating myself on a small chair. "And I hope you do not intend to imbibe tonight, sir. You said in the carriage that you were not in the habit of consuming much strong drink."

He smiled slightly. "Do not fear a repeat of last evening. Even if I wanted to drink, my headache prevents it."

We sat quietly for some time, neither of us even attempting to converse. I may as well get used to this silence, I thought. At last he rose and walked to the window, pushed aside the heavy drapery and looked out. "I see that the rain has returned."

"Then I shall sleep well. The sound of raindrops against the window has always soothed me."

"Except for last night."

"Yes," I replied, somewhat disconcerted that he should speak of it again. "But even with the storm, I did sleep well."

"Did you?" He turned to look upon me with an expression in his eyes that made me feel suddenly weak, almost trembling. I could do nothing but nod slightly. What possessed me? Why should his gaze affect me so? He walked toward me and held out his hand. "Shall we retire early tonight?"

I am sure the width of my eyes caused him to realize my discomfort at such a proposal.

"I meant no untoward suggestion, Elizabeth. I have a headache. I am tired. And I assume the day has been long for you as well. Shall we proceed above stairs, you to your chamber and I to mine?"

"Actually, sir, I would beg leave to select a book from your library before I turn in."

"Of course. I shall show you the way."

"There is no need. I can summon a servant."

The coolness of my tone must have succeeded in discouraging him, for he bowed slightly and with a simple, "Good-night, then," he strode up the stairs, after having summoned the butler to lead me into the large, well-endowed library. I delighted in canvassing the room, as I explored the volumes upon volumes of books. I took my time in doing so, not merely for the pleasure it afforded me, but also to insure that Mr. Darcy might be safely ensconced in his bedchamber by the time I retired to mine.

At last I chose a new novel and hurried up the staircase. Closing the door once I reached my room and holding my breath, I leaned against it and listened for the sound of footsteps. When I heard none, I ventured into the room and noted the warmth of the fire already laid and waiting for me. I spread my hands before it and then, completely unbidden, my eyes could not help but travel to the door between my suite and that of Mr. Darcy. I felt quite unnerved that we should sleep with only a wall between us. Suddenly I heard footsteps behind me and turned, covering my mouth to stifle a gasp.

"Ma'am?" A young maid walked through the doorway from my dressing room. "I did not mean to startle you. I am Fiona. Does Madam require a bath tonight?"

"Fiona," I said, so relieved I had to sit down on the sofa. "I would. I would, indeed. A bath would be the very thing to wash away the weariness of the road."

"I shall attend to it immediately, Ma'am," she said, but instead of returning to the dressing room, she opened the door to the hallway.

"Fiona? Where are you going?"

She blushed and then stammered, "To inform Master Darcy's valet that you will require additional time before...you are...ready."

"Ready? I do not understand."

"For the master's visit, Ma'am," she said softly, obviously embarrassed to meet my eyes.

I closed mine, amazed at my stupidity. Of course, she and Mr. Darcy's servant expected us to spend the night together. I must adjust to this. I was married and I must act the married woman at least until the servants realized we do not sleep together. "There is no need," I said. "Mr. Darcy has...tasks awaiting him. There will be adequate time for my bath before his...visit."

She nodded, returned to the dressing room and readied the tub with steaming hot water. I proceeded to the dressing table and began to unpin my hair. How luxurious it felt to have her brush it and then pin it up loosely, just enough to keep from getting wet. She helped me to disrobe and I sighed with pleasure when I stepped into the warm tub, slipped down into the hot water, and laid my head back against the tub. Fiona had poured some sweet-smelling salts into the water and the incense and heat combined to make me feel at ease at last.

"Oh, I've forgotten the lotions, Ma'am." She pulled drawers open while she searched throughout the room. "One moment, please. I'll return with great haste."

"Do not hurry. I shall soak for a while."

I heard the click of her heels as she left the dressing room and walked through my bedchamber and out into the hall. I sighed again, for I could not believe how much I needed this respite. The worries and cares of the last days seemed to slide off me as I slipped my shoulders under the water. I closed my eyes and inhaled the pleasing scent. I wriggled my toes and pulled my leg up and stretched it toward the ceiling, running the washcloth down the calf.

I heard footsteps behind me again and realized I should allow the maid to wash me, as that was her job, and so I sat up. When the steps ceased and she did not appear, I turned to glance over my shoulder and inhaled sharply - there, just inside the doorway between the dressing room and my bedchamber, stood Mr. Darcy! I was too shocked to say or do anything other than sit there, my mouth agape. He, likewise, appeared stunned, but he did not turn and leave immediately as one would have expected. He stood there, silent and staring as though transfixed. He opened his mouth, but remained silent. At last he turned and vanished. I heard the door to the hallway close firmly behind him.

I gasped for air, realizing suddenly that I had held my breath the entire time we had stared at each other. Why had he entered my room? Had he not promised to honour my privacy? And to think that he had seen me in my bath! I looked around, realizing that since the doorway was behind me, he had seen nothing more than my exposed back and shoulders, but still...we both knew that I was unclothed. Oh, what mortification! How could I ever face him again?

Just then I heard the door to the hall open and I reached for the towel draped across the front of the tub. The sound of voices could be heard, one of them, which I recognized as Mr. Darcy's, loud and insistent. The door then closed and Fiona hurried into the room, carrying the lotion.

"I beg your pardon, Ma'am," she said, obviously flustered. "I did not mean to be so long."

"Is something wrong, Fiona?"

"Yes, ma'am, it is my little boy. He has a toothache and he cries for me even though Betty tends him. Children always want their mothers when they are sick."

"You have a son?"

"Yes, Ma'am. His name is William, but I call him Willie."

"But how can you be in service with a child to care for?"

"The master...he gave me special permission, Ma'am. I know it is unusual, but the master is the kindest of men, although he is quite unhappy with me just now."

"The master? Was that his voice I heard raised in the hall?"

"Yes, ma'am. He came in search of me when he was told that the child was crying and he said I had left the door to your chamber open, for which I beg your pardon most heartily, Ma'am. I pray you do not hold it against me. We are most fortunate that it was only the master who discovered it, are we not?" She smiled and winked at me, as though to say she understood the intimacies of marriage. Well, of course she would; she had a child.

"Yes, quite," I murmured. She then proceeded to wash my back and helped me dry off and get dressed for bed. She rubbed my arms, hands and neck with the lotion. After unpinning my hair, she brushed it again, the steaming bath having caused my curls to misbehave in their own wayward manner.

"So, this Betty tends your son while you are working, Fiona? Is that correct?"

"Yes, she's grown old now, but once she worked in the kitchen at Pemberley as I did."

"Oh, you work at Pemberley also?"

"Not any more. I worked there in the kitchen when I was much younger until...until I had Willie. With his birth, the master moved me to London and I trained to be an upstairs maid. The master is so good. He could have banished me when I became with child, but instead, he moved me here and he kept Betty on so that she could help me. Master Darcy is truly the best of men."

"And your husband? Does he work in the house also?"

She blushed and would not meet my eyes. " 'Tis shameful to admit, Ma'am, but I have never married."

"I see." Now I was embarrassed, but surprised at the news. Why should Mr. Darcy, who prided himself upon his propriety, show kindness to a fallen woman and keep her in his employment - not only keep her employed, but elevate her to ladies' maid?

"I had Willie five years ago, Ma'am, when I was naught but fifteen years old. The year before, I left Scotland to live with my uncle and aunt who are in service at Pemberley, and when I became with child, I had nowhere to go. They are all the family I have left. The master was most understanding. He could not have me remain at Pemberley because of Miss Georgiana. She was so young at the time and he is very protective of her, but he found a place for me here in London. I am most grateful."

"I can see how you would be," I said, rising. "Go back to your child, now. I do not need anything else this evening." One last time she plumped the pillows on the bed she had turned down, and then curtseyed and departed.

I was glad to be alone. Not only did I suffer a headache, now my thoughts reeled with what had happened earlier. Mr. Darcy entered my room uninvited and invaded my privacy once again. Was he a man I should fear? Would he burst through the door adjoining our chambers in the middle of the night, demanding his conjugal rights? That image was in complete opposition to the picture just painted by the servant - that of a merciful, kind and compassionate master. Who was the real Mr. Darcy?

A knock at the inner door caused me to jump! It could be no one other than him. My first thought was to barricade myself inside the dressing room, an idea I quickly abandoned upon remembering his warning that a door would not bar him if he wanted in. I took a deep breath and opened the door, although I must admit that my hand shook as I reached for the doorknob.

There he stood, still completely dressed, which I took as a reassuring sign. I realized that I was dressed for bed and drew my robe a little closer. It was the one alteration to my dark wardrobe that I had allowed - a beautiful champagne-coloured silk robe given to me by Mrs. Gardiner. I knew she had envisioned me in it on my wedding night, wearing it for my new husband. I could tell it flattered me by the way Mr. Darcy looked me up and down, but I refused to back down and met his eyes with a fierceness of my own.

"Sir?"

"May I come in, Elizabeth?"

"For what reason?"

"I brought you some books. I thought they might prove diverting. And...to apologize."

The look of contrition in his eyes seemed genuine and so I stepped back, allowing him entrance. I returned to the fireplace and he followed me, but maintained an acceptable amount of distance from my person.

"Forgive me, Elizabeth, for barging in earlier. I had not the least idea you were...bathing."

I said nothing, giving him not the slightest assistance.

"My valet said Fee's child was ill and when he could not find her, I thought she must be preparing your room. With the door left ajar, I assumed you were still in the library and that she had not heard my knocking. I did knock."

"I did not hear a knock."

"But I did. You must believe me. I entered only to find the maid."

His apology sounded sincere, but I was not in a mood to make things easier for him, so I did not reply and, instead, settled myself upon the sofa.

"I know that you like to read, so I selected a couple of books for you." He handed me a collection of Dunne's sonnets and a novel by Richard Graves.

"Thank you." I flipped through the pages.

"I hope you found something of interest below stairs, but I picked these two from among my favourites, which I keep on the shelves inside my room."

"You have a great many favourites." I recalled the walls of bookshelves I had seen earlier. He nodded and I could not keep myself from adding, "I do like books, Mr. Darcy, and I shall endeavour most heartily to improve my mind by extensive reading."

He winced at my words, both of us aware that I made reference to a sharp retort he had made last winter about a refined woman needing to be an extensive reader if she was to entertain his fancy of an accomplished woman. For some reason, I had a brief glimmer of remorse at teasing him, for it was plain to see that he knew not how to take it, and so I changed the subject.

"Fiona told me of your kindness toward her."

He did not answer, but frowned in response.

"How you allowed her to remain in your employ after her unfortunate situation."

"Aye, well, she had nowhere to go and I could not see turning her out. She was very young and ignorant."

"I assume the man could not be forced to take responsibility."

He shook his head. "I felt it was my responsibility."

"Yours? But why? Do you know who the father is?"

"I do." He turned and started for the door. "But that is all I care to say about the matter. I bid you good-night."

As he closed the door behind him, a suspicion began to nag at my mind - an ugly, worrisome thought. Why had he voiced his reply like that? His responsibility? Surely not! Oh, surely not!

I awoke the next morning to blessed sunshine streaming through the windows. Not even a hint of fog. How I rejoiced at the sight, for I did not think I could abide another dark, dreary day. If I were in charge of rain, I would have it do so only at night, at the accustomed hour of slumber and every day would be as beautiful as this morning promised. It lightened my mood considerably and when I recalled the distasteful thought with which I had ended the prior evening, I determined to dismiss it as nothing more than a foolish fancy on my part

From my earliest childhood I had been blessed with a sanguine nature and although it had been sorely tried in the last six months and the past two days in particular, I resolved to think more positively, to try my best to be optimistic. A great longing to leave the house and walk in the garden came over me and I planned to do so as soon as I had breakfasted. I even resolved to hold my tongue with Mr. Darcy; I would attempt to be more compliant, to overlook his disagreeableness, and to enjoy the day.

My resolve lasted a good half hour.

We had just sat down to breakfast that included a steaming cup of freshly brewed coffee, which I dearly loved and was enjoying thoroughly, when Mr. Darcy announced that I must have new gowns made as soon as possible.

"I do not mean to disparage your wardrobe," he said. "It is perfectly suitable for the sphere in which you were brought up, but you will need more extensive selections as my wife."

His tone grated on me, perhaps because all that had transpired the night before had not truly been put to rest in spite of my efforts, and so with the greatest of ease my cheerful resolve flew right up the chimney. "I have never been one to put on airs, Mr. Darcy, in either my manners or dress."

"I am well aware of that. I would not have you do so, but you must see that we shall attend concerts and assemblies as well as balls during the upcoming season, and I want you to feel at ease. You must take advantage of the time we are in town to order new gowns. Having grown up with a sister, I know how important clothes are to a woman. And besides that, I think it is time that you soften the severity of your attire."

Severity! What did he mean? When I raised my eyebrows in reply, he went on. "Pray, do not think I am insensitive to the loss of your father, Elizabeth, but it is now past six months since his passing. One rarely sees anyone completely garbed in black as you are for this length of time."

"Perhaps that is because you have never seen anyone who mourns the loss as deeply as I do, sir. How can you possibly know the depth of my grief?"

His voice softened when next he spoke. "I, too, have grieved for my parents. Although it occurred years ago, I still feel their absence."

His words shamed me; how could I have forgotten that he had also suffered such a loss? Still, my shackles were raised at the thought that he would tell me when to cease my own observance.

"Shall you not visit the dressmakers and milliners later in the week and at least select some fabrics and patterns or whatever it is that women require in something other than black? I shall allow you to choose the time you make the change, itself."

"That is generous of you, sir. At least I shall be permitted the freedom to choose when I quit mourning!" I rose and stormed out of the dining room. Just before I reached the staircase, Mr. Darcy, having followed me, grabbed my hand.

"Elizabeth! Must you make a scene out of our every conversation?"

"A scene! I cannot see that I am making a scene. I simply expressed my opinion, sir, and if I am to refrain from doing so, that should have been a clause in our marriage contract!"

Two servants could be heard approaching the staircase above stairs, and so he said nothing, but with a nod of his head, indicated that I must return to the dining room. I complied but only because I, too, did not care to air our differences in front of the staff. Behind the doors that he closed firmly, Mr. Darcy's scowl deepened. He escorted me to the chair on which I had previously sat and stood so close by that I had no choice but to sit down.

"You and I must come to a truce, Elizabeth. You are behaving as a child and I expect much more of you."

"I am behaving as a child? And why not, when you persist in treating me as one?"

He clenched his fist and put it to his mouth the way I had seen him do before when he was angry. Pacing back and forth before the fireplace, he said nothing for a full five minutes. At last, he seemed to have gained his composure. "If I have treated you as less than you are, I apologize. You must acknowledge that being a husband is as strange to me as the role of wife is to you. I have been master in this house for five years now and Georgiana has been my responsibility for as long. I am accustomed to say what I will and it is done."

"I shall acknowledge that, Mr. Darcy, if you will accept that I am not a servant, a dependent child, or a younger sister. Whether we like it or not, you have made me your wife and I intend to be treated with the honour and respect such position merits. I will not be talked down to, scolded, nor ordered. If you have not already discovered it, I hope you soon do so - I am not your property!"

There must have been a fire in my eyes, for I was as deadly earnest as I had been when he had insulted me at Hunsford six months previous. When I saw a slight smile flicker about his countenance, it did nothing to abate my anger. "What statement have I made that you can possibly deem humorous, sir?"

"Only that I marvel at how quickly you forget your marriage vows."

"I do not understand your meaning."

"Did you not but two days ago in the presence of God and witnesses promise to obey me?"

I closed my eyes in dismay. How could he bring up that sham of a wedding ceremony and the words I had been forced to utter?

"Or was your pledge of obedience as false as your vow of love?"

There was no need for me to answer, for he knew the truth as well as I did. This time Mr. Darcy was the one to turn and stride out of the room. We did not speak of our disagreement again; instead, we separated for much of the day until late that afternoon he sent Fiona to my sitting room with a request.

"If you would like to see a bit of the city, Ma'am, the master says it is his particular wish that you meet him in the front hall. He is going out and he desires that you accompany him."

I wasted no time in readying myself and joined him there. It was not an apology, per se, but it would do for now. Besides, I had grown tired of being indoors all day and longed to go out - at least, that is the excuse I gave myself.

The remainder of our so-called wedding week and the next, as well, passed more rapidly than I anticipated. There were no more intrusions on my privacy or events that sparked controversy. On the contrary, Mr. Darcy could not have been more of a gentleman. He assembled the entire staff and introduced me. I was allowed sufficient time with Mrs. James to go over the household accounts and acquaint myself with everything involved in running the townhouse. I felt quite certain that it could run itself with little input on my part, but it gratified me to learn that Mr. Darcy publicly acknowledged me as mistress of the house, no matter what situation existed privately.

It was as though both of us were making a valiant attempt to get along, and I must admit that Mr. Darcy proved to be an interesting and stimulating companion. He knew much more than I about London and its society. In years past I had visited my relatives near Cheapside, of course, but we had rarely ventured far from the area in which they lived. Mr. Darcy introduced me to a grander side of town and I did enjoy exploring a world I had never dreamed of inhabiting.

He conducted me on a tour of the city, showing me the best neighbourhoods, shops, and parks. I saw St. James' Palace from the outside, at least, and learned that he frequented it but little, as he found himself bored with the hangers-on that populated royal society. Still, I must write to Mamá and tell her that her son-in-law has been in the presence of the king. Would not that be a feather in her cap! Now she would have a rejoinder for Sir William Lucas' many references to such.

He pointed out St. George's Cathedral, a grand stone edifice, and then named many more churches we passed by. We also drove along the Thames for some distance, but he cautioned me not to stray past a particular bend of it, for it was not a safe part of the city from thereon. Once the rain, which had returned, let up in the middle of the week, I particularly enjoyed our strolls through the park across the street from his home. Among the trees and well-tended lawns, at last I felt that I could breathe deeply. Even though the noise of the city could be heard in the background, it seemed more like Hertfordshire as we ambled through the fallen leaves of copper and gold. We watched children chase their kites close to the pond and throw bread to the family of ducks hovering on the bank, while parents or nannies sitting nearby kept a watchful eye upon them. Mr. Darcy introduced me to several couples we met there and invited them to call.

It was in the park that we both seemed more at ease with one another. We talked of books and music and I was surprised to discover that our tastes were similar. In fact, his favourite authors were those of my father's, which pleased me. I had thought Mr. Darcy a man who laughed rarely, but there he was telling me that he enjoyed the sly wit of Dr. Johnson. He asked my opinion of certain artists, but I was forced to plead ignorance, for I was woefully uneducated in the world of art.

"We shall have to remedy that," he announced. "A trip to Montagu House in Bloomsbury seems to be in order. Shall we go tomorrow?"

I readily agreed and we spent Friday surveying the great works found therein. I learned much from him and felt myself quite educated by the end of the day. It would take more tours before I would feel at ease discussing the Rosetta Stone and other Egyptian antiquities or Mr. Townley's collection of classical sculpture, but at least I now had some inkling as to what Mr. Darcy spoke of. I marveled at his knowledge about the world and when he imparted it - almost as a teacher with a student - we enjoyed perfect amiability. It was only when the personal intruded into our lives that our familiar masks once again slipped back into place.

At the end of the second week, he announced that we were invited to a ball at the Earl of Matlock's mansion on Saturday next. The invitation caused a mixture of anticipation and hesitation within me. I have always loved balls and dancing, but there I would know hardly anyone and I remembered what a disaster our one and only dance had been at Netherfield almost a year ago.

"Shall I know anyone in attendance other than Colonel Fitzwilliam?" I asked.

"I feel certain Mr. Bingley and his sister will attend, as well as Mr. and Mrs. Hurst."

Since he had introduced the subject of Mr. Bingley, I felt this as good a time as any to question him about our pre-marital agreement. "I wonder, sir, have you had opportunity yet to speak to Mr. Bingley about my sister, Jane?"

He frowned before speaking. "In what way?"

In what way! Was he purposefully forgetting our bargain? "You promised to right the wrong you committed upon my sister in regard to your influence upon Mr. Bingley."

"Oh, that," he said in a dismissive tone. "No, the time has not yet been right."

"And may I ask when it shall be right?"

We sat at the dinner table and it seemed to me that he took more than adequate time in answering me, choosing to carefully cut his roast beef, chew it thoroughly, and slowly wash it down with a long swallow of wine. At this rate, I thought, she shall die an old maid before you finish this meal!

He wiped his mouth with his napkin and then rose and started for the door. "Trust me on this, Elizabeth," he said, as he reached for the doorknob. "I shall speak to Bingley when I deem the time is right."

Oh, the man was pompous! Why must everything be done on his timetable? I threw down my napkin and stormed from the room, unable to eat another bite. I was too angry to search him out and confront him further, afraid of what I might say; instead, I ran up the stairs to my chamber. Once again I spent the evening regretting that I had ever entered into this marriage. Where was his agreeable nature that I had come to enjoy the last few days? Had he dropped it in the carriage as carelessly as one leaves a forgotten umbrella? And what had happened to our newly found but tenuous cordiality? Had I merely imagined a slight crack in the shells in which we both sought protection? Was I the only one who had been fooled into thinking we might possibly tear apart those shells? Well, no more - Mr. Darcy had sealed up the crack with his own particular impenetrable paste.

At the end of dinner on the following Sunday evening, when we had been married a total of sixteen days, Mr. Darcy announced that Georgiana would return on the morrow from her stay at her uncle's home. I received the news with alacrity and yet, a degree or two of trepidation. During our brief time of marriage neither Mr. Darcy nor I had discussed his sister except in passing, but I had many questions on my mind, not the least of which involved my maid.

"I wonder, sir, exactly why you chose to place Fiona in my service?"

He looked up from his plate with a strange expression about his eyes. "What do you mean?"

"She informs me that you removed her from Pemberley because of Georgiana. Now, you station her above stairs where she is sure to come in frequent contact with your sister."

"When I moved Fee to London five years ago, Georgiana was very young, far too young to understand the circumstances of an unmarried girl giving birth to someone's natural child."

"And I take it you feel she is mature enough now to have that understanding."

"I do." Scowling and tossing his napkin aside, he rose from the table. "Georgiana is no longer a naïve school girl, not after her experience with George Wickham."

I could tell he did not want to discuss the subject, but I persisted. "We must have some conversation about that fact, Mr. Darcy. I fail to understand why you did not inform your sister before we married that Mr. Wickham is my brother-in-law."

"Frankly, I take no delight in relating that fact to anyone. But as for Georgiana, the answer is simple. When I left her to travel to Hertfordshire with the Gardiners, I did not know whether you would accept my proposal. I prepared her with that truth - I would seek your hand in marriage, but I was unsure whether it would come about. In the event that you declined, I saw no reason to alarm her as to your connections. If truth be told, I was somewhat surprised when you did say yes."

I looked up to meet his eyes, but he had turned away with those words and walked to the fireplace. Had he asked me to marry, hoping I would say no? I could not believe that, for he had appeared far too persuasive at Longbourn. Or had he? I remembered his stern, cold expression when my uncle had first voiced the idea of such a marriage. When he asked to see me alone, Mr. Darcy had never offered any words of love, as he had done with his first proposal. It had all seemed more of a business arrangement, but why would he even make the offer if he did not want me? I had nothing to offer him; he would not profit from such a marriage. Suddenly I felt plain and undesirable, and the feeling hurt, why I knew not. I did not desire the man, did I? The very thought filled me with such turmoil, I resolved not to think on it.

"I fear that your decision may be causing your sister great distress. Pray, do enlighten me on your conversation with her wherein she learned of my connection to Mr. Wickham."

"She was troubled somewhat, but I assured her that we will not see Mr. Wickham, that she has nothing to fear in that regard. I trust that you will do all you can to reassure her."

"Certainly, but is it not possible we shall see Lydia sometime in the future? If not at either of your homes, perhaps at Longbourn? You will allow me to visit my family, will you not?"

"Of course. I shall not prevent your seeing any of your sisters. I would think, however, that it shall be some time before Mrs. Wickham travels from her new home, being as great a distance as Newcastle is from either Longbourn or Derbyshire."

"Oh, I was not aware that you were privy to the site of the Wickhams' relocation."

"Yes," he muttered, averting his face as he strode toward the door that led to the hall, "I knew that they moved there and that Mr. Wickham had gone into the regulars. Pray excuse me."

He exited the room and I was left to wonder who had told him of that news. Probably Mamá. She seemed as proud of Lydia's marriage as she was of mine and to a more worthless man in England I am sure could not be found. I sighed as I rose from the table. I had made little progress in discussing Georgiana with her brother and my feelings were hurt at the way he had dismissed my apprehension. Did he think I worked miracles? That I could transform that shy, young girl into a poised, lively woman when I knew little about her? He could at least discuss her likes and dislikes with me.

And another thing - I tired of his running off every time he did not care to continue a conversation with me; I resolved to question him further and quit the room in search of him. I supposed he would partake of an after-dinner drink, but when I did not find him in any of the public rooms, I asked a servant of his whereabouts and he directed me to a large room that I remembered on my tour of the townhouse as the game room. Sure enough, when I entered the doorway, Mr. Darcy stood poised to make a shot at the billiards table. Upon seeing me, he straightened and bowed slightly. Our formality with each other seemed pretentious. I wondered if we would ever be at ease with one another. After all, we had been together every day for over two weeks now, and we were married...and yet not married.

"Do not interrupt your game," I said, advancing into the room. "I shall sit quietly until you finish."

"As you like."

He bent over the table once more and made a shot that I assumed to be correct, as it hit another ball into the side pocket. I knew little of the game and watched with interest as he walked around the table, positioned his cue stick with studied precision, and evidently executed perfect shots from the sound the balls made as they smacked into each other and then dropped into the pockets around the table. He had removed his coat and I could not help but notice his excellent form. He was handsome - there was no denying it - and through his long-sleeved white shirt I could see the broadness of his shoulders and the manner in which his arms filled out his clothing. I wondered if such a figure was God-given or how he had come to possess such attributes. I also wondered what it would feel like to touch those arms, to experience their strength. While I was musing upon such idle thoughts, he stopped playing and stood there watching me. Upon becoming aware of his gaze, I started visibly. Could he read my mind? Of course not! Then why did I feel guilty and exposed? I spoke quickly to conceal my consternation.

"Do you enjoy other physical games, sir?"

"When in town, I engage in fencing at least twice a week."

I could think of nothing to say in reply and nodding, I turned away from his gaze.

"Have you ever played billiards, Elizabeth?"

I raised my eyebrows at such a question. "Hardly, sir. It is a gentleman's game."

"Would you like to try it?"

"Pardon?"

"We are quite alone. Are you not at all curious to try your hand?"

I was intrigued by the suggestion and yes, I did want to do so. I rose and took the cue stick from his outstretched hand. He took my right hand, placed the stick between my fingers and then told me where to position my left hand.

"Now, place your hand upon the table and aim at the white ball nearest the red one."

I attempted to do so, but I felt awkward.

"You must bend over the table in order to do so. Here, let me show you." He took the stick from me and demonstrated the correct posture. We stood quite close, near enough that I could have reached out and touched him, touched that arm that proved so attractive. Such distraction limited my power of concentration so much so that when I attempted to copy his position, he stopped me once again.

"No, no, you must bend over closer to the table in order to make your aim."

I leaned over further, suddenly cognizant that the neckline of my gown proved far too revealing. I was thankful that Mr. Darcy stood behind me and not on the opposite side of the table, but then I thought of how the shape of my derriere must be exposed from the back. No wonder women do not play this game!

"You still do not have it right. Let me help you," he said, and to my utter amazement I felt him lean over me, his left arm circling round my shoulder as he clasped my left hand and moved it further back, while his right arm surrounded mine and he placed his hand over mine. I could feel the heat from his body, his breath warm upon my cheek, and the scent of his skin heady and pleasing, filling my senses until I found it hard not to tremble. "Now, pull the cue stick through your fingers like this," he said, pulling it back and forth through our combined fingers, "keep your eyes on the ball, and shoot."

With a deft movement, we sent the white ball rolling across the table, where it hit a red ball neatly into the corner pocket.

"There! See with what ease you made the shot!" he said, as we both straightened up together. Was he as aware as I was that his arms still encircled me?

"Yes," I managed to say, "easy, indeed with your guidance." I turned my face towards him and there was not an inch between his countenance and mine. We gazed into each other's eyes for what seemed like minutes to me, but surely could not have been more than an instant before he released me and stepped aside. I felt my colour rise and I averted my face, busying myself with replacing the cue stick in its holder.

"Shall you not try it again?"

"No, sir, I believe I have tried enough for now. Perhaps another night."

"Yes, perhaps," he said, keeping his gaze upon me. I looked up, met his eyes and wondered if it was billiards of which we spoke.

I excused myself and left the room, all too shaken by the feelings that engulfed me. I found my way into a small parlor where I had left some needlework; how grateful I was to find something with which to occupy my hands, but how disconcerting to discover my fingers trembled too much to make a straight stitch. I had never experienced such feelings before, such attraction to any man, not even to the young swains who had courted me in earlier times. I liked dancing with handsome young men well enough, even flirting with them at balls and assemblies, but not one of them had ever affected me t