The Sins of the Fathers
[WIP Regency/PG]

Prologue

Before I begin my tale, I must share with you what I have been told.

Some one and twenty years earlier, on a night turned darker than usual in early springtime, a man ran through the woods of Pemberley as though chased by Satan himself. A storm had broken at the exact moment he learned the news that she was dead. He had staggered backward down the stone steps, too stunned to notice lightning strike a tree beside the great house. He was unable to comprehend what he had heard, unable to think what he must do, unable to even breathe.

Like a blind man, he turned helplessly in the direction of the wood, which had been the place where they first met and, subsequently, their haven against the world. Rain and wind lashed his body without mercy, while thorn-covered branches reached out to tear at his clothing and skin. Heedless of physical injury, he stumbled through the brush and lurched from tree to tree, wracked by the unspeakable pain that pierced his heart.

Nature's outburst endured throughout the night, as did the man's sojourn in the forest. With the first touch of dawn, the storm's rage abated at last, and the man found himself outside the only place of comfort he could go. A solitary candle glowed within the old church, and he knew the door would be unlocked. He burst into the sanctuary, threw himself prostrate on the floor before the altar, and cried only one word over and over, "Why?"

The noise interrupted the man of God's prayers, and he hastened to minister to the man lying in misery. "My son, what has happened to cause such anguish?"

With his hand, he attempted to brush back the mass of wet curls from his forehead and pulled the man to a seated position on the floor. "You must tell me," he demanded.

"All is lost. She is dead."

"Dead? No, how can that be?"

"A fall. Her brother said...oh God, he said she fell from the head of the stairs to the bottom!" He collapsed back onto the floor and beat the stones with his fist, unaware that blood began to flow from his hand and stain the crevices in the rock crimson. "Oh God, oh God," he cried incessantly.

"I grieve with you, my son." He reached out to bind the man's hand with his kerchief. "But let us pray. God will hear you."

The man jerked away from him. "You ask me to pray? How can I? There are no words possible...this is above what I can bear!"

"All things are possible with God."

The grieving man rose to his feet with great difficulty, as though some immeasurable weight had attached itself to his coat, as though sorrow lay upon his back like a massive millstone. "Why her and why now when God knows she is my life?" His voice grew angry and loud. "It is not fair!"

"Life rarely is, a conclusion all of us reach eventually."

"I have nothing left."

"You have suffered great tragedy, but you have your family, your future."

"They mean nothing without her...nothing. What am I to do?" His voice cracked, and he began to sob anew.

"We are all in God's hands. I have watched you fight to take possession of the life you desire, and you have failed. It is now time, my son..."

"Time for what?"

"Time to allow Him to work His will in your life."

chapter one

There was a time in my life when I expected an ordinary day to be just that. I have since discovered that expectations are fragile, whether they pertain to a solitary day or to life itself. Circumstances can shatter them as easily as dropping a china cup upon a slate floor.

In truth, the fates have taught me to fear an ordinary day. I have learned that when one anticipates normality and routine, one may receive neither. I no longer depend upon the assumptions I have always held. I am now painfully aware that my life never was or ever shall be as I once envisioned.

That day - the day my life deviated with a vengeance from the commonplace - began like any other, lit with the shimmering golden haze with which autumn paints Hertfordshire. The good people of Longbourn village went about their lives as always. Rising early, they milked cows, gathered eggs, baked bread, and churned butter. The gentleman's family who dwelt at the manor house for which the village was named engaged in the usual things to which they were accustomed. Mr. Bennet suffered his wife's harangues until he escaped into his study. Mary applied herself to the pianoforte with zeal unappreciated by her siblings. Kitty set herself the task of answering Mrs. Wickham's latest letter. Jane anticipated her fiancé's visit by selecting a gown in his favourite shade of blue, while I offered my viewpoint on which style the maid should do her hair. Yes, all in all, it could be accurately pronounced an ordinary day.

When I think back, I do recall a certain nervous anticipation, a feeling I had entertained for more than a week. Ever since Mr. Bingley returned to the county and arrived at our house accompanied by Mr. Darcy, I longed to see the latter gentleman once again. Alas, on the day Mr. Bingley proposed to Jane, Mr. Darcy left for Town, but Mr. Bingley expected him to return, and I lived on that promise.

I awoke each day in hopes I would see him once more. We had known each other for almost a twelve-month - an eventful year that commenced in misunderstanding born of prejudice and pride on both our parts. Now, however, I harboured the expectation that our disagreements lay buried in the past and dared to dream of a new beginning. I recalled how Mr. Darcy had proposed to me the previous spring and how I refused him with unbecoming rancour. At the time, I had believed Mr. Wickham's lies and did not comprehend the truth of Mr. Darcy's character. Eventually, events transpired to reveal how mistaken I had been. I now knew him to be a gentleman of the highest integrity, a man perfect for me. I longed to thank him for uniting my sister, Lydia, in marriage with Mr. Wickham. Although my family did not know the generous part Mr. Darcy played in the affair, I did, and I understood the gratitude we owed him.

And I yearned - oh, I yearned with all my heart - for him to renew his addresses to me, for by that time I had fallen in love with him, deeply in love. When we had last parted in Derbyshire, I had given up all prospects of seeing him again because of the scandal my sister had caused by her foolish elopement with Mr. Wickham. Some time later, upon gaining knowledge that Mr. Darcy had thereafter immediately travelled to London and toiled relentlessly to find my sister, I had allowed my heart leave to anticipate that he might still harbour feelings for me.

He had given no hint that tenderness toward me remained. He had called upon us only once since Mr. Bingley's return to his estate in Hertfordshire, and the visit had proved awkward. My mother had snubbed him most conspicuously, and I was ashamed of her behaviour. Not a word passed between us, but I felt his eyes upon me more than once. I did not have any other cause for hope, but still, I began each day wondering if and when he would return.

And so, although I termed the beginning of that day ordinary, my feelings were not. Still, my familiar surroundings concealed any cause for undue fear or anxiety...until she arrived.

Lady Catherine de Bourgh refused to wait to be announced, but swept into our parlour like a bitter north wind. She barely acknowledged my mother and sisters before she summoned me to accompany her out of doors to the portion of our lawn she termed, "a pretty kind of little wilderness." I scarce had time to grab my pelisse before she sailed out the door. Silence reigned until we reached our destination, whereupon she turned and fixed her stare upon my person.

Using her cane for emphasis, she paced back and forth, all the while accusing me of entering into an engagement with her nephew, Mr. Darcy, an engagement she affirmed impossible. I was at a loss as to what had brought about the unexpected declaration, for I knew it to be untrue, but I would not give her the satisfaction of an outright denial until she asked me point-blank.

"Tell me, once for all, are you engaged to him?"

"I am not," I had to admit.

She gave a great sigh of relief. "And will you promise me never to enter into such an engagement?"

"I will make no promise of the kind."

"Miss Bennet, I am shocked and astonished. I expected to find a more reasonable young woman. But do not deceive yourself into a belief that I will ever recede. I shall not go away till you have given me the assurance I require."

I refused to acquiesce, and we continued to argue the horror of such a union for some time. At last, she insulted my family and me to an extent that I could bear it no longer.

"Lady Catherine, I must beg to return to the house. I have nothing further to say. You know my sentiments." I turned my back on her and took steps toward the house.

"You refuse to oblige me? You refuse to obey the claims of duty, honour, and gratitude? You are determined to ruin him in the opinion of all his friends and make him the contempt of the world."

"Neither duty nor honour nor gratitude has any possible claim on me in the present instance. None of those principles would be violated by my marriage with Mr. Darcy."

"Very well. I shall now know how to act. Do not imagine, Miss Bennet, that your ambition will ever be gratified. I came to try you. I hoped to find you reasonable; but, depend upon it, I will carry my point. You err grievously to think you may pollute the shades of Pemberley with such a union. I will not allow it."

I stopped short. My colour was high but not as florid as hers. "And how might you exercise this power of prevention upon either your nephew or myself?"

She reached inside her reticule and pulled forth a folded square of paper, creased and yellowed by time. "I hoped to avoid this, but you leave me no choice. You cannot marry my nephew. It would not only be despicable in my eyes and that of the world, but it would be a sin against Heaven itself!"

"A sin against Heaven?" I could not help but laugh aloud. "Surely even you cannot give voice to that claim. Mr. Darcy is a gentleman. I am a gentleman's daughter: so far we are equal."

"You speak the truth. You are the daughter of a gentleman, but not the gentleman in whose house you have been reared."

I blinked. Had she lost her senses? Of what was she speaking?

"You are not Elizabeth Bennet. In truth, you possess only your Christian name. You are the natural daughter of George Darcy. You and my nephew are brother and sister."

My knees gave way, and I reached out to the stone wall nearby to keep from falling. A loud racket buzzed in my head, and I could not comprehend her conversation. She must have led me back to the bench, but I do not remember it. Evidently, several moments passed before my faintness subsided, and I understood her words once more.

"Shall I call for a servant? Your countenance is uncommonly pale."

I shook my head and attempted to focus my eyes. At last the trees ceased to whirl in their contorted dance. Lady Catherine sat beside me, and I became aware that she held my hand. I stiffened and withdrew from her touch. "No, do not call anyone. I am well."

We said nothing for a moment or two while I tried to make sense of her statement. "I do not believe you," I said at last.

"Whether you believe me or not does not change the truth of the matter."

"How? How can I be the daughter of George Darcy? Do my parents know?"

"I have no idea what knowledge Mr. and Mrs. Bennet possess other than the fact that you were not born to them."

"What...what proof do you have to make such a claim?"

She handed me the parchment, but I could not focus on the words. They leaped up and down like demons around a witch's cauldron. "My father...I must speak to my father."

"Miss Bennet..."

I heard Lady Catherine's voice, but I forgot all manners. Rising from the bench, I ran from the park, across the wide expanse of green yard, and back to the house where I burst into my father's study. "Papá!"

He looked over his glasses and placed a marker in his book. "Lizzy, child, what ails you? Have you seen an apparition? All colour is drained from your countenance."

"I have told her the truth." I heard Lady Catherine's voice behind me and watched my father rise from the chair, a frown covering his face.

"I beg your pardon," he said.

"I have told this young woman that you are not her natural father, sir. I assume you are the man who fostered her."

His face paled as he rounded the desk and took hold of my hands. "Lizzy, will you grant me the favour of an introduction to this lady."

I opened my mouth, but before I could speak, Lady Catherine continued. "I am Lady Catherine de Bourgh of Rosings Park, aunt to Fitzwilliam Darcy, the son of my late sister. I know George Darcy fathered a girl child, and that you raised her as your own. I insisted my husband tell me the truth of the matter before he died, and I have confirmed it with Fawcett. I would never have revealed the scandal, but for the fact she believes herself entitled to marry my nephew. She has drawn him in with her arts and allurements, but I shall not allow this travesty to occur."

"Lizzy, are you engaged to Mr. Darcy?"

"No, Father, but what Lady Catherine says...is it true? Tell me, I pray you, am I not your daughter?"

By that time, my mother and Jane had heard the uproar and entered the room, hearing only my last query. Mamá gasped and began to wave her hands about. "I knew this would happen. Did I not warn you time and again, Mr. Bennet, that this day would come?"

My father signalled for Jane to close the door to his study. "Calm yourself, Mrs. Bennet."

"What does she mean, Papá?" I demanded. "I must know the whole of it."

"Sit down, Lizzy. Jane, ring for some tea," my father answered.

"I do not want tea. I want to know who is my real father!"

He winced at my words, but turned to our visitor. "Madam, might I prevail upon you to grant us privacy?"

"Yes, I see you have a prodigious explanation before you. Very well. I shall be on my way, but be assured, sir, the charade is over. The girl must know who and what she is." She stalked toward the door, which Jane immediately opened for her. "Do not dare to entertain the foolish fancy of destroying that letter. It is merely a copy made many years ago. My barrister has the original safely locked away. If you wish to discuss this further, I shall be in residence at the home of my nephew's friend, Mr. Bingley."

Upon her leave-taking, Mamá resumed her histrionics while Jane attempted to quiet her. Papá took the wrinkled paper from my hand and sank down into a chair. The line between his brows deepened the longer he read.

"Did you know about that, Papá?"

"No, my dear."

"Is it true? You must tell me."

He kept his head lowered, raised his hand to his forehead, and began to rub the furrow back and forth as though he might somehow erase the ugly revelation.

"Tell her," my mother cried. "Tell her once and for all."

My breathing grew shallow, and a knot rose up in my throat until I could scarce draw breath at all.

"Lizzy," Papá began, his voice weary and defeated.

"If you do not, I will," Mamá declared. "But first you must explain why Lady Catherine was here. Is Lizzy of possible kin to that great house?"

A new fear gripped me. If my mother even suspected I had connections with aristocracy, she would not wait to spread the news. Frantic, I searched desperately for some explanation that would satisfy her. Fortunately, my father spoke for me.

"Of course not, Fanny."

"Then what was the purpose of her visit?"

"If you would grant me a moment, Mrs. Bennet, I shall explain. And pray, quiet yourself. There is no need for Mary and Kitty to hear, much less the servants." He rose and paced back and forth as though he bought time to think up a plausible explanation for Lady Catherine's revelation. "It all happened so long ago. Lizzy, your mother and I...we never...well, I never thought it necessary to tell you. You have always been our daughter. I believe I almost forgot your mother did not give birth to you."

"I never forgot," Mamá cried. "I told you from the beginning someone would find out someday, but no, you would not listen, and now it appears we have a fine mess on our hands and all of it your creation."

I began to cry quietly. I had never felt as close to my mother as I did my father, and now I knew why. She did not consider me her daughter, and, in truth, she was right. Immediately, I felt Jane's arms around me as she sat beside me on the settee and pulled my head onto her breast.

"Lizzy, you must believe me when I tell you I never knew the name of your parents until this day. I simply knew you were orphaned and in need of a good home."

"And now you know her parents' identity?" Mamá cried. "Well, out with it, Mr. Bennet, even though they are long dead. Do not keep us in suspense any longer."

"It...seems our Elizabeth is a distant relation of the Darcys."

Distant relation? My eyes grew wide in wonder at my father's falsehood.

"The Darcys?" Mamá grabbed her chest and sank down upon a chair. "But why should Lady Catherine come to tell us that? Why did not Mr. Darcy come?"

"Mamá..." I began.

"What else did Lady Catherine say? How close is the connection?"

"Not close," Papá said quickly, "not close at all. In truth, my dear, she was born to Mr. Darcy's poorest relations. The lady has only recently become privy to the knowledge, and she came to warn Elizabeth not to prevail upon it."

My mother frowned, as did Jane. "But Papá," my sister asked, "why should she think Lizzy would do such a thing?"

"Hmmph! Lizzy has no use for Mr. Darcy and makes no bones about it," Mamá said. "As for Lady Catherine...now Lizzy, it might be wise if you were to cultivate a friendship with her. Curb your saucy manners and flatter the great lady. If you are admitted into her inner circle, think of the advantages she might offer."

I sighed deeply. "That is highly improbable. If you had heard her conversation, you would know Lady Catherine has not the slightest interest in any future entertainment of my company."

"And, my dear," my father added, "if you listened closely, you might recall that I said the connection is with the Darcys, not the de Bourghs."

At that moment Hill entered the room with a tea tray. After placing it on the desk, my mother rose and left the room with her, calling for her salts and declaring she must lie down, that she had much to think about, a statement that filled me with dread. She called for Jane to assist her, and, although I wished my sister might stay, my father dismissed her with a nod. The moment they closed the door, I rose and whirled around to face him.

"How could you tell such a tale? You know Mamá will take delight in spreading what she believes a fortunate turn of events throughout the community."

"I thought it the lesser of two evils."

"Do you think Lady Catherine will rejoice when news reaches her that I am Mr. Darcy's poor relation?"

"She will prefer that to the fact you are Mr. Darcy's illegitimate sister. According to a letter I received from Mr. Collins this morning, she plans for him to marry her daughter."

The word illegitimate slammed into me like a hard fist in the pit of my stomach. Once again, I was forced to sit down to keep from falling. "Oh, Papá, why did you not tell me the circumstances of my birth long ago? How could you let me grow up thinking I was your daughter?"

"You are my daughter."

"And Mr. Darcy...even after he came to Hertfordshire...you still did not think it necessary that I know he is..." My voice broke for I could not utter the words.

"I did not know. Lizzy, believe me, until moments ago, I did not know the name of your natural father." He rose and walked to the window, his shoulders slumped. Suddenly, he appeared old, his vigour and liveliness dimmed. Finally, he returned, sat across from me, leaned forward, and took my hand in his. "Lizzy, allow me to tell you how it happened."

He then laid out the entire sordid tale. One night almost one and twenty years earlier, the vicar of Longbourn Church had sent a messenger requesting Mr. Bennet's presence. The hour was late, the knock at the door sounded just as my father had picked up the candle in his office and headed for the stairs. The message urgently requested his assistance, and so he acquiesced without delay. Some months earlier, Mrs. Bennet had taken Jane, who was but a toddler, to London to visit her brother and his new wife, so there was no one else at home but the servants.

At the vicarage, the parson met him with a worried look. A well-dressed gentleman stood within the parlour, but no introductions were made, a curious occurrence made even stranger when Mr. Bennet heard the faint cries of an infant. Within moments, the gentleman made his departure.

"What is all this, Mr. Fawcett?" Mr. Bennet asked.

Closing the door behind the gentleman, the vicar drew close and spoke in a low voice. "I am beset with a strange task, Mr. Bennet. I call upon you as squire of the village for guidance."

He led him toward a basket from whence the soft sounds emanated. There, wrapped in blankets, lay a tiny dark-haired baby.

"She was the prettiest little thing I had seen next to my Janey," my father said. "Where my own babe had golden curls, this little one had a mass of dark tresses and the sweetest pout of a tiny pink mouth."

The clergyman explained that the child was the natural daughter of a gentleman from the north country, her mother had died giving birth five days earlier, and she had been brought to him because of an old friendship from earlier times. It would cause a scandal for the family unless the child was raised in a distant county. He would provide funds for her upbringing, but wanted all other contact with her severed. She was never to know his name.

"Which family in the village shall I call upon to take her, sir?" the vicar asked.

Mr. Bennet shook his head sadly. How could a man turn his back on such a child? She was beautiful and appeared to possess a good constitution. He searched his mind for a suitable house, and the two men discussed several families who might be prevailed upon to take in the baby. They, at last, settled upon the Pratt household. The mother had lost an infant to the fever the year before, and she might look favourably upon the substitution. It was determined that the vicar would call upon them with the morning light, and he would awaken his housekeeper to tend the infant through the night.

Mr. Bennet took one last look at the little bundle; the baby had ceased whimpering. He pushed the blanket back and softly caressed the tiny pink cheek. Instinctively, the baby girl's little fingers curled around his large forefinger and held on for dear life. Her dark eyes sparkled and a diminutive smile flashed across her sweet countenance for a second. At that moment she not only snatched hold of Mr. Bennet's finger, but his heart as well.

"I could not let you go, Lizzy." He covered my hand with both of his. "From that moment, you were my child, my daughter. I never looked back. I never again thought of you belonging to another man. Oh, I had some convincing to do when your mother returned a few days later, but for all her bluster, she took to you as one of her own. The vicar and I agreed we would never reveal your parentage. Your mother's visit had been lengthy because of her sister Gardiner's difficult confinement, so when she returned, we told everyone that she had given birth while in Town instead of your aunt, who, unfortunately, lost her baby. Your mother was of a sweeter, more compliant nature at the time and with a little persuasion, willing to keep the secret even though it went against her better judgment. No one questioned us, and I never thought it necessary to say otherwise. The servants were bribed and sworn to secrecy, and, in fact, Hill is the only one remaining from that time."

He had looked at the floor or around the room during much of his recital, rarely meeting my eyes. He now did so, and I saw the mist therein threatening to spill. "I am sorry, my dear, so very, very sorry. I am guilty of grievous error in judgment. I see that now. I pray you will forgive me."

I spent the remainder of that day wandering the back lanes and countryside of Hertfordshire on foot. I could not bear the closeness of the house or my sisters' solicitude. My father decided to tell Mary and Kitty his altered version of my birth and connection with the Darcys, adding that my real parents had been killed in an accident shortly after I was born. Naturally shocked, they each declared their love for me. Each expression of sympathy simply renewed my grief, and I needed solitude to grasp the enormity of the morning's revelation. Where I walked, I could not tell you. My mind raced round and round from shock to anger to anguish while my body instinctively plodded on, placing one foot before the other. How could I accept the knowledge that my life would never be the same again...that I was not the person I always knew myself to be...that the family I loved as my own was nothing of the sort...and worst of all...that secretly I must now think of Mr. Darcy as my brother?

Hope no longer existed. He could never renew his addresses - even the idea was abhorrent now. Most likely, he would flee the county to avoid facing the scandalous consequence his own father created, unaware of the fabrication my father had invented. I should never be allowed to express my gratitude for his part in saving Lydia, for I felt most certainly I would not see his face again.

Twilight descended by the time I returned to Longbourn. Unaware of the lateness of the hour, I was surprised when of a sudden I could barely make out the road before me. I hastened my steps and hurried toward the lights shining in the windows of the house in which I had grown up. My heart ached to think I did not truly belong there. If my real father had wanted me, I would never have known Papá or Jane. I would never have slept in the bed I had crawled into every night all these years or shared the laughter and comfort of growing up one of five Bennet sisters.

Once more tears flooded my cheeks, and instead of entering the house, I held back and remained in the shadows until I could wipe my face clean with the sleeve of my pelisse and push down the emotion that choked me. At last, I opened the front door, hoping the family sat in the parlour so that I might make my escape above stairs.

"Miss Elizabeth!" Hill cried. "You must go into the family directly. They have been sorely troubled."

"No, pray tell them I am tired and have gone to my room."

"But you must, Miss. The gentlemen callers are most anxious to see you as well."

"Gentlemen callers?"

Just then Kitty emerged from the parlour, and seeing me, she called back to the inhabitants and told them of my return. Deliverance no longer possible, I was ushered into the room. The entire family was present along with Mr. Bingley, and to my utter dismay, I saw Mr. Darcy standing at the window.

"Lizzy, where have you been?" Mamá cried. "We have been worried nigh to death. Have you no compassion on my poor nerves?"

"Come in, my dear," Papá said as he rose and crossed the room to my side. I could feel my cheeks burn as I curtseyed briefly to Mr. Bingley and in the general direction of Mr. Darcy. I could not lift my eyes to meet his, but chose to study the design in the carpet at my feet, a pattern as familiar as the wallpaper in my chamber. Never in my life had I felt such shame, not even at news of Lydia's elopement. Why was he here? How could he possess so little sensitivity?

"Well, shall you not answer me?" my mother asked again. "We feared you had been snatched by the gypsies, staying out this late in the evening."

"Forgive me. I strayed too far and did not notice the passage of time." I quickly crossed the room and sat down beside Jane.

"Did not notice - head in the clouds again, I suppose. And Mr. Darcy here has waited several hours..."

"It is of little importance," Mr. Darcy interrupted, "as long as you are well."

I raised my head then, feeling his gaze upon me. The expression in his eyes was pained, the natural dark brown colour now almost black. We looked straight into each other's eyes, and I was shocked to see neither disdain nor anger, but what appeared to be a reflection of sympathy.

"Mr. Darcy," my father said, "I am in need of serious libation, and since it is obvious Mr. Bingley desires naught but the nectar of love, would you care to join me in the library?"

Jane blushed at Papá's words, but they did not seem to deter Mr. Bingley's steadfast attention.

As the men reached the doorway, my father turned back and inclined his head toward me. "And Lizzy, I would speak with you."

"Oh, yes," Mamá said, rising quickly, "that is an excellent idea, Mr. Bennet. Let us repair to the room immediately."

I saw consternation flicker across Mr. Darcy's face, but Papá intervened. "Mrs. Bennet, you must not neglect our other guest. Think what Mr. Bingley should suffer in your absence. I am sure Mr. Darcy will make do with the sacrifice, for he is a man of generosity and understanding."

My mother looked somewhat torn between the choices, but when Mr. Bingley bestowed one of his beatific smiles upon her, she happily sat down and gave him her full attention.

Inside my father's study, I sat on the chaise at his insistence while Mr. Darcy remained standing.

"Lizzy, Mr. Darcy and I have talked at length. He agrees that no one must know the true nature of your relationship, not even Mr. Bingley, Jane, or his younger sister. He is perfectly willing to go along with the story that you are a distant cousin, and he has returned from Town this very day to make you a munificent offer."

I frowned, baffled at the suggestion.

"He desires to bestow a generous settlement upon you."

"I do not understand. Why should you do that, sir?"

Mr. Darcy took a few steps nearer. "I have the entirety of the matter from Lady Catherine. I mean to give you your inheritance, Elizabeth, secretly of course, but your rightful inheritance."

"I still do not comprehend your meaning, sir. Did your father name me in his will?"

He looked away, and I could see the embarrassment this entire scene caused him. Oh, I could not bear to be the reason for his shame.

"No, there was no mention in the will, except that a certain sum was to be sent to his solicitor in London every year in payment of an unnamed debt. When I took over as master of Pemberley, my father's attorney simply told me it was a personal matter. I now assume the money has been sent to the vicar of Longbourn Church who then handed it over to Mr. Bennet."

"That is correct," my father said.

"The will provided my sister, Georgiana, an ample fortune, but left the bulk of his estate and the property, of course, to me. I propose to share a goodly portion with you. It shall be accomplished discreetly. No one need ever know, not even Georgiana. If Lady Catherine is your concern, be assured that she will remain silent, for she fears the taint of scandal. "

I was mortified. How could he think I would accept such a gift? "No, Mr. Darcy, there is no need for you to do that. I thank you, but I shall not allow it."

"But why not? It is your right. You are..." he swallowed, "my sister just as Georgiana is."

"No, I am not." I rose and walked to the window, fingered the drapery, and peered out into the darkness. "I am your half-sister, sir, born on the wrong side of the blanket, a fact that must be kept secret so as not to sully your good name. Your father did not want me, and I do not want anything that is his. If the only father I have ever known will allow me to remain in his house, then this is where I shall stay." I turned my gaze upon Papá and saw him nod in agreement.

"Good-night, Mr. Darcy. I do not think we should ever meet again." I walked across the room, out the door, and up the stairs.

chapter two

Jane shared my bed that night. She allowed me to sob on her shoulder until, spent, I at last drifted into troubled slumber. Upon awakening, I saw the rumple of sheets I had created. My sister had already risen and dressed. One look in the mirror told me I did not wish to encounter anyone before somehow repairing my wild, tangled hair. Soothing my swollen, red eyelids seemed impossible.

A slight tap at the door announced the maid bearing a tray containing mugs of hot, steaming tea.

"Drink it up, Lizzy," Jane said, "while I attack your coiffure."

"Mmm, a hopeless task." I sipped the comforting liquid and closed my eyes as my sister gently worked at the snarled curls streaming down my back.

"I hope you feel better today, dearest."

I squinted at the sunshine beaming through the window, and, for Jane's sake, decided I would attempt a cheerful tone. " 'Tis difficult to remain sad on a day bereft of morning fog. Not a cloud appears in the sky."

"After I have worked wonders on your hair and we have breakfasted, shall we not go for a long tramp in the woods?"

I shook my head. "You forget Mamá has claimed you for the dressmaker's this morning. Another fitting for your wedding gown." She frowned and opened her mouth to protest, but I intervened. "You go along, Jane. I shall be well."

"Shall you not come with us? You know I value your opinion above that of Mamá any day."

"No, I fear I would be a gloomy reminder on what should be a joyous excursion. Let me remain here for now."

"But Lizzy..."

I rose from the chair and took the brush from her hand. "I insist, Jane. From the looks of that bed, I have already spoilt your night. I shall not spoil your day. Forget this mop of hair as well. I shall pin it up in a simple knot and it will do perfectly well. After all, it is not as though there is anyone of importance who will wish to see me."

She caught my hand and turned me around to face her. "Now, Lizzy, you must conquer this. I know the secret you learned yesterday is shocking. It pains all of us that you were orphaned as an infant and not born a Bennet, but it does not change who you are...my sister, my dearest sister, who is lovely and lively and brings joy to any room she enters. I pray you will not let this accident of birth alter that essential."

I closed my eyes, but she would not let go my hand. How I longed to tell her the truth, but I could not bring myself to inflict more pain upon her. I did not wish anything to interfere with the happy anticipation of her coming marriage. "Very well, I shall try...but only for you, Jane." She hugged me and helped me shed my gown and don a morning dress of pale yellow and white. "That does not mean I shall go to Meryton with you, though."

"But Lizzy..."

"No, Jane, not today. Do not ask more than I can give."

That afternoon when the house had emptied of my mother and sisters and Papá had been called to the stable to inspect a recent wound in the ear of one of the cows, I found myself increasingly restless. After wandering about the parlour, upstairs and down again, I found nothing with which to occupy my mind. I grabbed my bonnet and left for a walk. Throughout the morning, I had tried my best to remain sanguine with both family and servants, ignoring the strain the effort wreaked upon my emotions. Relief abounded in the freedom of a solitary trek through the woods. Now I no longer needed to offer pretence of any sort. I had no particular destination in mind, but soon found myself nearing the stream that meandered through the deepest part of the forest. Sounds of water rushing over the rocks caused me to hasten my steps, for of a sudden, I longed to sit beside its clear, clean, untroubled flow.

I stopped short, however, at the sound of a man's voice. Cursing. Harsh, angry words spewed from his mouth as fast as the stream bubbled below. Quickly I stepped behind a tree, but not before he saw me. Mr. Darcy looked up and halted both pacing and swearing.

"Miss Bennet...Elizabeth!" He threw the hat he held in his hand to the ground and took a step toward me.

I turned away, wishing nothing more than to leave the scene with all haste.

"Pray, do not go." Within moments, he stood beside me and then moved to bar my escape. "Forgive me. I should never have used that language had I known you were present."

"I did not mean to intrude, sir. If you will excuse me." I attempted to brush by him, but he took my hand.

"You did not intrude. Come now." In spite of every inclination to flee, I allowed him to lead me down the bank to the stream. He picked up his hat. "You must think you happened upon a madman."

"One can see you are angry."

"Angry...that does not begin to describe my feelings."

"I thought you would return to Town or Derbyshire," I said, floundering for some way to change the subject. I felt quite sure I was the cause of his anger, and I did not wish to argue my decision of the night before.

"No...not yet. Will you sit?" He indicated a large grouping of rocks near the water.

I picked my way through the stones and found a smooth place. "I have whiled away many an afternoon on this old stone. It is an excellent perch for soaking one's feet. This place has never yet failed to ease my soul, like a well-known, comfortable friend."

He smiled slightly, picked up a stone and skipped it across the pond. When I commended his prowess, he repeated the action. "If you had grown up at Pemberley, no doubt you would have discovered all the creeks and rills hidden within the wood, for I know you delight in nature's beauty."

"Mr. Darcy..."

"Yes, I know what you will say. There is no need. I shall not add to your woes by painting a picture of a past that can never be. You have enough with which to make peace. I can see it is far too early to expect you to wish to learn more of the heritage that should have been yours."

"Thank you," I murmured.

We said nothing for a few moments. He picked up a stick and began working it between the small stones along the bank as though he might forcibly dig up an answer to our impasse with his endeavour.

"I just do not understand it," he said.

"Sir?"

"My father...our father...was a most excellent man. For him to have engaged in irresponsible behaviour is so out of character. If I had not been in London when Lady Catherine told me, gone immediately with her to the solicitor's office, and read the words written in his own hand, I would never believe it."

"I confess I do not even recall what the note said."

"Of course not, assaulted by the shock of it all, how could you? Mr. Bennet gave the copy to me...if you care to read it now." He reached inside his coat pocket and retrieved the worn, crinkled paper. My hand trembled slightly as I reached for it.

December 6, 1791

Lewis,

Tonight I must beg leave to call in all favours you owe me. After you receive this letter, take the child somewhere safe. Find an honest, discreet soul who will provide for her. Inform Barnesdale in London where to send her yearly support. If at all possible, keep this from Catherine so that my dearest Anne will never know. As you are well aware, her constitution is delicate, and I cannot bear to witness her disappointment.

George Darcy

A hastily scrawled postscript was added below:

December 11, 1791 Delivered the girl child to Fawcett in Hertfordshire this date. - Lewis de Bourgh

I swallowed and found it hard to breathe. The first date was the day I was born, the birthday I had celebrated for not quite one and twenty years, never knowing I had made a perilous journey that same night or shortly thereafter, hastily scurried away from Derbyshire to be hidden miles away in Hertfordshire. I thrust the paper toward him. "Do you think your mother ever knew?"

"Dear God, I hope not." Mr. Darcy began to pace again.

I stood up and turned to leave. The disgust in his voice pierced my heart. I could feel the stricture in my throat and the sting of tears about to fall. I would not let him see me cry. "Excuse me," I managed to whisper and began to climb the bank.

"Elizabeth, wait!"

I did not heed his command, but hurried all the more as I heard his steps follow mine.

"Why? Why must you run away?" He caught my hand and attempted to turn me once again, but this time I flung my wrist clear, shook my head and walked even faster. Relentless and quicker than I, he soon blocked my path.

"Mr. Darcy..." I attempted to push my way past, but he would not let me go. He took me by the shoulders and then, cupping his hand beneath my chin, he forced me to raise my face to his. I could no longer hide the tears.

"Elizabeth, forgive me. Pray, do not cry. Come back, and let us talk."

I could not resist his strong hands or the kindness in his voice and once again allowed him to lead me to the rocks beside the water. There he sat me down and knelt before me. No matter how I turned my face, he would not permit my escape from his persistent stare. His voice was soft and placating. "Speak to me. Tell me your thoughts."

"Why? What difference does it make? You cannot undo the past."

He shook his head slightly. "True, but with your consent, I can give you a more prosperous future."

"I told you last night that I did not want your father's money, sir, nor do I want yours."

"Can you not see it belongs to you? Imagine what you could do and who you could be with the income that rightfully belongs to Elizabeth Darcy."

Elizabeth Darcy. I closed my eyes as he spoke the words. I had dreamt of wearing that name as his wife, not his sister. Had he so easily put away his former feelings for me? My mind raced, searching for some way to deflect our conversation to another matter and thus conceal my strong emotion.

"Mr. Darcy, you must allow me to thank you for what you have done for my poor sister, Lydia. My family would thank you if they knew, but because they do not, allow me to do so on their behalf." He stiffened at my words and rose, but remained quiet while I explained that my youngest sister had let the story slip. I went on to assure him of my family's gratitude and that of myself for not only the money his aid had cost him, but the humiliation he must have borne in securing my foolish sister's marriage to George Wickham. "You must not feel you owe me anything more, sir, for I could never repay what you have already done for my family."

"Your family does not owe me anything, nor do you. I did what I did for...because...well, because it was my fault entirely. If I had warned Mr. Bennet of Wickham's character, the elopement would never have occurred. The fault was mine, thus the remedy was mine to make."

"I cannot agree with that."

"Whether you agree or not, let us speak no further on the matter. What is of concern now is your future, Elizabeth. I cannot allow you to remain hidden away in this country burg when the fortune and society you deserve are yours for the taking. With the settlement I propose, you shall have whatever you wish."

I raised my eyes to his. "I shall never have what I wish."

He immediately turned away, but not before I heard his quick intake of breath.

~ * ~

Mr. Darcy left Netherfield the next day, and once more I assumed I would not see him again. Life went on; somehow it does, no matter what tragedy one suffers. The story of my birth, subsequent adoption by the Bennets, and my father's altered version of my distant relation to the Darcys soon spread throughout the county. With servants at Netherfield and Longbourn knowledgeable of the circumstances, one could hardly expect to keep it quiet. Although surprised and curious, of course, our friends and neighbours rallied around my family. They continued to treat me with warmth and friendship; however, I could not help but detect a slight difference in their manners. I was not a lady of substance, but they knew full well I had been born to parents connected to a wealthy family. I was not Miss Darcy, but in their minds I would never again be just Lizzy Bennet.

Within our own abode, the shock of my birth eventually faded. Jane's wedding took precedence, for which I was thankful. Mamá gradually overcame her pique that I had refused to better my situation by accepting a settlement from Mr. Darcy when preparations for the long-awaited event between Jane and Mr. Bingley began to consume her. The wedding date was set for early January. With the holiday season and flurry of guests arriving to stay through Christmas until after the wedding, our house was a beehive of activity. Jane and I took every opportunity to perform tasks together. I rejoiced that she was to marry a man she loved, but I felt our coming separation most acutely. I treasured every moment I spent with her and particularly those when we were alone.

"Lizzy," she said one night before bed, "do you ever regret your decision to forego taking advantage of your kinship with the Darcys?"

"Why do you ask me that, Jane?"

"At times, I detect an expression about your eyes, as though you yearn for something you do not have."

I rose from the dressing table and smoothed back the coverlet on the bed although the maid had already turned it down. "I do not know what you mean."

"I think you do. Lizzy, be honest. You would like to visit Pemberley again, would you not?"

"Visit?" I nodded. "Perhaps a short visit would be nice, but you know I do not wear the mantle of poor relation well."

"I do not believe Mr. Darcy or his sister would treat you shabbily. Besides, what is there to keep you here?"

"Well, you will live nearby. I can tramp through the fields to Netherfield whenever I wish."

She smiled. "Yes, you may, but you know that Charles and I shall travel to London with the start of the Season. That will not be long after we return from our marriage tour. I am afraid I will not be here for some months."

I shrugged my shoulders. "Perhaps I shall visit Charlotte and our cousin again. Rosings Park is lovely at Easter..." My voice trailed off with those last words, as I recalled the Easter before when Mr. Darcy had proposed.

"Would you truly entertain the idea of Lady Catherine's presence on a daily basis? Surely not, Lizzy."

"No, of course not. Oh, well, do not worry about me, dearest Jane. I shall find ample activities with which to occupy my time until you return."

She placed the brush on the dresser and gathered her robe close before kissing my cheek. "Lizzy, do you still dislike Mr. Darcy?"

I hugged her and, in so doing, hid my expression. "No, I now think Mr. Darcy as good a man as I shall ever know. I just do not feel comfortable in his presence."

"Of course! I almost forgot he once asked for your hand in marriage. That was so long ago, but I suppose it is awkward if he still harbours feelings for you."

I held my breath for a moment, afraid of revealing the truth even to Jane. "I am certain all of that is long buried in the past. He would never think of me in that manner again since I refused him in such an abominable way."

"Then what is it? Are you afraid his sister has changed her opinion of you? You said she was most agreeable when you met at Pemberley."

"She was, but last summer she had only to acknowledge me as an acquaintance, not a distant relation possibly hoping to better her situation."

She looked thoughtful as she walked toward the door. "I believe you are mistaken. You told me how protective Mr. Darcy is of his sister. He would not have offered to render a settlement if he thought it might disturb Miss Darcy."

"It does not signify now. I have refused his offer, and that is the last we shall ever see of him. Good-night, Jane."

"Good-night, Lizzy, but do not make statements you cannot verify. I have it on good authority that Mr. Darcy will attend my wedding." With one last smile, she closed the door behind her.

Oh, no! Why had I not thought of that? My stomach began to burn as I crawled into bed. So I would have to face him again after all.

~ * ~

The holiday season came and went in a blur. The Gardiners arrived from Town three days before Christmas day and stayed until the wedding. Our house brimmed over with children, merriment, and amusement. My mother suffered frequent bouts of nerves, and my father often retreated behind the closed doors of his library, but I welcomed the diversion. With Christmastide and Jane's wedding to occupy our days, I could bury the longing that threatened to overwhelm me at times. However, without warning and at the most inopportune moments, a sudden image of Mr. Darcy's beloved face would flash before me, and it was all I could do to retain control of my emotions. How could I ever think of him as my brother? I dreaded seeing him again, and yet, I yearned for a glimpse of his countenance just once more.

It did not help that my Aunt Gardiner happened upon me all alone one day in the stillroom, whereupon she broached the subject for the first time. Having heard the entire altered version of the story of Lady's Catherine's visit from Mamá, she seemed surprised I had not accepted Mr. Darcy's offer. She repeated the esteem she and Mr. Gardiner felt towards the gentleman. She believed he was a man of honour and would do his best for me.

"Lizzy, think of the society and privilege your connection would bring. And surely, you cannot have forgotten the splendours of Pemberley. Can you not imagine what pleasure the possibility of a future visit to that great house might give you? I should think any connection with a family like the Darcys should be an advantage bearing merit." I shrugged and tried to change the subject, but she would not relent. "My dear, I think you should reconsider. It is an opportunity not granted to everyone. You should be grateful."

"I am grateful, Aunt, but at the same time I am angry."

"Angry? Surely not with Mr. Darcy."

I shook my head. "No, no, not with him. I am angry with his...with our father."

My aunt looked up quickly. "I do not understand."

"He did not want me, Aunt. He sent me as far away as possible." Without restraint, I confessed the true story of my birth to the woman I had always trusted with all my heart. Throughbout my childhood and beyond, I had considered her more like a mother than Mamá. Like a flooded river breaking through a dam, the words came gushing out. When finished with the tale, I gasped, shocked that I had blurted out the truth and yet strangely relieved, as though a tight collar had been loosened from 'round my neck.

Obviously amazed, she did not react in horror as Mamá would have done, but kept her voice soft, comforting, and matter of fact. "What else could he do, Lizzy? You have lived a sheltered life here in the country, but be assured these sorts of things are all too common. Mr. George Darcy might have disavowed any responsibility for you, many gentlemen do, but at least he provided for you."

"And that makes it right?" My voice rose in spite of my best efforts to curb my disapprobation. "A gentleman may betray his wife and desert the poor woman he takes as mistress, as long as he provides for the result and keeps the good name of his family clear of scandal?"

She reached out and held my hand. "Dearest, I can see you are very angry. I hope you will come to peace with it in time."

"I have known of it but a brief time, Aunt."

"Yes, and 'tis true that the sins of the fathers are visited upon the children."

"How apt that the word fathers is plural, for when I allow myself, I find I am somewhat angry with the father who reared me."

"Thomas should have told you."

"Did you know, Aunt? Were you privy to the secret all these years?"

"I knew that you were an orphan and passed off as your mother's baby, for she stayed with us in London during the very time she supposedly gave birth to you. Naturally, Thomas had to take your uncle and me into his confidence to support the story, and Fanny also needed someone in whom she might confide her fears and misgivings. Thank God it was your uncle and I who shared her confidence and not my sister Philips."

I closed my eyes at the thought of my Aunt Philips' loose tongue, but when I considered it, I changed my outlook. "Perhaps it would have been better had Aunt Philips known the truth, for then I would have been told at a much earlier age, and this entire situation could have been avoided."

"Why would you say that, Lizzy? Neither Thomas nor Fanny knew your real father was the late Mr. Darcy. In truth, if Lady Catherine had not felt it necessary to inform you, none of us would know it to this day. I still do not understand why she revealed such a tale. Surely she knew it would only bring scandal to her family name. Why did she tell you?"

I felt my face grow warm. I did not wish my aunt to ask me that question, for what was I to answer? "I do not know." I fumbled about for words. "She seemed to fear an association between our family and that of her nephew...perhaps because his close friend is marrying Jane."

"Surely she did not think you had designs on Mr. Darcy. Everyone knew your account of the man...although I did detect a softening of your attitude toward him when we visited at Pemberley. But you never cared for him, did you, Lizzy?"

I turned away and busied myself with a basket of dried blooms. Carrying them across the small room, I paid strict attention to sorting them into separate stacks by specie and colour. "Of course not, Aunt," I said quickly.

"Your position toward him did change to one of gratitude when you learned of his assistance to Lydia, I assume."

"Yes, I have expressed my thankfulness to him on our family's behalf. At the same time, I do not wish to be further obliged to the man, so you see it is best that I refuse his offer and remain as I am."

I looked up to see if my aunt believed my reasoning, but her expression remained unreadable. However, she agreed to share the true circumstances of my birth only with her husband and assured me he would not speak of it, a fact I trusted and for which I was grateful.

~ * ~

The night before Jane's wedding found me as nervous as the bride-to-be. My stomach ached at the thought of seeing Mr. Darcy again, so much so, that I could not swallow more than a few bites at dinner. My appetite had waned since I learned of the circumstances of my birth. Three times the dressmaker had altered the waistline of my dress for the wedding, and it still hung upon my frame. I could not sleep for dread of the coming day.

"This is insupportable!" I declared aloud, rising from my bed. I walked to the window and stared at the full moon. I knew I must overcome the anxiety that dragged my presence down like an anchor thrown into the sea. The man was my brother...acceptance, the only answer. I would bury any other feelings I had ever felt for him and begin to think of him as I thought of Kitty or Mary.

"You can do this, Elizabeth Bennet," I said aloud. There, I had voiced my resolve, and I would carry through no matter what. From that day forward, Mr. Darcy would be of no more consequence than a distant familial connection, just as Papá had declared that he was. I would be as I had ever been...before I loved him.

With a determined set to my shoulders, I turned and crawled back into bed. The only problem that remained was what to do with the pain in my stomach.

chapter three

Jane's wedding was lovely, almost as lovely as the bride herself. Kitty and Mary had placed copious bouquets of dried arrangements at the altar, and their colours provided just the right contrast to Jane's white silk gown and Mr. Bingley's starched collar. I had attached myself to Jane's side before the ceremony, and remained with her above stairs until time to walk to the church. Neither of us could eat, although for disparate reasons. Inside the sanctuary, I was conscious of a number of guests, but I kept my eyes upon Jane. If Mr. Darcy stood among the crowd, I did not wish to see him and thus cause my countenance to alter.

Sunlight filtered through the stained glass windows as though God Himself beamed with joy at the union. As I listened to the bride and groom recite their vows, I fought the tears that filled my eyes. I was so happy for Jane, truly I was, and yet I could not help but wish I stood beside her, speaking those same words to the man I loved.

Stop it, Lizzy! I told myself. I dug my fingernails into my palms to physically distract my thoughts. You have vowed to think of him as your brother. Do not forsake that vow. Silently, I repeated the words before God. Mr. Darcy and I are brother and sister. I renounce all prior feelings for him from this moment on.

At the breakfast afterwards, however, it proved impossible to avoid him. I felt his presence nearby, rather than saw it, and with his greeting, steeled myself to appear calm and impervious. Surprise overtook me when I turned and observed he was not alone. His sister stood beside him.

"Miss Bennet...I am so glad to see you once again," she said with a curtsy.

I responded in kind and searched my brain for something innocuous to say. What must she think of me now? I must have mumbled something coherent, for she moved closer, and I found myself standing between her and Mr. Darcy.

"My sister has been anxious to speak to you," he said.

"Anxious?" I could not comprehend his meaning.

"Well, perhaps anxious is an overstatement - eager might prove the better description."

"Oh yes," Georgiana said, "I have been eager to renew our acquaintance, especially in light of recent events."

"Recent events?" It seemed I could do nothing more than echo like an idiot.

She drew close and whispered in my ear, "We are now something like cousins, are we not? My brother has told me the whole of the story."

I tensed, afraid of what she would say next.

"He says my aunt's revelation has overwhelmed you, and I can readily understand that. To think the parents you have always honoured are not truly your parents must be difficult to accept. To learn that your real parents died in an accident before you even knew them must grieve you anew."

"And do you not find it hard to accept that we are related, Miss Darcy?"

"I did find it shocking, but I am most pleased."

"Pleased?" Once again I sounded like a parrot.

She smiled and touched my hand. "I liked you from the first time we met, and I can think of no one I would rather call cousin more than you."

I could not speak for surprise at her response. How gracious her acceptance - it almost renewed my tears, and I took several steps backward to distance myself. Evidently, Mr. Darcy had told her the untruth my father created, and she, naturally, believed him. I wondered if she would be as accepting of our relationship if she knew the truth. I turned away slightly, hoping to spy Jane and thus escape the uneasiness of the situation, but Miss Darcy again laid a gentle hand on my arm.

"Miss Bennet, my brother and I would be honoured if you would consider visiting us at Pemberley. We leave Netherfield next week and hope you will make the journey with us."

I could not believe the words I heard. Visit Pemberley again? Had Mr. Darcy seriously encouraged Georgiana in this request? Was it I, alone, who imagined daily torture if I returned to Pemberley attempting to act the role of poor relation, but in truth was his sibling?

"Forgive me, I must attend Jane," I mumbled. Forgetting my manners completely and without another glance in their direction, I fled the Darcys' presence and crossed the room to find Jane and Mr. Bingley surrounded by well-wishers. When I could not penetrate the throng, I hurried through the entryway and out the side door.

The sting of cold January air caused me to gasp, but it was not unwelcome. It had grown much too warm within the house filled with guests, and although I was surprised to feel snowflakes flutter softly about my cheeks, I rejoiced that it would make a picturesque setting for the bride and groom's departure. Eventually growing cold, for I had not taken time to don a cloak, I stomped around and rubbed my hands up and down my arms to keep warm.

"Lizzy," Kitty cried as she ran out the door, "come help us with the bridal wreath. Jane and Mr. Bingley will depart at any moment."

I walked back into the house long enough to hold the door open while she and Maria Lucas carried the huge arch of beribboned flowers outside. Almost immediately, the throng of company followed them with much gaiety and cries of excitement. The crowd swept me out the door along with them, and before I could turn around, I heard my mother's voice calling out last minute admonitions to Jane. And then, there they were - Mr. and Mrs. Bingley - running through the wedding arch and onto their carriage. I reached out and clasped Jane's hand for but a moment. She stopped and pressed her cheek to mine, and I could see joy shining in her eyes.

And then they were gone. What we had earnestly hoped and prayed for so long had now come to pass. My mother was thrilled that my sister married a rich man. I was thrilled that she married a man she loved. I knew for certain I would never be that fortunate.

Many of the guests began to take their leave, while others stayed at my parents' urging. I caught a glimpse of Miss Darcy in conversation with Mary, and knew her brother would not stray far from her side. They turned to re-enter the house, while I walked in the opposite direction. I crossed the park and hurried up the lane. Snow began to fall in abundance, and once more, I regretted not having anything warm to wear. I passed the villagers' cottages and acknowledged several greetings. I knew I should return to my parents' house, but I did not wish to face Miss Darcy or her brother again until I thought of an excuse to refuse her invitation. My vow would be easier to keep if I never saw him again.

Before I knew it, I stood upon the threshold of the church building. The door still stood open, and I could feel the warmth emanating from within. Slowly, I walked into the deserted sanctuary and down the aisle Jane had trod a few hours earlier. I sank down upon a polished, wooden pew close to the altar. Once again I gazed at the stained glass window, but the sun no longer beamed in approval. Snow clouds darkened the coloured panes, and the old building suddenly seemed filled with shadows.

"Dear God," I prayed silently, "help me. Help me honour the vow I made earlier. From this day forward, may I truly see Mr. Darcy as my brother and nothing more. Blot out those feelings I harbour for him. You know my thoughts, Lord, rid my mind of them. Oh, God, I entreat thee. Have mercy, I pray."

"Miss Elizabeth?"

I shuddered at the sound, disappointed that I was not alone. Turning, I saw the stooped figure of Mr. Fawcett standing behind me. The old man had long ago retired as Longbourn's vicar, but he remained in his house, a legacy granted by my father for the years he had served the parish. He still looked after the church building, as former habits could not be denied.

"I thought that was you," he said, "although my eyes are not as proficient as they once were. What causes you to seek refuge here, my child? I thought you would be a participant in the happy event."

"They have gone, Mr. Fawcett, a short while ago."

"And you tired of a house full of guests? I am surprised. For one my age, that would be natural, but you are a young woman, and do not the young enjoy a good party?"

I smiled. "I confess I strayed from the house without a wrap, and the warmth of the church drew me in."

"Do you miss your sister already?"

I nodded. "I am very happy for her, though."

"Yes, but not so happy for yourself. Am I right?"

"Sir?"

He sat down beside me, his eyes a cloudy blue beneath their overgrown brows. "Your father told me of his recent revelation, and you may recall I had a most unpleasant visit from Lady Catherine. I trust you do not remain despondent."

I was surprised at his boldness, until the knowledge came flooding back that he had been vicar when Lady Catherine's husband delivered me to the church at Hertfordshire twenty-one years earlier. "I hope I am not, sir."

"I always thought Mr. Bennet in error to keep the truth from you. But then, I do not have children, so it was not for me to say."

"How did you know Sir Lewis de Bourgh, Mr. Fawcett?"

He looked away with a grimace. "As a young curate, I served at Hunsford parish. Unfortunately, I incurred the disapproval of Lady Catherine, so much so that she insisted on my removal from the living. If not for Sir Lewis' intervention, I might have been forced from service to the church altogether. It was due to his kindness that I received the living here at Longbourn - he was a friend of a friend of Mr. Bennet's - so when the gentleman came calling in the middle of the night with you in tow, asking for my assistance, I could do nothing less."

"Sir Lewis, himself, delivered me to Hertfordshire?"

"With the help of a serving woman who cared for you on the journey. 'Twas a difficult beginning, my dear, but one that turned out well after all, would you not agree?"

"Mmm...I am indebted to the Bennets for taking me in."

"Child, they did not just take you in. You are truly their daughter."

I shivered slightly.

With difficulty, he rose from the pew. "The fire has gone out. Perhaps you should return home."

I stood, but before stepping out into the aisle, I placed my hand on his arm. "Mr. Fawcett, did Sir Lewis ever tell you anything of my mother...my real mother."

He shook his head. "Only that you were given her Christian name, and that she died giving birth. He did not say who she was, but I sensed that your mother was not a servant, that she might have been of noble birth."

"Whatever gave you cause to think that?"

"Sir Lewis said neither family - that of your father nor your mother - could bear the disgrace. Common folk live with their sins; the gentry possess the means to hide theirs."

I closed my eyes and turned away. He patted my shoulder and shuffled toward the side door. "Do not stay too long, my dear. The chill in the room will soon turn bitter."

I shivered anew, as I heard the door close behind him. I shall not weep again. I refuse to give into grief any longer. I took a deep breath, squared my shoulders and stepped out into the aisle to return to Longbourn. I was startled to see the form of a man standing beside the last pew at the rear of the building. The dim light was just enough for me to make out who stood privy to my conversation...Mr. Darcy.

He wore his great coat and held his hat in his hand, apparently ready to leave. "Elizabeth."

"Sir." I walked toward him, my head held high. "Is it your nature to listen in on private conversations?"

"Of course not. I did not mean to overhear."

"And what brings you to God's house - fervent need of prayer?"

He smiled slightly. "You did not respond to my sister's request, and Georgiana wished to bid you farewell. Someone said they saw you walk in the direction of the church."

"I see."

"Is that what drew you here - your need of prayer - or did you come to question the old vicar?"

"We are all in need of prayer, sir. And no, Mr. Fawcett found me here by chance. I assume you heard what he said. It was the strangest thing."

"About the woman who gave you birth, yes, I heard."

"Do you have knowledge of her family, Mr. Darcy?"

He shook his head. "I cannot help but believe we might find the answer in Derbyshire."

"We?"

"Elizabeth, if you would consent to return to Pemberley with Georgiana and me, perchance we could find some bit of information about your mother. The attics are filled with old trunks, papers, records, journals. Surely, somewhere someone wrote of your birth. If you will come, I will brook no obstacle to solve the mystery."

I frowned at him. "Sir, I do not consider that a prudent idea."

"What would be the harm in a visit? Tell me that if you can. Mrs. Annesley, my sister's companion, travels with us so everything would be in order. You would have a chaperone."

"Why do you insist on furthering your involvement in my life? I do believe you are the most stubborn man I have ever known." I walked toward the door, but stopped short at the sight before me. Snow now covered the village.

"It seems we share the family trait, for you possess a stubbornness of your own. Here, take my coat, you cannot go out dressed as you are."

"No," I said quickly, "I shall wait here until it slackens. Pray, go and bid your sister farewell on my behalf. I shall send her a note tomorrow expressing my regret that I must forego her gracious invitation."

I felt his eyes upon me, and when I turned to meet them, I was surprised at the fire I saw therein. "I shall not leave until you tell me the truth. Here, in this sacred place, one must not lie. I want to hear the real reason you seem to wish to sever all contact between us."

"I beg to differ. You have oft been told the truth, and you refuse to accept it."

"When last we met, you spoke in anger...justifiable...yet anger. You said you do not want any of that which belonged to my father, but there is more. I can see it in your eyes."

"Indeed?" I turned my face directly toward his. "And just what do you see?"

"Mistrust. I believe you consider me faithless because of what occurred between us at Kent last Easter. You fear I cannot look upon you as a sister."

I caught my breath. Was I that transparent? My lip trembled, and I was afraid to speak lest I confess to him more than I should.

Fortunately, he turned his head and began twirling his hat round and round as he stared out at the snow. "I wrote in my letter that you need have no fear of my renewing those addresses you found so disgusting..."

"Please do not remind me of that time, Mr. Darcy. I am quite ashamed of how I abused you."

"I shall never forget the turn of your countenance when you said I could not have acted in a more ungentleman-like manner."

"My words were harsh and uncalled for. I pray you do not hold them against me."

"What did you say that I did not deserve? The manner of my declaration was abominable. When I think back on it, I cannot imagine myself uttering those insults toward your family and yourself. Make no mistake, however, that I still harbour those sentiments."

My stomach lurched at his declaration, but was it true? I knew him to be a man who abhorred deceit, but was I so in error? Of what sentiments did he speak - his disapproval of my connections or his declaration of love? Had I misunderstood his attentions at Pemberley? His kindness at Lambton when he discovered me grieving over Lydia?

I took a deep breath. "Then, sir, may I ask why Lady Catherine travelled to Longbourn with such haste in fear that you and I were soon to be engaged? What led her to reveal my true parentage, if not dread that an attachment between us loomed imminent?"

The hat twirling in his hand ceased as suddenly as it had begun.

"I cannot speak for my aunt or for her malice. Although directed at you, her anger was meant for me. She had called at my townhouse in London the day before and confronted me once again concerning a proposal for her daughter. I told her for the last time that I was not to marry Anne, and that my affections lay elsewhere. For whatever reason, she presumed you were the object. That is when she produced a copy of the note written by Sir Lewis. As I told you earlier, I went directly to her solicitor's office and examined the original. Unknown to me, the following day she travelled to Longbourn. I returned to Netherfield where she found me after her visit with you. She appeared delighted with her Machiavellian efforts, but became affronted when I informed her I would share my inheritance with you."

His affections lay elsewhere. What did that mean?

"Elizabeth, I possess the strongest of wills. When I set my mind to a task, it is accomplished. The moment I learned you were my sister, I determined to think of you in that manner. The past is now dead."

"As simply as that?" I whispered.

I saw the nerve in his cheek tighten, as he pressed his lips together. "Since that day, you have been only my sister. You have my highest respect and regard. You need have no fear of me."

~ * ~

Within a fortnight, I left for Pemberley with Georgiana and Mr. Darcy. Even though I assured my father I was going for naught but a short visit, he still clung to my hand until the door closed on Mr. Darcy's carriage. My mother and sisters were agog with excitement, Mamá having calculated how many men of fortune I might meet. I stressed that I did not go in quest of a husband, but she would not have it. At last, I gave up my attempts to convince her and left her to indulge her fancies.

One may well ask why I agreed at last to the Darcys' invitation after I had insisted I would not go. One might think it because of Mr. Darcy's renunciation of any feeling for me, other than that of a brother. Or one might consider the attraction of solving the mystery of my mother's identity compelling enough to alter my decision. In truth, I grew bored and lonely at Longbourn without Jane. She had asked that I accompany her and Charles on their wedding trip, but I declined. I feared being a daily witness to their devotion would but reinforce my own loneliness. Now, I wished with all my heart that I had accepted. Restricted to the house because of inclement weather, I quickly tired of my mother and younger sisters' company, while Papá locked himself into his library with increasing regularity. A spirit of tedium and impatience began to plague me with uncommon consistency. The thought of spending the remainder of the winter in such dull surroundings filled me with annoyance. Since the prize of Pemberley dangled before me, I could no longer find contentment in the existence I had always known. It seemed I wished to experience what life with the Darcys might offer after all.

And if I were honest, I should admit I craved the excitement of Mr. Darcy's company. Even if he was but my brother, I felt more alive in his presence. His intelligence and wit matched mine, and I knew I would not tire of sparring with him. I also found Georgiana amiable, and I trusted time I spent with her would be agreeable. Besides, I longed to see the great house again, and anticipation of the beauty of Derbyshire's peaks and dales caused my spirit to soar.

I generally possess a hopeful outlook, and I soon tired of grieving over the circumstances of my birth and my disappointing prospects. I longed to return to the cheerfulness I had known before and determined it not impossible. Once I made the decision to travel to Pemberley, it somehow became easier to keep my resolution.

Mr. Darcy shared the carriage seat with his young sister on the journey, while Mrs. Annesley sat beside me. She was an older woman, pleasant and quiet. As the miles rolled by, Georgiana chattered about all that awaited us. She made a verbal list of families in the area, and urged her brother to plan a dinner or even a ball in order to introduce me.

"A ball? Surely not," I said, "for I know with what distaste your brother considers dancing."

"Ah, Wills," she said, "could you not forego your displeasure for the sake of Miss Bennet?"

He raised one eyebrow, but said nothing.

"We could ask the Whitbys and the Stones, and perchance Lord Darnley's sister's son has not yet left for the season in Town. Oh, Wills, could we not have a ball?"

"Let us give Miss Bennet time to settle in before we impose Derbyshire society upon her."

"That suits me perfectly well," I replied, "for I shall not stay very long, Miss Darcy."

"But you must! It is such a distance - we may not have opportunity to visit for some time. Pray, assure me you will stay for several months at least."

"Georgie, do not impose upon her. We will not force Miss Bennet to remain at Pemberley unless she is comfortable."

Georgiana frowned, and I noted how pretty her countenance, even when pouting. "Oh, I am tired. Shall we never reach Derbyshire?"

Mr. Darcy took her hand. "Rest your head on my shoulder."

She gladly took advantage of his proposal, and within a short span, fell asleep. I marvelled at their intimacy. If I were his legitimate sister, would I ever feel that comfortable with him? At ease enough to sleep on his shoulder? I could not imagine it.

Within moments, Mrs. Annesley's head began to fall forward, as she, too, drifted into slumber. Mr. Darcy and I rode in silence for some time before I spoke again. I kept my voice low so that I might not disturb our sleeping companions. "So you are Wills to your little sister?"

He nodded. "And you are Lizzy to yours, am I correct? To my mind, the nickname does not suit you."

"Oh? And what would you call me?"

"I do not think I could ever think of you by any name other than Elizabeth."

"And I cannot fathom calling you by any name other than Mr. Darcy."

"Is that not formal? Our close connection does not warrant addressing each other in that manner in private."

"Pray, sir! Mrs. Annesley might hear you.

" "She is a sound sleeper, do not worry."

I leaned forward and peered closely at the woman. Assured that she truly was oblivious to her surroundings, I felt easier and took up the conversation again. "What should I call you, then? Wills belongs to Georgiana, and I fear my tongue would trip over Fitzwilliam, so what else but Mr. Darcy?"

"You are clever enough. I believe you will select a name for me."

"Well, there is always Fitz or Fitzy." I cut my eyes at him to see how he responded to my mockery.

"I call my cousin Fitz, and no one shall ever call me Fitzy. I forbid it."

"Forbid? Oh, my. Then that leaves but one option - I shall have to call you Willie."

"Under no circumstances!" He spoke with such force that Georgiana stirred in her sleep.

"Shush," I whispered, "you will wake the child."

"Then soften the provocation."

I struggled not to laugh aloud. Silence ensued, and I turned my attention to the passing landscape. The farther north we travelled, the whiter the countryside appeared. I had rarely seen so great an amount of snow, and I loved the artistic purity of it. It was as though the woods and meadows had been washed clean, scrubbed with a generous helping of soapsuds.

"I have it!" I whispered at last. "The perfect name for you, sir - Fitzwilly!"

His left eyebrow shot up like a bullet. "And I shall call you Bessie. Will that please you?"

"My father's cow is called Bessie."

A satisfied smirk settled about his mouth. "Then I suggest a compromise: I shall be William and you shall be Elizabeth. Agreed?"

"Oh, very well...although I do think Fitzwilly possesses a certain distinction."

"As does Bessie."

I could not help but laugh, and I was pleased to see the hint of a reluctant smile emerge upon his countenance at last.

chapter four

Although I imagined it impossible, Pemberley was as striking in mid-winter as in summer. The snow-draped grounds made a magnificent setting for the huge mansion. With the roof enveloped in white, icicles sparkled and glittered from the eaves like jewelled pendants hang from a woman's ears. I caught my breath in wonder. Our journey had been long and tiring. The inns at which we had stopped on the way proved adequate, but not memorable. Now, anticipation revived my spirit, and I looked forward with eagerness to entering the Darcys' beautiful house once again.

Mr. Darcy had written the housekeeper, Mrs. Reynolds, to expect us. He told her we had discovered that I was a distant relation, and thus, he and Georgiana invited me to spend some time with them. I was relieved to find a warm smile upon her face.

"Miss Bennet, I am most pleased to see you again," she said. Evidently, she believed our story; however, she was but a servant and asked no questions, of course. The test would come when I was introduced to Derbyshire society.

We entered the drawing room to be warmed by a roaring fire and steaming cups of tea. Later, I was ensconced in a lovely bedchamber decorated in soft pastels. The prospect from the windows took my breath away - slivers of the evening sunset's brilliant hues peeked through the snow clouds and danced upon the surface of the lake.

After dinner that night, while Georgiana played for us on the pianoforte with Mrs. Annesley nearby to turn the pages, I felt Mr. Darcy's eyes upon me. He sat in a large overstuffed chair, his head reclining against the back. I thought him asleep once or twice, for he closed his eyes during several refrains. He appeared truly at ease in his home. If ever a man belonged to a house, he belonged to Pemberley. It fit him like a well-tailored suit. I wondered if I would ever feel at home in such a great house. Even though we shared the same father, I knew that I would never share his sense of entitlement.

"Has the evening's refreshment relieved the strain of travel, Elizabeth?" He spoke softly so that he would not interrupt Georgiana's concert.

"The meal was delicious, and one could not ask for more pleasing entertainment."

"But you are weary, are you not? I see fatigue in your eyes. After she finishes this song, you must retire."

"I would not shorten Georgiana's enjoyment. Pray, do not cause her to stop on my behalf."

"There is always the morrow when she may play as long as she wishes, while I show you the house in detail. I know Mrs. Reynolds gave you and Mr. and Mrs. Gardiner a tour last summer, but I wish for you to see the house through my eyes. Shall we say after breakfast around one o'clock?"

"If you wish." I was more than eager to explore the great house once again and especially with one who knew it intimately. Georgiana and I soon retired to our chambers, and I fell into the luxurious, soft bed with welcome abandon.

The next day we began our tour in the kitchen, a curious choice to my thinking, but one I soon understood. Mr. Darcy knew each of the downstairs staff by name along with their responsibilities, including Mrs. Soffel, the cook, who ruled her domain with a sharp tongue. She barked orders to the lower servants like the best sergeant-at-arms before she realized the master had invaded her kitchen.

"Beggin' your pardon, Mr. Darcy," she said with a curtsy. "I didn't see you there, sir."

"Quite acceptable," he responded. "I recall as a lad you ordered me about in that same tone of voice."

She blushed bright red. "I never, sir. Well, perchance...but only when you snatched cookies before they cooled."

"And burnt my tongue as a result. They were well worth it, however."

"Aw, go on with you, sir."

As we walked from room to room, I could see in what esteem his servants held him. It was evident their deference was heartfelt and not prompted by duty alone. I recalled Mrs. Reynolds' words last summer, "He is the best landlord and the best master that ever lived."

We worked our way up the floors, and I marvelled anew at the splendour therein. Its understated elegance extended from the architecture to its perfectly selected furnishings. I could not find a single item I would change if I were mistress. You shall never be mistress of Pemberley, I chided myself silently.

"And I suppose Mrs. Reynolds showed you the gallery, did she not?" Mr. Darcy asked.

"She did, but I would enjoy a closer view."

He led me up the great staircase, pointing out paintings by Italian and Dutch artists that lined the wall. In the great hall, my eyes travelled immediately to his large portrait. I thought it exceptionally fine. The artist caught his face in a benign expression, and he smiled in a manner I had sometimes observed before when he looked at me. Mr. Darcy began naming various relatives, but I confess I only half listened, for I could not tear my eyes from the only face whose features were known to me.

"I believe you will find this likeness of interest." He had walked a number of paces ahead while I lingered behind. "Elizabeth?"

I coloured, hoping he had not caught me out and hurriedly joined him. "And who did you say this gentleman is?"

"My...our...father." He drew near and spoke softly, even though it appeared we were alone.

I raised my eyes to observe the subject of the painting. Mr. Darcy resembled him in many ways. They possessed the same chin and turn of countenance. Although the man's hair in the portrait had turned silver, it fell across his forehead in curls much like that of his son. My father...I searched his eyes seeking to recognize some part of me therein.

"I can see you, but I fail to find myself in his image," I murmured.

"His hair was dark like yours when he was younger."

"Dark hair is common enough. I confess I cannot see any connection." I cast my eyes on the full-length portrait of a woman hanging next to that of Mr. Darcy, Sr. "Is that your mother?" He nodded. "She was a beautiful woman, much like Georgiana."

"Yes, my sister inherited her blue eyes and fair colouring."

"And you have her dimples."

"Do I?"

"When you smile. 'Tis one of your best features you might exhibit more often."

We walked on down the hall, while he named grandparents and various relatives on his mother's side of the family. Then he stopped in front of a portrait of a young man and woman. "These were our father's parents - your grandparents, Elizabeth - James and Siobhan Darcy."

"Siobhan? Was she Irish?"

"To the core. As a young man, my grandfather sailed to County Cork and spent the summer there with friends from Cambridge. He fell in love with Siobhan MacAnally, the daughter of a landed family that harked back for generations. Her father forbade the marriage, but they eloped anyway. She gave up her entire family to marry my grandfather and return to Derbyshire with him."

"Gave up her family? Did they never reconcile?"

Mr. Darcy shook his head. "It could not be done. Her choice was entirely insupportable."

"But surely, one would not disinherit a daughter simply because she loved an Englishman."

"'Twas not just nation but religion that separated them. My grandmother was Catholic, and my grandfather, of course, was not. She was required to renounce her religion and rear her children as Protestant. In truth, my father said his parents hid all traces of her former faith once they settled in England."

"Of course. Her husband would have endured persecution if she did not. How difficult it must have been for her."

Mr. Darcy walked on a few paces, stared at the floor, and lowered his voice even more. "Few know this, but Grandmother continued to practice her faith in secret."

"In secret?"

"In public, she attended services with her husband and children at the village church, but whenever possible, she stole away to visit a priest who maintained a small Catholic church just past the edge of the wood. He tended a small flock that clung to the Papist belief. The church remains to this day."

"And did your grandfather know?"

He nodded and smiled. "My father said his father permitted it because he loved her. He found it hard to deny her anything, even though his own family was not at all pleased that my grandfather married beneath him."

"How can that be? I thought her family prosperous."

He shrugged his shoulders. "Irish and Catholic? 'Twas unacceptable. Besides, Grandfather married her without her father's consent. She came without a dowry. Yes, I would say he married below his station, but then he married for love."

His eyes met mine, and for one unguarded moment, it was as though I caught a glimpse of his soul. Almost immediately, however, he cleared his throat and marched on ahead. "That is sufficient for today. I shall not bore you with more family history. Let us walk on to the opposite wing of the house. I want you to see the ballroom."

I had to hurry to catch up with his long stride, but not before I turned and looked into the green eyes of Siobhan Darcy once more. I felt a chill run down my spine when I realized it was like gazing into a mirror.

~ * ~

By nightfall, Mr. Darcy had exhibited all of the great house, save the attics. We agreed to postpone those for a day when we had adequate time to devote to our quest. I was glad to know he had not abandoned his offer to search for knowledge of my birth. I had feared it might have been simply a ruse to entice me to visit Pemberley.

A welcome break in the weather occurred on the morrow, and we enjoyed four glorious days of sunshine. Mr. Darcy took advantage of it to show me the grounds. Even covered in snow, I could see the gardens were outstanding and that I had experienced only the briefest of tours during my visit the previous summer. The stables were filled with thoroughbreds, and he took pride in naming each horse's forebears - all superior pedigrees I am certain, if I had known anything about breeds. He was surprised that I informed him I was no horsewoman, and he assured me that riding lessons would commence as soon as the weather permitted. I met the declaration with the enthusiasm I would have shown had he served me a beaker of pickle juice.

On what proved to be the final day of clear weather for some time, Mr. Darcy announced at the breakfast table that he would take Georgiana and me on a ride through the woods in his phaeton. She clapped her hands in delight, her eyes sparkling with anticipation.

"A phaeton?" I asked. "Shall it not be rather crowded with three passengers and cold, as well?"

"Oh, no, Elizabeth," Georgiana declared. By that time, we had progressed to addressing each other by our first names. "The wind has disappeared, and the sun is out today. We can fit, if we squeeze close together. Tucked under a rug, we shall be quite cosy."

Sipping my tea, I raised my eyes to observe Mr. Darcy's reaction. He appeared completely satisfied with the idea, oblivious to any discomfort such intimacy might cause. Well, if he could sit close beside me without problem, I should do as well. After all, he is your brother, I reminded myself. I quickly swallowed the remains of my cup, but, in so doing, I choked and coughed to an extent that I was forced to excuse myself from the table.

A half-hour later, I descended the stairs and saw the phaeton waiting at the side entrance. Attached to a huge white mare, the shiny green conveyance with its huge yellow wheels looked like something out of a painting, even down to the bells hanging 'round the horse's collar. My sister carried a white muff and wore a fur coat and hat. Mr. Darcy had swathed his neck with a flannel scarf, but he frowned when he saw my plain wool coat and bonnet.

"Do you have no fur?"

"My coat is adequate."

He shook his head and ran up the stairs two at a time, calling for a servant. I followed Georgiana outdoors. She climbed up into the vehicle with aid from a servant and urged me to join her, but before I could, Mr. Darcy returned with a fur hat and cape.

"Exchange that bonnet for this hat," he demanded. "I shall not have you catch your death." When I hesitated, he untied the ribbons himself, and before I knew what had happened, he handed my bonnet to the maid and placed the warmer covering on my head, wrapping the cape around my shoulders.

"Whose garments are these?"

Georgiana smiled. "They are mine. Wills, we must see to a more suitable wardrobe for Elizabeth."

"Yes, we must."

"No," I protested, "I shall not accept..."

"'Tis better than coming down with a chill, is it not?" He raised one eyebrow while he completed tying the bow under my chin. Stepping up into the carriage, he held out his hand to assist me. "Now, let us arrange the rug, and we shall be off." He sat between Georgiana and me and securely tucked the warm throw around each of us. I held my breath as he leaned over me, his head so close that his hair brushed against my cheek. "Warm enough?" he asked.

"Perfectly," Georgiana announced. I could manage nothing more than a nod.

Not even a hair could have squeezed between our bodies, and I became acutely aware of the warmth of his leg touching mine. This is a mistake, I thought. But how was I to escape? Before I could think of an excuse, Mr. Darcy flicked the reins, and the great horse picked up his heels and trotted off. The cold wind fanned my cheeks, and I gasped to catch my breath. How fortunate that I could blame the elements for the rosy colour of my countenance.

That day, I discovered Mr. Darcy had a passion for driving fast. We had scarce left the outskirts of the park before he urged the horse into a brisk gallop. Georgiana squealed as we rounded a corner and laughed gaily when I protested.

"Do not fear, Elizabeth," she cried. "Wills is an excellent driver. He will not allow us to spill."

I held on in terror, for I had not the confidence she possessed. Unknowingly, I grabbed the side of the phaeton with one hand and Mr. Darcy's arm with the other. Within moments, he turned the conveyance to the left as we rounded a sharp curve, and, consequently, caused both my companions to swerve to my side. Once more, his face appeared alarmingly close to mine. I felt his breath warm on my cheek and heard him chuckle before we turned back onto a straighter path.

"You are welcome to hold on, Elizabeth, but when you clamp my arm that tightly, it does hamper my driving somewhat."

I withdrew my hand from his person immediately, shocked that I had touched him unawares.

"Do take care," Georgiana cautioned. "I fear you frighten Elizabeth."

"Are you afraid?"

"Of course not," I lied, straightening my spine and sitting as tall as I might. Within moments, he rounded another curve, and I found myself clinging to him with both hands. I heard him laugh softly in spite of Georgiana's gleeful screams.

"You are incorrigible, sir," I declared. "You drive like Jehu!"

At last, to my great relief, he slowed the horse to a gentle trot. I reached for my hat to make certain it did not sit askew and pulled the cover back into place, for it had slipped loose in all the twists and turns. I felt my heart beat furiously and took a deep breath of the cold, frosty air. The remains of my breath hovered about like miniature clouds.

"Shall we drive by Lady Margaret Willoughby's house?" Georgiana asked.

"It lies directly around the next bend in the road."

Within a few moments, we came upon a large manor house set far back from the road, surrounded by the forest. It almost appeared a part of the woods, for what park surrounded the house was untended, allowed to grow wild, obviously abandoned.

"That is Bridesgate Manor," Mr. Darcy said.

"Is my lady away, for it appears vacant?"

"Oh, Lady Willoughby no longer lives there," said Georgiana. "She died years back before I was born, did she not, Wills?"

He nodded. "As her son had died before her, the entail passed to her grandson, and he has let the house to a family named Denison. I hear they shall take possession by Lady Day."

"I do hope we shall like them," Georgiana said. "Perchance they have a daughter near my age and sons to court Elizabeth. Would it not be lovely if she were to marry and live nearby? Then we would not have to travel to Hertfordshire to visit her."

I swallowed at the thought. "Georgiana..."

"Do not speak nonsense," Mr. Darcy said.

"Is that not one reason we invited Elizabeth to Pemberley? To find her a husband?"

"I am in no hurry to find a husband."

"Of course not," Mr. Darcy agreed, "and I know little of the family, other than Mr. Denison is a retired admiral in the King's Navy. They certainly do not dwell on Lady Willoughby's level."

"Even though they shall now dwell in her house," I murmured.

"You may scoff, but the Willoughby family was the reigning aristocracy in the neighbourhood when I was a lad. I recall my parents often dined at the old lady's table. 'Tis a pity her grandson has not taken better care of the place."

He turned and drove the horse up the long path leading to the house. Brambles wound through the wild bushes that lined the drive. The beautiful old trees appeared almost bent under the weight of vines grown unchecked for years. It would take a prodigious amount of work to clean the grounds. One could only hope the inside of the house had been better preserved.

"Shall we stretch our legs?" Mr. Darcy asked. When Georgiana and I agreed, he stepped down and assisted us from the carriage. I missed the warmth of his body next to mine and shivered slightly as the wind came up. We began to walk about the property, the paths covered in snow, and I could see the estate compared poorly to Pemberley. The house was about the size of Netherfield, but due to lack of maintenance, appeared sad and bleak.

"A door is open here on the side," Mr. Darcy announced, having walked on ahead of us. "Do you wish to see inside?"

Georgiana and I readily followed him into the entrance that opened onto a great hall. It smelled musty and dank, but it did provide respite from the cold.

"Evidently, neither the workmen nor servants have arrived as of yet," Mr. Darcy said. "I should think Denison would have ordered preparations underway long before now."

"Look where the portraits were removed," Georgiana pointed up to the wall lining the staircase. "The house is in sore need of paint."

"And soap and water," I added, as we followed Mr. Darcy above stairs. The draperies in the drawing room were still intact, and what furniture that remained was covered in dust cloths. Georgiana spied the shape of a pianoforte beneath the coverings and pushed them up so that she might run her fingers over the keys.

"How sad. It is out of tune." She sat down on the stool and began to amuse herself with chords and scales. Mr. Darcy indicated that I follow him into the dining room where a grand table and chairs were still in place.

"When did anyone last inhabit the house?" I asked.

"The family moved away from these parts when I was but a child. I could not have been more than eight or so. That is, all but the grandmother, Lady Margaret Willoughby."

"Do you mean she stayed here alone?"

"The grandson moved his mother and sisters to London, but she refused to accompany them. I still remember the night my father returned from a visit and told us, 'Lady Willoughby said she came to Bridesgate as a bride, and she would not leave until she died.' Her family could not persuade her otherwise."

"And did she live out her declaration?"

"She did. If I am not mistaken, I believe she died that same year or soon thereafter. I recall my father attended her funeral, although there had been some kind of break between her and my family. I do not know the particulars, I just recall my father ordered me to stay away from the place. 'Twas a command I found hard to obey. For some reason, the old house has always drawn me in, as though some spirit called to me. A silly notion for a lad."

"How sad," I murmured, "to die all alone in this great old house."

"It was her choice."

"Perchance...but then she might have felt this was the only place she belonged."

"When her family sought her company in Town?"

I walked down the length of the table and gazed up at the massive stone fireplace on the far wall. "It was her home. She lived here almost all of her life. It is important to feel one belongs...to know where you belong..."

Unbeknownst to me, Mr. Darcy had crossed the room and stood close behind me. "Do we still speak of Lady Willoughby, Elizabeth?"

The nearness of his presence startled me. I blinked and shook my head slightly. "What? I...of course." I turned my face toward his, and the tender concern reflected in his eyes touched my heart. I could feel my defences slipping away, and I knew tears would prove my undoing.

Just then, Georgiana skipped into the room and exclaimed that the candelabra still contained remains of burnt candles. She claimed Mr. Darcy's attention, which allowed me opportunity to once again swallow my emotion. We soon quitted the house and climbed back into the phaeton, bent on driving around the next bend in the road.

I was surprised to see another great house built not far from Bridesgate, a structure much more modern. Mr. Darcy explained that none of the Willoughbys ever returned to live at the estate, and Lady Willoughby's grandson had consistently sold off the acreage surrounding the old family home until the domain was now reduced to a fraction of its former glory. A family named Whitby had purchased some of the land and built the newer house.

"They have two eligible sons, Elizabeth," Georgiana announced. "I am sure one of them will please you."

I did not even bother to protest, for her brother growled enough for both of us. It did little to suppress the young girl. She entreated Mr. Darcy to drive by the home of yet another family of young men in the area. He, instead, turned off the main road and onto a country lane that led us directly through the woods. When Georgiana questioned him as to our destination, he cautioned her to practice patience. We rode for some time, allowing my mood to lighten. It proved insupportable to remain melancholy on such a beautiful day, in the company of a cheerful, chattering girl, and nestled snugly against the warmth of the body next to mine.

"Here we are," Mr. Darcy announced, as he pulled off the lane onto a narrow drive. I looked in the direction he indicated and saw a small, well-kept church hidden well back within a shady glen. No sign indicated its name without, but a solitary cross adorned the steeple.

"What church is this, Wills? I do not recall ever visiting here."

"It is not one of our persuasion."

"What do you mean?" Georgiana held out her arms for him to lift her down from our high perch.

"It is a Papist church, is it not?" I said, climbing out the other side, unaided.

"Papist? Here in Derbyshire?"

"The religion is not outlawed, Georgiana," Mr. Darcy said.

"Certainly not popular, though. We know no one of that faith, do we, Wills?"

His eyes met mine. Evidently, he had not shared the secret of our grandmother with his young sister. I was surprised when we found the door unlocked. Inside, we were greeted by the smells of incense mingled with lemon oil and old wood. One would never guess the beauty of the interior from the simple stone structure without. Georgiana marvelled in awe at the statues of the Madonna and Child and another saint, whom I did not recognize. As she and I crept silently about the sanctuary, Mr. Darcy disappeared through a side door at the front of the room. It seemed such a reverent place that both Georgiana and I spoke in whispers.

"Is not the altar magnificent?"

I agreed as we approached the table covered with a lace cloth and containing various religious emblems, among which I saw the Celtic cross. "Is it true they worship idols?" she asked.

"I doubt it," I said. "But I am not acquainted with their rituals other than I believe they confess their sins to the priest."

"All their sins?" Her eyes grew wide.

"Do you find that shocking?"

"I do. I should not like that to be a requirement of my faith."

I smiled. "Oh, yes, I am certain you are a sick and wicked person."

Her lip trembled, and tears formed in her lovely eyes.

"Oh, Georgiana, I did not mean it. I am simply teasing you. Forgive me."

"You might be surprised to learn how wicked I have been. I fear you would no longer think highly of me, if I were forced to confess it."

I assured her that nothing she did would ever lessen her reputation in my eyes, but I could see it did little to comfort her. Mr. Wickham's escapade with her had robbed her of her innocence. I put my arm around her and led her to sit on a pew beside me. "My dear, I know what happened at Ramsgate." A look of horror covered her face. "It was not your fault. I know Mr. Wickham - he married my youngest sister - and he deserves to be branded wicked, not you."

"I should never have entered into the alliance. I was such a fool."

"You were young - you are still young, much too young to recognize the man was a scoundrel."

"Your poor sister! How will she manage in a marriage to such a man?"

I looked away, a cloud covering my eyes. "'Tis sad, but there was nothing to be done. Her name would have been ruined had she not married him. Thank goodness he was made to do the right thing, and it is all due to the generous nature of your brother."

"Wills is a good man."

"I know." We said nothing more for a while and simply sat back on the pew, absorbing the quietude of the place. A curious peace settled upon me. Although the religion was not mine, I found it satisfying to know my grandmother had been granted this lovely setting in which to practice her faith.

We were startled from our reverie when the door opened and Mr. Darcy reappeared. A priest robed in black stood within the doorway. They exchanged words we could not hear and shortly thereafter, the older man disappeared behind the closed door. Mr. Darcy motioned for us to accompany him and within moments, we were once again seated in the phaeton.

Mr. Darcy folded Georgiana's hand around his right arm and then tucked my hand around his left.

"Hold tight. We shall make haste and return to Pemberley before dusk." With a jerk forward, we once again flew through the snow. Georgiana squealed with excitement, but I was content to hang onto Mr. Darcy's arm.

Chapter five

I had spent little more than a month at Pemberley, when an unexpected guest joined us - Colonel Fitzwilliam. He was a cousin of the Darcys on their mother's side of the family whom I had met in Kent the previous Easter. I was delighted to renew our acquaintance, for I thought well of the gentleman. His manner and general amiability made him an agreeable addition to our table. I was surprised, however, to learn that he already knew the altered version of my past. He explained that Lady Catherine had erupted in anger when she learned I had accepted Mr. Darcy's invitation to visit Pemberley. The great dame had travelled post-haste to Eden Park, the home of her brother and the father of the colonel. There, she spent no little time casting disparagement upon my character, although, evidently, she did not tell the earl that I was sister to Mr. Darcy and Georgiana. She despaired of her nephew and declared he had lost his senses to offer me, a distant poor relation of no consequence, a portion of his inheritance.

"She insisted I visit you, Darcy," the colonel said with a twinkle in his eye, "and - let me recall precisely how she put it - oh yes, 'restore your good sense.' According to my aunt, Miss Bennet is quite the little fortune hunter."

Mr. Darcy threw his napkin onto the table and immediately rose from his chair. "That is preposterous! Surely you, of all people, do not believe such twaddle."

"Sit down, Cousin. Of course, I do not believe it."

"Wills and I invited Elizabeth to visit Pemberley," Georgiana said. "Since we are related, we wished to know her better."

"And Elizabeth has refused any offer of assistance, even so far as the thought of establishing a dowry for her," Mr. Darcy added.

"Come now, Miss Bennet, you must at least allow your cousin to provide you a dowry, for I have it on good authority that he has plenty to spare. 'Twill greatly increase your chances in the marriage market. Added to your green eyes and lovely smile, you shall prove irresistible."

"Must you make love to my cousin at the dinner table, Fitzwilliam?" Darcy snapped.

I was embarrassed to be the centre of attention. "You forget, sir, the remoteness of my connection to Mr. Darcy and subsequent adoption by Mr. Bennet would never render me irresistible, whatever dowry I possess, so there is little reason for me to accept it."

"You are mistaken, my dear," the colonel responded. "A fortune can make one overlook a great number of things."

"Then I shall surely forego the gift, for I do not prefer a man who would seek my hand simply for material gain."

By that time, Mr. Darcy's exasperation had grown, and he signalled the colonel to join him in his library for their after-dinner libations. Georgiana and I retired to the drawing room, where I took up my needlework, and she returned to the novel she was reading. A short time later, the gentlemen joined us, and we enjoyed a more pleasant evening together. The colonel persuaded me to play and sing and insisted upon turning the pages of music. The only blight upon the company was that Mr. Darcy's mood had turned dour, and neither my songs nor Georgiana's would lighten it.

During the next two weeks, Colonel Fitzwilliam's company proved diverting. He was always game for any activity that Georgiana or I suggested, and he often accompanied me on my turns about the park. The snow had melted at last, and the wind lifted as well. Whenever the sun favoured us, I hurried outdoors, for I loved to walk, and Pemberley possessed a wonderland of paths that turned and twisted enough to even please me. On one such day, we strolled along the lake, and I silently recalled last summer when I had happened upon Mr. Darcy unexpectedly, neither of us aware of the other's presence in Derbyshire. I grew sombre, thinking how much had changed since that time.

"Miss Bennet?"

"Pardon? Pray, excuse me, Colonel, what did you say?"

"Nothing important, but what draws you away? You appear heavy in contemplation."

I shook my head slightly. "Just an old memory."

"Ah, memories haunt us at times, but out here where winter is about to give way and your beloved spring awaits, I am surprised to see you so reflective, for I do remember how you loved the woods at Rosings last April."

"I did. I spent many a happy hour exploring the trails in Lady Catherine's park. Now, I am certain I shall never see them again."

"Do not worry on that account. I am sure my aunt will come around when Darcy marries Anne."

I was surprised to hear the colonel make the statement as though it were an inevitable event. "I thought Mr. Darcy did not wish to marry Miss de Bourgh."

"He is in no hurry, but in the end Lady Catherine will have her way. She always does."

"How convenient for her. Then, I should look forward to banishment to New South Wales, should I not, for I am sure that is her wish for me."

He laughed and tucked my hand within the crook of his arm. "She is not all that bad, Miss Bennet. She simply looks after her daughter's interests. Is that so fierce? All of us look to our own interests, do we not?"

We said little more and soon returned to the house, but I did not like the turn the conversation had taken or the tone of his voice.

~ * ~ A week or so later, I stood in the gallery and gazed upon the portrait of Siobhan Darcy, my grandmother. Something repeatedly drew me to her and to Mr. Darcy's painting. I found I could study either of them for some time without growing tired. Each viewing afforded me detail I had missed before. On that particular afternoon, I heard heavy footsteps behind me and assumed it to be the colonel, for he had become my frequent companion. I turned and was surprised to see Mr. Darcy instead. Since the colonel arrived, he had absented himself from my company except for meals and after dinner. I wondered at his actions, but assumed he had much business to attend concerning the estate.

"Studying your ancestors, Elizabeth?"

"Somewhat."

He remained silent for a while, clasping his hands behind his back. We walked a bit further while I gazed up at the enormous portraits. "That lady in the white wig is my mother's mother, Lady Catherine Anne."

"She bears a strong resemblance to Lady Catherine de Bourgh, does she not?"

"I believe there is a similar expression of determination about their mouths. From what my mother told me, neither of them has ever tolerated being crossed."

"Colonel Fitzwilliam tells me Lady Catherine always wins and that she will have you for a son-in-law eventually."

Instantly, a frown wrinkled his brow. "Fitzwilliam talks out of turn, and just because he speaks a word, do not depend upon it."

"Would you have me doubt him? Do you cast aspersions upon your cousin's honour?"

"You misunderstand. My cousin's honour is intact. He simply speaks rubbish at times. I shall never marry Anne."

I turned my face away to hide the smile upon my lips. Why did that please me? The bitter fact was that he would marry some day, a truth I was compelled to accept. Quickly, I walked ahead and feigned excessive interest in a portrait of three children, all boys. They sat upon a scarlet couch, their faces scrubbed and shining. The two younger boys still wore their hair styled in long curls, and all three were dressed in starched white collars and blue velvet jackets.

"Who are these children?"

"Father and his brothers."

"The two younger appear very close in age. Which is your father?"

He pointed to the older boy on the left, and, when I looked closer, I could see the promise of the man whose likeness I had seen previously. "And did he have sisters as well?"

Mr. Darcy shook his head. "Only George, Peter, and Henry Darcy to carry on the family name."

"George has certainly done so, but what about the others?"

He shook his head again. "The youngest, Henry, went to sea, not necessarily by choice. At a tender age, he had already developed a somewhat disreputable reputation here in Derbyshire. Even though I was a child, I was not unaware of the rows between my father and him."

"Over his behaviour, I assume."

"Father said Henry would never listen to reason, that he was determined to live life as he wished, and Father feared it would take a tragedy to bring him to his senses. My father's will reigned just as strong as his brother's, however, and at his insistence, Henry left Pemberley to make his way within His Majesty's service. He was already eighteen, almost too old to begin training, but my father prevailed and secured him a position. I assume that my uncle eventually reformed his wild ways, for, in time, he began to apply himself and years later became a sea captain. He even married a respectable woman of means some years his senior, but she never delivered a healthy child. She is a widow now and resides in Bath."

"His early days sound like those of Mr. Wickham."

Mr. Darcy grimaced. "I often wondered if Father favoured Wickham because he reminded him of his young brother."

I did not wish to remain on the subject of Mr. Wickham. "And Peter, the middle child?"

"He was studious, quiet, and excelled in his studies at Cambridge. He chose another life altogether."

"And shall you tell me about it?"

He walked ahead until he reached the end of the great hall, whereupon he opened a door and indicated I should follow. He began to climb a narrow back staircase that lay just inside the landing, and I, of course, scampered after him. "Sir? Will you answer my question and also tell me where we are going?"

"In good time, Elizabeth."

The attics proved to be Mr. Darcy's destination. An inordinate amount of miscellany filled the room we entered, from boxes stacked to the ceiling to dressmakers' forms to countless trunks covered in dust and cobwebs. He pushed aside an assortment of rubbish from a chair, pulled a trunk close by, and indicated I should sit. "I promised you a search for the woman who gave you birth, so let us commence."

He placed a valise on a small table and opened it. When I hesitated, he grabbed an old rag and wiped down the chair. "Forgive me. I failed to allow for the dirt. I shall order a thorough dust-up first thing on the morrow."

I sat down and attempted to open the latch. "It seems this one is locked."

"A good sign, perchance it contains secrets." He smiled before he grabbed a hammer and struck the lock until it popped open. I swallowed and leaned forward to begin the quest.

Hours later, our hands and clothing were coated in dirt. I had sneezed repeatedly and blown my nose until I felt certain it was now swollen to twice its normal size, yet, we had found nothing of enlightenment. Both of us had combed through letters, journals, accounts, various mementos, and relics that meant nothing to us, but must have been precious indeed to the Darcy ancestors.

I blew at a stray lock of hair that had loosened and persisted in falling over my left eye. Wiping my hands on the dirty cloth, I allowed a sigh to escape. It seemed an impossible task. Why had we ever thought to engage in the undertaking? Just then, I felt Mr. Darcy's hand under my chin.

"You look an absolute fright." He tucked the unruly curl behind my ear and, pulling forth his handkerchief, began to rub my forehead. "What a great amount of dirt you have on your face. You could not look worse if you had cleaned the chimneys."

"Your own attire, sir, is nothing of which to boast. Are you turning prematurely grey or now donning a wig made of cobwebs?" I began to squirm as he rubbed harder and playfully slapped his hand away. "Leave my dirt where it is, and see to your own."

He ignored my plea, turned my face upward, and attacked the smudges again. "Do not be impertinent. I am attempting to clean the mess you have made."

"I made? Who brought me up here I might ask? And you, sir, really should look to your own interests. Your clothes are downright filthy." I began to swipe at the dust on his shoulders, but succeeded only in causing us both to sneeze.

"You are right, Elizabeth, we must leave this place. Why, your petticoats are six inches deep in dirt at least." He spoke in a mocking tone, and we both began to laugh.

"Can you imagine the horror on Miss Bingley's face, if she were privy to our disgrace?"

"He