Chapter 1

Mary gazed out of the carriage window as the coach made its way along the lane to Pemberley, her new home. The scene that passed before her did little to lighten her spirits. Bare trees dusted with snow dotted brown meadows and gently slopping hills. Mary shivered, her feet no longer heated by the warming bricks long cold since their last sojourn at the inn at Brixworth. Mary did not know how she would ever adapt to such weather. The English winter was so different from that of New Sussex where—much to the consternation of her governess—she would often take long walks without bonnet or parasol enjoying the warmth of the sun on her dark skin.

The sight of snow upon docking at port had been a marvel to Mary, captivating her as she watched it cover the rooftops of London. She had read about snow, of course, but experiencing the peculiar precipitation was another matter entirely. She passed a few afternoons trudging through the shin deep snow at Hyde Park, favoring the snow covered lawns over the cleared walking paths, uncaring of the curious looks of passersby. However, as the weeks in London drew long, the allure of snow faded. Piles of brown slush, an unpleasant mixture of horse manure and street filth, soon lined every London road and the prospect of cold toes and muddied petticoats kept her from venturing beyond the townhouse without the aid of a carriage.

Turning from the window, Mary fingered a well-worn letter from Miss Georgiana Darcy. As soon as Mr. Darcy sent word of his acceptance of her guardianship, his sister began to correspond with Mary. They wrote each other describing their various hobbies, enjoyments and other sundry details of their personalities with Miss Darcy expressing the earnest wish that they soon become good friends. Mary echoed this desire and the frequency of their letters increased to such a degree only enjoyed by those who have the luxury of devoting several pounds each month to the post.

Georgiana's letters had been a much welcome diversion during her brief sojourn in London. As she had no acquaintances in London, she neither made nor received calls. On a few occasions, she was permitted to attend an opera or play, making use of her father's private box. It seemed to Mary that many of the audience members paid more attention to her than the performance. Still, she received few visitors to her box and those that made the attempt were turned away. Having spent a month surrounded by indifferent servants and her father's solicitor, she looked forward to Georgiana's company.

However, the anticipation of meeting her friend in the flesh could not undo the anxious knot in her belly that tightened with each mile that drew her closer to Pemberley. Her chief anxiety being the welcome she could expect to receive from the master and mistress of the house. Mary had met and grown to admire George Darcy, but was never afforded the opportunity of knowing her godfather's son. Like his father before him, Mr. Darcy made significant financial contributions to her father's work and had helped to underwrite Lord Farthington's last mission to the American south and his subsequent speaking tour of the northern states. However, she could not speak to his temperament or his character apart from his altruism. His letters had been kind, if not overly warm, expressing his sorrow over the passing of her father and his hope that she would find Pemberley to be a welcome and comfortable home. Mary's sole comfort was that her father's regard for her was such that he would not entrust her to someone wholly unsuitable.

However, Mary had no such comfort when it came to the gentleman's wife. Lord Farthington did not have the opportunity to meet Mrs. Darcy, his work preventing him from traveling to England for the wedding. Her diet of novels had taught Mary that while the master of the house may be kindly disposed toward the orphaned heroine, an unkindly mistress could be the cause of a magnitude of woe. The tone of the correspondence she received from Pemberley led her to believe that her position would be above that of a servant. Georgiana had no need of a lady's companion and her letters were full of such sisterly compassion that Mary doubted that she would be treated as such. Her father's generosity likely ensured that she would not be treated as a poor relation. Her expenses were more than provided for and she was to have a generous allowance. However, Mary knew very little about Mrs. Darcy's temperament, the absence of correspondence from the lady of the house serving to counter the assurances of Mr. Darcy and Georgiana.

These anxieties succeeded in momentarily distracting Mary from her melancholy. Her sorrow over Lord Farthington's death was still keenly felt and was compounded by her separation from her childhood home. Mr. Brambles, her father's solicitor, remained her sole tie to her life in New Sussex. He accompanied her on the tiring trip across the Atlantic and was her companion during the long weeks in London. Mr. Brambles was a gentle grandfatherly man of two and sixty with large bushy grey eyebrows, a slight paunch and an easy laugh. Ever conscious of her state of mind, Mr. Brambles often employed himself with the task of cheering her, whether it was with the present of a new bonnet or the offering of an amusing tale during long carriage rides. While Mary was deeply grateful to him for his efforts and concern, such trinkets and stories affected her mood little.

"Ahh, Pemberley. Is it not a fair sight, Miss Farthington?" Mr. Brambles ventured, breaking the silence that pervaded the carriage for the majority of the day's journey.

Mary returned her gaze to the carriage window to see the great house of Pemberley finally coming into view. The house sat on a modest rise and overlooked a sizable lake, now frozen over. The light grey stone of the building melded perfectly with the surrounding snow covered grounds. Mary shivered and turned her eyes from the window. She could not concur with Mr. Brambles' assessment. She had rarely laid eyes upon a residence that exuded such frigidity.

Mr. Brambles regarded her with pale blue eyes, his lips curved in a sympathizing smile. "I know Derbyshire is nothing like New Sussex, but it is my sincere hope that in time you will find happiness here. It was your father's wish as well."

Mary sighed. "I will try to be so for his sake."

Soon after, their carriage stopped before the main entrance of the house. Several footmen quickly descended upon their coach, handing down the lady and elderly gentleman and seeing to their trunks and bags. Taking Mr. Brambles offered arm, Mary made her way up the steps. They were shown into the foyer where the family stood waiting to receive them. Mary assessed the tall dark haired gentleman whom she assumed to be Mr. Darcy as he stepped forward. He was very much like his father, possessing the same imposing height, lanky build and dark features.

"Mr. Brambles. Welcome to Pemberley," Darcy greeted as he bowed slightly at the waist.

"Thank you, Mr. Darcy. Your warm reception humbles us," Mr. Brambles replied as he returned the bow. May I introduce Miss Mary Caroline Farthington."

Mary stepped forward and curtsied to the gentleman. She cautiously raised her eyes to Mr. Darcy's and was calmed to find them gentled as he regarded her.

"Good afternoon, Mr. Darcy," Mary began. "Thank you for welcoming us into your home."

"You are very welcome, Miss Farthington. In time I hope that you consider it your own," Darcy replied. "May I again express my condolences for the loss of your father. Lord Farthington was an excellent man and England is made poorer by his early passing. Let me introduce my wife and sister who have been eagerly anticipating your arrival."

A woman about a head shorter than herself with curly brown hair and lively brown eyes stepped forward matching Mary's curtsey before taking both of her hands into hers. A gentle smile graced her round face as she squeezed Mary's hands. Mary felt some of her fears lessening under the woman's kind attentions.

"You are very welcome to Pemberley, Miss Farthington. I wish that more pleasant circumstances brought about our first acquaintance. It is my hope that you will find as much pleasure and peace within Pemberley's walls and on its grounds as I do."

"Thank you, Mrs. Darcy."

"Call me Elizabeth, dear," the woman replied with a final press of her hands. "You are family afterall."

Mary exhaled before giving Elizabeth a tremulous smile. "Elizabeth, please call me Mary."

"Mary," Georgiana stepped forward, her blond curls bouncing as she dropped a quick curtsey. " I am so pleased that you have finally come."

Mary dropped Elizabeth's hands, her smile widening as she turned towards her friend. She looked just as Mary had imagined her; petite with wide hazel eyes set in a heart shaped face. Mary returned Georgiana's curtsey.

"It is a pleasure to meet you as well," Mary replied. "I already feel as if I know so much about you from your letters. I look forward to getting to know you more."

Georgiana expressed similar sentiments, excitement over Mary's arrival written over her features.

Elizabeth smiled encouragingly at Mary before introducing her son. Little William Bennet clutched at his mother's skirt and peered up at Mary with wide dark eyes and unruly curls.

"It is a pleasure to meet you, young Mr. Darcy," Mary ventured curtseying slightly. She found herself instantly enamored with the little one, enchanted by his shyness and large eyes. He was no more than four years old, at best, and still unaccustomed to meeting strangers. He stared up at her wonderingly before replying to her greeting with a muffled "good evening" and retreating behind his mother. Elizabeth apologized for the boy's manners while a maid collected the child to return him to the nursery.

Mary was relieved when Elizabeth offered to show her to her rooms and happily followed the petite woman up the grand staircase to the third floor. Mary marveled at the décor of Pemberley as they made their way to their rooms. The furnishing and décor, although rich and ornate, was tasteful, a testament to the elegant sensibilities of several generations. Elizabeth first took them to Mary's quarters, which were just across the hall from Georgiana's. Georgiana seemed pleased at these arrangements and was eager to know if Mary approved of the room. Mary conceded that she could find nothing lacking in her chambers and that she liked them exceedingly. Her quarters consisted of a large bedroom with a fireplace and an ample sitting area complete with a writing desk. The dressing room was also well appointed and all of the areas featured walls decorated with lavender wallpaper adorned with a vine and leaf motif. Mary thought that the fireplace was her favorite feature of her quarters and envisioned spending many mornings seated close to the flames in an effort to escape the chill of winter.

After giving Elizabeth and Georgiana her favorable opinion of the room, Mary was introduced to her lady's maid, April, a pretty girl of around eighteen.

"April is one of our most trusted and loved servants. Her sister, Betsy, serves as my maid and I am sure that you will get along famously."

"Thank you again," Mary began, taking the woman's hand in hers. "I am very grateful for your kindness in welcoming me into your home."

"There is no need to thank me, Mary," Elizabeth began, her countenance warm. "It is the least that we could do. We are practically family, are we not? And family is always welcome at Pemberley."

The anxieties that plagued her since her departure from New Sussex began to fade in the light of Elizabeth's sincere welcome and Georgiana's eagerness. Mary took a deep breath, not wanting to embarrass herself with a shower of tears in front of her new acquaintances.

"Of course."

"Excellent," Elizabeth replied with a gentle smile. "Now, I am sure that you are tired and would like to rest before dinner. I will leave you in April's capable hands."

After Elizabeth and Georgiana left, Mary turned to April with a shy smile.

"Well, I believe Mrs. Darcy was correct in her estimation. I am quite tired and long to refresh myself after such a long journey."

"Very well, ma'am. I can ready a warm bath for you, should you desire one and the footmen will have your trunks up in a few moments. Would you care for some tea in the meantime?"

"Yes, I'd like that very much. Thank you, April."

After a long hot bath, April helped Mary change into her attire for dinner and assisted her in carefully taming her unruly dark tresses. April was attentive to Mary's careful instructions, combing her tightly curled locks from tip to root in small increments, applying a lavender scented hair ointment and weaving the hair into two long braids which they then pinned up. Mary was well pleased with the finished product. Elizabeth had chosen her lady's maid well.

Upon Mary's insistence, April switched the cream gown she had laid out for a simple black gown with a square cut neckline and long sleeves. April was much displeased by her new mistress's choice of black attire for dinner and prevailed upon her to wear some livelier ornamentation in contrast. Mary agreed to this compromise, wearing a delicate silver chain with a mother of pearl pendant that shown brightly against her warm skin.

Upon examining herself in the mirror, Mary was happy for the slight compromise, the mother of pearl pendant being a gift from her father upon her sixteenth birthday. Despite the pleasing picture before her, Mary still found defects with her gown, hair and choice of ornaments; her nervousness over the ensuing meal coloring her judgment. While she was encouraged to find the Darcy's a kind and welcoming family upon their introduction, she was still very conscious of the fact that these strangers were to be her new family. Mary knew that there was still a great deal to learn about the Darcy's and for them to learn about her. A host of quirks and eccentricities of character were yet unknown to her that could make her stay at Pemberley less pleasant than her easy introduction indicated.

Mary was pleased to find that the dinner hour was not one to be dreaded. She found herself engaged in lively conversation and laughing in spite of herself at Mrs. Darcy's gentle teasing of her husband. Mr. Darcy was all smiles during dinner, his eyes sparkling with good humor. While Mr. Darcy seemed the picture of pride at first glance, his wife had a way of revealing his warm caring nature to all. They chatted at length about their mutual interests in literature, finding that they both had a lively appreciation for John Milton. Mary found their exchange to be a comforting reminder of home. Lord Farthington would often engage Mary in good-natured intellectual debates, taking great pride in developing his daughter's cognitive abilities. Mary thoroughly enjoyed those times together with her father, and missed them intensely.

Georgiana and Elizabeth spoke but little for most of the dinner hour, however, being less inclined to discuss Paradise Lost as they were to learn more about their new family member. When Mr. Darcy was drawn into conversation with Mr. Brambles on the latest debates before parliament and the upcoming sessions, Georgiana saw her opportunity to draw Mary into a conversation of their own.

"You wrote in your letters that you are a lover of music, much like myself. Would you give us the honor of hearing you play?" Georgiana asked shyly, hoping sincerely that her request did not offend her new friend.

"Yes, doing so would give me much pleasure. However, I must beg that you also honor me by playing as well." Mary replied warmly.

Georgiana's face brightened. "Thank you, Mary. I will oblige you and play, although I fear I may not be as proficient as yourself. Now that you are come here, perhaps we could practice together and learn a duet."

"That sounds like an excellent idea, Georgiana," Elizabeth broke in smiling broadly. "Although I fear that you are being too humble. I have never heard someone play as well as you, Georgiana. I suspect that you are both quite accomplished at the pianoforte and will make perfect practice partners."

Soon after, Elizabeth rose to signal that it was time for the ladies to withdraw to the sitting room while Mr. Brambles and Mr. Darcy retired to the library for a glass of port. Georgiana and Mary followed her to the sitting room where they could engage in more casual conversation.

"Mary, I trust your journey here was not too tiring," Elizabeth began.

"It was quite agreeable, thank you. We traveled from London where we resided for a month while Mr. Brambles saw to some business regarding the estate. I looked forward to the journey to Pemberley, as I found myself quite shut in at the townhouse there."

"So you did not attend any concerts or plays, Mary?" Georgiana asked as she seated herself next to her.

"We went to the opera once. However, Mr. Brambles was quite engaged and I spent most of my days alone in the townhouse. I have no friends or relations in town and so had no cause to leave cards with anyone. Consequently, we had not the pleasure of entertaining anyone."

"You must have been very bored, then. I could not imagine spending so many days without a companion for pleasant conversation." Georgiana continued, her brows wrinkled in sincere worry.

"For my part, I was not so very bored. I did find it confining in that I was not free to walk about and relish the fresh air as I am used to in New Sussex. However, I made use of my time in exploring my father's library. I took the time to reacquaint myself with Homer and Virgil and to indulge myself in writing. I do look forward to enjoying the fresh air of Derbyshire and the freedom to wander the grounds."

"Then we have one essential thing in common," Elizabeth replied, "A love of nature and long walks. Tell me, was your home in New Sussex given to fine constitutionals?"

"New Sussex was exceedingly beautiful. I have been gone from there these six months and I must admit I do miss it greatly. Our home was not far from the beach. In fact, my rooms had a lovely porch from which I could see the Atlantic. The ocean waves would lull me to sleep and the smell of the salty water was refreshing," Mary took on a faraway look, her mouth spreading involuntarily into a wide smile.

"Every morning before breakfast I would steal down into the kitchen and take a piece of bread or fruit to tide me over and walk for an hour or so on the beach without shoes or stockings. I miss the feel of the warm wet sand giving beneath my toes as I made my way along the coast collecting shells here and there. Not far from the house was a great rock with a smooth flat surface that sat on the beach. I would climb on top of it with my journal and charcoal pencils and sketch and write poetry.

"Sometimes in the evening after the dinner hour, Lord Farthington and I would walk along the beach as well. We wouldn't say a word, each of us too absorbed in the sounds of the ocean and the power of a dark sea that stretched before us as far as the eye could see. I can remember the feeling of standing there trying to see through the darkness. It was like worship, like God was resting there."

Mary stopped her speech and looked down at her hands as if embarrassed, tears threatening to spill from her eyes at the recollection of her father and her home. "I apologize. I sometimes forget myself," Mary sighed deeply, her voice slightly chocked.

"There is no need to apologize, Mary." Elizabeth replied, smiling warmly. "You describe New Sussex as the perfect paradise. No wonder you miss your home so."

The ladies where soon joined by Mr. Darcy and Mr. Brambles. Elizabeth rose to greet her husband and seated herself in a chair across from him so that they could chat briefly as Georgiana engaged Mary in conversation about Georgiana's last season in London. After persuading Mary and Georgiana to delight them all with music, the Darcys, Mr. Brambles and Mary soon retired for much needed rest.

Mary's next few days at Pemberley were consumed with touring the house and grounds by carriage and being introduced to all of the essential staff members, including Mrs. Reynolds, the head housekeeper. Mr. Brambles spent his entire day in Mr. Darcy's company, attending to business matters and coming to an agreement regarding Mary's inheritance. Georgiana took it upon herself to personally show Mary around Pemberley, freeing Elizabeth to see to other matters. Mary found the house pleasing although its size and number of rooms caused her some confusion when trying to find her way about. The estate included a breakfast parlor, an east facing parlor for the afternoon, a westward facing parlor for evenings, a solarium filled with exotic plants and flowers, an impressive library, a music room, two dinning rooms, a grand room used for balls, ten guest chambers, two kitchens, two lower floors of servant quarters, six main quarters complete with sitting rooms and dressing rooms and a myriad of hallways, staircases and other rooms of which Mary lost count.

Towards the end of the tour they came upon a hall room lined with large windows and portraits of the Darcy family over several generations. A large portrait of Mr. Darcy stood on the east wall that captured the man's handsome features and noble stature, but somehow was unable to capture the warmth and sincerity that Mary often found directed towards his family and, on occasion, towards herself. On the opposite wall was a portrait of Elizabeth in an emerald gown with a small white dog curled at her feet. She looked directly at the viewer with large mirth filled eyes. Another wall contained a portrait of Georgiana seated at the pianoforte looking shyly at the viewer with her back to the instrument and her hands folded demurely in her lap. Of all the portraits Mary had viewed this day, this one captured the essence of the subject most accurately. Over the marble mantled fireplace hung a large portrait of the late Mr. George Darcy with a young Fitzwilliam Darcy at his side and a beautiful woman with long golden locks seated before him. Mary stood before this portrait for some minutes examining the picture of the man she once knew as Uncle Darcy.

George Darcy looked much younger than the gentleman with graying temples that visited New Sussex when she was a young girl. She remembered him as a sober gentleman with a booming voice, quite the opposite from her father. During his two-month visit, Mary would often hear his voice ringing through the halls of Loland Manor from her father's study, where they would be ensconced in the late afternoon after they returned from their trips into the village and the farms. Mary would sit cross-legged in front of the study door listening to Mr. Darcy's loud tones and her father's mild responses until her governess made her return to the school room and her lessons. In the evenings, she would be allowed to join them for dinner, despite her only being four years old. Mary enjoyed these dinners immensely, as her father never allowed her to take the evening meal with their other guests. Mr. Darcy would speak to her as if she were an adult and listen to her opinions with sincere interest. After dinner, she would sit in her father's lap and the men would take turns reading to her from The Faerie Queen. On the first evening of this activity, Mr. Darcy approached this activity in a very serious manner, reading the fanciful epic poem as one would read a treatise on politics.

"You are reading it wrong, Mr. Darcy," Mary protested three minutes into his dry recitation.

"How so, Miss Mary?" he asked, lowering his book as he peered at her from behind his spectacles.

"Please excuse Mary," Farthington said as he gave her a stern look. "She is very particular about the manner in which stories must be read and sometimes forgets her manners."

"But Papa," Mary protested. "You always do the voices whenever you read and Mr. Darcy is quite boring."

"Young lady," Farthington began.

Mr. Darcy's rolling laughter cut short Lord Farthington's admonishment.

"It is of no consequence, Matthew," he explained at Farthington's look of confusion. "My Georgiana also has strong opinions. I am quite accustomed to satisfying the demands of young feminine audiences."

Mr. Darcy cleared his throat dramatically before beginning again, supplying more emotive power to his recitation. He earned many delighted smiles from his audience before sleep finally claimed her.

"I find myself admiring this portrait quite often," Georgiana's voice drew Mary back to the present. "I often wonder if my mother had the chance to bestow that same smile upon me before she died. I wish I could have known her better."

Mary looked from her portrait to her friend and noticed the sadness behind her otherwise serene smile.

"I am sure that she would be very proud and pleased to have you as a daughter," Mary replied. "I wish I had even a sketch to admire of my mother. She died soon after birthing me."

Georgiana clasped her friend's hand. "Forgive me, Mary. I did not know."

"It is alright," Mary smiled weakly. "I suppose we are sisters in this sorrow. Yet we are also united by knowing the tender affections of relations who were both mother and father to us. I can see how well loved you are by your brother and also by Elizabeth. Family is such a comfort…"

Nearly overcome with emotion, Mary slipped from her dear friend's grasp and walked over to a window. She struggled to force back the tears that now began to tumble down her checks freely.

"Mary…" Georgiana whispered as she tenderly placed a small hand on her shoulder. "May I ask permission to embrace you?"

"Oh, you need not ask," Mary replied, her tears now falling in earnest at Georgiana's shy display of friendship.

"Mary, I am so happy that you have come to stay at Pemberley." Georgiana began as she moved them both toward a small settee near the center of the room. "I want you to know that if you ever need a sympathetic ear, that I am here for you."

"Thank you," Mary smiled having finally mastered her tears. "You know, I have rarely wept since my father's death. If anything, I felt numb to just about everything around me. You must think me awfully callous."

"No, I'd never think that, Mary. Everyone grieves in their own particular fashion," Georgiana replied. "When my father passed, I roamed Pemberley like a ghost for weeks, hardly eating anything or coming down for dinner. William was awfully frightened for me. Slowly I began to become myself again, but I confess it was quite difficult. Nearly eight years hence, I still find myself sometimes saddened by a sight or turn of phrase that reminds me of him."

"Your father was a kind man," Mary replied, pressing her friend's hand.

Georgiana smiled. "Yes, very kind."

The pair sat in companionable silence for a few minutes, admiring the portrait of the late Mr. and Mrs. Darcy

"Come, Mary," Georgiana began. "I have something to show you. I cannot begin to understand how I overlooked it."

Georgiana rose and made her way to a glass and mahogany case that ran most of the length of the east wall. The display case housed a substantial collection of miniatures of family members and friends. A few of the miniatures were just of the eye of a loved one, while others depicted the subject in the bloom of youth.

"There," Georgiana exclaimed pointing to a gold encased miniature. "Here is one of your dear Lord Farthington. I dare say it was taken when he was quite young. How handsome he was."

Mary leaned over the case and smiled. "Yes, that is my father. He almost appears the same as I remember him, except for a few gray hairs and lines on his face."

The miniature depicted a young man in a blue-gray waistcoat and jacket with an intricately tied neck cloth. Light brown hair fell in large waves on either side of his face. His green eyes, crinkled slightly at the outer edges, stared directly at the viewer

"This miniature belonged to my father and was taken soon after they graduated from Cambridge. If you like, I can request that Fitzwilliam give it to you. I am sure that my father would want you to have it."

"Thank you, Georgiana. You are too kind."

Mary began to examine the other miniatures in the case. Mary inquired after the picture of a striking man with dark black curls and deep blue eyes wearing a red coat. His face had the look of a man trying to look grave and serious despite a nature that was easy and given to laughter and teasing. Mary found him quite handsome.

"Ah, that is my dear cousin, Colonel Richard Fitzwilliam. He is like a brother to Fitzwilliam and myself. He often stays with us at Pemberley and at Grovenor House in London when his duties allow. He is due to arrive at Pemberley in a few weeks time for an extended stay. I can hardly wait for his arrival for he is my favorite cousin and we have not had the pleasure of his company for these past two years."

"I should like to meet him," Mary replied.

The clock chimed indicating the arrival of the fifth hour.

"Oh, I have quite forgotten the time. I think it best we leave our perusal of these miniatures until tomorrow," Georgiana paused before turning to her friend with a grin reminiscent of Elizabeth. "I wonder if you have been studious during our tour of the house today. I will quiz you now and let you lead the way back to our quarters."

Mary laughed, surprised at Georgiana's challenge. Nodding in reply, Mary led the way out of the parlor and towards their quarters. Mary was pleased that she found the way to her quarters with only a handful of gentle directions from her friend. When they arrived at their rooms a quarter of an hour later, they hugged their goodbyes and separated to dress for dinner.

The days soon turned into weeks as Mary adjusted to life at Pemberley. She became comfortable roaming the halls of Pemberley and navigating the intricacies of English country life. Mary found Georgiana to be a great friend, often spending hours practicing the harp and pianoforte together and walking about the grounds when the weather permitted. Mary also grew more at ease with Mr. Darcy, observing some of the fatherly warmth in his personality that endeared his father to her. Mary also grew accustomed to Mrs. Darcy's jovial nature. At first Mary found herself quite shocked by Elizabeth's forthrightness with her husband and her easy cheeky nature. However, Mr. Darcy seemed to enjoy his wife's spirit, even rising to the challenge of teasing her on occasion.

Mary soon found herself incapable of being long out of the company of the young Master Darcy. When Mary first met little William Bennet, she found him to be a bashful boy who sought comfort in the folds of his mother's skirt. However, the timidity that marked their first meeting soon gave way to rapt fascination. On their second meeting, Mary was pleased to see that William had summoned the courage to forsake the protection of his mother's skirts to creep towards her and shower her with a litany of questions.

Mary came to realize that curiosity rather than courage led to William's growing talkativeness. One question tumbled after another as William approached the mysterious new house member: "Who is your papa? How old are you? Do you like strawberries? Why are you brown? Does your color rub off? Why is your hair like that? Will you stay here forever?"

Mary took care to answer every question with patience and good nature; even his impertinent questions about her hair and skin garnered a gentle reply. Having concluded that she was a princess from some faraway enchanted isle, as he came to understand New Sussex, William could hardly stand to be far from Mary's side. William was fond of her stories, gentle pinches and undivided attention when she visited him in the nursery and anticipated her afternoon visits with a degree of excitement peculiar to young children.

Mary, for her part, was quite enamored as well. She was soon won over by William's wide brown eyes and soft plump cheeks. She savored the opportunity to concoct stories for such an obliging and appreciative audience.

Sunday mornings were spent attending services at the rectory not far from Pemberley. Mary found her first two Sundays at the church somewhat trying. She enjoyed the sermons well enough, but Mary was constantly aware of the eyes of her fellow churchgoers that always seemed to be fixed on her person. Low whispers would greet her as she walked down the aisle to and from her place in the front pew. Mary could not fathom if these whispers were out of curiosity or distaste. Frankly, it mattered not to her; both options were disconcerting. Mary desired nothing more than to worship in relative peace. The closing hymn was the high point of church, as she knew that she would soon be free to return home. As soon as they returned home, Mary would steal away on her own to the confines of Mr. Darcy's library. Mary would spend her time in prayer, writing in her weathered journal or reading.

On the fourth Tuesday since her arrival, Mary accompanied Georgiana and Elizabeth on their monthly visit to all of the tenant families. The three spent the evening before overseeing the preparation of baskets containing warm blankets and simple household goods such as sugar, tea and candy; items that were luxuries for some of the poorer families. Elizabeth thought that accompanying them on the trip would not only provide Mary with an opportunity to become better acquainted with the grounds, but also allow her to experience some of the responsibilities that came with being mistress of a substantial estate.

Her natural propensity towards shyness made the first few visits somewhat harrowing. After dispensing with the necessary introductions and greetings upon being welcomed into the home, Mary would stand quietly to the side observing Elizabeth and Georgiana's interactions with the tenants.

"Mary, I believe that you should present the basket to Mrs. Turner," Elizabeth said as they climbed aboard the coach after departing the fifth house.

"Well, I…" Mary stammered. "I suppose that I can do that."

Georgiana smiled. "Mrs. Turner is exceedingly kind. She is the widow of our last curate. She is childless but dotes upon the tenant children as if they were her own."

Upon disembarking in front of the Turner cottage, Mary followed Georgiana and Elizabeth at a sedate pace. She held the basket tightly in her hands as Elizabeth made the proper introductions. Mrs. Turner spoke kindly to Elizabeth and Georgiana, but her features took on a peculiar pinched look when Mary was introduced. Mary wondered at it before the look was replaced with a mask of polite disinterest.

"It is a pleasure to meet you, Mrs. Turner. May I present this gift on behalf of the family," Mary said as she held the basket out to the woman.

Mrs. Turner carefully took the basket from Mary. "The family, is it?"

"Why yes, Mrs. Turner," Elizabeth added with a tight smile. "Miss Farthington is Mr. Darcy's ward. She will be living with us at Pemberley."

"Oh, how lovely," Mrs. Turner said in a tone that suggested that she felt the arrangement to be anything but.

Mary stood to the side watching uneasily as Elizabeth and Georgiana chatted with Mrs. Turner, asking after her health and news of her family. She felt like quite unwelcome and refrained from engaging Mrs. Turner further. She wondered at her purported kindness. Mary was relieved when their visit came to an end. They visited another handful of households before returning to Pemberley. Mary was silent for the short carriage ride back to the house, her good mood from that morning thoroughly ruined.

"My compliments to your cook, Mr. Darcy." Mr. Brambles said as he sat back in his chair, making room for the servants as they cleared the last of the dinner plates. "I do not remember when I last enjoyed a meal so satisfying."

"Thank you, Mr. Brambles. I will be sure to pass on your kind words to Mrs. Murphy," Mr. Darcy replied as he signaled a servant to refill his wine glass. "Mary, I understand you visited tenants with Elizabeth and Georgiana this afternoon. I trust you found everything to your liking."

"Yes, Mr. Darcy," Mary cautiously replied. "The grounds are very well maintained. I am anxious to see them once spring has arrived."

Darcy smiled, as he was always pleased to hear Pemberley praised. "Well, Pemberley is at its best during the springtime. I am sure you will have your fill of gardens and groves then. You may even venture to discover the hidden glens that my cousins and I were so fond of in our youth..."

The entrance of a servant with an express post interrupted Mr. Darcy. Thanking the servant stiffly, Darcy went to reach for the letter displayed on the servant's tray.

"Your pardon, sir, but this letter is addressed to Mr. Brambles," the servant demurely redirected as he turned towards Mr. Brambles.

A surprised Mr. Brambles accepted the letter, hastily breaking the red seal and reading the contents. His expression sobered as he turned his eyes toward Mary and rose from his seat.

"Whatever is the matter, Mr. Brambles? You look unwell." Elizabeth asked worriedly.

"No, I am quite well, Mrs. Darcy. It is just that I have been summoned back to London with all immediacy."

"Summoned to London?" Mary asked rising from her chair. "Is it something serious, Mr. Brambles?"

"I am afraid that it is, Miss Farthington. I must cut my time here short. I must even leave this very hour."

"Then you shall have use of my coach, Mr. Brambles," Darcy said as he rose placing his napkin on the tabletop. "My horses are among the fastest in the county."

"Thank you, Mr. Darcy, you are most kind," Mr. Brambles replied before walking to Mary and affectionately taking both of her hands in his. "I am sorry to leave you so soon, Miss Farthington. I know I promised to stay with you a full two months at least, but you seem to be adjusting quite well. I promise that I will write from London at the first opportunity."

"Of course," Mary said as she pressed his hands. "Have a safe journey."

Mr. Brambles pressed a fatherly kiss to her forehead before bowing farewell to Georgiana and Elizabeth. Dinner progressed without Mary registering a word that was said, her mind was so focused on Mr. Brambles departure. She was torn between genuine concern for the affairs that called for his urgent summons and resignation that Pemberley was indeed her new home. The past few months had been so consumed with traveling and temporary stays that Mary did not fully register that she would never truly return to New Sussex. Being in no mood for evening card games or music, Mary made her excuses and retired early to her chambers.

Chapter 2

Three days had passed since Mr. Bramble's sudden departure from Pemberley. Mary had yet to receive more than a perfunctory letter from the gentleman informing her of his safe arrival in London. Over breakfast, Georgiana comforted Mary as best she could; assuring her that she had no need to worry. Mary could not understand what could have been so urgent as to require Mr. Bramble's immediate attention. However, she rallied her spirits to make her now obligatory visit to little William. He had come to expect Mary's visit each afternoon at precisely half past one and Mary could not bring herself to disappoint him.

"Princess Mary, will you tell me a story?" William asked as he ran over to her chair in the nursery.

Raising the small boy to sit in her lap, Mary ran a hand through his wild dark curls.

"Nothing would give me more pleasure, little one. Which story would you prefer? Would you like to hear about the terrible sea monster and the pirate Greybeard or about little Juju and the witch of Gorland Wood?"

"Tell me about the witch, Mary. I should like to hear that one," William replied as he nestled himself into the crook of Mary's left arm.

Mary placed a soft kiss atop of his head before beginning her tale of an adventurous boy named Juju and the peril he found when he tried to steal magic potion from the witch of Gorland Wood. William laughed, shuddered, gasped and cheered throughout her yarn. By the time Mary finished the tale, with little Juju escaping the evil witch alive but with the tail of a squirrel, William lay yawning in her arms.

"Can I hear another, Princess Mary?" William asked with a yawn. "Won't you tell just one more?"

"No, William. You shall have to wait until tomorrow. Then I shall tell you the story of Greybeard the Pirate. But, for now, you must be off for a nap and I have business elsewhere."

Kissing William on his cheek, Mary passed the contented child to his nanny. She then took her leave of the nursery to take a much-desired walk. When she woke that morning, Mary's heart was warmed to see that the sky was free of clouds and the sun shone bright and warm, melting much of the remaining snow that had stubbornly clung to the trees and pathways for the past few weeks. She had not ventured outside for several days and she reckoned that the fresh air would do her health and mind some good. Mary scampered down the main staircase as quickly as her legs would safely carry her. She did not want to miss the opportunity of enjoying such a rare early December day. Mr. Darcy was just crossing the foyer as she reached the bottom of the stair.

"Good morning, Mr. Darcy," Mary curtsied her greeting.

"Good morning, Mary," Darcy paused to return her bow and favor her with a smile. "Where are you off to in such a hurry?"

"I am off to take a walk. I have been most anxious to get outside and the weather today favors me."

"Ah, I might have guessed. If Elizabeth were not otherwise engaged, I am sure she would have beaten you to the door. I hope you have not forgotten to oblige little William with another of your tales this morning. Last night he spoke of nothing else save his princess and her amazing yarns. It appears as if you are a regular Sharazad, enchanting my son with your stories."

Mary laughed. "Yes, I have just come from the nursery. I would never forget William's story."

"Good, good. Enjoy your walk, Mary. Do be careful to dress warmly and not to stray too far from the house. The weather is fine, but I bid you to be cautious," Darcy warned, taking on his most fatherly tone.

Mary nodded in reply before making her way to the front door and calling for her coat, bonnet and gloves. As soon as she was sufficiently far from the house, Mary set off at a fast clip gathering her skirts in her hands as not to trip. Delighting in the fresh crisp air and warmth of the sun, Mary ventured farther from the house than she intended. Soon even the cold did not bother her as her limbs were warmed with the exertion of her flight.

Arriving at the lake, Mary slowed to a leisurely stroll breathing deeply. She stopped and bent down to retrieve a stick that was jutting out of the muddy bank. She drew back her arm and tossed the stick into the lake, frowning slightly when it skidded to a halt after sliding a few feet on the icy surface. The lake was a rather poor replacement for the Atlantic.

Sitting down on a relatively dry tree stump, Mary allowed herself to become lost in memories of her home in New Sussex, remembering her times with Lord Farthington and the lonely months when he was away on travels. Those were the most unpleasant times of her memory. His work often took him to America and the Caribbean colonies where he and his colleagues would document the atrocities of the slave trade in an attempt to sway the English public to the abolitionist cause. When Mary was a young girl, she could not comprehend why Lord Farthington refused to take her on these journeys. Mary viewed them as an opportunity for adventure, not able to understand the danger involved in these missions. Mary would cry bitterly on her governess' shoulder while she watched his ship cast sail from port, knowing that it would be months before she saw her father again. On one occasion when Lord Farthington was preparing for a trip to Virginia, Mary, then just six years old, packed a small bag complete with a piece of fruit, her favorite doll and a bonnet and placed it gingerly on top of Lord Farthington's trunks. Donning his hat and coat, Lord Farthing smiled gently at Mary as he picked up the meager parcel.

"What do we have here, Miss Mary? Are you preparing for a trip?" he asked as he stooped down next to her, peering gently into her brown eyes.

"I am coming with you, Papa," Mary replied innocently, her eyes shining with expectation.

Lord Farthington sighed as he opened her little bag, smiling as he took note of its contents. "I see that you packed well, little one. You even remembered Lady Rubela." Passing the small brown cloth doll to Mary, he gently stroked her cheek with his free hand. "You know that I cannot take you with me, Mary, no matter how much I would delight in your company."

Mary's sweet smile slipped into a pout and she hugged Lady Rubela tightly. "But I hate it when you go away. Nana makes me play alone all day and there is only Madam Bellaire for company. She is very boring. She only knits ugly lace caps and scolds me in French."

Lord Farthington swallowed his laughter at Mary's description of her governess. Sitting on one of his trunks, Lord Farthington gathered Mary in his arms and sat her on his lap.

"My trips are very dangerous, sweetling. They are no place for a little girl such as yourself."

"Why do you have to go away?" Mary asked looking up at him with wide eyes, sniffing so as to keep her tears at bay. She tried to keep a brave face, knowing how Lord Farthington disliked excessive tears.

"You know that I only go away to help people who are in trouble, people who have been stolen from their homes and their mommies and daddies and made to work for cruel people. I must go, Mary to help them be free. You have never put up such a fuss before. What is so important about this trip?"

"Because Mother was born in Virginia," Mary said in a low whisper, her head bowed to prevent him from seeing the few tears that began to roll down her cheek.

Lord Farthington sighed deeply, before kissing her lightly on the forehead and gathering her closer to him. He was pleased at her interest in her mother and her own history but saddened as he recounted in his heart her mother's struggles and fate. He had told Mary stories about her mother, although his stories were a gentler version of reality. Her mother was called Dinah, he had told her, and she lived on a large farm in Virginia where they grew tobacco that men sometimes liked to smoke. Dinah was very beautiful with the same large brown eyes of Mary and a kind smile for all with even white teeth like a string of pearls. Her hair was long and braided in a thick rope that rested on her back and she worked as a maid in a large grand white house. When he met her, she was in danger from a terrible man. Lord Farthington stole her away to protect her. Already laden with child, Dinah gave birth to Mary early while traveling to New Sussex without the aid of a midwife and only the ship's physician who was inexperienced in such matters. Mary was born at sea and was counted a miracle because she was born so small but was strong. Lord Farthington told her how he laughed in spite of himself at the strength of the grip of her little hand on his thumb. He named her Mary because it meant "sea of bitterness" and "hoped for child." Dinah died soon after childbirth, slipping into a deep contented sleep after the difficult delivery. Lord Farthington had told her this story many times, lulling her to sleep with descriptions of her mother's strength, beauty and kindness. Mary longed for anything connected to the woman that haunted her dreams.

"Do you know what would please me exceedingly, little one?" Lord Farthington asked, his green eyes crinkling at the corners as he smiled gently down at her. "I would be very grateful if you would do me the honor of stitching this cloth for me. You can practice your stitching on this and whenever we are parted again, I will keep it in my breast pocket so that you will be near me."

Mary sadly obliged, taking the white handkerchief from him before receiving another gentle kiss on the cheek. Mary would never forget the gentleness of Lord Farthington's refusal nor the sadness her childlike heart felt watching his ship depart that morning. As she grew in maturity, she began to understand the nature of Lord Farthington's work and his refusal to bring her with him on his missions. However, she was afforded the opportunity of touring Europe with her guardian upon her 16th birthday. Their travels during those eight months were among her favorite memories; the excitement of a young woman encountering the great wide world for the first time was forever imprinted on her mind.

During her reverie, Mary had abandoned the cold tree stump to wander around the edge of the lake, her eyes fixed on the quiet waters almost unseeing. As she neared the glade that bordered one side of the lake, she did not notice the sound of hoof beats quickly approaching. Suddenly, a great brown horse was before Mary, rearing back on its hind legs and nearly unseating its rider. In a panic, Mary cried out, shielding her face with her hands as she fell back onto the cold damp earth. For his part, the rider of the great beast appeared to be equally astonished, releasing a shout of his own as he brought his horse under control. Quickly dismounting his horse, he hurried to the young woman's side.

"Forgive me, madam. Are you hurt?" the man asked as he knelt beside her.

"No, I am quite alright," Mary replied as she struggled to catch her breath. "However, I do require your assistance in standing."

"Of course," he replied before gently taking her arm and lifting her to her feet. He tried to get a look at the woman's face, but her bent head and bonnet prevented him.

Mary busied herself with brushing off her now wet gown and regaining her composure before confronting the man who had nearly trampled her.

"Let me offer my sincerest apologies once again, my lady," the man replied bowing low as he took one of her gloved hands into his. "The fault is all mine as my foolhardy and reckless riding endangered you. Allow me to…" The man paused as he rose and met her gaze, flushing slightly at the sight of her countenance.

Mary's breath caught in her throat as she looked at the stranger, who was not so foreign after all. Mary could not forget the deep blue laughing eyes nor the unruly black curls of the man before her. He appeared even more handsome than in his portrait, the passage of a few years adding a pleasing refinement to his features.

"I accept your apologies, Colonel Fitzwilliam. I too was not aware of my surroundings and I fear I nearly caused you injury by frightening your horse."

"Forgive me, ma'am. I did not realize that we had the pleasure of meeting before. My deepest apologies for my rudeness," the Colonel released her hand, a fine blush spreading over his face.

"No need for apologies, Colonel. We have not met formally; it is just that… I am acquainted with your face from a likeness I have recently seen. Let me introduce myself. My name is Mary Caroline Farthington. I reside at Pemberley and am in the guardianship of Mr. and Mrs. Darcy. I have been in residence here for just over a month." Mary replied.

"It is an honor to make your acquaintance, Miss Farthington," the Colonel bowed again before shifting uncomfortably from one foot to another. He stared at Mary in a manner she found most peculiar.

"Well," Mary began after an awkward silence, "it has been a pleasure making your acquaintance. While I do enjoy your company, I must return to the house. I fear that the cold is becoming too much for me, especially given the dampness of my gown."

"Forgive me for my rudeness, madam," the Colonel replied as he recovered himself. "Would you allow me the pleasure of escorting you to the house?"

Mary nodded her assent and shivered. She had been out of doors far too long and began to question the wisdom of her morning jaunt. Her longing for fresh air had overridden her better judgment. The Colonel divested himself of his overcoat and held it out towards Mary. She eyed him warily before the man flushed anew.

"You are chilled. Please, take my coat," he explained before placing it around Mary's shoulders. Mary made to protest but the Colonel would not hear of it.

"I am flattered by your concern for my health, Miss Farthington, but I am an old army man quite accustomed to facing the extremities. Furthermore, my carelessness is the reason for your damp state and I would never forgive myself if you caught cold."

"Thank you, sir," Mary replied as she lowered her head and tightened his coat around her shoulders. The Colonel's coat had the smell of musk, which Mary found both comforting and unsettling.

"Miss Farthington, should we begin our journey to the house?"

"Yes, yes. I am sure they are wondering after my absence." Mary took two steps forward and winced noticeably in pain. She had presumed herself uninjured at her ability to stand, but the effort of walking pained her left ankle greatly.

"You are hurt, Miss Farthington," the Colonel exclaimed, his eyes widened in worry as he took her right arm.

"No, it is only a trifle, I am sure that I can make it unassisted," Mary replied with a weak smile. She attempted another two steps before crying out in earnest and leaning heavily on the Colonel.

"No, no this will not do," the Colonel stated firmly, his voice beginning to take on the command of his rank. "You must permit me to place you upon my horse. The house is two miles off at least, too far for me to carry you and an impossible distance for you to go on in this manner. I will walk beside you and hold the reigns."

Mary gasped both at the mention of being carried by the Colonel and the suggestion of riding his horse. She had no experience upon horses, never having proper lessons and she was somewhat shaken by her first encounter with the great animal. She began to think of how she could get home by other means. It was too cold and her gown too wet to for her to wait there by the lake while he rode for assistance. It was indeed too far for him to carry her and to arrive at Pemberley clutched in the Colonel's arms would cause quite a stir. Mary returned her eyes to the Colonel, her brow knit with worry. He simply smiled in return, the act rendering his face even more handsome. Mary quickly returned her gaze to the horse that whinnied and stomped in greeting. Mary took a step back, wincing as she put weight on her injured ankle.

"How frightfully rude of me," the Colonel began, his eyes twinkling with mischief. "You have not been properly introduced. Miss Farthingon, may I have the honor of introducing you to my faithful steed, Beauregard." He bowed with a flourish as he led the horse toward a frightened Mary.

"He may snort and stomp a fine show, but he is the most gentle of creatures."

Mary eyed the Colonel warily, not fooled by his attempt at humor, to which he replied with a wide disarming smile.

"You may pet him, if it pleases you Miss Farthington. He is quite harmless and a perfect gentleman."

The Colonel gently stroked Beauregard's side to demonstrate the safety of the action. Glancing at him timidly, Mary reached out a tentative hand to the horse. Mary's fear began to give way to delight as she gently stroked Beauregard's side, enjoying the feel of the animal's soft hair underneath her glove. The Colonel laughed gently, causing Mary to favor him with a shy smile.

"Miss Farthington, I think I have come to a solution for our dilemma. I will place you on Beauregard and I will ride in the saddle behind you guiding the reigns and insuring that you do not take a tumble. I can see no other reasonable option at the time. Does this arrangement suit you?"

Mary averted her glance, looking in the direction of the house. While the prospect of riding Beauregard frightened her, the idea of being in such close proximity to the Colonel worried her. She already found herself responding to him in a most unfamiliar way and wanted to err on the side of propriety. However, riding was her best option. Surely, no one could view it as improper but rather as a prudent decision given the circumstances.

"I can see the wisdom in such an action. Now comes the matter of my mounting your horse." Mary turned her head to Beauregard, his height intimidating her once more. She doubted her ability to mount him with any grace.

Smiling gently, the Colonel placed his hands firmly around her waist and blushed at her sudden intake of breath. Giving her words of reassurance, he lifted her with little trouble onto Beauregard and swiftly took his place behind her. Mary was too frightened to be alarmed by the closeness of the Colonel or by the warmth of his hands as he gently released her fingers from the reigns so that he might guide the horse. It was not until Beauregard set off at a gentle trot and Mary was jolted back against the Colonel's chest that Mary noticed their proximity to one another. He instinctively closed one arm around her as he guided the horse with the other.

After a few moments, Mary's nerves calmed, reassured by the gentle pace of the creature and the Colonel's adeptness as a horseman. Riding with her legs to one side in the fashion of a lady, Mary found that she had nestled closely to the colonel, her cheek pressed against his chest and her arms circled about him. Mary's cheeks warmed at the realization; she was heartily ashamed of her foolish fear that led her to such an impropriety. Mary quickly moved to put some distance between them, raising her head from his chest and releasing her arms from around his waist. She tentatively raised her eyes to view the Colonel, worried at his reaction to her behavior. His eyes claimed hers as his lips curved into another disarming smile. Their eyes locked for several moments before Mary turned away to look down the path before them.

"See, Miss Farthington, your fears are quite unfounded. Beauregard is indeed a gentle beast and you are quite safe here beside me," the Colonel offered.

"Yes, you were quite right," Mary murmured.

Undaunted by the sparseness of her reply, he ventured for an easier avenue of conversation. "So, Miss Farthington, where did you call home before you came to Pemberley?"

"I lived on the isle of New Sussex in the Caribbean, sir. It is there where I lived all my life until now."

"New Sussex," he repeated, his voice bright with excitement. "I believe that I am familiar with that island. During my last deployment, our ship docked briefly on the island to refresh our provisions. From the short time I was there, I found it to be a most handsome place. I particularly remember the whiteness of the sand and the purity of the water. The water was so pure that a man could stand waist deep and see his boots as clearly as if he were on dry ground."

Mary turned to look up at the Colonel, her interest immediately piqued at the mention of her home. She was surprised that he should know of New Sussex. They chatted at length about New Sussex and their experiences of crossing the Atlantic before they arrived at the house. Mary had long forgotten her fear and discomfort, so enthralled by the Colonel's easy conversation. When they reached the front steps, Colonel Fitzwilliam jumped down from Beauregard and passed the reigns to a waiting servant. Mary immediately missed his warmth and regretted that their ride had come to an end.

"May I help you down, my lady?" the Colonel asked, his voice once again taking on a playful tone.

Mary smiled down at the Colonel, who was bent in an obsequious bow. "Yes, kind sir. Your assistance would be most appreciated."

The Colonel gently placed Mary on the ground not releasing his hold upon her waist as he leaned in towards her.

"I know what I am about to ask may shock your gentle sensibilities," he whispered. "I only ask as you are hurt and are in no condition to climb the stairs. May I have permission to carry you into the house?"

Mary nodded, having realized that it would come to this. Someone would have to carry her in or arrange a stretcher to ferry her inside. She did not want to cause an unnecessary stir in the house and did not look favorably on attempting the stairs on her own.

Colonel Fitzwilliam lifted Mary with little effort, carrying her as one would a babe, her arms clasped around his neck for support as he clutched her under her knees and across her upper back. Mary was mortified anew at their increased closeness, heat rushing to her cheeks as she looked everywhere but at the Colonel. Their entrance into the foyer caused quite a commotion, as the butler had rushed to announce their arrival and the condition of Miss Farthington. Georgiana was the first to hurry into the space, her feelings torn between concern for her injured friend and delight at the arrival of her favorite cousin. Close on her heels were Mr. Darcy and Elizabeth.

"Cousin Richard! Mary! Mr. Thomas said that you were injured on the grounds! Are you well? What happened? Do you need a doctor?" Georgiana questioned rapidly as she flew to Mary's side.

Mary's mortification gave way to her friend's sincere concern and she ventured a weak smile.

"Georgiana, it is nothing to worry about. I was just startled by Colonel Fitzwilliam's horse and fell injuring my ankle. It is nothing really, merely a trifle. The Colonel has been good enough to see me here safely, and for that he has my sincere gratitude." Mary turned to smile warmly at the Colonel whom she found staring down at her intently. She flushed inwardly before returning her attention to her worried friend.

"Welcome, cousin. I see that you have managed to make quite an entrance as usual." Darcy greeted him, one eyebrow raised.

"Greetings, Darcy. It is a pleasure to be at Pemberley again," the Colonel replied, before his smile morphed into a mischievous grin. "It would appear that I happened upon a fairy on the road and having injured her delicate ankle, I am now bid to carry her to safety."

"We are grateful for your assistance to Mary, Richard. No matter the nature of your entrance, you are most welcome," Elizabeth answered stepping forward to greet her cousin. "I believe we should send for a doctor for Mary. No matter how much you attest to your wellness, I would have your ankle properly seen to. Richard, would you be so good as to carry Mary to her room? Georgiana and I will show you the way."

Looking over the Colonel's shoulder as they ascended the stairs, Mary could see that Mr. Darcy was not pleased at the recent turn of affairs. Mortification took her anew as she was most desirous of his good opinion in all things.

"Here we are, Miss Farthington," Colonel Fitzwilliam began as he entered her chamber following Georgiana and Elizabeth. "I have delivered you safely to your abode as intended."

"Thank you," Mary managed as the Colonel gently placed her onto a settee by the fireplace. Georgiana rushed to place a cushion under her ankle.

"It was a pleasure making your acquaintance, Miss Farthington, although I wish it had been under more pleasant circumstances," the Colonel ventured with a slight smile.

"The pleasure was mine, as well. I am sorry for startling your horse. I did not mean to be the cause of such commotion or to kindle any anger in Mr. Darcy towards you," Mary began as she looked at the Colonel intently.

"You take too much upon yourself, Miss Farthington. I must have all the blame, take none for yourself. And do not trouble yourself with Darcy, I know my cousin well. He is merely protective of those in his care and his anger will pass when he is assured that you are well. Speaking of my dear cousin, I should speak to him now. Georgiana, Elizabeth, Miss Farthington, I take my leave of you." The Colonel bowed to each lady in turn before making his way for the door.

"Cousin Richard," Elizabeth called as he reached the door. "Thank you again for your care of Mary. It is most appreciated."

Colonel Fitzwilliam nodded before heading down the corridor in search of his cousin.

The Colonel found Darcy sitting in the library in expectation of his arrival. Standing to greet his cousin, Darcy clasped Fitzwilliam on the shoulder in salute before enfolding him in a brief embrace.

"Cousin, it has been far too long since I last saw you." Fitzwilliam began, taking a seat across from him.

"And I you," Darcy replied with a broad smile before taking a seat. "While I am delighted at your arrival, I am curious to the manner of your entrance. You are three days early without so much as a trunk at your disposal. Not to mention the affair with Miss Farthington."

"Well, I found myself able to slip away from the regiment earlier than previously expected and so I took the opportunity to surprise you all. It is not as if Pemberley is ever unprepared for a guest!" Fitzwilliam smiled good naturedly, knowingly indulging Darcy's pride in the management of his estate.

Darcy regarded his cousin skeptically for a moment before smiling once more.

"Well, you are very welcome," Darcy replied. "Pemberley's doors are always open to you. Would you care for a drink?"

"That would be splendid."

Darcy nodded before rising from his seat and approaching the bar. He poured out two sniffers of brandy and handed one of them to Fitzwilliam. The two men sat in silence for several minutes slowly sipping their brandy.

Fitzwilliam nodded gravely. "It has been a long two years, dear cousin, two years that have given me a particular longing to be with my family," Fitzwilliam began, leaning forward to rest his elbows on his knees, his near empty sniffer held loosely in one hand. "When I last saw you, I did not envy you at all, despite your fortune and felicity in marriage to such an excellent woman. So many responsibilities were laid at your feet; so many lives tied to the correctness of your decisions or the whim of your conscious. Yet now I would trade the freedom of bachelorhood for your happy chains of family life."

At this, Fitzwilliam rose and stood by the fireplace. He could not begin to describe the events of the last two years to Darcy. Although they regularly took one another into their confidence, his deployment had brought with it memories and experiences that irrevocably altered him. Although he tried to present himself as the same sly charmer of his youth, age and experience had sobered him, creating a longing for a more peaceful and settled life. He desired a family and a reason for living beyond the will of the Crown or the pleasures of the flesh.

"The same can be said for you, Fitzwilliam. As a colonel you have your equal share of responsibilities and hardships," Darcy replied as he observed his cousin before continuing. "But what is this I hear about the 'happy chains of family life?' Why, Fitzwilliam, you talk quite like a man in need of a wife!"

Fitzwilliam turned to face his cousin, favoring Darcy with a sad smile before taking another sip of brandy.

"Nothing has overcome me other than the maturity a man attains by living out in the world. I am quite myself, just a tad bit wiser, I suppose.

"You are correct in assuming that my thoughts have turned lately to taking a wife. But this inclination is no different than that of any other man my age. I am nearly five and thirty! Not to mention my lot that father nearly daily reminds me of. As the lesser son of an earl, my future is tied to marrying well. Although I begin to think that I'd be just as pleased with the life of a simple commoner if I was as equally blessed in matrimony as you are, dear cousin."

Here Fitzwilliam paused, studying his glass of brandy. He thought of Elizabeth and how she had first enchanted him at Rosings Park with her bold impertinent nature. The same nagging question that he had debated these past five years taunted him once more: If he had cast aside family expectations and asked for the hand of Elizabeth, the daughter of a poor country gentleman, would he now know the happiness so evident in Darcy?

A pregnant silence settled over the room, causing both men to fidget uncomfortably. Fitzwilliam looked his cousin over intently, before deciding to change the subject.

"This talk of wives recalls to mind my injured fairy," Fitzwilliam began, resuming his seat. "So, Darcy, tell me more about Miss Farthington. The lady tells me that you are her guardian and just lately made so, at that!"

"Miss Mary Farthington," Darcy began, his eyebrow raised. "I wonder what there is left for you to know. You seem to be well acquainted with the lady already."

Fitzwilliam laughed at his cousin's renewed anger. "Come Darcy, it is not at all as bad as that. What the lady and I told you is the sum total of our encounter. I was riding off of the designated road, reacquainting myself with the grounds when I came upon Miss Farthington. I admit that I was quite caught up in my own thoughts and took no notice of the lady until I was upon her. My horse reared back, frightening her. She fell, injured her ankle and I rode with her back to the house. That, dear cousin, is the total of our acquaintance although I admit that the lady was already familiar with my name and face whereas I had no knowledge of her."

Seemingly appeased by Fitzwilliam's plain account of his dealings with Miss Farthington, Darcy began to acquaint the Colonel with all he knew regarding Mary, including her relation to his late father, Mr. Bramble's letter and finally Lord Farthington's request.

"That is amazing, Darcy. Doubling your wealth in one turn and acquiring a new charge? Your godfather must have thought highly of you, and I dare say his trust was not misplaced. Although I wonder at the urgency for guardianship; Miss Farthington appears to be a mature young woman. These attributes on top of her fortune would make her quite the eligible lady."

"Yes, which is precisely why Lord Farthington sought proper guardianship for the lady," Darcy began cutting him off. "We both know what befalls wealthy young ladies who are improperly protected."

Darcy relinquished his seat to poke nervously at the logs in the fireplace.

"Come cousin," Fitzwilliam replied coming to stand beside him. "You mustn't always torture yourself over Georgiana. We had no way of knowing Wickham's scheme and you ultimately prevented the disastrous elopement. And Georgiana has turned out most wonderfully; I believe she has quite recovered from the scoundrel."

"Yes, you are right, Fitzwilliam. Georgiana has recovered remarkably, although Elizabeth must be given due credit for that," Darcy sighed, casting aside the poker and leaning on the mantelpiece. "Still, you can imagine Miss Farthington's predicament. She has no older brother or titled uncles to give her guidance and her heritage only makes her more attractive to unscrupulous scoundrels."

"Then I suppose she is fortunate to be under your protection. Not many gentleman in your situation would do the same."

Darcy shrugged.

"As my father saw fit to extend his protection to her in the event of Lord Farthington's passing, how could I not honor his commitment?"

A knock was soon heard at the door as a maid arrived to announce the serving of luncheon. Darcy and Fitzwilliam happily made their way to the dining room. Fitzwilliam was eager to speak with his dear cousin Georgiana and to suffer the gentle teasing of Elizabeth. He was also hoping to converse with Miss Farthington once again.

Fitzwilliam was somewhat crestfallen to find that Mary could not join them and that Georgiana chose to sup with her as they awaited the arrival of the doctor. However, Elizabeth's report that she believed Mary had only suffered a minor sprain comforted him.

"It appears that your regimentals suit you after all, Richard," Elizabeth teased. "You have been Mary's knight in shining armor, plucking a hapless damsel in distress from the jaws of certain danger."

Fitzwilliam laughed heartily. "A fine knight I make. I cause damsels to be in distress and then arrive to save them from harm to reap all of the praise!"

Elizabeth laughed in response. Luncheon passed amicably as Fitzwilliam was soon appraised on all the latest news of their relations, including the birth of Lydia Wickham's third daughter, Mary Bennet's recent engagement to the brother of Charlotte Collins and the recent birth of Jane Bingley's third and fourth child…a pair of twin boys. Soon the arrival of Dr. Edwards interrupted them. Elizabeth excused herself to attend to the doctor and Mary.

Dr. Edwards' examination verified Elizabeth's suspicions that Mary suffered from no more than a minor sprain. A few days rest would see her well mended. Dr. Edwards advised that Mary avoid putting weight on her ankle and that she rest with it elevated as much as possible. While Mary was relieved that her injury was a minor one, she did not look forward to spending several days sequestered in her quarters, especially when such a lively houseguest had just arrived. Georgiana comforted her, promising to visit her often and take tea with her everyday. Elizabeth also promised to allow little William to spend his mornings with her, if she was up to the challenge.

"Of course, Elizabeth. I would love to have visits from William. I am sure my little shadow would miss his stories terribly otherwise. He is a dear child and we shall get along fine. I only worry that he will bore of me," Mary smiled.

"Oh, that could never be," Georgiana replied. "He loves you best of all."

"Well, not more than me, I should hope." Elizabeth added, eliciting a gasp from Georgiana.

Elizabeth laughed at Georgiana's distress. "It is alright, Georgiana. I am only teasing you. I should hope that you know when I am speaking in earnest and when I am not."

A knock at the door soon caught their attention. Mary bade the person enter and was surprised to find the Colonel at the door. Georgiana ran to properly greet her favorite cousin. Mary's smile was as bright as her friend', earning her a curious look from Elizabeth. Mary caught her gaze to attempt to moderate her reaction.

"To what do we owe the honor of your visit?" Elizabeth asked.

"I have come to inquire after the patient," Fitzwilliam smiled as he looked from Elizabeth to Mary. "I trust that you are on the mend?"

"Yes, I am fine, Colonel. Let me thank you again for your kindness to me."

The Colonel smiled broadly at her expression of gratitude before Elizabeth excused herself to see to preparations for dinner and to the Colonel's rooms.

"Speak nothing of it, Miss Farthington. I would, however, request one favor from you, well…two favors."

"Of course, Colonel Fitzwilliam, if it is in my power to grant."

"First, would you do me the honor of calling me simply Fitzwilliam? And second, may I have the pleasure of calling upon you each day until you are better?"

"I would be happy to oblige you, Fitzwilliam." Mary answered, dropping her eyes to her lap.

"Thank you, Miss Farthington. I will leave you and Georgiana now. In the excitement of this morning, I had forgotten the weariness of travel. Until dinner, Georgiana," Fitzwilliam bowed to Georgiana before turning to Mary. "And until tomorrow, Miss Farthington."

After Fitzwilliam departed, Georgiana turned to her friend, her face wreathed in smiles. "Is he not the best of cousins, Mary? He looked so handsome in his uniform. You cannot begin to know how happy I am that he has come! Are you not glad to meet him?"

Mary smiled at her friend who was giddy with happiness. Mary had not seen her so animated before, and the sight warmed her. "Yes, Georgiana, I am quite pleased as well."

Chapter 5

Colonel Fitzwilliam stormed out of the library, Darcy’s words still ringing in his ears. Fitzwilliam could not believe that Darcy had spoken so about Mary or had been so vociferous in his condemnation of their attachment. Hastily calling for his horse from the bewildered footman who scurried behind him, Fitzwilliam made his way towards the stables and Beauregard. He needed to put some distance between himself and his cousin before he said something that he would later regret. As soon as his horse was ready, Fitzwilliam mounted his steed and rode off at a quick pace down the main road towards the gates of Pemberley. Longing for such a ride, Beauregard responded with enthusiasm to his master’s urging, quickening his stride into a maddening run. Fitzwilliam allowed himself to be caught up in the sensation of the quick movement, the cold winter air lashing through his hair and against his face, Beauregard straining beneath him as he fought to keep up with his master’s demanding pace. He passed nearly two hours in such activity before his temper was cooled and his mind was cleared. He was quite a distance from Pemberley then, perhaps thirty miles or more. Looking about his surroundings to get his bearings, he found himself near an overlook with a view of rock-studded hills and a gentle winding river below it. Dismounting his horse, Fitzwilliam patted Beauregard affectionately before walking towards the edge of the ridge.

Fitzwilliam gazed out over the landscape, the wind sending his coat tails streaming from behind him. A little distance away he spotted a small town nestled by the river. The town had the appearance of all that was peaceful and quaint with small thatched roofed cottages lined along its dirt roads and a few buildings of some significance scattered about it. Sighing as he took in the prospect, Fitzwilliam seated himself on a large rock to take a rest. His mind wondered to the events of the morning, causing him to shake his head in disbelief at both his own behavior and that of his cousin. He could not remember ever having had such an argument with him before. Darcy and Fitzwilliam had always been close, even closer than he was with his own brother Henry, and usually of the same mind. Their proximity in age served to make them fast playmates as boys. They would scamper about the grounds of Pemberley or Allendale House, his childhood home in Matlock, looking for mischief and adventure. They took special pleasure in vexing the housemaids by tracking all manner of mud and dirt into the house and secreting frogs into the kitchen. As they grew in maturity and put aside their boyish pursuits, their relationship had changed to one of mutual respect and confidence. By the time Darcy’s father had died during their final years at Cambridge, it only seemed fitting that both be named guardian of Georgiana. Since then, Fitzwilliam had been a steady source of support and aid to Darcy through all manner of troubles such as the ordeal with Georgiana and Wickham, Darcy’s search for Miss Lydia Bennet and Darcy’s struggle to win the acceptance of Elizabeth into the family. In all of these struggles Fitzwilliam had been a most trusted advisor, advocate and agent. Fitzwilliam’s heart ached over the realization that the one for whom he had been such a source of support would now refuse to lend his own.

The cold bite of the afternoon air soon began to affect Fitzwilliam, causing him to shiver unconsciously. He had not realized how long he tarried on the hilltop surveying the scenery distractedly. The sun had already begun its lazy retreat into the west.

“It will not do for me to freeze to death,” Fitzwilliam sighed aloud, turning from the scene before him and walking towards Beauregard, who released a weary neigh as he neared. Fitzwilliam’s stomach growled loudly in response, causing him to laugh aloud despite himself.

“Don’t worry old boy,” Fitzwilliam replied as he gently stroked the animal’s side, responding to both his stomach and his horse. “We shall get you some rest and hay anon.”

Fitzwilliam made his way down towards the small town he had spied from the hilltop in search of a tavern or inn where both he and Beauregard could find sustenance. The sun had already set as he reached the outskirts of the village. Warm light cast by newly lit lanterns illuminated the road before him. As he neared the town square, shopkeepers could be seen busying themselves with preparations for closing.

“Excuse me, good sir,” Fitzwilliam called to a merchant busily engaged in sweeping the steps in front of his shop, “could you direct me to the nearest saloon or inn where I might find refreshment for my horse and myself?”

“Sir, I’m afraid we don’t ‘ave no saloons as it were. This be but a small village. We do ‘ave an inn just a quarter mile down the way. It ain’t quite fit for such a fine gentleman but the ale is cold and the stew is hot.”

“That will serve me well enough,” Fitzwilliam murmured before nodding his thanks.

The merchant affected an awkward bow in return as Fitzwilliam spurred Beauregard towards the inn. He found the shopkeeper’s description of the inn apt. It was a very small establishment of merely two stories in height that could not have held more than five or so guestrooms. Despite the small size of the inn, the service was adequate. As soon as he dismounted, a boy met him to take Beauregard to a small stable in the rear of the establishment where he would be provided with water, hay and a relatively warm place to tarry. Fitzwilliam found the appearance of the inn as well managed as the service. The décor was simple as were the furnishings, and the inn was kept impeccably clean. The floors were freshly scrubbed, as were the windows that glowed warmly from the candles placed before each one. At the bar a few older men with gray hairs and rounded bellies sat nursing pints of ale and exchanging local gossip. A matronly woman with a round pleasant face kept bar, watching over her patrons as would a mother hen. The entire establishment had the air of a pleasant country inn, quite the opposite of the rowdy smoked filled officer’s clubs that he was accustomed to. There would be no drinking himself into a stupor this night. Spotting a table tucked away towards the back of the room, Fitzwilliam sat down hoping that his luck in finding a well managed inn would extend to being offered an edible meal and an adequate selection of spirits.

A rosy-cheeked girl of no more than fifteen years greeted him with a smile. “Good evening, sir. What can I get for ya?”

“A glass of brandy will suit me as well as a hot meal. Would I be lucky enough to be able to have some roast lamb or mutton?”

“Oh, I’m sorry sir, but we don’t ‘ave any roast tonight,” the waitress replied, shaking her head and sending her blonde curls dancing. “But, we do ‘ave shepherd’s pie and some roast carrots. That’ll do ya just as fine as any roast. My ma makes the best shepherd’s pie this side of Derbyshire.”

“Well, then shepherd’s pie it is,” Fitzwilliam smiled weakly, unsure if the girl’s statement really did much to recommend the dish to him. “And just bring the entire bottle of brandy.”

The girl curtseyed shyly before running off to her task, leaving Fitzwilliam to brood as he saw fit. His homey surroundings were unable to penetrate the blackness of his mood, although the pleasant smells wafting from the kitchen caused him to reassess his previous judgment of the shepherd’s pie. The girl soon returned with a glass and a bottle of brandy, which Fitzwilliam accepted with pleasure. Pouring himself a cup of the strong spirits, Fitzwilliam sighed with a strange contentment. Perhaps it was better this way. What he needed most of all was a quiet place to collect his thoughts rather than a flowing tap to numb them. After having one glass of the stuff, Fitzwilliam debated pouring himself another before resolutely pushing the bottle away. It had been two solid weeks since he had imbibed to the point of drunkenness, seeking to dull the ache of memories he wished long forgotten.

Fitzwilliam’s thoughts turned to his deployment in Louisiana, one of the former American colonies where one of the most devastating battles of the so named War of 1812 was waged. Fitzwilliam still bristled from the irony of his being dispatched to a pointless war a few scant months before Napoleon escaped from Elba. Fresh from battling Napoleon during his first reign of terror on the continent, Fitzwilliam had been deployed for over a year to this southern state to take part in the ill fated battle of New Orleans, home to festering swamp lands, withering summer humidity and some of the most troubling memories of his reckoning. It was there in January of 1815 where he saw so many of his men fall to a ragtag amalgamation of American soldiers, militiamen and Jean Lafitte’s band of pirates. He was forced to watch helplessly as the Americans shot one of his men after another from the safety of their garrison as General Pakenham blindly continued the assault. Dashing, young and a quick rising star in both the military and society, Edward Pakenham had fought alongside Fitzwilliam in the Napoleonic campaigns. Pankenham’s successes there showed him to be a capable leader; however his promise as a military strategist was soon cut short. Exhausted, dispirited and lacking in both supplies and confidence in their young general, the men were ill prepared and little able to mount a strong defense much less storm the American ramparts. The ladders his men had spent the better part of a week constructing had been ordered left behind in Pakenham’s lust for battle. At least Colonel Fitzwilliam was able to ensure that his men were properly outfitted with rifles and sabers. Other regiments were less prepared, barely arriving at Chalmette in proper uniform. Pakenham had predicted an easy victory before leading his men to their defeat and his own death. He fell to an American musket ignorant that the battle was a fruitless effort; the Treaty of Ghent had been signed days before effectively ending the war in a draw. More than 700 British soldiers lost their lives with another 2,000 captured and wounded. A paltry 71 Americans met similar fates.

Fitzwilliam returned to England a man of changed demeanor and outlook. His thoughts permanently fixed on the events of January 1815. He could not close his eyes without encountering the pale ashen faces of his troops haunting him from the grave. Sleep evaded him and his waking moments were spent reliving the events of that day. While he had thought the hustle and bustle of life in London would be a welcome distraction, he soon found the society there grating. He could no longer play the role of the charming and witty younger son of an earl. Balls, dinners and nights at the opera became a chore where the only thing that enabled him to appear the picture of civility was a flask of brandy. The nights where his attentions were not demanded by the ton were spent at the officer’s club. Even more exhausting than playing the role of his former pleasant self while in society was doing so for his closest relations. Lady Matlock had been the only one not fooled by his charade, recognizing his change in demeanor as soon as he set foot in the house. Fitzwilliam had done his best to avoid a discussion with his mother, spending the majority of his time the officer’s club or on various errands about the town. However, his efforts proved useless in the face of his mother’s concern. Fitzwilliam remembered the eventual confrontation with some shame.

“You are not happy, son,” Lady Matlock began after closing the door to the morning room behind her.

“Mother, whatever do you mean?” Fitzwilliam replied, turning from his mother to lean against the mantle of the fireplace, his customary retreat when he felt put upon. “I have never felt better. I couldn’t be more pleased to see London and my family after such a long absence.”

“Richard Anthony Fitzwilliam,” his mother began assuming a voice of mock anger. “You do remember that lying is a sin, do you not? You cannot fool me, Richard. You are miserable and it pains me greatly to see it. You have been home for nearly a month and it is plain to see that you are not yourself.”

Fitzwilliam sighed deep in his chest before turning to face his mother. “And what if I am not myself, mother? Do I not have the right to be a little miserable?”

“I am worried, Richard, and so is your father. We were so afraid for you when you were sent to that awful war. I know that it must have been a horrible experience. I understand…”

“Please, do not tell me that you know anything of how I am feeling,” Fitzwilliam interrupted her, his voice laced with bitterness. “You cannot begin to understand the things I have seen. Have you ever seen your friends slain before your eyes and their bodies thrown without ceremony into shallow mass graves? No, I do not think you have, mother. I do not think you have ever held a man while he lay struggling for his last breath. When you have lived one moment outside of your gilded cage then you can presume to tell me how I feel!”

Fitzwilliam’s rant was met with a cold silence from her ladyship, who stood before him looking years older. Hurt and anger struggled for supremacy over her countenance as she stood looking at her son as if he were a stranger. He had never seen his mother look so small or bewildered as she did then and he immediately regretted both his harsh words and his tone.

“Mother, I am sorry. I…” Fitzwilliam began, his voice having lost the bitter edge of before.

“Do not ever presume to speak to me in that manner again,” his mother began her voice a near whisper as she regarded him with sad grey eyes. “Yes, I have never known the suffering that you have experienced, Richard, nor do I desire to. However, I do know how to be grateful to those who have given me all that I have.”

Fitzwilliam watched dumbly as his mother turned from him and exited the room quietly. For the next few days, he could hardly bear to look his mother in the eye. It was then that he decided to quit his parent’s home for the quiet of Pemberley. He left London without sending word of his early arrival, seeking immediate rest for his mind that had been so addled by war. He was drawn back to the silent frost covered gardens of Pemberley; the long varied paths through quiet forests that he knew awaited him there, a fitting landscape for his dark mood. He had never expected to find his source of peace in the form of a young woman, especially one who was herself in mourning.

Fitzwilliam pinched the bridge of his nose in frustration before reaching once again for the brandy. He had promised himself not to give way once again to the bottle, but surely one extra glass of spirits would do him little harm. He had managed to down little more than a few gulps before his cheery waitress was by his side again with a tray of steaming food. Acknowledging the food, Fitzwilliam mumbled his thanks in a low tone before taking a bite of the offering. He was surprised to find the food more than tolerable and was moved to offer a sincere smile to the girl who stood by his table waiting expectantly for his reaction.

“I believe I am now inclined to agree with you, miss. This is perhaps the best shepherd’s pie I have ever had the pleasure of eating.”

The girl smiled broadly in response, before scampering off towards the kitchen to inform her mother.

Fitzwilliam let his mind stray to more pleasant thoughts of Mary as he silently devoured his meal. When he had first happened upon her only a few short weeks ago, he had no idea that he would find his solace in the countenance of a gentle fairy. Yes, that is what he had thought her then, when he nearly trampled upon her there by the lake. She had seemed to grow right out of the frost covered ground like some dark winter sprite, all clad in somber black with such bewitching brown eyes that he was immediately rendered speechless when he first looked upon them.

Fitzwilliam closed his eyes and leaned back in his seat, taking another sip of brandy as he recalled every detail of the lady that had captured his heart. He found Miss Farthington to be so very different from the ladies of the ton with whom he was accustomed. Fitzwilliam thought most of the ladies of his acquaintance overly talkative, prattling on incessantly with the latest gossip or opinions on the fashion and the like. Miss Farthington, however, was usually quiet and reserved, yet when taken with flights of fancy or speaking of her childhood home she overflowed with such a torrent of words that if spoken by another they would seem foolish but when coming from her lips were each turned a treasure. While other ladies of his acquaintance received his attentions with coyness, Mary’s darting eyes and quick intakes of breath at his flirtations or touch attested to her virtue and delicate sensibilities. Mary’s voice further belied the gentleness of her spirit, her tones both light and soft yet not requiring one to strain to hear her. He remembered his surprise upon first hearing it, supposing that his first notion of her being a fairy was correct as he found himself constantly enraptured by whatever words passed over her lips. During her daily stories with young William, Fitzwilliam found the sensation of listening even more delightful than the vision of her seated before him. That is not to say that he did not find her beautiful, although that is not the word he would use to describer her appearance. Beautiful had the notion of something that needed to be caged or cosseted to preserve its value. Mary’s beauty was not that of one forever under the shade of a parasol but was all that was natural and fresh; her sun kissed nutmeg complexion defiant of the frost of the English winter.

If there was but one feature that Fitzwilliam could affix the beginnings of his infatuation to it was Mary’s eyes. He could now understand Darcy’s fixation with the eyes of his wife. Indeed, a pair of fine eyes in the face of a pretty woman was a thing to be admired. Mary’s eyes were large and unguarded dark brown pools that shone with warmth and earnestness. Every turn of her mind or heart could be seen in them. They sparkled with wonder and mischief during her stories for little William, easily bewitching both of her listeners. When afraid, they seemed to grow impossibly larger and more beautiful revealing the vulnerability of a woman who strove to ever have the appearance of composure. When she was miserable and helpless, as he had found her that morning, they had the power to draw any man to her defense, making her sorrow his own and willing him to make all well at any cost.

While he had only known Mary for a short time, it was enough for him to be sure of his own heart. The past two weeks had been some of the happiest and most peaceful of his recent memory. He had not known that he could find such pleasure in listening to children’s tales or by simply being in someone’s presence. He smiled to himself as he pushed his now empty plate away from him. Six years ago he thought it impossible that he would again have the option to marry for love. A moderately pretty woman with a comfortable fortune was all he desired in a wife. Elizabeth and Darcy had shown him the hollowness of such a desire. At that time his cousin had the courage to do what Fitzwilliam would not do, as well as an income sizable enough to make such a union possible.

Darcy. Fitzwilliam found himself growing more disappointed with his cousin than angry. Fitzwilliam wondered why Darcy would not support him in doing the very thing he had done. Indeed, his marriage to Elizabeth brought on the disapproval of a few powerful people in his family circle, including the Earl of Matlock. Yet, Fitzwilliam’s parents had warmed to Elizabeth after a few months and with the birth of William Bennet, their previous objections were forgotten. The ton was also cold in their initial reception of Mrs. Darcy, but quite a few parties were won over when the character and merits of the lady were demonstrated. Mrs. Darcy was not liked by the entire ton, to be sure. Some ladies were still sore that a country girl of little social standing was able to wrangle a catch such as Darcy when their charms proved inadequate.

Fitzwilliam was not silly enough to think he would not face similar or even greater resistance from his family and society in marrying Miss Farthington. While no one could raise his or her nose at Miss Farthington’s wealth or accomplishments, Darcy was correct in his estimation of the censure his marriage to a black woman would bring. Although parliament had abolished slavery in England and the African heritage of Queen Charlotte was widely known and even celebrated in verse and art, Fitzwilliam was well aware that the opinion of the common man was not in keeping with that of parliament or the crown. However, Fitzwilliam regarded the love of Mary as more valuable than the good opinion of anyone. Fitzwilliam had little desire to be received at balls or assemblies and he no longer found pleasure in the hollow social life of London. All he required to make him happy was a comfortable house to live with the wife of his choosing and their children.

Placing a few coins on the table in payment, Fitzwilliam rose from his chair with an air of determination about him. He would not let Darcy’s displeasure keep him from the object of his affection. He would take his one chance at happiness and secure Mary as his wife.

The return to Pemberley was more arduous than Fitzwilliam had expected. A heavy snow had begun to fall during his tarry at the inn and the roads grew more hazardous by the minute. It took him nearly four hours to arrive at the front steps of Pemberley, his muscles sore from the ride and his aspect altogether disheveled. He desired nothing more than a hot bath and a warm bed as the footman divested him of his overcoat that was wet with snow. He was surprised to find Mary just crossing the foyer as he entered.

Her warm greeting and smiling face chased the chill of his long ride from his limbs as he watched her hurry towards him. Her brown eyes squinted with worry as she examined his person and treated him to a barrage of anxious questions. Fitzwilliam smiled despite himself at her display of concern, pleased that she missed his presence. His smile disappeared pleasure mingled with pain at her confession that she thought she had a hand in his sudden departure.

He took a step towards her, closing the small distance that separated them, as he stretched out one hand to caress her cheek. Her skin was warm and soft as silk.

“Mary,” Fitzwilliam whispered as he bent his head towards her, “you could never drive me away unless it was your most earnest wish.”

Fitzwilliam’s heart raced at her response to his touch. Her eyes never left his as she leaned into his touch, her lips parted slightly in an inaudible sigh. She could not have known what a pleasing picture she made then, her eyes wide and searching and her head bent gently to the side. Before he knew what he was about, he found himself drawing closer to claim her lips in a kiss. The entrance of Elizabeth and Georgiana prevented him from achieving his goal. As he watched Mary’s figure advance up the stairs and out of sight, he silently cursed himself for both his lack of discretion and the timely entrance of his cousins.

“Colonel Fitzwilliam, would you care to explain what has transpired here tonight?” Elizabeth asked Fitzwilliam, her cheeks slightly flushed from the shock of what she saw.

“Mrs. Darcy, I…I assure you there is no need to be concerned. Miss Farthington and I were just…we were simply engaged in an innocent conversation,” Fitzwilliam replied, slowly recovering himself as he became more aware of the impropriety of what had just taken place.

“Conversation? Is that what they are calling it these days? Well, it appeared to me as if you were about to kiss Miss Farthington. Is this assumption incorrect, sir?” Elizabeth’s voice was even as she sternly addressed him, but Fitzwilliam thought he detected a glimmer of amusement in her brown eyes.

“I… I assure you, Mrs. Darcy that we were indeed conversing. However, if you would like to discuss this matter further, may I suggest that we retire to the music room?” Fitzwilliam had suddenly become aware of the footman and butler who had attended him upon his return and who undoubtedly witnessed the entire event. He suddenly felt more like a silly chit of sixteen years rather than a gentleman of nearly four and thirty.

Elizabeth assented to Fitzwilliam’s request, bidding Georgiana goodnight as she began to lead the way to the music room. Georgiana frowned at her apparent dismissal before mounting the stairs determinedly to her chambers. Fitzwilliam watched this display of his young cousin with some surprise, before Elizabeth’s gentle clearing of her throat recalled him to his purpose.
Fitzwilliam followed Elizabeth into the music room; his jaw set tight expecting the worse. As Miss Farthington’s guardian, Elizabeth had the right to be most severe in her judgment of his scandalous behavior. It was even within her right to force him to marry Miss Farthington, a sentence he would undoubtedly be happy to carry out. However, Fitzwilliam was unwilling to bring censure to Miss Farthington and so strove to appear the picture of contrition.

“Elizabeth, I must extend my sincerest apologies for my reckless and imprudent behavior this afternoon,” Fitzwilliam began, dropping his shoulders and speaking in his most earnest tone. “However it may have appeared, you must know that I would never think of compromising Miss Farthington. I await your good judgment as to my sentence. I am fully prepared to do my duty as a gentleman.”

Fitzwilliam waited for Elizabeth’s response, watching the woman expectantly. He was surprised to see her determined frown inch towards a smile before breaking out into a full-blown laugh. Fitzwilliam was taken aback by this display, as it was quite the opposite of what he had anticipated. When Elizabeth’s mirth showed no signs of abating, Fitzwilliam soon found his feelings shifting from astonishment to offense.

“I fail to see what is so humorous, Mrs. Darcy,” Fitzwilliam stated firmly, his pride slightly wounded.

“It is you that I find amusing, dear cousin,” Elizabeth managed between deep breaths as she fought to regain her composure.

Fitzwilliam frowned in response, finding the offered answer to his question a further affront to his dignity. Noticing the dramatic turn of his countenance, Elizabeth erupted into another bought of laughter.

“Richard, you are indeed Fitzwilliam’s relation. You both detest being laughed at,” Elizabeth offered once her laughter had subsided. “But, how is one expected to react to such a speech? You know me well enough, dear cousin, to know that I would only find amusement in such an oration. From what I observed of your ‘innocent conversation’ a forced marriage to Miss Farthington would not be the unwelcome sentence you describe. ”

Fitzwilliam sighed in relief, comforted by Elizabeth’s ability to find humor in any situation.

“Oh, do not suppose that you are to go unpunished,” Elizabeth continued, noticing his sigh of relief. “While I know you well enough to have no cause to fear for Miss Farthington’s reputation, I do find this whole situation rather confusing. For the first time in quite a while I find myself completely uninformed of what is going on in my own home. Something happened this morning at church, of that I am sure, for it must have triggered the other goings on of today. I promise to absolve you of all guilt if you would be so kind as to inform me of all that you know.”

After bidding Elizabeth to sit, Fitzwilliam went on to explain to her all that had occurred from Mary’s experience overhearing the parson to his subsequent argument with Darcy and flight from Pemberley, leaving out the portion of his argument concerning his feelings towards Miss Farthington. Fitzwilliam did not want to distress Elizabeth with details concerning the words they exchanged nor was he anxious to hear more arguments against his courtship of Mary. Throughout the narration, Elizabeth’s countenance displayed a range of emotion from sadness to anger to bewilderment. Fitzwilliam felt his own emotions being stirred in the relation, causing him to rise from his seat and begin pacing about the room.

“Well, that certainly explains a great deal. Mary’s unrest this morning, my husband’s ill temper, your absence from dinner and the exchange between Mary and yourself in the hall,” Elizabeth replied in low tones, her eyes downcast. “Tell me Richard, do you truly love Mary?”

Fitzwilliam abruptly quit his pacing, turning towards Elizabeth with a look of disbelief.
He did not recall speaking of his affection for Miss Farthington, having endeavored to avoid the subject if possible.

“Do not look so surprised, Fitzwilliam,” Elizabeth answered his questioning look, rising from her chair and regarding him with a warm smile as she walked towards him. “I had an inkling that there may be some sort of attachment growing between the both of you. However, it was not until this evening that I was assured of your feelings regarding Mary.”

“Have I been that transparent?” Fitzwilliam smiled ruefully. “I must say that I am heartily disappointed in myself. My years of military training have not served me well in the art of subterfuge.”

Elizabeth smiled broadly at this declaration, before taking her cousin by the hand and leading him towards a couch.

“Your face betrays it all, cousin. But, take heart and rest assured that your skills as a soldier in the King’s army are not in question. I am sure that you can conceal matters of state well enough, but matters of the heart are all together different. They have a way of making a man not quite himself,” Elizabeth smiled sweetly, as if recalling some pleasant memory before continuing. “Richard, I confess I am somewhat surprised for I cannot recall when I last saw you so smitten with any lady, and this after spending three seasons with you in London.”

Fitzwilliam regarded Elizabeth thoughtfully for a moment. He had missed his conversations with her during his long absence. Elizabeth had an easy and open way about her that made him feel instantly at ease. He remembered their first conversations at Rosings with fondness. Then he had felt like he had found a kindred spirit with whom he could let down his guard and be at peace. He had fancied himself in love and had spent the next five years chastising himself for not acting on his feelings and securing her hand before his cousin ever thought to. Now he knew better than to dwell on the past and curse his inaction. If he had been bolder then, less concerned with the good opinion of the ton and securing a comfortable life, he would not have had the chance to meet Mary.

“Yes, I suppose it is rather surprising. My heart may have not been easily touched in the past,” Fitzwilliam sighed deeply. “May I speak candidly with you, Elizabeth?”

“Yes, of course, Richard, you know that,” Elizabeth replied with a gentle smile.

“I have not been a happy man for quite some time. I will not go into all the details now, but until I rode into Pemberley a fortnight ago, I had not known such happiness or such heartache as I do now. I had thought that joy and I would forever be estranged from each other until I met Miss Farthington,” Fitzwilliam paused, rising from his seat to stand by the nearly extinguished fire. He tossed another log onto the fire and poked the embers distractedly.

“This may sound foolish, but to even be in her presence brings me such a contentment and peace that I never wish to leave her side,” Fitzwilliam continued before turning to face Elizabeth. “She is truly everything that is lovely and desirable in a woman and although I am sure I do not deserve her affection, I would be the happiest of men is she would consent to be my wife. Neither Darcy’s displeasure nor any supposed familial censure can sway me from that course.”

The serene smile that had graced Elizabeth’s face during Fitzwilliam’s confession was quickly replaced by the pursed lips and furrowed brow of confusion. “Fitzwilliam told you he was against your attachment?”

“Yes, he told me in no uncertain terms that he would not support me in seeking her hand. Darcy thinks that our alliance would be ‘beyond the bounds of reason’ and that I should be wary of aligning myself with a woman whose status is decidedly below my own,” Fitzwilliam repeated his cousin’s condemnation in a tone laced with bitterness and irony.

“No, cousin. That cannot be right. My husband would not say such a thing,” Elizabeth replied, her good humor gone in an instant.

Fitzwilliam sighed, “For your sake and my own, Elizabeth, I wish I were speaking an untruth.”

“I still fail to see why he would say such a thing. He supported Anne’s marriage to Mr. Thackery despite his relative poverty of both income and connections not to mention our own marriage. Unlike Mr. Thackery or myself, Mary does not lack fortune…”

“But she lacks connections, Elizabeth,” Fitzwilliam interrupted wearily. “In this aspect I fear that your husband is of the same mind as Parson Geoffries. Neither of them can see beyond her skin. The daughter of a merchant Darcy could support. Nay, even the daughter of a barkeep would be more palatable to him than the daughter of a slave.”

Elizabeth sank into her chair, disbelief and grief written over her features. Fitzwilliam watched Elizabeth with some concern, desiring to bring his friend some comfort but not knowing what to say. They sat for several moments in silence, each lost in their own thoughts on the subject. Fitzwilliam wondered if it were indeed wise to reveal all to Elizabeth as her mood was markedly altered by his confession.

“Richard,” Elizabeth began, turning to her cousin with an earnest look. “I must confess that I am much grieved by my husband’s opinion on the matter. I know his consent is necessary for you to court and wed Mary, but beyond that, I could not bear to see your friendship suffer for this or to have our family forever divided.”


“Elizabeth, do you mean to tell me that you are against my attachment for the sake of family peace?” Fitzwilliam sighed, his heart sinking at her words. He had thought that in relating all that he might secure Elizabeth as an ally.


“No, Richard. You mistake my meaning. I support you in this, surely I do. However, I cannot bear to witness any bitterness between you and Fitzwilliam. I intend to speak to my husband, plead your case and perhaps help him to see reason.”

“Elizabeth, you cannot begin to understand how happy you have just made me,” Fitzwilliam beamed, kissing his cousin’s hands in thanks.

“There is one other matter that we must discuss before I petition my husband on your behalf,” Elizabeth began once her cousin had released her.

“Yes, of course. Anything, cousin.” Fitzwilliam replied, the smile never leaving his face as he resumed his seat on the couch next to her.

“It is clear that you are very sure of your own heart, but are you sure of Mary’s regard for you? I can believe the sincerity of your declarations, but before we battle the collective will of my husband and your parents, we should be sure that Mary is as much in love with you as you are with her.”

“Mary’s regard?” Fitzwilliam replied with a look of confusion laced with doubt. “I…I am sure that she would receive my attentions with pleasure.”

“Are you very sure, Richard?” Elizabeth replied. “Miss Farthington has known you for a scant few weeks. While I have detected some partiality on her part, I wonder if she has had the time to truly known her own heart. I remember a certain gentleman who being very sure of receiving a positive response to his solicitation ended up very surprised and disheartened at a certain lady’s vehement refusal.”

“Do you speak of that Collins fellow? Darcy told me of his ill fated and comical quest for your hand. Do you mean to compare me to that foolish chap?” Fitzwilliam asked.

“No. I am sure that no one could find any resemblance between the two of you save for you both being men and my cousin,” Elizabeth laughed, her humor returning. “No, I mean to compare you to your esteemed cousin Fitzwilliam Darcy.”

“Darcy!” Fitzwilliam exclaimed. “Do you mean to tell me that he applied for your hand only to be refused?”

“Yes, it is true,” Elizabeth replied with a broad smile. “I am very surprised that Darcy never told you that particular story! However, I suppose a gentleman would be more forthcoming with tales of another man’s folly than with his own. It all took place at Hunsford. Mr. Darcy proposed rather badly and I resolutely turned him down. At the time, I couldn’t have been more surprised or offended by such a proposal while he could not have been more surprised by my vehement refusal.”

“That is a shocking story, indeed,” Fitzwilliam replied shaking his head in disbelief. “However, I can believe my cousin capable of delivering a botched proposal.”

“It was not the manner of the proposal that won my refusal,” Elizabeth continued, regarding her cousin seriously. “Rather, I was offended that he should presume to propose at all. You see, although I knew of Mr. Darcy, I really did not know him as he should have been known. With a little more communication and time, my eyes were opened and I was able to see that he was the very best of men. When he renewed his addresses, I happily accepted them knowing that I truly loved him.”

At the conclusion of her tale, Fitzwilliam appeared to be very out of sorts. While he himself had just this morning named the feeling that was growing within his breast upon first meeting Miss Farthington, he had assumed that the lady joined him in a mutual regard. The thought of Mary disliking him or even being indifferent troubled him greatly.

“You think that Miss Farthington would reject my proposal of marriage?”

“I could not say one way or the other, Richard. My advice is only that you allow her every opportunity of knowing you better. She will know her own heart in time.”

“In time…” Fitzwilliam replied, rising from his seat dejectedly. “Time is one of the things that I do not have mastery over.”

A short silence settled between them as Fitzwilliam ruminated over all that had passed between them. He rubbed his eyes tiredly, the fatigue of the evening catching up with him. Elizabeth’s support had given him cause to hope again. Yet, those hopes were now threatened by doubt.

“Richard, I have an idea,” Elizabeth began. “I have been formulating a plan to have a Twelfth Night ball here at Pemberley. I know we had originally envisioned a quiet holiday, but I thought a ball would be an excellent way to prepare Mary for all of the social events of the season. Several families of note from throughout the area would be invited, including your brother the Viscount and his wife Lady Rebecca. There remain eighteen days between now and Twelfth Night. During that time I will prevail upon my husband and you can be about the business of divining the feelings of Miss Farthington.”

Fitzwilliam readily agreed to Elizabeth’s idea, encouraged by her support despite his growing doubt as to Mary’s regard for him. Elizabeth entreated him to take heart that all will work out for the best. On that note, Fitzwilliam bid his cousin goodnight after escorting her to her chambers and headed toward his own with a lighter spirit.

Elizabeth entered her bedroom chamber with a weary body but a mind too engaged to easily allow her sleep. Her spirits were very much disturbed by what Richard had related to her. While she was surprised to learn the depths of her cousin’s feelings for her charge, she was more surprised by her husband’s vehement opposition to such a union. She had never known Fitzwilliam and Richard to be in such disagreement and while the familial strife vexed her greatly, she was more saddened over the reason for the discord rather than the discord itself.

Five years into their marriage, Elizabeth had grown to believe her husband was truly the best of men. While they had their occasional spirited disagreements, she knew her husband to be of a fair and temperate mind. All vestiges of undo pride and pretension had long been erased from his character. He was a fair and generous employer and landlord as well as an ardent philanthropist. He supported a variety of charities and causes from abolition to homes for the rescue of wayward girls even when the support of such causes was not popular in their social circle. Yes, he was the very best of men in all these areas. Elizabeth never had cause to be ashamed of or disappointed in her husband until now. For the first time in their marriage she began to doubt if her husband had truly changed from the man who had offended her so at Hunsford.

Laying down her brush, Elizabeth eyed the door adjoining her chamber to that of her husband with some trepidation. As always, the door was unlocked. The pair had seldom slept apart save when Mr. Darcy was away on business or she was visiting friends or relations elsewhere. Other than those necessary occasions, she had only locked her door during their bitterest disputes. One such disagreement found them feuding with one another for nearly a week, her door remaining locked the entire time. Their reconciliation had been particularly poignant, with each promising to never let the sun set with their anger still in high tempest. However, this night Elizabeth could not bring herself to speak with her husband; much less share the same bed with him. With a sigh, Elizabeth rose from her seat and firmly locked the door.

Chapter 7

Posted on Sunday, 15 October 2006

Overnight Pemberley was transformed from a quiet estate into a storm of frenzied yet orderly activity. With little more than two weeks before Elizabeth’s grand Twelfth Night celebration, hardly anyone in the house was permitted to do anything other than prepare for the festivities. The guest list needed to be compiled, invitations sent out, menus planned, guest rooms prepared, seating arrangements calculated on top of countless other tasks. Darcy and Fitzwilliam were allowed to be excused from the fray, their input on appropriate guests being the only duty required of them. While Mary desired to be part of the planning for such a special event, as the guest of honor she was forbidden from lifting a finger. Elizabeth was surprised to find Georgiana as her willing assistant. Georgiana had never been very enthusiastic about planning such elaborate parties, much less one on such short notice. She had always seemed to prefer quieter affairs whose guests were limited to a circle of intimate family friends. However, Georgiana was determined to do her utmost to make this Twelfth Night celebration the best that Pemberley had seen in years.

Colonel Fitzwilliam took full advantage of being exempted from the house party preparations, spending most of his time in the company of Mary and young William. When he discovered that Mary had never been ice skating, he took it upon himself to be her teacher. For her part, Mary could not fathom why one would willingly strap blades to one’s feet and scoot about on a sheet of ice for merriment. She infinitely preferred an un-bruised bottom and a cup of hot cocoa to that sort of reckless amusement. However, Fitzwilliam proved to be a rather persistent and persuasive advocate of the sport. He employed all of his rhetorical skills and the gentle persuasions of a lover to coax Mary out of the warmth of Pemberley’s halls and onto the frozen lake. Much to his chagrin, his most powerful and successful tactic proved not to be his wooing, but the doe eyed pleading of little William. Mary could not long prove resistant when such youthful exuberance was before her.

So, Mary found herself wrapped in blankets and furs riding in an open carriage with Fitzwilliam, young master William, Georgiana and her maid as companions. Another carriage followed behind them with a few more servants who brought hot cocoa and treats.

“Come Miss Mary,” Fitzwilliam coaxed, “you’ll never learn how to skate properly if you never get out of the carriage.”

“I still cannot believe you convinced me to come out here, Richard,” Mary grumbled in a voice loud enough for only Fitzwilliam to hear.

Fitzwilliam smiled before whispering conspiratorially, “This is the first time I have seen you pout so dramatically, Mary. I must admit that I find it rather charming.”

Mary’s pout only increased at this pronouncement, causing Fitzwilliam to laugh in earnest.

“You would not want to disappoint little William, would you?” Fitzwilliam replied, deciding to change his tactics. “He has been waiting for so long to show his Princess his skills on the ice.”

Mary looked over to where William was standing on the ice with Georgiana, his skates already strapped on and a bright expectant look on his face. Mary bit her lip. She could not disappoint her Little Bits. When she had finally agreed to learn to ice skate, he had spoken of nothing else for three days straight. Mary turned to look at Fitzwilliam. He was grinning at her most impudently, one eyebrow arched high in a manner that could make Mary agree to almost anything.

Mary sighed dramatically, “You must promise me that you will not let me fall, Richard. If I should bruise my bottom, I will never forgive you.”

Fitzwilliam’s smile grew as he handed Mary down. Once she was on solid ground, he bowed deeply over her gloved hand and whispered saucily.

“I promise that I will do my best so that your bottom remains unbruised. I shall guard it with my life.”

Mary gasped at Fitzwilliam’s bold remark, which only caused Fitzwilliam to smile in satisfaction. He took great delight in shocking Mary’s sensibilities, especially as their courtship was still unofficial. He had yet to speak to Mr. Darcy of his intentions towards her and had asked her to withhold telling the news to others until he had spoken with her guardian. Mary wondered at the necessity for such secrecy, but agreed to the scheme nonetheless.

Mary’s maid assisted her in strapping on her skates and within minutes Mary found herself clutching to Fitzwilliam’s arm with all of her strength. Fitzwilliam chuckled and spoke reassuring words to her as they slowly made their way out onto the ice. Mary held her breath as their pace increased from a slow shuffle to a glide.

“There, Miss Mary. You have not fallen and are doing quite well.” Fitzwilliam announced once they were well out onto the ice.

“Yes,” Georgiana concurred as she skated towards them with little William in tow. “You will soon discover that skating can be great fun. We’ll have you skating as if you were born with skates attached to your feet come Twelfth Night.”

“I will be more than satisfied with merely remaining upright,” Mary replied with a smile before being distracted by an urgent tugging at her skirt.

“Yes, Sir Little Bits?”

“May I do my tricks for you, Princess Mary?” little William pleaded, a huge smile stretching from one rosy cheek to another as he looked up to her with wide eyes.

“Why, you have never offered to show your Aunt Georgiana or I these tricks, Master William.” Fitzwilliam replied, attempting to sound offended.

“You can watch too, Uncle Richard. I will show you how to do tricks for Mary!”

Mary laughed as she watched little William hurriedly skate out farther onto the ice in preparation for his tricks.

“Sir Little Bits?” Fitzwilliam questioned with a look of amusement.

“Well, William was quite insistent that every knight aught to have a proper name given to him by his lady and that Sir William would not suffice. So, I dubbed him Sir Little Bits, which was surprisingly met with much satisfaction on his part.”

Fitzwilliam and Georgiana chuckled in reply before their attention was called away by William’s cries that his tricks were about to begin. Mary made sure to clap and cheer loudly after William skated backwards, twirled about in a lopsided circle and performed a few simple jumps. Little William beamed with pride before skating back towards Mary and taking her hand to lead her out on the ice. Fitzwilliam relinquished her other arm and watched bemusedly as a nervous Mary skated with only Sir Little Bits for guidance.

“Miss Darcy?” Fitzwilliam queried, turning his gaze from Mary to his cousin as he offered her his arm.

Georgiana took his arm with gratitude before setting off at a slow pace.

“I am happy to have this opportunity to talk with you,” Georgiana began. “I have had little opportunity to chat with you since you arrived.”

“Yes,” Richard replied, as he slowly turned from observing Mary and William to focus on his cousin. “It would appear that much has changed since I was last at Pemberley. William has become quite the little gentleman and you have a new friend in Miss Mary.”

“Yes,” Georgiana replied with a faint smile. “Mary and I have become fast friends. I am quite happy she has come to Pemberley. It is very nice having someone closer to my age with whom to converse.”

“Yes, Miss Farthington is quite delightful. William is quite taken with her as well. One can hardly blame him for being so besotted with one so charming and pretty.” Fitzwilliam replied wistfully as he returned his attention to Mary and William.

The pair skated for a few minutes, chatting disjointedly about Fitzwilliam’s tour in America and time in the West Indies and about Georgiana’s first season in London. Georgiana found herself growing more annoyed by her cousin’s inattentiveness as the conversation wore on. His eyes were frequently fixed on Mary and his replies to her queries were short and rather perfunctory in comparison with their usual ease of conversation. The needling worry that had plagued Georgiana since finding Fitzwilliam and Mary in a somewhat compromising position a few days before now gained strength as she observed her cousin’s countenance.

“No,” Georgiana thought to herself. “He cannot have serious designs on Mary, I am sure. Fitzwilliam has always been amiable and given to admire anyone of his acquaintance. Yes, his interest is merely friendly. I am sure of it.”

Having thus rationalized her suspicions away, Georgiana endeavored to be more lenient toward her cousin. Just as she turned toward him to enquire after her Aunt Josephine, her cousin came to an abrupt stop, causing Georgiana to momentarily loose her footing.

“Cousin, whatever is the matter?” Georgiana cried out as she regained her equilibrium.
Georgiana looked up to find that her cousin had already left her side and was skating with great haste toward Mary who was in danger of taking a rather nasty spill on the ice. Fitzwilliam managed to skate to her aide just in time to catch her as her efforts at remaining upright had failed.

Concern for her friend overcame Georgiana’s annoyance at her cousin’s abandonment. She skated toward them enquiring after Mary’s safety.

“I am quite alright now, Georgiana.” Mary smiled at her warmly. “Just as I was beginning to think I had gotten the hang of things, I found myself in danger of landing on my bottom! Well, at least I hope I would have landed on my bottom.”

“Well, as you say, you are quite safe now.” Fitzwilliam smiled down at her before blushing slightly. Fitzwilliam had forgotten to relinquish his hold of her and still held her protectively in his arms. He apologized briefly before setting her upright and offering his arm.

“If you do not mind, Sir Little Bits, I shall take over escorting the Princess.” Fitzwilliam saluted William, dismissing him from his duties.

William returned the salute before offering his services to his Aunt Georgiana. She gladly accepted his hand and resumed her turn about the lake. Once the pair was some distance away, Fitzwilliam leaned over to whisper in Mary’s ear.

“Did I not promise to guard your bottom with my life?”

Mary bit back a smile and attempted to look at him disapprovingly. Fitzwilliam grinned in satisfaction, his blue eyes twinkling with mischief.

They skated for most of the afternoon, Mary rarely relinquishing her hold on Fitzwilliam’s arm after her near fall. She found that she grew to like ice skating, despite her earlier disparaging comments on the sport. While she was not a true proficient, Mary managed to loose her footing only twice more. True to his word, Fitzwilliam was there to catch her both times.

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Having bathed and dressed rather quickly, Mary found herself in the pleasant position of having a nearly an hour to herself before dinner. Taking advantage of the solitude, Mary retrieved her journal from her trunk and made her way towards the solarium. She was accustomed to writing in her journal on the beach in New Sussex, the gentle sound of the waves inducing her to dream and write freely. The sea had indeed been her muse and companion. How she missed it! However, Mary found that Pemberley’s library was an adequate spot to do her journaling. While there were no waves to calm her spirits and stir her imagination, there was always a large fire to warm her and comfortable chairs in which to curl-up.

Mary perched on one such chair and opened her journal. She had but a few pages left in the well worn leather book. As she searched to find an unused page, she could not help but pause and read her entries from the past few years and admire her sketches and drawings. Her fingers stilled over a charcoal drawing of her father. She had drawn the picture a few days before he had fallen ill to the disease that would eventually claim his life. She smiled down at the picture. She had drawn it as they sat together by their favorite rock on the beach. He had just returned from one of his long trips to America where he had spoken on the abolitionist cause to sympathetic audiences in the North. As was their habit, they had taken a long stroll along the beach to get reacquainted with one another. During their walk, Mary had begun to notice that his steps were a little slower than before and that he leaned on his walking stick often. She had commented on his slow steps only for him to reassure her that he was indeed well, just a little more fatigued from his journey than he had thought. However, the following morning confirmed Mary’s fears. A fever had come upon him in the wee hours of the morning, sending the house into a frenzy. The doctor was sent for and had managed to break the fever easily. Despite the alarming nature of the fever, the doctor had assured Mary that her father would recover with a few days bed rest. He had a stout constitution and was very fit for a man of three and fifty. The doctor assured her that a trifling cold would not bring such a man down. Lord Farthington had been optimistic as well, even to the point of ignoring the doctor’s orders and escaping his chambers to join Mary on her evening walks. He would not listen to Mary’s protests, claiming that the exercise made him feel better.

However, Lord Farthington had been gravely mistaken. A few days later he could not even be roused out of bed. The doctor had little hope for her father’s recovery, finding that he had consumption. Mary knew that this was a death sentence and decided to devote all of her energy to her father’s comfort and care. She had her father’s bed moved towards the balcony so that he could look out over the ocean and all of the windows to his quarters thrown open so that he could breathe fresh air. During the last two weeks of his life, Mary hardly slept in her own room, preferring the settee in her father’s chambers when she wanted for rest and spending most of her time in an armchair by his bed. At night she would sing him to sleep and during the day she would read to him from Paradise Lost or simply sit and hold his hand.

The night he died he was struck with a persistent and violent fever, which Mary toiled tirelessly to break. After hours of his restless tossing and moaning, her father had lay surprisingly still, exhaustion providing him some semblance of sleep. Ignoring the pleas of her governess and the head maid, Mary decided to keep watch over her father, unwilling to leave his side for a moment.

Mary awoke late the next morning in her own bed, confused and disoriented. In a panic, she quit her bed and ran to her father’s room. The house that morning was strangely silent. Gathered before her father’s door in a somber mood was the doctor, the head maid and her governess. Ignoring their pleas for her to stay without, Mary pushed past them and into her father’s room. She would never forget the feeling of anguish that overcame her at the sight of her father’s body. He had passed in the night alone and without her comfort. Her sorrow was too deep for words or tears. Mary felt bruised and too weak to stand. She was grateful for the presence of the doctor behind her when she sank to the ground insensible to all around her.

Mary set aside her journal, the task of writing another entry completely forgotten as her eyes filled with tears. Mary did not know how many minutes she sat lost to her tears before she heard her name being called.

“Mary? What has happened? Are you ill?” Darcy asked as he picked up the journal and took a seat beside Mary. Looking at the open page, he soon guessed the cause of her tears.

“Ah, you are missing your father, are you not?”

Mary nodded in response, wiping the tears from her cheeks with her bare hands. Darcy handed her his handkerchief and silently watched as she sought to regain her composure.

“My own excellent father died around this time of year. I too often think on him as Christmas draws near.”

“I am sorry.” Mary offered as she returned his handkerchief to him. “Was it very long ago?”

“It will be eight years this January. Long enough for the wounds to heal. However, one never forgets those who are dear to you.”

“Yes, one never does. Sometimes I can go several days without thinking on his passing, while other days the simplest thing will remind me of him.”

“I can tell you this, Mary. The mourning does get easier. Wounds begin to heal with time and one can begin to think on the loved one that has been lost with fondness absent of tears. Yet the wounds never fully heal. It is only natural that you should think on your father. With his passing you have also lost a small bit of yourself.”

Mary smiled sadly, turning her gaze from Darcy to look towards the fire. “I wonder how preparations for Christmas are coming on New Sussex,” Mary offered in an attempt to change the topic of conversation. “It was always such a festive time on the island! Father always made sure to be home during Christmastide and it was always a time of joy.”

Darcy regarded her thoughtfully. “While I fully realize that Christmas here at Pemberley can never be the same as it was at your home, I do hope that you can find some joy with us here this season. We are certainly happy to have you here to share it with us.” Darcy smiled warmly at Mary before rising and offering her his arm to escort her to dinner. Mary returned his smile, and taking the offered arm made her way out of the library and down to dinner.

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The next morning found Pemberley a buzz with activity in preparation for the next days’ Christmas Eve festivities. Servants busied themselves in nearly every room of Pemberley hanging greenery and decorations while the kitchen staff was busily preparing for tomorrow’s Servant’s Ball. Mary, Georgiana and Elizabeth were busily employed in the wrapping of presents for all the servants and their children, a momentous task that lasted them well into the afternoon.

The ladies found their time together to be most agreeable, as it was a day spent mostly to themselves. Mr. Darcy was engaged with estate business for most of the morning and late afternoon. Fitzwilliam chose to spend his day exclusively in the company of his young cousin. After the morning lessons were done, he spirited the young lad outside to engage in some winter sport. The pair planned to spend their afternoon ice skating to be followed by a delicious repast of hot chocolate and cake.

Fitzwilliam laughed gaily as he watched his little cousin perform a simple jump and twirl about the ice, unabashed joy written all over his rosy cheeks. He could not recall a time when he had so much pleasure on the ice, save for his time teaching Miss Mary how to skate. That had been a pleasant time indeed. A skating lesson was an excellent excuse to be near her, her timidity at the new sport causing her to cling to his side for support. He remembered her grumblings and dramatic pouting with amusement, especially given her delight at the sport by the end of the afternoon.

The sound of cracking ice abruptly drew him out of his reverie and reminded him of the task at hand.

“William! William!” Fitzwilliam called as he scanned the ice in a panic. His little cousin was no where to be found. Fitzwilliam’s eyes grew wide as he spied the cause of the sound that had alerted him. A large crack and hole in the ice had appeared on the lake.

Fitzwilliam’s heart sank into his gut as he realized what had happened. Shouting for the aide of the servants that had accompanied them, Fitzwilliam sprinted toward the hole in the ice. Upon reaching the edge, he quickly pulled off his skates, shoes and great coat before leaping into the frigid waters in search of his cousin. The shock of the cold water hitting his skin as he drove in was great, yet his fear for the life of little William dulled his sensation. He swam deeper and deeper finding no sign of his cousin. The dimness of the light under the ice rendered his search difficult and he began to despair of finding his young charge. Just as he thought his lungs would burst from the lack of oxygen, he spotted William floating lifelessly a few feet away from him. Fitzwilliam swam toward him, clutching the young child to his chest before kicking his way to the surface.

With a great gasp, Fitzwilliam surfaced with young William tight in his grasp. Suddenly, many hands were upon them, pulling William and himself out of the water and hurrying them towards the bank of the lake where they were shrouded in blankets. Fitzwilliam hurried to William’s side. The young boy lay motionless, his face a shade of pale blue against the white blankets. Acting quickly, Fitzwilliam turned the boy on his back, tilting back his head and placing his mouth over the boy’s forcing air into his lungs while alternatively applying light pressure to his torso. After a few moments, the boy began to cough. Fitzwilliam turned William onto his side while striking his back to help him expel the water he had taken in. Fitzwilliam’s elation that William had begun to breathe again was soon dampened by the realization that he had not regained consciousness. Swaddling the boy in more blankets, Fitzwilliam barked out orders to the servants and ordered a horse to be brought to him. Troubled by the lightness of his small burden, he hurried in stocking feet through the snow toward the horse that had been brought to him and raced towards Pemberley.

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As the ladies of Pemberley finished up the last of their wrapping, a great commotion drew their attention. A flustered maid soon burst into the drawing room startling all with her announcement.

“Ma’am, there has been an accident with Master William. Colonel Fitzwilliam is bringing him inside this instant. You are needed at once.”

Her task forgotten and her face growing pale, Elizabeth leapt from her seat and quickly followed the maid. Mary and Georgiana followed, both dreading what they would find. They all ran towards the main stairwell to see a greatly disheveled Fitzwilliam at the base of the steps clutching an unconscious William to his chest. Elizabeth let out a cry of her son’s name before racing down the stairs to meet Fitzwilliam.

“We were skating and he fell through the ice,” Fitzwilliam explained breathlessly as he handed his precious burden to Elizabeth.

“My son,” Elizabeth chocked out as she nuzzled her son’s cheek with her own. “He is oh so cold. We must get him warm.” Elizabeth began to run back up the stairs and toward her son’s rooms, shouting for Mrs. Reynolds and for the doctor to be summoned at once. Georgiana followed in her wake, tears already streaming down her face.

Mary made to follow after them, until saw the state Fitzwilliam was in. His hair and clothes were quite wet and he was in quite a state of undress, wearing only his shirtsleeves and waistcoat. His feet were devoid of shoes and covered only in wet stockings. His skin was deathly pale and he trembled as he mounted the stairs. Mary flew to him, throwing her arms about him once he reached the top of the stairs. In their panic over William, the servants had followed Elizabeth and Georgiana, leaving Fitzwilliam unattended and forgotten.

“The fault is mine, Mary. If I had only been by his side,” Fitzwilliam mumbled as he buried his face in her hair.

“No, Richard. You mustn’t blame yourself,” Mary soothed as she cupped his face in her hands and brought him round to face her. “You were there to save him. All will be well, Richard.”

Fitzwilliam wrapped his arms around her, drawing Mary towards him. Mary began to be afraid as she felt the dampness of his clothes and the coldness of his skin against her own. A shiver ran through Fitzwilliam’s body so strongly that Mary could feel it in her own.

“Come, we must get you out of these clothes and warm. You will catch your death in this state.”

“I must see after William. I will be fine,” Fitzwilliam replied as he released her and began to make his way towards William’s rooms.

After a few steps, he began to sway precariously and had to place a hand on the wall to steady himself. Mary resumed her place at his side, draping his arm over her shoulder and assisting him to his rooms. Fitzwilliam leaned heavily upon her, feeling his tiredness keenly as the adrenaline that propelled him began to diminish. Mary helped Fitzwilliam into his room, heedless of all notions of propriety as she helped him to his bed. Leaving his side for but a moment, Mary rang for his valet. Mary was soon back at his side, working determinedly as Fitzwilliam’s strength waned. Silently, she removed his wet stockings before moving to remove his waistcoat and shirt. Fitzwilliam made to stop her, grasping her hands as she reached for his cravat.

“We must get your warm, Richard.” Mary replied as she suppressed a blush. “I’ll leave your breeches to your valet, but until he surfaces I am determined to see to you. I will not have you fall ill.”

At any other time, Mary’s persistence in divesting him of clothing would have amused him greatly, but observing the sincere worry in her eyes and acknowledging the tremors and weakness of his own body, Fitzwilliam acquiesced. As his drowsiness became too much to fight off, the searing heat of her hands upon the bare skin of his chest was the last thing he felt before darkness overcame him.

For her part, Mary was momentarily distracted by the sight of Richard’s masculine figure as she worked, but the coldness of his skin soon abused her of all notions of maidenly reserve. She had just thrown a blanket over his sleeping form when his valet finally arrived. If the older gentleman was shocked by the presence of a young lady in his master’s bedroom, he did not betray those feelings. Mary instructed the valet to see that the fire was restored and his master was made as warm and dry as possible before quickly leaving the room.

Once outside, Mary leaned heavily on the door and breathed deeply. She fought the urge to return to Fitzwilliam’s side. She knew she did not have the right to be by his side, but she wished she could be there all the same. In deed, his appearance had shaken her deeply, more deeply than she imagined it would. Images of another man she cared for that had been taken from her too soon came unbidden to her mind. Mary said a silent prayer before hurrying toward William’s room.

Her tears spent, Georgiana lay upon her bed staring uncomprehendingly at the lace canopy. Georgina wished that she could undo what she had witnessed in the hall that mid-morning. However, the image of her friend slinking away from her cousin Richard’s bedchamber in naught but her chemise proved too potent to be imagined away. Georgiana suspected that she had caught Mary leaving from some sort of assignation with Richard. However hard Georgiana tried, she could develop no other explanation for Mary being alone in Richard’s room so improperly dressed.

Yet Georgiana did not want to think so meanly of her friend or her cousin. She knew Mary and understood her character. Richard was her guardian and had always conducted himself with propriety and decorum. Surely nothing too improper had occurred between them. Georgiana concluded that there had to be some sort of understanding between the two. The scene she had witnessed in addition to the other instances of displayed sentiments that Georgiana had noticed only served to turn what she had thought to be paranoia and mere suspicion to irrefutable fact; Richard’s heart was out of her reach.

Richard had always been a favorite of Georgiana’s. When they were children, she looked forward to his visits above that of any other relative. While Fitzwilliam was always a kind and solicitous brother, Richard had been the only one who ever really listened to Georgiana. She felt as if she could tell him everything, no matter how trivial or silly. He would even oblige her in attending her tea parties. Richard was always mindful to conduct himself with the manners befitting a formal tea; never once did he spill his tea or send Georgiana into hysterics by sneaking a frog into the teapot like George sometimes did. After their father passed away and Fitzwilliam changed from brother figure to that of a father, it was Richard who became her source of constancy. He remained her confidante and the one who could always make her smile or laugh at herself, even at her lowest moments.

Following the affair at Ramsgate, Georgiana began to appreciate these qualities of her cousin even more. She had never felt such shame or degradation as when Wickham’s true nature was revealed to her and she began to see the disastrous consequences of her foolhardy actions. Even more so than the possible scorn she would face from society, Georgiana feared losing the love and good opinion of her brother Fitzwilliam and the affection of her cousin. Despite her fears, Fitzwilliam never lost his love for his sister, becoming even more solicitous and attentive than before. However, when Georgiana looked at her brother, she could not help but be reminded of the worry and shame she had brought him by her foolish actions. During Richard’s visits she could somehow forget her heartache and shame.

When Richard was sent away to the Americas when the war broke out, Georgiana thought her heart would break again due to her longing for him. Two long years he had been away. During that time Georgiana had grown and matured, leaving behind her girlish ways to become a woman. With the support of Elizabeth and her aunt, Lady Fitzwilliam, she had been presented at court and thrived during her first season. She was admired and sought after by some of the most eligible bachelors of the ton. However, none of them, even the wealthiest and most titled of her suitors could fill the space Richard had long occupied in her heart. Her brother and sister could not understand why she refused her first offers of marriage and courtship. Georgiana did not think that they would be able to understand that she was saving herself in the hope that Richard would return and offer for her.

Georgiana now thought herself a fool of the highest order. All of her hopes and dreams had been for naught. Instead of returning from the war and asking for her hand, Richard was wooing one whom Georgian had thought of as a dear friend. Georgiana knew not with whom she should be more angry: herself for believing that Richard had loved her as more than a little sister or Mary for capturing his affections in her stead.

***********************************

As the Darcy family Christmas Eve celebrations were put on hold due to the illness of both Colonel Fitzwilliam and young master William, the family of Pemberley resumed their celebrations on the evening of Christmas. Dr. Roberts pronounced Col. Fitzwilliam well enough to join the family for the evening repast, provided that he was kept warm and bundled. Declining the family’s invitation to join their Christmas celebrations, Dr. Roberts left them to rejoin his family in Lambton for what was left of the Christmas season. Mr. Darcy ensured that the doctor was paid handsomely for his services and sent him home with an assortment of rich foodstuffs as an offering of thanks to his wife for sacrificing her husband to them during the holiday.

The Christmas meal was a festive time for the entire household. Everyone dressed with particular care, including young William who looked forward to the opportunity of joining the adults at the evening meal and being allowed to stay awake well past his normal bedtime. April attended to her mistress with a particular sense of glee that evening as she was given free reign to make Mary as pretty as she desired. Comfortable with transitioning from her mourning attire, Mary was easily persuaded to retire her grey and black gowns for the lovely green gown that April had laid out for her, as well as a becoming necklace with an emerald pendant. April adorned her locs with gold pins, leaving a few of the thin dark ropes to hang about her face. Mary could not help but smile at the pleasing picture reflected in the mirror once April’s work was complete. She wondered if Richard would be pleased as well.

As the dinner hour struck, Mary left her chambers to make her way towards the dining room. As was her custom, Mary first went to Georgiana’s room so that they could make their way down together. After waiting for several minutes, Mary became concerned that they would be late for dinner, which would not do. Mary knocked lightly on Georgiana’s door and was surprised when Georgiana’s maid answered and informed her that Georgiana had already departed. Mary wondered at this, as they had always gone down to dinner together. Resolving to worry about it no more, Mary made her way down to the dining room alone. Perhaps Georgiana had just been anxious to meet the family for the Christmas dinner. Mary was certainly anxious to meet one particular gentleman again.

Mary entered the sitting room to find that the entire family had already gathered for the Christmas meal. Everyone looked well in their holiday attire; even little William was taking extra care to behave as a proper gentleman in his fancy coat. Mary spied Georgiana sitting off to the side of the family and made to smile at her friend in greeting. She looked lovely in her pale blue gown. Mary was astonished to find that her friendly smile was not returned. Upon seeing her, Georgiana paled slightly before casting her eyes down towards her lap. Mary’s thoughts on this strange behavior was interrupted by Mr. Darcy’s greeting.

“Wonderful, we are all assembled,” Darcy stated as he moved towards her. He gave Mary a brotherly kiss on the cheek, pronouncing her to be the picture of loveliness. Mary’s cheeks grew warm at this unexpected display, and she cast her eyes downward in embarrassment.

“I find myself in complete agreement,” the Colonel offered as he walked over to join them. “I am sure that I have never seen three lovelier ladies in all of England!” His eyes rested on Mary alone as he said this, a disarming smile on his face.

Mary met the Colonel’s gaze with a warm smile of her own, heat diffusing her cheeks once again. For one that had recently been so ill, Fitzwilliam was in remarkably good looks. Mary had thought that she was not the sort of girl to have her head turned by a red coat, but she could not help but look on Fitzwilliam in his regimentals with admiration. She had never seen a man who looked more handsome.

Mary had not realized she had been staring until she was called to her self by Elizabeth’s discrete cough. Elizabeth suppressed a grin at Mary’s startled reaction before pronouncing that they all retire to dinner. Little William offered his mother his arm, which she laughingly accepted, grasping his little hand in hers. Finding himself supplanted by a younger man, Darcy offered his arm to Georgiana. This left Fitzwilliam with the happy task of offering his arm to Mary, which was accepted with great pleasure.

Darcy watched the scene with some anxiety, noticing the look of happiness on the face of Mary as she placed a gloved hand on the Colonel’s arm, which was affectionately covered by his own hand. Fitzwilliam, who had not ceased staring at Mary like some moonstruck fob since she entered the room, looked down upon her with a look of satisfaction and contentment that unnerved Darcy. As he escorted his sister to dinner, Darcy resolved to pay particular attention to the pair during the course of the evening’s events.

********************************

Colonel Fitzwilliam was pleased to be seated next to Miss Farthington during dinner. She looked particularly well in a fetching green gown with a pleasingly low cut neckline. Fitzwilliam found it particularly difficult during dinner to keep his eyes from slowly venturing towards the décolletage of his dinner mate given the events of that morning. Luckily, Mary seemed to be unaware of his attentions to that particular region of her figure. In order to help cool his ardor, he made sure to engage his young cousins in conversation. Georgiana was unusually quiet during the meal, answering Fitzwilliam’s attempts at conversation in noncommittal phrases. When it was clear that conversation on that score would be fruitless, he turned to chat with William, who sat across from him between his mother and aunt. His wee cousin looked particularly well, as if recent dour events had never occurred. The Colonel took great delight in causing the young boy to dissolve into giggles by sharing colorful stories of his and Darcy’s boyhood.

However, his greatest delight came from conversing with the young lady beside him. When he did not have the good fortune of monopolizing her attentions, he watched her as she conversed with others, committing every turn of her face to memory. He looked forward to the day when he had a superior claim to her looks and smiles. Fitzwilliam would have regarded the meal as perfectly enjoyable but for Georgiana’s silence and the dark looks sent him by his cousin Darcy. Fitzwilliam did not wonder at the meaning of these, although it did serve to damper his hopes that Elizabeth had succeeded in altering Darcy’s opinion on his suit.

After the meal, the entire family retired to the drawing room for more celebrations. The room was decorated in greenery and red ribbons, with a large Yule log burning in the fireplace. Despite the recent events that caused the celebrations to be put on hold, Mrs. Reynolds had been adamant about having the Yule log lit on Christmas Eve as tradition required. As was the custom, the festivities began with the reading of the Christmas story by Darcy. He sat in a large chair with the family Bible and a well-bundled William in his lap. The others gathered on various couches to listen. Fitzwilliam was sure to secure a seat beside Mary for the telling, who dotingly covered his legs with a warm throw.

Following the Christmas story, the family exchanged gifts. Little William looked forward to this portion of the festivities most of all. His eyes grew as wide as saucers as he began to unwrap the small pile of presents that was set before him. The full extent of his mirth was unleashed as he unwrapped a smart wooden shield painted in bright colors of orange and red along with a toy sword. William launched himself into his father’s arms repeating his most earnest thanks as he hugged him tightly. Darcy returned the boys embrace while laughing cheerfully. While he strove to impart to his son the importance of maintaining a gentlemanly comportment, Darcy could not help but be amused at his son’s unsuppressed joy. Elizabeth laughed at the sight, and bent low to receive her kiss of thanks as well.

“We felt that no knight could be without his sword and shield,” Elizabeth explained as she ruffled her son’s dark curls, “How else are you to protect your kingdom from dragons and fell beasts?”

To accompany his sword and shield, his cousin Fitzwilliam presented young William with his own mount. Well, to be more precise, it was merely a stick horse, but from William’s delight in the object, it was clear that the young boy would not quibble over such a distinction.

“Now, all that remains is for you to be knighted by your Queen,” Mr. Darcy announced, to the amusement of all. Mary watched with delight as the little boy knelt before his mother to be knighted with the wooden sword. Upon officially being dubbed Sir Little Bits of Pemberley, William leapt from his position on the floor to claim his knightly accoutrements and to begin his duty. As William rode his horse about the sitting room, the other members of the household exchanged gifts among themselves.

Mary sat and wistfully watched the scene unfold before her. In all of the excitement and anxiety of the past few days she did not have much time to think upon the import of the season. This was her first Christmas without her father. Those celebrations spent with him had not been so different from this celebration. She would share a meal with her father, one that she had cooked with her own hands once she was old enough, as the servants were all given the day off to spend with their own families. As cooking was not an activity she was often privy to, the meals were simple, yet hearty. A roasted chicken with vegetables and fresh bread followed by a pie was the extent of their meal. Afterwards they would sing carols together and exchange simple gifts by the fire. While Lord Farthington possessed great wealth, he was careful not to spoil his daughter with an abundance of fine gifts.

The gifts Mary received this year were very fine. Elizabeth and Mr. Darcy gifted her with a new ruby broach and ear fobs as well as a fine set of drawing papers and charcoals. Having noted her drawings in her journal, Mr. Darcy thought she might like to develop her skills with a drawing master once they returned to London. Mary accepted these gifts with great delight. Her own gifts to her guardians were simple in comparison. To Elizabeth, Mary gave a comb inlaid with mother of pearl that she had found in a shop in Lambton. To Mr. Darcy, Mary gave a leather bound book set on the Napoleonic wars. These gifts were received with great delight as neither had expected to receive any gifts from their charge.

Georgiana quietly presented Mary with her present of silk bookmarkers. Mary was delighted with the gift as it was just what she needed. Her thanks were accepted coolly, her tight hug of gratitude unreturned. Mary knew not what to make of this. Her gift of music to Georgiana was accepted with equal coolness. Mary continued to be confused by the behavior of her friend and resolved to discover the cause of her peculiar behavior as soon as they had a moment alone.

Mary’s contemplations on Georgiana’s behavior were interrupted by Colonel Fitzwilliam’s quiet approach. Mary greeted his interruption with a warm smile. She observed that both of his hands were held behind his back and he wore a sly grin.

“Can you guess what I have hidden behind my back, princess?” he queried once he reached her.

“A gift for me, perhaps?” Mary answered, answering his grin with one of her own.

“I marvel at your perceptiveness,” he replied laughingly as he brought a small wrapped box from behind his back. He gave the room a quick cursory glance to ensure they were not being observed before holding the box out to her. As she reached out to accept it, Fitzwilliam caught her hand and pulled her closer to him. “I would ask one favor of you, Mary,” he whispered to her, “I would that you refrain from opening this small token until we meet tonight in the solarium a quarter hour after all have retired. Say that you will meet me?”

Mary bit her lip before nodding her agreement. This was met with a wide smile on Fitzwilliam’s part. After maneuvering themselves towards a corner where their conversation would be less observed, Mary presented him with his present, which required no waiting on his part.

“I knew not what to give to you,” Mary began as she handed Fitzwilliam a wrapped parcel. She nearly faltered at the darkened look of passion she saw in his eyes. “However, I could not see your use for baubles or ornamental things. So, I felt that I would give you that which I really desired to give. I hope it is to your liking.”

Fitzwilliam carefully unwrapped the parcel to find a small book of Shakespeare’s sonnets. He noticed that there was a piece of paper jutting out just beyond the pages of the book. He opened the tome and noted where the paper was placed. Fitzwilliam’s heart swelled at the discovery. Closing the tome, Fitzwilliam brought Mary’s hand to his lips and lightly brushed the back of it with a gentle kiss.

“I thank you, Miss Farthington,” Fitzwilliam said loud enough to be overheard. “It is just the gift that I desired.”

Mary smiled warmly before indicating that it would be best to rejoin the others. Elizabeth watched their return with great interest, her joy at the obvious intimacy between the two written on her features. Darcy, however, watched the proceedings with a wary feeling. It was growing more apparent to him that his earlier discussion with his cousin had gone unheeded and that his cousin had taken to wooing Mary under his very door against his wishes. However, what he found even more troubling was Mary’s growing regard for Fitzwilliam. Unlike some women of his acquaintance, her feelings could be plainly read upon her features. All night her features plainly betrayed her deepening infatuation with Fitzwilliam. Darcy knew that if certain steps were not taken soon, the pain he had hoped to shield her from would be unavoidable.

After the exchanging of gifts, the family sang Christmas carols and hymns while partaking of hot-spiced wine and mince meat pies. Georgiana, however, retired soon after the singing began begging fatigue. Elizabeth raised a speculative eyebrow at the pronouncement, exchanging a worried glance with Darcy. Georgiana’s sullen spirits had not gone unnoticed by her sister. Elizabeth made a note to speak with Georgiana at a later time. It was not until late in the evening when the rest of the household made to retire. Little William had long ago fallen asleep in his mother’s lap, one small hand still clutching a half eaten ginger spice cookie. Despite the events that marked the beginning of their yuletide, all felt that it had been a fine Christmas indeed.

************************************

Mary fingered the ribbon of the small gift box as she sat waiting impatiently for the clock to note the time of her intended rendezvous with Fitzwilliam. Excitement and anticipation knotted within her stomach. She was eager to know what was contained within the small box and even more eager to meet with Fitzwilliam in private. She wondered what he had thought of her gift. At first she thought she had been too brazen in her choice of gift. Mary had folded within the pages of the book of poetry a portrait of herself drawn by her own hand. She wondered if Fitzwilliam had realized the import of the sonnet where she had chosen to place her portrait. Looking again at the box she held in her hand, an earnest hope began to grow within her breast as to what the box contained. Mary eyed the clock on her mantle once more. Much to her displeasure, only five minutes had passed by. Oh! How tortuous the final ten minutes would be!

Fitzwilliam left his chambers and made his way towards the solarium not five minutes after he had retired to his room. No one had seen him on his journey to the solarium. Most of the candles in the halls had been snuffed out necessitating that he bring a candelabra to light his way. Coming to the solarium, Fitzwilliam made to light a few candles in the room before thinking better of it. The moon was shining particularly bright that evening providing sufficient illumination to light Mary’s path once she arrived as well as adding a pleasing atmosphere to the room. Fitzwilliam made his way towards the small fountain in the centre of the room and placed the candelabra on the marble bench there. Fitzwilliam drew in a deep breath which he exhaled smoothly as he turned to look about the room. Yes, this would do perfectly, he thought.

Fitzwilliam sat to collect his thoughts. He was surprised at how nervous he felt as the minutes passed until Mary would come to him. He felt that he had no cause to fear her rejection. She had made her feelings abundantly clear in her gift to him. Still, he found his hands shaking slightly as he eyed his pocket watch. In the distance, Fitzwilliam heard the door to the solarium open. He shot to his feet, nearly causing the candelabra to topple in his haste. Fitzwilliam let out a brief curse as he set the candelabra to rights. A small giggle alerted him to the fact that his clumsiness had not gone unnoticed.

“I do not see what is so humorous, Miss. Farthington,” Fitzwilliam scowled as he faced a grinning Mary. “I could have set myself aflame, and I assure you, that would be no laughing matter.”

Mary made to school her features into a look of contrition. “Forgive me, Colonel Fitzwilliam. You are quite right. It would indeed be a pity to scorch such a lovely red coat.”

Fitzwilliam smiled at this, his attempt at looking dour abandoned. “Did you have any trouble coming here? Were you seen?”

“No. Everyone was quite tired after the festivities. I did have to give April some excuse for my absence. However, she would tell no one.”

“Good,” Fitzwilliam replied before giving her a quick kiss on the lips. He took her hand into his own and gently led her towards a window. “Is it not a beautiful night, Mary?”

Mary turned her gaze from Fitzwilliam’s face to look out the window. The moon was high and exceedingly bright, making the snow covered grounds of Pemberley shine as if someone had sprinkled it with crushed diamonds. It was indeed a beautiful evening. Mary stepped closer to Fitzwilliam and leaned her head back on his shoulder as she voiced her agreement. They remained silent for several minutes looking out over Pemberley and at their image reflected in the glass.

“Do you remember what took place on this spot, Princess?” Fitzwilliam queried, breaking the silence.

“Yes,” Mary answered, a smile tugging at her lips. “This is where we shared our first kiss,” Mary turned towards him, her eyes shining in expectation.

Fitzwilliam cupped her cheek in his hand and slightly dipped his head towards her, placing a lingering kiss on the corner of her mouth.

“Not a week ago I met you here and revealed part of my heart to you. Tonight I wish to show you all,” Fitzwilliam whispered against her cheek, his breath heating her skin. “That morning I told you that I most desired to ask you one particular question but for having won your heart. Do I have it, Princess?”

“It is your own, Richard,” Mary whispered in reply, her eyes never leaving his.

At this, Fitzwilliam claimed her lips again, this time kissing her mouth hungrily. They remained thus for several long moments before breaking apart.

Fitzwilliam rested his forehead upon her own, his voice breathy for want of air, “Let me not to the marriage of true minds admit impediments. Love is not true which alters when it alteration finds, or bends with the remover to remove,” Fitzwilliam paused to kiss away two tears that slid down Mary’s cheeks. “O no! It is an ever-fixed mark that looks on tempests and is never shaken. It is the start to every wandering bark, whose worth’s unknown, although his height be taken. Love’s not time’s fool, though rosy lips and cheeks,” he paused again to kiss each, “within his bending sickle’s compass come. Love alters not within his brief hours and weeks, but bears it out even to the edge of doom. If this be error and upon me proved, I never writ, nor no man ever loved.”

Once he had finished reciting the Bard’s words, Mary reached for him and claimed his lips again. Fitzwilliam laughed as the kiss ended, surprised by her initiative. Fitzwilliam lead Mary to the bench where both the candelabra and the unopened gift box sat. After carefully placing the candelabra on the ground, which caused Mary to snicker softly, Fitzwilliam bid Mary to sit and open the box. Mary complied with gusto. Upon opening the box, Mary discovered an even smaller box tucked within. She looked at Fitzwilliam quizzically, to be answered with a grin and wag of the eyebrows. Mary smiled at his antics before opening the smaller box to reveal a small velvet covered box that left no doubt over what could be found inside. Mary opened the box to find a pair or drop pearl earrings. Mary’s expectant smile faded.

Seeing her disappointment, Fitzwilliam caught her chin and gently urged her to look at him. “Are they not to your liking, Princess? I know that they are not the most grand earrings, but they were the best that Lambton had to offer given a soldier’s salary.”

“No…I mean yes, they are quite lovely Fitzwilliam,” Mary smiled at him in an effort to reassure him. “They are quite beautiful indeed. I could not be more pleased with your gift. Thank you, Richard.”

Fitzwilliam smiled at her, sensing her disappointment and understanding its source. How he would have loved to have gifted her with quite a different sort of jewelry. But for his promise to Elizabeth, he would be down upon his knee at this very moment.

“I wanted to give you these as a sign of my affection for you. I also hoped that you would do me the honor of wearing them at the Twelfth Night Ball where I hope to have the honor of your hand for the first.”

Mary smiled at this request, closing the small velvet box. “I would be delighted, Richard.”

Fitzwilliam answered her acceptance with a kiss upon the lips before standing from the bench.

“The hour grows late, Princess. Perhaps we should make our way back to the family wing?”

“I think it would be best if we left separately, Richard.” Mary answered, her voice shaking slightly. “You go first and I shall follow after a time.”

“Of course,” Fitzwilliam replied as he took her hand and kissed it. “Merry Christmas, Miss. Farthington.”

“Merry Christmas, Col. Fitzwilliam.

Mary sat in the dimly lit solarium watching Colonel Fitzwilliam’s figure retreat from the room. Once he had gone, Mary let out a deep sigh. Opening the velvet box, Mary took out the pearl earrings and examined them in the candlelight. They were indeed a beautiful pair of earrings that would complement her warm brown skin nicely. However, they were not the gift that she had been expecting. Slowly, disappointment began to take root within her breast until her chest felt so full that it would burst. A few traitorous tears escaped her eyes.

“Foolish, foolish Mary,” she silently cursed herself.

However, no sooner had she thought the words did she realize the false accusation behind them. She had had every reason to expect a proposal this night. All of his acts and words had spoken of a desire to make her his bride. Every look, touch and kiss had spoken of his admiration of her. Any rational woman in her position would have expected an offer of marriage.

However, perhaps she was foolish. Had not Elizabeth warned her to be careful with her heart? Elizabeth had said that Richard was a charmer who could easily make a woman believe herself in love. Mary also wondered why Richard had not yet sought her guardian’s permission to court her formally. Yet, surely if Richard had only intended for her to be an amusement he would not have wooed so well. At least twice he had practically declared himself. While a gift of earrings had not the same meaning as an engagement ring, a man did not give jewelry to a woman he only intended to use as a flirtation, Mary reasoned. No, Richard would not use her so ill. Mary wiped angrily at her cheeks. There had to be another explanation. Perhaps there was some impediment that merely delayed his proposal? He had asked her for the first set of the ball. He did not mean to quit his attentions to her.

Mary closed her eyes as she remembered Richard’s words to her moments earlier. He had asked if her heart where his alone. Surely she had his heart as well. Mary resolved to be patient and to wait to see what the ball would hold. She could not doubt Fitzwilliam’s character nor did she want to allow herself to regret giving her heart so freely.

*****************************************

Pemberley was a whirlwind of activity in the days leading up to the Twelfth Night Ball. Not only was Pemberley to be the host of a ball on that night, but the great house would also be host to a number of guests who would stay at Pemberley for a few days before and after the ball. With both Fitzwilliam and young William fully recovered, Elizabeth found herself free to throw herself headfirst into the final preparations for the festivities. Georgiana and Mary where also drafted to assist Elizabeth in overseeing preparations. Rooms were aired and made ready, decorations where hung, fresh flowers were plucked from the hothouse, and the kitchens were abuzz with activity. Mary found all of the activity to be exciting as well as a little overwhelming. Her father in New Sussex never found it necessary to have more than a few friends in attendance at their home. As such, Mary only had to oversee the preparation of a few guest rooms and modest meals.

Due to all of the preparations, Mary had little time to spend in frivolity. However, she still managed to make time for Sir Little Bit’s afternoon stories, much to the young gentleman’s delight. Mary was crestfallen to find that Richard was absent from these times, yet Mary was able to find much delight in the company of her most loyal and first knight.

Mary also found that her evening chats with Georgiana were impacted by the preparations. Georgiana often claimed fatigue, begging off their late night discussions until another day. After three nights of such excuses, Mary began to suspect that there was another reason for Georgiana’s reluctance. However, whenever Mary sought to inquire after the state of her friend, Georgiana assured her that all was well and that she was merely overcome by the hubbub of the season. This explanation only served to calm Mary’s concerns for a few days.

Walking into the music room, Mary was gratified to find Georgiana seated at her pianoforte shuffling through a stack of music. Smiling broadly, Mary moved towards her friend.

“Georgiana, I know that you are about to practice, but I was wondering if we might take the opportunity to chat for a moment.”

Georgiana stilled and settled her music before answering. “Perhaps we can speak later, Mary. As you see, I am about to practice my music and I like to keep to a precise schedule.”

“Please, Georgiana,” Mary pleaded as she came to stand by the pianoforte. “It should only take a few minutes. I can sense that something is bothering you and I would have us talk about it.”

Georgiana kept her gaze fixed on the keys before her before replying, “We shall talk, but it shall be at another time.”

Georgiana began to play signaling that the matter was closed. Mary regarded her friend with some amazement. She turned to leave the room and acquiesce to her friend’s desire before thinking better of it. Mary sat down beside Georgiana and began turning pages for her friend.

“There is no need for you to turn pages for me, Mary. I will do quite fine on my own.”

“I am sure that you are quite capable of playing without assistance,” Mary replied as her eyes followed the music. “But, I am determined to speak with you. I feel that you have been avoiding me and you do not seem to be yourself. You are my friend, my best friend in fact, and I cannot sit by while you are angry with me.”

“Angry with you?” Georgiana queried as she continued to play. “Whatever would give you that idea.”

“Well, you have barely spoken to me since Christmas and whenever I approach you to do so you invent some reason why we cannot. I miss our conversations.”

“I am sure that Cousin Richard would be very obliged to keep you company if you are feeling lonely,” Georgiana replied, her playing becoming more discordant.

“Fitzwilliam? What has he to do with it.”

Georgiana stopped her playing and took a steadying breath before turning to face Mary for the first time. “I saw you leaving Richard’s rooms on Christmas morning.”

Mary looked at her friend quizzically to which Georgiana replied with an uncharacteristic and inelegant snort.

“You must remember it. You were wearing naught by your nightgown when you left a gentleman’s private rooms. I have seen the way he looks at you and the secret smiles that you share,” Georgiana glared at her friend although her tone remained soft. “It is fairly obvious to me that there is some sort of …relationship between you and Fitzwilliam. I would caution to you both to take care. If I am aware of your liaisons it is not long before my brother will discover them for himself.”

Understanding dawned on Mary. Georgiana thought that something illicit was occurring between her and Fitzwilliam. Mary’s previous concern for her friend turned to anger.

“How dare you! You know not of what you speak. I thought that you were my friend, but if you were you would not accuse me of something so despicable!”

“What other conclusion could I come to given your behavior! If you were my friend you would not carry on such a dalliance with my cousin!”

Mary’s mouth fell open in shock. “We have done nothing of which I am ashamed.”

“Any lady of breeding would be ashamed to be found in so compromising a position!”

“Since you are determined to assume the worst of me, let me be explicit about what occurred that morning. I woke up that morning in my room after spending the night nursing your cousin through a horrid fever. I must have fallen asleep sometime during the night after he quieted and was carried by a servant to my rooms. Having so recently found myself in a similar situation when my father became ill and died, I panicked and I feared the worst. I could not bear the thought that another man I loved could be taken from me in such a fashion. I rushed to his room not thinking of what I wore or who might see. I found him well and with the doctor. We…,“ Mary paused unsure of what she should reveal as she began to comprehend the impropriety of their behavior. “We embraced and I returned to my rooms. There was no dalliance, no planned assignation.”

Georgiana listened to Mary’s explanation with a slowly deflating posture. Her anger at her friend gave way to remorse and even embarrassment. Of course nothing untoward had occurred, the previous night her cousin had been racked with fever while she and her brother and sister had been enjoying themselves at the Servant’s Ball. Mary had been there to comfort him when she had not. In fact, despite Georgiana’s regard for her cousin, she had not even offered to stay and play nurse to him.

“Then there must be an understanding between you?” Georgiana asked meekly.

“Yes,“ Mary paused, unsure of how to reply. “…And no. There is no engagement, if that is your question. But he has assured me of his love for me and I in turn have pledged my heart to him.”

Georgiana swallowed thickly. She had assumed the worst of her friend and in her accusations had forced Mary to confess what had only brought herself pain. Richard was in love with Mary and beyond her reach.

Mary broke the silence that had settled about them. “I apologize if any of my actions have caused you pain.”

Georgiana looked up at this pronouncement. She felt as if she were the one who owed Mary an apology although she found herself to be then unequal to the task. Georgiana was disconcerted to find that Mary’s eyes had begun to well with unshed tears.

“I would not wish to do anything to harm our friendship as your good opinion means much to me. Even before I arrived here you have treated me as a friend. I…I” Mary’s efforts at checking her tears proved futile. “If you would excuse me.”

Georgiana watched with a sinking heart as Mary fled the room, tears streaking down her cheeks. After gazing at the closed music room door for some moments, Georgiana turned towards the pianoforte as if to resume her playing. However, she soon gave up the pretense of practicing as she laid her head down on the instrument and wept.

**************************************

Two days before their guests were set to descend upon Pemberley, the family sat for the evening meal. The plans for the ball were coming together nicely and Elizabeth was pleased that her efforts to introduce Mary to society from the comfort and safety of Pemberley would be a success. She was less assured of the opinion of her husband regarding a match between Mary and his cousin. Elizabeth had kept her promise to Fitzwilliam to try to convince Darcy that the match would be a good one for all parties involved. Darcy had come as far as to concede that Fitzwilliam’s regard for Mary was genuine and that he had observed affection on the part of Mary. However, he still had reservations about the prudence of agreeing to the match as it would undoubtedly subject Mary to the ridicule of society. Elizabeth hoped that her house party and ball would demonstrate to her husband that Mary would be well received by those in society whom they regarded as their friends and close acquaintances. If Mary was well received at the ball surely those who admired her as Miss Farthington would not despise her as Mrs. Fitzwilliam.

Darcy was engaged in similar contemplations as he watched his cousin and his charge engaged in private conversation, their heads bent toward one another and almost touching. Fitzwilliam had done little to hide his admiration of Mary and was obviously wooing her despite his vocal objections to the match. Darcy took a full swig of his wine before releasing a heavy sigh. It appeared as if his entire family were at odds with him over his opinion on the match. He looked towards Georgiana to find her watching the couple with an unreadable expression on her face. Darcy almost thought it was a look of resignation, however he could not imagine what would cause his sister to feel such a way.

“So, Mrs. Darcy, what entertainments have you devised for our guests?” Fitzwilliam suddenly addressed Elizabeth. “I was just telling Miss Mary about some of the more traditional Twelfth Night entertainments.”

Elizabeth smiled, happy to speak of her preparations. “I thought that our friends might enjoy participating in some winter sports, especially those who are coming from town. I had thought that an afternoon of ice skating would be an enjoyable pastime, but we now know that the ice on the pond is quite unstable. Seeing as we have a nice coat of snow about the grounds, I thought that sleigh rides would be an adequate substitute. A few blankets, warming bricks and a basket with hot cocoa and refreshments. The grounds will look absolutely splendid.”

“A sleigh ride sounds delightful,” Mary replied excitedly. “I’ve never ridden in a sleigh before.”

“Then that will soon be amended, Miss Farthington,” Fitzwilliam smiled at his dinner partner. “There are few outdoor winter amusements which are its equal.”

“Yes, sleigh rides can be very romantic, especially those done in the evening under the stars.” Elizabeth added, looking at her husband with a conspiratorial gaze.

Darcy could not help but to smile back at his wife’s teasing look. However, his amusement soon faded as he watched his wife’s eyes stray across the table toward Mary and Richard. Darcy frowned as he observed the shy smile Mary gave Fitzwilliam in response to his roguish wink. He decided to have another discussion with his cousin once dinner was over and the gentlemen separated from the ladies.

“Who has accepted our invitation to stay with us?” Georgiana queried, discomforted by the turn of the conversation. “I do hope cousin Gregory is to attend. It has been quite sometime since he has visited.”

“I had a letter from my brother the other day,” Fitzwilliam offered as he took a sip of his wine. “He is to join us along with the Viscountess, her cousin Lady Letitia and a few of his associates.”

“It shall be a pleasure to see Gregory again,” Darcy replied to this announcement. A plan soon began to form in his head after the mention of Lady Letitia. Lady Letitia was a woman of considerable fortune from a distinguished family. As Darcy remembered, she had seemed to enjoy the company of Fitzwilliam when last they were all together.

“We are also to expect a few house guests who claim an acquaintance with you, Mary,” Elizabeth addressed her with a wide smile. “Mr. Brambles has written to say that he shall join us for the festivities as well as your cousins, Mr. Derek Peterson and his mother, Mrs. Peterson.”

Mary’s face split into a wide smile at this pronouncement. She was beyond pleased to know that she would meet with Mr. Brambles again and she was very anxious to meet the Petersons. Mrs. Peterson was her father’s cousin and closest living relative as far as Mary was aware. They had exchanged a few letters over the past week with Mrs. Peterson inviting her to spend the summer months with them at their house in Brighton.

“That is lovely!” Mary exclaimed. “Mr. Brambles was my father’s solicitor. He accompanied me from New Sussex until I was settled here at Pemberley.” Mary explained to Fitzwilliam in reply to his look of confusion. “I shall be very pleased to meet with him again.”

Fitzwilliam smiled, gratified by Mary’s pleasure at being reunited with old friends and new. “I shall be delighted to make his acquaintance as well.”

After the evening meal, the men separated from the women to partake of port and fine cigars.

“Pemberley shall be quite the mad house in a few days time. However shall you manage all the simpering ball guests, cousin?”

Darcy laughed. “I think I shall mange them quite well. I admit that I formerly had little love for balls and house parties, but Elizabeth has helped me to feel quite comfortable at such events. Do not mistake me,” Darcy protested at Fitzwilliam’s huff of disbelief. “I would still much prefer a quite evening with family and a few close friends to a ball. However, balls are no longer the grueling ordeal that they once were.”

“Well, it has been quite such time since I have partaken of the fripperies of polite society. I just hope that I can remember all of my dance steps. I hope that the Corantes is still in fashion.”

“I am sure that none of the ladies will disparage your skill at the dance, cousin. As I recall, you always were quite fond of dancing. However, I should warn you that Elizabeth has insisted that there be a waltz in addition to the country dances,” Darcy groaned.

“Scandalous!” Fitzwilliam exclaimed with mock horror. “Really I am sure that the ball and house party shall be everything that is delightful and proper.”

“Fitzwilliam, I would ask a favor of you,”

“A favor? If it is in my power to grant, Cousin, then you shall have it.”

Darcy took a slow drag of his cigar before replying. “As you are aware your brother is to attend the ball and shall be accompanied by his wife’s cousin Lady Letitia.”

“Yes, what of it?” Fitzwilliam asked warily.

“Well, Lady Letitia Montrose is a very eligible lady of no small fortune and from an excellent family. It is my desire that you assist Elizabeth and I in our hosting duties by being her companion of sorts this weekend during the house party.”

“Companion? Surely Lady Letitia does not need me to chaperone or coddle her. Furthermore, I would not wish to give Lady Letitia the wrong impression regarding my intentions.”

“Well,” Darcy replied as he sipped his port casually, “You could do much worse than Lady Letitia. Such a connection would undoubtedly be pleasing to both your parents and her own.”

“What are you about Darcy? You are very much aware of where my intentions lie.”

“Yes, I am quite aware of your intentions toward Miss. Farthington. You persist in pursuing a connection with her despite my disapproval.”

“I have no wish to deny that a connection is my intent,” Fitzwilliam replied as he placed his glass firmly on the table before him. “In fact, I plan to ask for her hand in marriage.”

“You would ask her hand despite my disapproval!”

“Yes. I would. I love Mary and she has been so very kind as to return my affections with equal ferocity. I would suggest that you begin to acquaint yourself with that reality.”

“You forget, cousin, that she is my charge and cannot marry without my consent. Furthermore, I have control of her fortune until she reaches the age of twenty-five.”

“I am quite aware of your duties to her as her guardian. You forget that I am very familiar with the role of protector of young ladies. However, I fear you have let your concerns about the views of society cloud your better judgment.”

“On the contrary. I fear that is you who has been behaving without the guide of judgment.“ Darcy rose from his seat and took his customary position by the window. “You must realize that my opposition to the match stems purely from my concern for Mary and yourself. If I were to allow you to wed you would be shunned by all proper society.”

“Cousin, I fully understand your concerns about the reception Mary and I would receive. If I loved her less or if she were indifferent, such concerns would be sufficient to sway me from my suit.”

Fitzwilliam sighed heavily before joining his cousin by the window, his glass of port in hand. “I love Mary. I truly do. You of all people know that I have never been in the position to say such a thing about any other woman. I am prepared to spend the rest of my life making her happy and protecting her from harm. I assure you that I am equal to both tasks.”

Darcy turned to face his cousin. By his grave tone and sober expression, Darcy knew that Fitzwilliam meant every word that he said. He had observed his cousin carry on innocent flirtations with many women and he knew that his intentions toward Mary bore little resemblance to those amusements. His cousin, the self-proclaimed life long bachelor who loved good society and all of its amusements, was now declaring that he intended to settle down with a woman whose background would mean that he would be forever excluded from that society. Something had changed in Fitzwilliam during his long absence from England, something that allowed Fitzwilliam to see in Mary a future he would not have previously welcomed. However, Darcy was unsure if his cousin’s resolve and conviction would be sufficient to shield Mary from harm. He did not wish to make his cousin unhappy nor did he desire to give Mary further cause for pain when she had so recently suffered so much. If her heart was truly touched as he suspected, Mary would be harmed regardless of his decision. Darcy realized that the choice before him was only that of choosing the proverbial lesser of two evils.

“I do not know if I am prepared to give you the answer which you desire. However, I promise to consider the matter some more. Until then I would ask that you do the favor which I have asked of you.”

“Then that will have to be enough for me right now,” Fitzwilliam answered, a small smile of relief playing about his mouth. “And I will honor my promise to play host to the Viscountess and her sister.”

“Thank you,” Darcy replied. “Shall we rejoin the ladies? I fear we have deprived them of our presence long enough.”

The gentlemen left Darcy’s study to join the ladies who had assembled in the music room. The sight that greeted them was everything that was charming. Georgiana sat at the pianoforte busily playing a charming air while Elizabeth stood by her voice raised in song. Mary was seated not far from the pair, her fingers busily plucking at the strings of a harp. Darcy and Fitzwilliam took seats so as to enjoy the lady’s exhibition.

Fitzwilliam was entranced by the vision of Mary at the harp. Her long fingers delicately strumming the strings of the harp and her head bent in concentration, a few locks of dark hair falling over her forehead. He had never had the opportunity to see Mary play the harp and he found that he found even more pleasure in her playing the stringed instrument than in her pianoforte performances. With the harp Mary seemed to forget the world around her, all of her focus consumed in her playing. Her face was relaxed, a delicate smile formed on her lips. Her shoulders lost all tension as she appeared to melt into the instrument. Fitzwilliam barely registered when the performance came to an end until Darcy’s enthusiastic clapping brought him out of his reverie.

“That was a most excellent performance,” Darcy praised the trio as he stepped forward to kiss his wife’s hand. “Will you all be favoring us with a similar performance when our guests arrive?”

“Yes, dear. We shall be performing for our guests but not during the ball. We have each been practicing on our own and tonight is our first time playing together,“ Elizabeth replied before giving her husband an impish grin. “Do you think we’ll put the Darcy name to shame?”

“Of course not,” Fitzwilliam answered in all seriousness before Darcy could reply. “That was the most delightful performance I have heard in quite some time.”

“However you have been marooned in the wilds of America these last few years,” Elizabeth teased in return. “Perhaps your taste in music has been dulled.”

Fitzwilliam smiled broadly at this jest. “I assure you, Cousin Elizabeth, my tastes in all things have only become more refined.” Here his eyes moved from Elizabeth to rest on Mary who returned his gaze with a look of embarrassed confusion.

Georgiana observed the interaction with slightly heightened color while Elizabeth smiled good naturedly at the pair.

“Well,” Darcy replied, drawing the gaze of all towards himself. “I am sure that our guests will be well pleased with your performance. Would you please delight us with another song?”

Mary offered to play the pianoforte as the trio had only prepared one joint song. Fitzwilliam made to follow Mary to the instrument under the guise of turning pages but thought better of it and sat next to Georgiana instead.

“I do look forward to hearing you all perform again, Georgiana.”

“Truly?” Georgiana queried, turning to observe her cousin.

“Very much so,” Fitzwilliam answered with a smile. “I did not know that Miss Farthington was so accomplished at the harp. She is a remarkable woman.”

Georgiana followed her cousin’s gaze to focus on the figure of Mary. Georgiana sighed before dropping her eyes toward her lap. She had never seen her cousin look upon her with such a look of devotion and, dare she admit it, passion. Fitzwilliam had only ever looked upon her as a sister, someone to protect and look after, not as a woman to be loved and desired. Georgiana observed her cousin watching Mary once more and wished in her heart that one day a man would look upon her in a similar fashion. Wickham had written her pretty words and spoken of his false devotion but never had he looked at her with such a heated gaze. She fought the rising feeling of jealousy that grew within her breast. After Mary had finished her song Georgiana clapped politely before declaring her intention to retire for the evening.

“Are you unwell, Georgie?” Fitzwilliam questioned her as she rose from her seat to depart.

Georgiana smiled weakly at his use of her childhood name. “I am only a little fatigued. There is no need to concern yourself.”

Georgiana bid everyone goodnight before making her way towards her rooms with a heavy heart

Love and Prejudice Chapter 11

Mary sat in the east drawing room, trying her best to attend to the novel in her hand. During the two hour period in which she was engaged in the activity, she had only managed to read one paragraph. Sighing in frustration, Mary cast the book aside deciding to give up the pretense of reading to take a turn about the room. Elizabeth, Darcy, Georgiana and Fitzwilliam were all assembled in the room as the first of their guests were due to arrive at any moment. Noticing Mary's movement, Fitzwilliam decided to follow her example and set aside the newspaper he had been attending to join her in her circuit about the room.

"I didn't realize that you found Milton so distasteful, Princess."

Mary turned and offered Fitzwilliam a shy smile as he took his offered arm. "No, Milton shall remain one of my favorites as he was the favorite of my father."

"Well, if it is not Milton whom has caused you such distress, I must know the cause. While others here may not be able to discern your mood, I have been a diligent student. Despite the protestations that you will surely offer, I can tell that you are not at ease."

Mary shook her head in amusement. Indeed, she would have assured him that she was very well despite the unease that had been growing in her spirit over the previous week.

"I would not say that I am distressed so much that I am quite anxious about today and the ball later this week. While it is very kind that Elizabeth and Mr. Darcy are holding this gathering in my honor, I have become quite enamored of our small family setting."

Fitzwilliam nodded his head in understanding. "While the ball shall be quite a crush…anything less would be an unforgivable affront to Mrs. Darcy's reputation for hosting excellent parties…the house party shall be quite small indeed. It could also be considered a small family gathering, as all who will be in attendance are family in one way or another. Mr. Brambles and your excellent cousins will be in attendance as will my brother Gregory, his wife and her cousin."

Mary stopped their progress and turned fully towards Fitzwilliam. "What are your brother and sister-in-law like, Richard? Will they like me?"

Fitzwilliam took her hand in his and pressed it gently. "Do not worry, Mary. Those who come to know you cannot help but to love you. While my brother inherited more than his fair share of the Fitzwilliam pride, we are much alike. I am sure that Gregory shall be delighted with you, although he ought not be too delighted."

Mary smiled at Fitzwilliam's teasing before preparing to reply in kind when she was interrupted by a servant announcing the arrival of the Viscount and his party. Fitzwilliam gave Mary a reassuring smile before leading her out of the drawing room and towards the foyer with the rest of the family.

Mary took a steadying breath as she smoothed nonexistent wrinkles from her dress. Despite Fitzwilliam's confidence in her reception by his family, Mary could not shake the foreboding sense of unease that settled around her. Not long after, the doors to Pemberley were thrown open to admit the Viscount Gregory Alexander Fitzwilliam, his wife the Viscountess Daniela, their son Ronald and the Viscountess' cousin Lady Letitia.

"Welcome to Pemberley," Darcy greeted the party with genuine warmth clasping his cousin's arm in greeting.

"Thank you, Darcy. It is indeed a pleasure to be at Pemberley once more," the Viscount replied with an equal measure of warmth. "I am sure that you remember my wife, Daniela, our son Ronald and our cousin Lady Leticia"

"Of course. You are very welcome to Pemberley," Elizabeth stepped forward to greet them before turning to Ronald. "You have grown much since we last met. Why soon you shall be taller than me!" Elizabeth ruffled the young boy's hair. Ronald, who was not yet ten years old, blushed at the praise and attention.

After greeting Elizabeth and Georgiana, the Viscount embraced his brother warmly and pronounced him only slightly browned and weathered from his time in the Americas but, sadly, no longer the most handsome Fitzwilliam brother. The Viscount looked to be an amiable man. He was significantly older than his brother and not as handsome, although he was not ill favored. While Richard's hair was dark and wavy, his brother's hair was all light brown curls touched with grey. The Viscount shared his brother's imposing height, yet his figure was more slight, the life of a member of the gentry being undoubtedly more leisurely than that of a soldier.

His wife, the Viscountess, did not appear as amiable as her husband. She greeted Mr. Darcy in a stiff manner, holding her hand out somewhat imperiously for her cousin to kiss in greeting. The Viscountess was a petite woman with auburn hair and fashionably pale skin. Her dress befitted her station, although Mary considered the richly dyed silks as too fine for traveling. Mary might have considered the Viscountess to be a beautiful woman were it not for the dour expression that graced her perfectly symmetrical features and the air of importance that she held about her.

Lady Letitia was not as formal as her cousin the Viscountess but was just as prideful. She returned Elizabeth's warm welcome with a graceful nod of her head and a few restrained words of thanks. She greeted Mr. Darcy with the same reserve, although she offered him a slight smile as well. Georgiana received the warmest reception out of all the Darcy's as Lady Letitia lightly embraced her and offered twin air kisses on either side of Georgiana's face. Lady Letitia was a very fashionable and beautiful woman with blond hair and striking green eyes. While the Viscountess was a rather petite woman, Lady Letitia was tall in stature with a light figure. However, Mary soon began to think that Lady Letitia was not so beautiful once she observed the Lady's greeting of Fitzwilliam. For that gentleman she offered a dazzling smile and she blushed prettily as Fitzwilliam bowed over her outstretched hand.

Mary was more predisposed to like young Ronald upon their first meeting. He was a miniature version of the Viscount, save for his mother's auburn hair and his plump cheeks. He appeared to be a very happy child who was no doubt quite doted upon by his father. He mimicked his parent's greetings with as much self-possession as a ten year old boy given to mischief could.

After the family had finished their greetings, Mr. Darcy turned toward Mary in order to introduce her to the group. Mary stepped forward prepared to meet the Viscount and his family when Lady Letitia's tinkling laughter stayed her steps.

"Darcy, I thought that you would be immune to the fashions of town. A Negro servant? How droll!"

Lady Letitia's pronouncement was met by gasps from both Georgiana and Elizabeth. Heat diffused Mary's cheeks and her eyes darted to meet Fitzwilliam's whose countenance quickly moved from one of shock to anger. Fitzwilliam looked as if he would speak until Darcy's clear voice rang out.

"I am afraid you are quite mistaken, Letitia. Pemberley remains as unaffected by fickle London fashions as ever," Darcy answered her in a firm yet civil tone. "I would like to present Miss Mary Caroline Farthington, the daughter of the late Lord Matthew Farthington and my ward."

Lady Letitia appeared more surprised by the pronouncement than embarrassed by her mistake.

Mary quickly dropped a proper courtesy to the Viscount and his family and offered them a warm smile as she rose despite her discomposure. "It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance, your lordship."

"The pleasure is mine, Miss Farthington," the Viscount replied after casting his cousin-in-law a quick disapproving glance.

"Well, I am sure that you would all like to rest after your long journey," Elizabeth brightly addressed the Viscount and his family. "I'll show you to your rooms."

Mary watched as the Viscount and his family followed Elizabeth and Georgiana up the main stair towards the family wing. Mary knew not how long she stood staring after the party until she felt Darcy's warm hand pat her shoulder reassuringly. Mary turned to give him a weak smile in order to allay the concern etched on his features. Nodding to Fitzwilliam, Darcy made his excuses and retired to his study in order to attend to some business.

As soon as Darcy had left the foyer, Colonel Fitzwilliam moved to gather Mary into his arms. Fitzwilliam could not forget the image of Mary's tear streaked face that Sunday morning after overhearing Parson Geoffrey's cruel words. He had both wanted to soothe and protect her and punish those responsible for her tears. Rather than purely feeling anger on her behalf, the Colonel now felt a measure of shame in that his relations were the cause of her distress.

"I am well, Richard. Truly," Mary answered his unspoken question, halting his progress with a caress of his arm. "I am sure that Lady Letitia meant no harm. Perhaps she has only encountered one such as myself in the position of a servant."

"You are too good, Mary. I wish that I could be half as forgiving as you," Fitzwilliam replied, pulling her into his embrace despite her assurances.

Mary allowed herself to enjoy the luxury of being held in Richard's arms and breathing in his spicy scent. As the house began to fill with guests for the house party and the ball, she knew that such stolen moments would be rare indeed. Mary did not want to let Richard know how much his cousin's comments had discomfited her. While events of the previous weeks had given her a thicker skin, she could not help but feel a pang of hurt when such comments were thrown her way.

She sometimes wondered why her father would have sheltered her so from the cruelties of the world only to send her to a country where her hue somehow marked her as inferior. In such situations, she longed for New Sussex and the friends she left behind. A few letters from her home were her only link to that world and they gave her little solace. However, her new friends at Pemberley in the form of Georgiana and Elizabeth proved to be her staunchest supporters, despite her current difficulties with Georgiana. Mr. Darcy she could not count as a friend; he was her guardian, after all. Yet she knew that he would always be her advocate and defender and that he understood the pain of being so early separated from a loving father.

Richard had become much more than a friend to her during their short acquaintance. She found security in his embrace and in his presence. It was Richard that made Mary thankful that her father had sent her so far from home and all that was familiar to live with the Darcy family. Had she remained in New Sussex, she would have never met Richard. In moments like this when she was ensconced in his arms, her head resting in the nook between his chin and shoulder, Mary felt something akin to completeness. Taking a deep breath, Mary steeled herself for what would be a trying evening and week.

 

---

 

Mary's opinion of Fitzwilliam's relations did not improve much over the course of the evening. After resting and refreshing themselves after their long journey, the family joined the Darcy's for the evening meal. Rather than eating in the family dining room, the expanded Pemberley party moved to the much larger and more formal greendining room. Mary found that she much preferred the intimacy of the smaller less ornate room, but she sensed that the Viscount and his family were much more accustomed to more formal arrangements. Mary was mollified to find herself seated across from Fitzwilliam for the meal. Mr. Darcy was seated at the head of the table, as usual, with Elizabeth to his right. Georgiana was seated in between Elizabeth and Mary. The Viscount sat to the left of Darcy beside his wife, while Lady Letitia sat between the Viscountess and Fitzwilliam.

Mary ate in silence for most of the meal, as the Viscount, Darcy and Fitzwilliam monopolized most of the conversation as they discussed politics and business and the Viscountess and Lady Letitia engaged Elizabeth and Georgiana in discussions of fashion. As Mary had little interest in fashion or business, she allowed her mind to freely wander rather than try to add to the conversation. She would sometimes catch the eye of Richard who would wink at her surreptitiously. Mary would smile slightly in response before attending to her plate.

Mary's musings were soon interrupted as conversation turned towards herself. The Viscount was very interested in learning more about Miss Farthington and politely asked her about her home and travels. Mary was pleased to speak on one of her favorite subjects and described New Sussex and her European tour with evident delight. Mary enjoyed conversing with the Viscount who was everything that was amiable and kind in his replies and questions.

"And how are you finding England, Miss Farthington?" the Viscountess asked. "I imagine it must be quite different from the Caribbean."

"Yes, England and New Sussex are quite different. Winters in New Sussex never are as cold as English winters. However, I find that England has much to recommend herself," Mary replied.

"Cold winters? Surely there must be more which differentiates England from the Caribbean," Lady Letitia laughed in response. "New Sussex must have been quite savage in comparison to proper English society."

Mary inwardly cringed at the rebuke. She began to think of a proper reply when Fitzwilliam answered for her.

"I found New Sussex to be positively lovely. The people were genteel and very hospitable and the society was refreshingly free of such artifice that one so often encounters in certain parts of English society." Fitzwilliam finished his comment with a pointed look at Lady Letitia and a casual sip of his wine.

Not recognizing the barb directed towards her, Lady Letitia nodded her head in agreement.

"I am sure New Sussex is a delightful place. It is indeed refreshing to visit such a simple and rustic place. However, I know not how one could long endure even the most pleasant of countries without the amusements of proper society. Why, to be without such diversions as can be found in Town or during the season, I am sure that I would find myself quite bored."

"Why, I never found myself bored in New Sussex. There were always many things with which to amuse oneself. I grant you that life in London is quite different from life in New Sussex. However, having experienced both, I cannot say that I was deprived by experiencing one at the expense of the other."

"Well, shall we ladies retire to the drawing room?" Elizabeth addressed the party as she stood from the table.

 

---

 

Fitzwilliam watched the ladies exit the dining room with some concern. He was not pleased with the behavior of his sister in law or her cousin towards Mary. However, he was not surprised by their thinly veiled contempt. When Gregory and Daniela had married, it was clear that the lady had accepted him primarily for his title and station rather than for any true affection. While she was kind and well mannered toward himself and his parents, Fitzwilliam observed her indifferent and rude treatment of those in her employ and her lack of regard for anyone she deemed beneath her own social circle. He had expressed his concerns to his brother only to be told that he was well aware of his bride-to-be's lack of affection. Marriage, he argued, was no more than a business transaction. Lady Daniela's family was one of the best families in England and her dowry was impressive enough to please the Fitzwilliam family. She was also a beautiful woman, so Gregory was sure that any children that would result from the union would be as well favored as they would be well bred. At the time, such an explanation of the entire business was sufficient for Richard. Indeed, all he sought in a bride was a comfortable fortune and a pretty face. However, now he could not fathom marrying a woman as prideful and cold as Daniela or as self-centered and artful as her cousin Lady Letitia.

The men departed to partake of cigars and drink in Darcy's study. The men caught up on the business of each other's lives and the subject of Miss Farthington was unsurprisingly a main topic of discussion.

"Your father must have made quite an impression on Lord Farthington for him to have left you an inheritance and the guardianship of his ward," Gregory remarked after hearing Darcy's explanation of how Miss Farthington came to reside at Pemberley.

"Yes, I suppose that must have been the case. I admit that I was quite surprised at the news myself, although my father had spoken to me on a few occasions about his friendship with Farthington and his support of his abolitionist work."

"So what are your plans for Miss Farthington? She appears to be quite the genteel and accomplished girl. Shall she be a companion to Georgiana?" Gregory queried.

"Miss Farthington has no need for employment, brother." Fitzwilliam answered for Darcy. "She is an heiress for heaven's sake."

"Indeed," Darcy replied, "She is to inherit her father's estate in Sussex which rivals Rosings in size and fortune and her dowry is quite substantial."

"I am sure she won't long reside at Pemberley or bear the Farthington name," Fitzwilliam added, which earned him a chastising glare from Darcy.

At this the Viscount let loose a quick bark of laughter. "I am sure that once she arrives in London that Miss Farthington will no doubt be pestered by fortune hunters and gentlemen of severely depressed means who would gladly offer for her. What's a little, or rather a great deal of tawny, when there is such a fortune to be had?"

Fitzwilliam colored at his brother's statement. Gregory was known to become rather frank and a bit coarse in his language when he was a bit in his cups. Fitzwilliam made to object when Darcy's hand on his arm forestalled him.

"I believe that we have deprived the ladies of our company for long enough," Darcy announced as he put out his cigar. "Gentlemen?"

The Viscount and Fitzwilliam followed Darcy to rejoin the ladies in the drawing room. Upon entering, Fitzwilliam immediately sought out Mary, seating himself on the settee beside her. He did not notice Lady Letitia's small huff of annoyance when he by passed the open seat beside her for the settee. Fitzwilliam noticed that Mary's smile was a little strained. Sensing that Mary had had her fill of polite conversation for the evening, Fitzwilliam suggested that they have some music. As if sharing his intentions, Elizabeth agreed that music would be a splendid idea and asked Mary to favor them with a song on the pianoforte. Mary readily agreed and moved towards the instrument.

Fitzwilliam was about to offer to turn pages for her, when Georgiana rose to join Mary at the instrument. Sensing that Mary was in good hands, Fitzwilliam contented himself with watching Mary play from his current seat. He was pleasantly engaged in the activity for a few minutes, before Lady Letitia interrupted by seating herself in the abandoned seat next to him.

"It seems like it has been ages since we were last in each other's company, Colonel Fitzwilliam," Lady Letitia addressed him.

"Indeed, it has been three years at least," Fitzwilliam replied disinterestedly as he turned his attention back towards Mary's performance.

"Three years? My goodness, you are right. It was two years and nine months ago when we danced at Lord Blakely's ball at Gresham House. What a pleasant evening that was."

"Yes," Fitzwilliam replied noncommittally.

"Well, you must tell me how you have spent your time since then. My cousin tells me that you were traveling in the Americas!"

"I would not call it merely 'travel', Lady Letitia," Fitzwilliam replied with a sigh as he turned towards her. "It was war."

"Oh! How ghastly! You must have been very brave…"

Fitzwilliam resigned himself to spending the remainder of the evening giving terse replies to Lady Letitia's vapid questions. However, he found himself happily relieved of his burden when Elizabeth begged Lady Letitia to take up Mary's place at the pianoforte as she took such delight in hearing her play. Delighted to be given an opportunity to display her talents, Lady Letitia rose from the settee and made her way towards the instrument.

Mary returned to her seat beside Fitzwilliam, much to the gentleman's delight. The evening soon ended as the Viscount's party was much desirous of rest, much to the delight of all.

 

---

 

The Viscountess' preparations for bed were interrupted by a rapid knock on her door.

"Who is it?"

"It is Letitia. I must speak with you!" 


The irate voice of her cousin could be heard from the other side of the door. Ever the volatile person, the Viscountess could sense that whatever her cousin had to say would not be fit for the ears of a servant. She dismissed her maid before bidding her cousin to enter.

Lady Letitia entered the room in a huff, firmly shutting the door behind her.

"What possibly could be of such import that you should come in all this state to speak to me?"

Lady Letitia ignored the calmly placed question of her cousin and launched directly into her diatribe.

"I believe that we must be the only sensible occupants of this household! Why, they parade that chit around as if she were a Darcy rather than some offspring off of the wrong side of the sheets…or even worse! The Farthington heir! It is all quite ridiculous. I think the hot Caribbean sun must has addled Lord Farthington's brain for him to leave all of his estate to some slave girl's misbegotten daughter. And to throw a ball at Pemberley in her honor! It is all so ridiculous."

"Ahh, so it is Miss Farthington that has you in such a state. What can Mr. Darcy's ward be to you, dear Letitia?"

"She is nothing to me, of course. I…I just can't stand to see the low borne allowed to so freely mix among their betters. What can Darcy be thinking to allow such a girl to be part of his household and to interact so with his sister and son! Why she is on a first name basis with them all! And your brother is just as bad. He could barely keep his eyes off the chit the entire night. If I did not think the idea of a union between the two to be so laughable I'd be expecting an announcement!"

The Viscountess laughed. "So now you are jealous of Miss. Farthington? Do you truly think such a girl could win Richard's affections? He may be a second son, but he need not throw himself away for a bit of coin especially when you have both a great family name and a substantial fortune. Come now, only gentlemen in quite desperate situations do such things, and Richard is far from desperate. You have nothing to fear in that corner."

"Yes, yes. I know all this. Any sensible gentleman would do as you say. However, what if his travels have given him a taste for the exotic? He barely spoke to me or looked at me the entire night! Perhaps I should apply more rouge…" Letitia pondered, as she preened in the mirror.

"Then he shall do what all men of high birth do whenever their tastes turn to the unconventional. A discrete liaison, perhaps, but definitely not marriage," the Viscountess replied in a bored tone.

Letitia gasped at her cousin's matter of fact pronouncement. "How do you know such things, Daniela?"

"You forget, Letitia, that I am a married woman several years your senior. You have only been out of the schoolroom and in proper society for a few years now, so you must concede that there are things to which I might be privy that you have never experienced. Do you think Gregory is always the dutiful husband? He has his dalliances and I pretend to be blind to them. We have a mutually beneficial understanding. He sees to his needs discretely and I am left quite free to be about my own business without interference."

Letitia sat heavily upon her cousin's bed looking quite defeated.

"Oh, don't pout so dramatically," the Viscountess laughed. "Such is the way of the world, cousin. The only thing of importance is appearances. As long as one's standing in society is secure and your home life is fairly agreeable, what can affection add to the equation? Richard is a rational man. He knows he cannot long be about playing the soldier and to settle down he shall need a wife that is both rich and respectable. You are both, not to mention very pretty."

"But he barely pays me any notice, Daniela! I am five and twenty and quite at risk of being permanently on the shelf. I don't know if I can bear to put up with another season."

"Perhaps if you were not so picky, Letitia. You could have been wed four times over. Mr. Stanwich was quite rich and respectable and much sought after in the ton, yet you surprised us all by refusing his hand!"

"Please do not speak of Mr. Stanwich again! He was quite the bore. Besides, he was not…"

"Colonel Fitzwilliam? I declare, I know not how two dances could have you act so stupidly over one man! He's not even the firstborn."

"But he is the second son of an earl and that is something! Daniela, we have been through all of this before. You know the only reason I came along to this house party was to secure the Colonel."

The Viscountess sighed in resignation. "I know and I intend to keep my promise to help you in that quest. But you must agree to follow my lead and my instruction."

Letitia nodded her head enthusiastically.

"Good. My first instruction is that you cease this stupid jealousy toward Miss Farthington. She is nothing but a distraction and for whatever reason the Colonel does not appear to be too impressed with your attempts to put her in her place."

Letitia frowned in response and made to object until her cousin raised her hand for silence.

"No arguments, Letitia. Miss Mary Farthington can be nothing more than a flirtation. You have no competition in that corner."

Chapter 12

Georgiana sat at her dressing table, absently staring into the mirror before her. She was looking forward to the house party and the arrival of their final houseguests. Relatives of Mary's father were due to arrive that afternoon. Georgiana was thankful that Mary would have more houseguests that would be supportive of her. She still found herself blushing as she thought about the treatment of Mary at the hands of her cousins. Seeing Mary's expectant demeanor deflate following her harsh reception was painful to Georgiana; she felt as if the slight were against herself. Despite their argument a few days ago and Georgiana's heartache over the loss of Fitzwilliam, she found herself wanting to comfort Mary. She had thought about going to her room the night before to offer her apologies, but Georgiana could not bring herself to leave her rooms.

While Georgiana did not feel that she could bring herself to talk to Mary directly, she did feel that she could be supportive of Mary and perhaps shield her from some of the Viscountess and Lady Letitia's rudeness. She suspected that Lady Letitia's behavior went beyond her natural snobbery. To act in such a manner towards the ward of one's host was a show of disrespect. Georgiana was well aware of Lady Letitia's designs on Richard; subtlety was not a concept that Lady Letitia could grasp. Women like Lady Letitia felt that the best way to raise their own prospects with gentlemen of quality was to insult other women. Unfortunately for them, this tactic often had the adverse effect of driving away their intended target. Georgiana wondered how Lady Letitia had so quickly determined that Mary was competition.

Lady Letitia had always been cordial to Georgiana, sometimes overly so. Perhaps there was some artifice and calculation behind that. Georgiana had plenty of experience dealing with mercenary women using similar devices to win her brother's affections. She was suddenly struck by the realization that while Lady Letitia had instantly perceived Mary as a threat to her plans, the lady had never appeared to fear such competition from her. Georgiana wondered at this disparity in treatment. While one could argue that one way to curry the favor of a gentleman would be to be kind and solicitous to their ward, it would also be counterproductive to heap effusive praise on another woman of marriageable age in that gentleman's presence.

Perhaps Lady Letitia had never viewed her as competition for Colonel Fitzwilliam's affections because she had not truly been competition. Nothing in her behavior towards Colonel Fitzwilliam would suggest more than a sisterly affection for an older cousin. Likewise, nothing in his attentions towards her would suggest more than a brotherly affection for a much younger cousin and ward. For a woman as observant as Lady Letitia, at least when it came to the subject of Fitzwilliam, it would be readily apparent that the gentleman held a regard for Mary that went beyond the platonic or filial. Georgiana was ever mindful of the shared looks and covert glances that passed between Fitzwilliam and Mary and she did not doubt that Lady Letitia had observed them as well.

Had Georgiana come to this conclusion a few weeks prior, the mortification that she felt when she discovered Mary and Fitzwilliam's relationship would have been reduced. While this realization caused Georgiana some pain, she found that it helped to alleviate some of the residual animosity that she felt towards Mary. Georgiana had blamed her friend or the loss of Fitzwilliam's affections. However, as his affections had only been of the brotherly variety, and she was confident that those sentiments remained, Georgiana began to see the uselessness of harboring any ill will towards her friend. Added to this was Georgiana's natural propensity to seek peace. It had been quite a trial to maintain a frosty attitude toward Mary. Forgiveness, or rather seeking forgiveness as there was little for which Mary had to repent, was much less exhausting than holding onto anger and hurt. Georgiana had missed her conversations with her friend and their time spent in companionable activity. She was eager to renew those bonds of friendship, but she was unsure of what words to say to heal the breach between them.

Giving herself one last look in the mirror, Georgiana rose from her vanity and made her way down to the breakfast room. Until she found the proper words and the courage to say them, she was resolved to act as the loyal friend that Mary needed.

 

---

 

Mary made her way to the nursery for her daily appointment with Sir Little Bits. Behind her back she held a surprise for her first and most loyal. Upon entering the nursery, Mary was surprised to discover that her audience had grown. Ronald stood upon her entrance, bowing slightly at the waist in greeting.

"Good morning, Miss Farthington," the young boy her greeted formally. "Would it be acceptable for me to join William for the story?"

Mary smiled and laughed good-naturedly at the request. "Why of course. However, I must insist that you call me Mary."

"No," William protested as he ran over to greet her. "You must call her Princess Mary because she is a princess."

"No she isn't," Ronald protested. "I will do no such thing."

"She is a princess and if you want to hear her stories you shall call her by her proper title!" William crossed his arms and glared at his cousin. He took his job as a knight very seriously.

"You don't have to call me princess," Mary soothed as she took a seat on the settee. "William and I simply like to play pretend. It is great fun. I am his Princess and he is a knight in my court."

"Yes, you must see my armor, Ronald. I have a sword and everything. Uncle Richard is also a knight. Princess Mary named me Sir Little Bits," William piped up excitedly. He was anxious to have his older cousin take part in his games.

"Does Uncle Richard have a knight's name as well?" Ronald asked, suddenly more interested in joining the fun knowing that his uncle also took part.

"Yes, he does," Mary replied, thinking quickly of a suitable name. "He is called Sir Gallant."

"Does my lady have need of me?" Colonel Fitzwilliam asked as he stepped into the room. He had been standing at the door for quite sometime watching the scene with amusement.

Mary turned towards the Colonel, her face wreathed in a broad smile. "Yes, Sir Gallant. I bid you to come attend to the telling of the tales with Sir Little Bits and Ronald."

"Princess, why can't I have a proper name like Sir Little Bits and Sir Gallant?" Ronald pouted, abandoning his previous position in order to emulate his uncle.

"Do you wish to join my court, Ronald?" Mary asked, doing her best to suppress a smile.

The boy nodded his head eagerly. William clapped in triumph and ran to retrieve his sword from the chest where he kept his toys.

"If he is to be knighted, you will need this Princess," William stated very seriously as he handed Mary his small wooden sword."

"You are quite right, Sir Little Bits," Fitzwilliam replied. "It is good that you are attentive to knightly protocol."

Mary laughed lightly as she took the sword from William. She bid Ronald to kneel before her.

"Do you, Ronald Fitzwilliam, promise to uphold the office of knight, serving your Princess and protecting the kingdom from all manner of fell beast and Viking raiders?"

"Vikings?" Fitzwilliam whispered to Mary.

"Yes, Vikings are an ever present threat to my kingdom, Sir Gallant. Do not interrupt," Mary whispered in return.

"I promise, Princess Mary."

"Very well. Then I dub thee Sir Kelvin the Red."

Mary tapped Sir Kelvin on each of his shoulders with the blade of the sword before commanding him to rise. Sir Little Bits clapped and shouted in appreciation.

"Now, Sir Kelvin, are you ready for a story?"

At the boy's eager nod, Mary turned to retrieve the presents that she had made Sir Little Bits from underneath the pillow where she had hidden them.

"You are in luck, Sir Kelvin, as today's story comes with a special surprise."

Mary brought out two cloth puppets sewn onto wooden spoons. The spoons she had acquired from the kitchens as castoffs and the puppets she had sewn and stitched herself. The puppets were of a handsome prince and a fearsome red dragon.

William squealed in delight, jumping from his seat to grasp the puppet of the dragon.

"Princess Mary, are these for me?"

"Yes, I made them special for you, Sir Little Bits. I thought they would make our stories more fun. You can have the dragon and Sir Kelvin can play with the prince."

Ronald took the prince puppet from Mary, a smile lighting up his face as he thanked her. Forgetting his previous reluctance, Ronald dashed off to join William in his play.

"Is there no present for me, Princess?" Fitzwilliam asked in a low voice so as not to be overheard by the boys or the nursery maid.

"I did not know that you enjoyed playing with puppets, Colonel Fitzwilliam," Mary replied with a grin, matching his tone.

"Is it Colonel now?" Fitzwilliam asked, his smile fading.

"Ah, you are right. Forgive me Sir Gallant," Mary smirked up at him as Fitzwilliam joined her on the settee.

Fitzwilliam grinned. "I suppose that shall do. When did you come up with that name for me, Princess?"

"I admit that I just thought of it today in order to convince Sir Kelvin to join my court," Mary blushed slightly as her brown eyes met his. "However, I think the name suits you well."

"Yes," Fitzwilliam agreed as he pulled a smug face. "I have been told by some that I do look quite dashing in my red dress uniform."

Mary laughed. "While I do agree that you are handsome both in and out of uniform…"

"Madam!" Fitzwilliam interrupted with mock alarm.

"Oh, you teasing man! You know my meaning," Mary replied, hitting Fitzwilliam lightly on the arm. "I was going to say that you are chivalrous, noble and valiant."

Fitzwilliam considered these descriptions for a moment, before leaning over to whisper huskily in her ear.

"Is not gallant another word for paramour, Princess?"

Mary swallowed thickly before nervously calling Ronald and William over for their story. Fitzwilliam chastised himself for discomfiting her, but he could only feel a modicum of contrition as he observed the becoming red flush that accented her brown cheeks. Twelfth Night could not come soon enough.

 

---

 

With the afternoon came the remaining houseguests for the Twelfth Night house party. Mary was especially excited to see Mr. Brambles again and to meet her cousins Mr. and Mrs. Peterson. Although she had never met them, Mary was confident that she would soon grow to esteem them both. From Mrs. Peterson's letters, Mary already knew that her father's cousin was a warm and generous woman with a good heart, although perhaps a bit prone to gossip. Her letter to Mary had been filled with warm greetings and her expectations for a lovely summer spent together in Brighton. However, she had also included a few tidbits about the personal lives of their Brighton neighbors. Mary already knew that a Mr. Gregory was exceedingly fond of wine, so much so that at a ball they all attended last summer, he had managed to fall asleep in the middle of a set. Mary also knew that Mrs. Peterson's best friend Mrs. Darmont was now forced to wear wooden dentures as the last of her teeth had fallen out due to her addiction to drinking tea that Mrs. Peterson swore was two parts sugar to one part tea and her aversion to daily teeth cleanings.

"Mr. Brambles, Mr. Derek Peterson and Mrs. Beatrice Peterson," the footman announced the newcomers to the Darcy and Fitzwilliam family assembled in the sitting room.

"Welcome back to Pemberley, Mr. Brambles," Darcy stepped forward to greet him, grasping the elder gentleman's arm firmly.

"It is good to see you all again," Mr. Brambles replied warmly. "And how are you my dear?"

"Very well, Mr. Brambles," Mary replied as she stepped forward to give her friend a warm hug.

Mr. Brambles laughed. "Good, good. You look very well, my dear. Let me introduce my friends and your cousins. Miss. Farthington, may I present Mrs. Peterson and her son Mr. Derek Peterson."

Mrs. Peterson was a short round woman of fifty some years with curly brown hair and kind grey eyes. Her dress was fashionable and well made, although not as ostentatious as that of Lady Letitia.

"Oh, it is lovely to finally meet you, dear," the woman exclaimed before engulfing Mary in a warm embrace, which was eagerly returned.

"It is lovely to meet you as well, Mrs. Peterson. I confess that I am quite anxious to know more of my father's family."

"We are your family too, dear. And I will not hear of you calling me Mrs. Peterson. You must address me as Beatrice."

Mary readily agreed and bid Beatrice to call her Mary. This won her another warm hug.

Mary had to stifle a gasp when meeting Derek Peterson. The young man of three and thirty was almost the splitting image of her father when Lord Farthington was a young man. He shared her father's bright green eyes and wavy blond hair as well as his tall broad shouldered frame.

Mr. Peterson was less intimate but no less warm in his greeting.

"Your father has told us so much about you, Mary, that I feel that I have known you these last nineteen years," the older man stated as he held her hand in both of his and smiled down at her gently. "I am sure that we shall get along famously."

Mr. Darcy completed the introductions of his family to Mary's relations. Mary noted with some distaste the indifferent greeting that the Viscountess and Lady Letitia offered. As soon as the introductions were complete, the ladies excused themselves begging the need to rest before dinner. The Viscount, however, was much more affable in his greetings to those assembled and expressed his desire to engage in a game of billiards with Mr. Peterson after he rested from his journey. Fitzwilliam was just as cordial in his greeting as Mary expected. He decided to join his brother and Derek in the promised billiards match and cajoled Darcy into joining in as well. He even managed to make Beatrice blush prettily with a well-placed compliment.

"Oh, you young people," Beatrice exclaimed as she waved away the compliment on her appearance.

Mary noted with some degree of surprise the becoming blush that spread over Georgiana's features when she was introduced to Derek Peterson. For his part, the gentleman seemed to linger a bit longer than was proper over the lady's hand. Mary's eyes quickly found Elizabeth's, whose look of intrigue matched her own.

"Let me show you all to your rooms. I am sure you are anxious to rest and refresh yourselves. If you like, I could have tea brought up to you. However, I thought that you might like to have a light repast in the blue sitting room with Mary, Georgiana and myself when you are ready."

The party readily agreed to those arrangements and Mary thanked Elizabeth for her thoughtfulness. She was very eager to get to know her relations better.
Elizabeth bid the Petersons and Mr. Brambles to follow her to be shown to their rooms.
Mr. Brambles, however, declined and requested a private word with Mr. Darcy on matters of business. Elizabeth consented to the scheme and informed him that she had placed him in the rooms he had occupied when he last stayed with them.

Mary watched the two men exit to make their way to Mr. Darcy's study with some concern. However, she was soon distracted by Georgiana's approach.

"The Petersons are lovely people. I look forward to knowing them better. You must be pleased to meet your relations, Mary."

"I admit that I am beyond pleased," she replied as she turned towards her friend. "Did you not think Derek to be quite handsome?"

Mary smiled knowingly at her friend's becoming blush. "I had not noticed. But, now that you mention it, he is quite well favored."

"Hmmm," Mary replied. "I believe he found you to be quite well favored, as well."

Georgiana looked as if she would reply with some retort before thinking better of it. "Do you think so?"

Mary smiled even wider. "Well, as I have only known the gentleman for five minutes, I cannot speak with confidence as to what his feelings may be," Mary paused and made note of the slight deflation of Georgiana's posture. "However, he did appear to be very reluctant to let your hand go."

Georgiana smiled at this, regaining some of her previous buoyancy.

"Now, you have not told me what you are planning to wear to the ball." Mary skillfully redirected the conversation as she took her friend by the arm and led her up the stairs to the family wing. Mary was very happy to meet her relations but even more pleased to have the rift between herself and Georgiana begin to heal.

Love and Prejudice Chapter 15

“Oh Mary, my child. I do feel your pain,” Beatrice soothed as she continued to stroke Mary’s hair. “However, everything might not be so terrible as you have thought. I may not know Colonel Fitzwilliam very well, but he strikes me as an honorable man who is very much enamored with you. I just cannot imagine such a pleasant man betrothing himself to such a harpy! There must be another explanation.”

Mary’s lips formed a brittle smile at Beatrice’s choice of words. While Lady Letitia may not have quite been a harpy, she was a rather unpleasant and mean sort of woman and Fitzwilliam had never shown much interest in her. Mary’s heart also rebelled at the very notion that Fitzwilliam would purposefully use her in such a way.

“Lady Letitia did say that the engagement was long standing and secret. Perhaps Richard pledged himself to her when he was very young. It may be that Lady Letitia was much more pleasant then.”

Beatrice gave a very unladylike snort at that. “I have met women like Lady Letitia before. If they are vicious harpies at five and twenty they were also ill tempered as youths! No. I wouldn’t trust a single word that passed through those painted lizard lips.”

Mary laughed out right at this, lifting her head from Beatrice’s lap.

“Beatrice, you are quite wicked,” Mary replied as she wiped her wet cheeks and shook her head. “I would like to believe that every word she spoke was a lie. Indeed, I would. However, I cannot see why they would speak in private to each other in such a way. Richard has also made his intentions towards me quite clear yet he still has not proposed nor spoken with Mr. Darcy.”

“I told you that I have known harpies like Lady Letitia and the Viscountess before. When they are in pursuit of a husband there is no limit to their schemes.”

Beatrice turned to face Mary, taking both of her hands into her own.

“However, I must be frank with you, Mary. It is not proper that you continue this clandestine courtship with the Colonel. I know that you mean well and that your love for him is sincere. I also believe that he may sincerely care for you as well. Do not loose all faith just yet. I advise you to speak with him and ask him when he plans to speak with Mr. Darcy. If he continues to prevaricate or gives some excuse as to why he cannot do so, then you must do what is right and end things then and there.”

Mary nodded her head in acceptance. She knew that Beatrice was right. She only prayed that she would have the strength to walk away if the situation called for it.

“Please do not tell Mr. Darcy, Beatrice. I’ve only spoken with you and Georgiana about Richard. I know I have acted foolishly. I could not bear for Mr. Darcy to know and look on me with disappointment.”

“I will not speak with Mr. Darcy, Mary. You have my word. But please, I cannot bear to hear you speak so harshly of yourself. You are still a young woman and you have had to handle your first love without the benefit of a mother to guide you. On top of all this, you have had to deal with two harridans.”

Mary smiled again.

“So, no more self abuse, dear girl,” Beatrice continued as she hugged her close. “If you have need of me, you only need to ask. I do enjoy giving advice.”

With that, Beatrice quit the bed and went to her own rooms to prepare for the evening meal. Although speaking with Beatrice improved her spirits somewhat, Mary did not feel up to the task of enduring another dinner with Lady Letitia’s smug looks and thinly veiled insults. Nor could she endure Richard’s heated glances or compliments.

*************

“Princess,” little William cried as he ran towards Mary. “Momma said that you had a hurt head and that you needed to sleep. Is your head all better?”

Mary laughed as she stooped down to hug the small child. “Yes, my head is all better, Sir Little Bits. I would not miss fireworks for the world!”

Fitzwilliam watched in contentment as William led Mary into the room, pulling her along by the hand towards the windows where the rest of the party was gathered. As the evening’s entertainment was special and the noise would have woken the children anyway, William and Ronald were allowed to enjoy the spectacle with the adults.

He smiled as he walked towards her and offered her his arm.

“I am pleased that you are well enough to join us, Miss Farthington. Your presence was missed at dinner.”

His smiled slipped from his face as Mary mumbled her thanks and continued to walk with William, her eyes downcast.

“Colonel Fitzwilliam,” Lady Letitia purred as she made her way towards him. “Is this not a lovely bit of amusement?’

Fitzwilliam swallowed a groan before turning towards her and offering a placid smile. “Quite.”

“Shall we join the others?” Letitia asked as she threaded her arm through his.

Fitzwilliam nodded absently as he continued to watch Mary. She stood surrounded by the children and her relations. Mrs. Peterson noticed his perusal and met his stare with one of her own. She frowned at him most openly before turning back towards the window and wrapping one arm about Mary’s shoulders in a motherly fashion. Before Fitzwilliam could wonder at the action, the fireworks began and he found himself pulled hurriedly towards the windows by Lady Letitia.

Despite the spectacle of the fireworks display before him, Fitzwilliam’s gaze remained fixed on Mary. For her part, she endeavored to ignore his pointed stares, looking at him once, only to blanche as her eyes came to rest on Lady Letitia who clutched unpleasantly to his arm. He wondered where had gone his teasing girl of the day before. He longed to speak with her privately but found no opportunity that evening to do so. Yet again he lamented the fact that he lacked the privileges of a fiancé.

After the fireworks, the party gathered to partake of hot cider and cakes with the exception of the children as Elizabeth despaired them ever falling asleep should they be provided sugar to further fuel their excitement.

“I find that I am quite tired,” Mary announced to the room as a maid gathered the children for bed. “If Sir Little Bits and Sir Kelvin so wish, I could tell them one story to usher them off to bed.”

“Oh, yes please! A story would be most wonderful,” Ronald pleaded as William bounced up and down.

“Are you sure that you are quite up to it, Miss Farthington? Perhaps you should rest instead,” Fitzwilliam offered with genuine concern. He could find no other explanation for her peculiar behavior.

“I am quite fit for a story, I assure you,” Mary replied in a clip tone, looking him in the eye for the first time that evening.

Fitzwilliam was stunned by both her tone and the look of anger in her eyes. He was about to make another protestation before Mrs. Peterson interrupted him.

“I could do with a bit more rest myself, dear. Let me help you with the young gentlemen. I should like to hear one of your famous stories myself,” Beatrice said with a smile.

Mary smiled at her gratefully before taking William by the hand. Fitzwilliam watched dumbfounded as Mary and Beatrice bid them farewell for the evening.

*************

The Viscountess Daniela examined herself in the mirror, adjusting her nightgown and pinching color into her pale cheeks. Her auburn hair was loose about her shoulders and down her back, the thick curls arranged in such a way as to appear most enticing. Her bosom was freshly powdered and her best perfume delicately applied to her wrists and behind her ears. As she examined the pleasing picture before her, she sighed dramatically. She hoped that her cousin came to appreciate the depths of her affection for her. She disliked asking anything of her husband almost as much as she disliked sharing his bed. However, Letitia was not getting any younger and she had to marry. For reasons that the Viscountess still could not understand, Letitia was determined to have Richard Fitzwilliam, despite his position as a second son with average looks. While her plans to remove the threat of the Farthington chit had been a splendid success so far, more drastic intervention was needed to secure the Colonel. So, as a devoted cousin, the Viscountess felt it was her duty to do all that was in her power to secure the future happiness of her beloved Letitia. After adjusting the scandalously low-cut bodice of her nightgown one last time, she made her way towards her husband’s chambers.

The Viscountess bore the caresses and vigorous attentions of her husband with feigned impatient desire. Thankfully, her husband’s attentions were of a short duration. As they lay in bed, her husband content in the afterglow of their activities, the Viscountess made her move. She sighed dramatically.

“What is the matter, Poppet?” the Viscount asked sleepily as he fondled one of her silken locks.

The Viscountess cringed inwardly at her husband’s endearment. “I am simply worried about our dear Letitia. She has been so despondent lately. I had hoped that this little party would cheer her, but I fear that it has just brought her pain.”

“How so?” the Viscount asked distractedly as his wife lazily traced patterns on his chest.

“I had thought that being in the company of our dear brother would cheer her. You know how she admires him so. But I am afraid that he has quite ignored her, much to Letitia’s regret.”

“Ah. Miss Mary does provide an enticing distraction. I daresay my brother is quite besotted with her. He absolutely refuses to share.”

The Viscountess’ movements stilled for a moment. She had not known of her husband’s interest in that slip of a girl. However, she had known his tastes to always venture into the exotic and new. Of course he would desire to pluck a hothouse flower. The Viscountess resumed her languid attentions to her husband. His interest in the girl could prove useful.

“If only Miss Farthington were somehow out of the way, I know Richard would pay Letitia the attention that she so craves.”

“What can be done for it?” the Viscount asked as he grew restless under his wife’s traveling fingers. “My brother has never shown any interest in your cousin.”

“I know,” the Viscountess replied as her questing hands slipped beneath the covers. “However, if we gave them a moment alone, Letitia would at least have an opportunity to catch his eye. And perhaps…”

“Yes?” the Viscount prodded, his voice roughened with reawakened desire.

“Ad perhaps you could have a moment alone with Miss Mary. Away from prying eyes and uninterrupted.”

“What would you have me do?”

************

Mary dressed her self with care for the afternoon’s planned entertainments. Elizabeth and Mr. Darcy had arranged for the party to take part in a sleigh ride tour of Pemberly’s grounds and of local points of interest in the vicinity. Mary hoped to use the sleigh rides as a chance to speak with Fitzwilliam. She would take Beatrice’s advice and learn the truth for herself. After breakfast, Beatrice had informed her that Elizabeth had arranged the groupings for the sleigh rides so that Mary would be paired in a sleigh with Richard with Beatrice acting as their chaperone. Beatrice conspired to delay their sleigh so that it would be the last to depart and then to make herself scarce at the last moment before their departure so that she and Richard could speak in private. Mary thought the plan was rather clever.

The party was all gathered in the foyer being assisted by various staff members in donning warm attire for the afternoon’s sleigh ride. Young William and Ronald chatted excitedly as they shrugged into their winter coats. Mary accepted a hug from each boy as she entered in the foyer.

“Will you ride with us, Princess?” William asked excitedly. “I can show you my favorite hiding places in the spring, but I think the snow may have hidden them all.”

“I would love to see your hiding places, Sir Little Bits, but I think that your mother has assigned me to another sleigh. But, when the weather is warm and the grass is green, I promise to go with you to all your hiding places.”

William pouted dramatically before running over to his mother to ask that Mary be put in his sleigh as the Princess would need the protection of her knights.

“Does not your queen require your protection, William?” Elizabeth replied, with a smirk.

“You will have Papa to protect you. But who will protect the Princess from bandits and thieves?”

“You and Ronald are surely not the only knights pledged to the Princess?” Elizabeth replied.

“No,” William answered as he looked down thoughtfully. “Sir Gallant can protect the Princess!”

Elizabeth watched William run over to his uncle with a bemused expression before walking over to Mary who stood laughing as she watched the scene unfold.

“I suppose that Colonel Fitzwilliam is Sir Gallant?” Elizabeth asked smilingly.

“Yes,” Mary replied, her cheeks warm with embarrassment. “As a knight of my realm he required a proper name. I thought that Sir Gallant suited him.”

“Indeed it does,” Elizabeth agreed as she squeezed Mary’s hand fondly.

Shortly thereafter, the entire party made their way to the carriages. Mary looked around for Fitzwilliam as she was handed into the equipage by a footman. Beatrice stood by the sleigh engaged in a similar search. Soon, all but Mary’s sleigh and that of Lady Letitia remained.

“I’ll go and see what’s keeping him, dear,” Beatrice offered before walking back into the house.

Mary sat in the sleigh for several moments, snuggly wrapped in furs. She used the minutes alone to think over what she planned to say to Fitzwilliam and to steady her nerves. Her stomach rebelled at the fearful thought that Fitzwilliam would only confirm what Lady Letitia and the Viscountess had said. She wondered if she would indeed have the strength to let him go if that was the case. The feel of the sleigh dipping under the weight of a new occupant broke her from her reverie. Mary turned expecting Fitzwilliam before starting at the sight of the Viscount entering the sleigh.

“Your Lordship!” Mary exclaimed.

“I apologize for keeping you waiting, Mary,” said the Viscount as he settled into the seat across from her. “And, we agreed that you would address me as Gregory.”

“Where is Richard?” Mary asked, looking around frantically as the sleigh began to move.

“Ah, he is riding with Lady Letitia,” the Viscount replied with a smile. “He asked me to switch places with him as he needed to discuss some private matter. I confess that I leapt at the opportunity of being in your fair company, Mary.”

Mary regarded him with a look of contempt and disbelief.

“Richard would not do such a thing,” she retorted hotly, remembering his anger following her previous encounter with the Viscount. “I demand that you turn this sleigh around at once!”

“Oh, but we have barely left sight of the house, Mary, and I so looked forward to your company.”

Mary began to grow uneasy under the Viscount’s rapacious smile. “Driver, please return us to the house at once!”

“That will never do,” the Viscount replied after the driver ignored Mary’s demand. “You see, Sam is under my employ and I do not wish to end our lovely ride so soon.”

Mary sat with her mouth agape, disbelieving the Viscount’s audacity.

“Well, I do wish to end our ride. If you are a gentleman, you will instruct your servant to return us to the house at once.”

The Viscount laughed. “Oh, I am afraid that your notion of what makes a gentleman is woefully limited, Mary. I am a gentleman, but I have no intention of returning you to the house just yet.”

The Viscount quit his seat across from Mary to sit beside her in the sleigh. Mary’s anger soon gave way to fear and she clutched the furs tightly to her body.

“What do you want with me?” Mary asked, her voice wavering slightly.

“Only to spend time in your lovely presence, Mary.”

“You do not have leave to call me by my Christian name, my lord,” Mary replied as she inched further away from the Viscount.

“Gregory, Mary. Gregory. I do not wish to tell you again,” he replied as he closed the distance between them.

“If I call you Gregory will you return me to the house?”

“Perhaps,” he replied distractedly. “It is quite cold, Mary. Will you not share the furs with me?”

“That would not be proper, Gregory. There are furs enough for you on the other side of the sleigh.”

The Viscount smiled at Mary’s capitulation. “Oh, but I prefer to share with you, Mary.”

The Viscount lifted a corner of the furs from Mary’s body and slid underneath as he pulled Mary against him.

“Much better,” he commented. “I begin to see my brother’s fascination with you. You are so bewitching in your feigned innocence. But I know that passions run deep in your people.”

“I…I don’t know what you mean. Please, release me. This is not proper,” Mary pleaded.

“Whatever my brother has offered you, I can more than double, Mary. Come to me this season in London and I will lavish you with luxuries and attentions that my staid and poor brother could never offer. I have a little house in London with servants who are paid to be discrete. I will arrange everything.”

“You…you think I am his mistress,” Mary gasped. “What you propose is despicable! I have no need for money and would never degrade myself in such a way.”

“I can offer you more than money, Mary,” the Viscount continued, his questing hands moving from her shoulders to caress her form. “My brother is so prudish and unschooled. I could teach you things and show you pleasures that he could not imagine.”

“I demand that you release me at once,” Mary commanded through gritted teeth.

“Who knew that you had such fire?” the Viscount laughed as he turned Mary forcibly so that she was pressed against his chest. “But you will not deny me.”

With that, the Viscount crashed his lips down onto Mary’s. She screamed and pushed against his shoulders forcefully, but he would not release her. Mary felt his tongue seeking entrance into her mouth. She allowed him in before biting him firmly on the tongue. The Viscount yelped as he pushed Mary away from him. Hearing his master’s cry of pain, the driver stopped the sleigh to attend to him. Sensing her chance, Mary quickly climbed down from the sleigh, falling to her knees as she hit the snow covered ground. Before the Viscount could follow her, Mary picked herself up and ran into the woods.

“Should I follow her, my lord,” the driver asked as he leapt from the sleigh.

“No, leave the blasted chit,” the Viscount bit out as he spat blood from his mouth. “Return to Pemberley without her.

*************
Colonel Fitzwilliam stepped into the foyer angrily shrugging off his coat followed by a sheepish Lady Letitia. He disliked being bamboozled. He had been looking forward to the sleigh ride with Mary and was quite put out when he found himself placed alone with Lady Letitia instead. He immediately suspected that his brother’s sudden desire to have a private word with him just as they were due to embark on the tour was related. He spent the entire sleigh ride seated as far from Lady Letitia as possible. He had been in no mood to indulge her mindless chatter and rebuffed her flattery with a coldness that he seldom displayed to the fairer sex. His ire had been further stoked when Letitia mentioned that his brother Gregory was riding with Miss Farthington. In response to his uttered curse at that bit of news, Letitia became angry herself and began abusing Mary abominably.

“I do not know why you are so concerned after the chit,” Letitia went on. “She is hardly better than a servant and not worth your concern. She’s such a dark coarse thing, no more than a bastard parading around like a proper lady.”

“That is quite enough, Letitia,” Fitzwilliam barked out, stunning Lady Letitia into silence. “You have no right to speak of Miss Farthington in such a way. The lady is everything that you are not. Miss Farthington possess more true grace and beauty in her little toe than you do in your entire body. Despite all your breeding and education, you are nothing more than a vapid shell of a woman who pales in comparison.”

“How dare you speak to me in such a manner!”

“I dare say that you deserve far worse, but I shan’t waste my breath,” Fitzwilliam replied. Ignoring Letitia’s indignant splutters, Fitzwilliam instructed the driver to return them to Pemberley at once.

As soon as Fitzwilliam divested himself of his coat, he was approached by a concerned Darcy.

“Richard, have you or Lady Letitia seen Miss Farthington?” Darcy asked, his brow knit with worry.

“Not since this morning,” Fitzwilliam replied. “Whatever is the matter?”

“Your brother returned to the house without her. He claims that she jumped from the sleigh for no reason claiming that she had to return to the house. But that was over an hour ago.”

“I hardly believe that she leapt from the vehicle without provocation,” Fitzwilliam replied darkly.

“Do you think that he imposed on her in some way?” Darcy replied, his tone matching his cousin’s.

“I do not know, but I would not put it past him. He has demonstrated an unsettling interest in Miss Farthington,” Fitzwilliam replied before calling for his coat. “We can deal with my brother later. It will soon grow dark and Mary is hardly attired for a trek through the snow.”

“You are correct of course,” Darcy replied, ignoring Fitzwilliam’s familiarity with his ward. “I have already called for every available footman to gather to form a search party.”

“I will join the search as well.”

Fitzwilliam turned to see Peterson already dressed in his coat and riding boots. “She is my cousin, afterall.”

Fitzwilliam clapped him on the back. “Good man.”

“Well, lets be off then,” Darcy announced as he donned his hat and headed for the door.

*************

Mary shivered as she sat on a rock deep in the woods surrounding Pemberley. She was completely lost and began to despair of ever finding her way back to Pemberley before it became too dark to see in front of her. As it was a new moon, Mary knew that she would have no source of light to guide her steps. The coat she donned that afternoon had been sufficient for a two hour ride in an open sleigh complete with furs and warming blocks, but it was woefully inadequate for an impromptu nighttime hike through snow covered woods. She began to regret her decision to run into the woods rather than along the road when she made her escape. However, Mary had been too bewildered and frightened for rational thought. She only wanted to get away from the horrid Viscount.

Mary rose from her perch and continued to trundle through the woods, hoping to come across a road or a stream that would lead her to civilization. She wondered how such a man as the Viscount could be the brother of her Richard? He was such a vile and presumptuous man. She recalled the taste of his mouth upon hers with a shiver of disgust. However, if what Lady Letitia and the Viscountess had said was true, then their being relations was not quite so surprising. Oh, but Richard was nothing like the Viscount. She knew this in her heart. He had not approached her as if he was entitled to her favors nor handled her so roughly. Richard was a good man and Mary hoped that it was all just a great misunderstanding.

Mary was heartened when she came upon a clearing that bordered a lake. If this was indeed the lake she was familiar with, she knew that if she walked along its bank, eventually she would come upon a familiar path that would lead her to the house. That is, if she found the path before the sun completely set. Mary began to wonder if she was near the place where she had first met Richard. How long ago that seemed! So much had transpired since then. Mary longed for those simple carefree days before the Viscount and his awful family darkened Pemberley’s doors. Well, not all of his family was awful. Ronald was a dear sweet boy whom she hoped would grow to be a fine gentleman despite his parents. Mary sobered at the realization that if the desires of her heart came true, she would have to name the Viscount as brother.

Panic began to overtake her as she began to despair of ever finding her way before nightfall. The sun was rapidly setting and Mary found her path becoming more and more difficult to determine. 
******************

Richard rode through the woodland paths surrounding Pemberley at a moderate pace, calling for Mary as he made his way. He had been occupied with his search for three quarters of an hour and had no luck. Daylight was becoming scare and he despaired of finding Mary before he was due back at the house to reconvene with Darcy and Peterson to modify their search before redeploying with lantern bearing servants. Pain gripped his heart at the idea of Mary lost and frightened in the woods. The picture of her shivering and helpless in the snow was the only thing holding back the rage he felt for his brother. He knew that Mary would not take flight without provocation and he knew his brother’s disposition well enough to be confident that he had tried to impose himself on Mary in some way. He had hoped that his last conversation with Gregory on the subject would have dissuaded him from continuing with his unwanted advances. Richard concluded that a more serious lecture was in order.

All too soon, the sun disappeared from the sky and Richard was forced to make his way back to the house. He directed Beauregard back to the house, calling for Mary all the way back in the off chance that she had wondered near to his route within the past hour. As he approached the house, he was heartened to spy Mary being helped down from a horse by Peterson. Richard swung down from his horse, tossing the reigns distractedly to a nearby footman before trotting towards her.

“Mary…Miss Farthington, I am so glad that you are alright,” Fitzwilliam exclaimed, taking Mary’s cold hands into his.

“Yes, I am well, thanks to Derek,” Mary replied, smiling warmly at her cousin as she pulled her hands from his embrace.

“Thank heavens you are found!” Beatrice exclaimed as she hurriedly made her way down the steps towards them, Elizabeth and Georgiana hot on her heels.

Richard soon found himself separated from Mary, as Elizabeth bundled her off into the house with Beatrice and Georgiana fussing over her along the way.

“She is in good hands,” Darcy said as he patted his cousin on the back. “I am sure that between the three of them Mary won’t be allowed to even blow her nose unassisted.”

Richard nodded his head in agreement as he watched the ladies’ retreat. While he longed for the privilege of taking Mary into his arms to assure himself that she was well, he was too relieved at her having been so quickly found to offer any complaint.

“Thank you for finding her, Peterson,” Fitzwilliam said, his voice thick with gratitude and relief as he held out his hand to the man.

“It was my duty and my pleasure, Fitzwilliam,” Derek replied as he shook the offered hand.

“Now to deal with my brother.”

Love and Prejudice Chapter 17

Mary sat on her bed surrounded by Elizabeth, Georgiana and Beatrice, who were busily fretting over her, true to Darcy’s word. Mary was relieved to be back at Pemberley surrounded by friends, but she was anxious about relating the story of what sent her running into the woods to her friends. She had managed to keep the tale from Derek during the ride back to Pemberley. He had been so relieved to see find her unharmed, that he had not persisted in his questioning. However, after much gentle and earnest pleading by Elizabeth, Mary was persuaded to tell them what happened. The ladies responded with equal measures of shock and anger.

“That serpent!” Elizabeth fumed. “To think that he would ask you such a thing!”

“Well, bravo for you, Mary,” Beatrice added. “I dare say he deserved worse than a bitten tongue! Why, had my Derek been there he would have called him out!”

Mary started at this exclamation. She remembered Richard’s barely contained fury after her previous encounter with the Viscount. She feared that Richard would very well engage his brother in a duel if he ever found out.

“My husband must be informed at once,” Elizabeth said as she rose from the bed. “I won’t have that man one more night in my house!”

“No,” Mary exclaimed as she made to follow her. “Richard must not know. He will be so angry, I do not know what he will do.”

Georgiana came beside Mary and wrapped her arms around her friend protectively. “Do not worry, Mary. My brother shan’t let him do anything rash.”

***************

Peterson and Darcy followed an incensed Fitzwilliam into the foyer. Richard walked past the footmen waiting to divest him of his coat without so much as a backwards glance. As he began to make his way up the stairs to the Viscount’s rooms, Darcy forestalled him with a hand on his shoulder.

“Richard, wait,” Darcy pleaded as Fitzwilliam attempted to shrug out of his hold.

“There is no time. I should have taken care of this days ago,” Fitzwilliam replied as he took the stairs two steps at a time.

“Taken care of what?”

“This is not the first time that my brother has made advances on Miss Farthington,” Fitzwiliam replied as he turned to face his cousin.

“A few days ago I came upon them in the music room. He had her cornered by the pianoforte and Mary looked quite frightened. I had words with my brother and made it clear that he was not to impose upon her again.”

“Why did you not share this with me?”

“I thought that my brother would not want another meeting with my fist so soon after the first,” he replied.

“Well, it would seem that he did not heed your warning,” Peterson added.

Darcy shook his head in disbelief before running one hand through his hair in frustration. “Let us first speak with Mary, then we shall know what must be done. I do not want to confront him without all of the facts.”

Fitzwilliam sighed before replying mirthlessly. “Very well. At least I can be assured that I will know to pummel him sufficiently.”

The three men made their way to Mary’s rooms only to be met part of the way there by a fierce looking Elizabeth.

“Husband, something must be done! Your cousin has imposed himself upon Mary quite abominably!”

“Tell me what happened,” Darcy replied.

Elizabeth glanced warily at Derek, silently communicating her concern over the propriety of his conclusions.

“It is alright, Elizabeth. Peterson is Mary’s cousin and he has already involved himself a great deal in finding Mary. I am sure that we can rely on his discretion,” Darcy replied.

After Fitzwilliam’s terse nod of agreement, Elizabeth recounted all that she had been told. Soon the men’s faces mirrored Elizabeth’s look of outrage and anger. Darcy paced the hall silently, his fist at his mouth in his usual posture of fevered contemplation. Peterson stood with a pained expression, shaking his head in disbelief of the Viscount’s audacity. However, Fitzwilliam’s look gave Elizabeth pause as she began to understand Mary’s concern. His face looked as if it were carved from marble, his lips pressed tightly in a thin unforgiving line and his eyes narrowed in anger.

Fitzwilliam turned abruptly and started down the hall, his long legs carrying him swiftly in the direction of the Viscount’s chambers. After sharing a mild look of alarm, Darcy and Peterson set off after him with Elizabeth hurrying to catch up with them. After a few moments, Fitzwilliam burst into his brother’s rooms calling for his brother as he stalked about the chamber. He was met by the Viscount’s nervous valet.

“Where is your master?” Fitzwilliam bit out.

“He…he is not here, sir. I believe that he is in the green drawing room taking refreshment with the Viscountess,” the wide-eyed man stammered.

Fitzwilliam hastily exited the room to make his way to the green drawing room, as Darcy and Peterson entered.

“Please begin to pack the Viscount’s belongings as he will be leaving Pemberley this evening,” Darcy ordered the bewildered valet before following his cousin.

************

“I can’t believe that she bit you,” the Vicountess tittered as she helped herself to another pastry.

“She is practically a wild beast,” the Viscount exclaimed before downing another glass of sherry.

“Really, Gregory. Your task was a simple one. Why on earth did you have to attempt to force yourself on the girl? I am sure you have made quite a mess of things. She may be a nobody, but she is Darcy’s ward. You know how serious he is about such things. You could have at least waited until she came to town.”

The Viscount’s reply was cut off as the door to the drawing room burst open revealing an enraged Colonel Fitzwilliam with Darcy, Peterson and Elizabeth following behind.

‘My word, Richard! Have you gone quite mad?” the Viscountess exclaimed as she clutched at her breast as if frightened.

Fitzwilliam ignored her outburst as he stalked over to his brother and punched him squarely in the face.

“Pistols or swords, Gregory. What shall it be?” Fitzwilliam asked, his voice remarkably calm.

“Good god,” the Viscount replied as he recovered, gingerly rubbing his jaw. “This isn’t about that Farthington tart, is it?  A mistress is hardly worth calling out your own brother.”

Fitzwilliam flew at the Viscount, heedless of the shocked cries of the other occupants of the room. The Viscountess screamed as she watched the two men tussle.

“Elizabeth, please see the Viscountess to her chambers,” Darcy calmly requested.

“Are you not going to stop him?” the Viscountess cried disbelievingly as Elizabeth attempted to usher her from the room.

“Do not concern yourself, madam. We shan’t allow him to inflict too much damage,” Darcy replied without sparing the Viscountess a backwards glance.

Peterson and Darcy stood to the side for a time, watching Fitzwilliam repeatedly punch the Viscount in the face and stomach before deciding that both men had had enough.

“Its about bloody time,” the Viscount snarled, spitting blood as Darcy and Peterson pulled a struggling Fitzwilliam off of his prone form.

“You are lucky that I did not allow him to finish the job!” Darcy retorted.

“I warned you, Gregory,” Fitzwilliam growled as he shrugged off Darcy and Peterson’s hold on his arms. “The choice is yours: swords or pistols! Whatever your choice your chances of survival are slim.”

“You wouldn’t dare kill me! You’d hang long before you could reclaim your whore!”

Fitzwilliam quickly set upon his brother again, throwing him back against the wall and beating him ruthlessly until blood flowed freely from his nose.

“If I were you, Viscount, I would hold my tongue,” Peterson spat as they pulled Fitzwilliam back once more.

“He’s broken my damned nose,” the Viscount cried as he held his face.

“You are lucky that is all he has broken,” Darcy replied before turning towards Fitzwilliam. “Calm yourself, cousin. We both know that dueling is illegal and it will aid no one if you are hung and Ronald is made an orphan.”

Fitzwilliam shook his head as he glowered at his brother. “He must pay for what he has done.”

“Think of Mary,” Darcy reasoned. “Would you see her hurt if you are imprisoned for dueling?”

Fitzwilliam turned to look at him, his blue eyes filled with pain. “I would never hurt Mary,” he replied hoarsely.

“I know,” Darcy replied before patting his cousin on the back. “Let me handle your brother.”

“Peterson, can you see to Richard? His hand appears to be bleeding. Inform one of the footmen to send for the doctor to see to him,” Darcy requested as he gave Peterson a significant look.

“Of course. That does look like a nasty gash. You must have caught it on a tooth,” Peterson replied before leading Fitzwilliam from the room.

“I daresay that I am the one in need of a bloody doctor,” the Viscount ground out.

“Perhaps you can send for one from the inn this evening,” Darcy replied, his voice tight. “I would add to your injuries myself if Richard had not done such a thorough job for me!”

Darcy eyed his bleeding cousin with disgust before walking over to the table and retrieving a napkin.

“Here, make use of this. I’ll not have you staining the carpets. They are deuced difficult to clean,” Darcy said as he tossed the cloth at the Viscount.

“Now see here…”

“No, you see here!” Darcy shouted, cutting off the Viscount’s complaint. “You have dishonored my ward, my home and my family with your despicable actions. I do not know what you hoped to accomplish by assaulting Miss Farthington, as she is under my protection and as you can see, she is not without friends. In addition to imposing yourself upon her, you have besmirched the honor of a respectable lady.”

“You are such a hypocrite, Darcy,” the Viscount replied un-chastised by his cousin’s rebuke. “You allow my brother unfettered access to the chit yet judge me for doing the same. You and Richard were always thick as thieves. So self righteous and…”

Darcy cut off his response with another blow to his face.

“You will leave this house this instant,” Darcy ground out. “A carriage with your things will follow you in the morning. Your wife, son and Lady Letitia may remain for the duration of their stay, but you shall never darken Pemberley’s doors again. From this point on we are as strangers.”

Darcy strode to the door and called for an unmarked carriage for the Viscount and for two strong footmen to escort the Viscount to the vehicle the instant it was made ready.

Darcy turned back briefly to regard his cousin. “If I ever hear of you so much as speaking Miss Farthington’s name again, I shall finish what Richard began.”

****************

Dinner was a stilted affair. Mary took her meal in her rooms with Georgiana. The Viscount was notably absent from the meal, having been unceremoniously tossed from the house that afternoon. The Viscountess was absent from the meal as well, claiming fatigue and a headache brought on by the indignities of the day. The remainder of the party ate a near silent meal, the gentlemen still angered over the events of afternoon and Fitzwilliam so concerned about Mary’s well being that his meal remained uneaten. Lady Letitia sat silent and pale, picking at her food morosely and avoiding eye contact with the other diners. The rest of the party was grateful, finding her silence a drastic improvement over her normal loquaciousness.

Georgiana silently watched her friend listlessly consume her meal. She had refused to leave Mary’s side since that afternoon, despite Mary’s protestations that she was quite well.

“What are you thinking, Mary?” Georgiana asked after Mary had absent-mindedly poked her lamb with her fork for the umpteenth time.

“I could have avoided all of this,” Mary replied after a pause. “Had I not plotted with Beatrice to ride unattended with Fitzwilliam, I would not have been alone when the Viscount climbed into the carriage. Had Beatrice been there, I am sure he would not have attempted such a thing.”

“You are not to blame,” Georgiana replied fiercely. “The blame is entirely Gregory’s. He is the one that attacked you, Mary.”

“But it is my fault that he had the opportunity.”

Georgiana regarded her friend silently for a moment. “May I tell you a story, Mary?”

Mary looked up at her friend incredulously. “I am afraid that I would make a poor audience, Georgiana. I am in no mood for stories.”

“I promise you that you’ll want to hear this one. It is a true story about a girl that was in a situation not quite so different from your own.”

At Mary’s nod of acquiescence, Georgiana began her tale.

“There was once a young girl a few years younger than you are now. She was a very proper girl, well bred and polite. She was also very wealthy. The young girl was raised by her brother, whom she dutifully obeyed. However, one day the young girl was not so obedient. You see, a very handsome man who had always been kind to her professed himself to be very much in love. He bade the young girl to keep their love secret because her brother would not approve because he was very poor. The young girl, believing her love to be true, agreed.

“One day the handsome man asked her to elope with him, reasoning that her brother would understand once they were married. The girl was hesitant, but again she agreed. The day that they planned to run away together, the brother surprised the young girl with a visit. Unable to keep such a secret much longer, the young girl told her brother all. He was furious with the handsome man and they argued. The young girl learned that the handsome man did not love her but only wanted to marry her for her fortune.

“For many years the young girl blamed herself for what had happened. If she had not been so foolish or if she had examined the handsome man’s actions rather than his words, she would have been nearly ruined. Then one day she learned how the handsome man had lied to another young girl and lured her away from her family and her home ruining her. Then the young girl realized that she was not to blame. The handsome man alone was to blame for his actions. He was an evil man who had shown that he would act in such a barbarous way again and again.”

Mary regarded her friend, who sat looking off into the distance, her jaw taut. Mary quit her seat and sat on the settee next to her friend. Georgiana turned and gave her a rueful smile.

“I wasted so much time being miserable and blaming myself for the sins that Wickham had committed against me and my brother until I came to realize that his actions had very little to do with me. I was but a means to an end and if it had not been me, he would have imposed upon another girl as he later did.”

Georgiana pressed Mary’s hand with her own before leaning her head to the side to rest on Mary’s own.

“Please do not make a similar mistake. Gregory is not worth your wretchedness.”

Georgiana hugged her friend before leaving. Mary sat thinking about all that Georgiana had said. She knew that she was right. There was no good to be had in blaming herself for the Viscount’s actions or for Fitzwilliam’s. While Georgiana had thought to comfort Mary by sharing such a personal story, Mary could not help but to ponder handsome men and their pretty words and lack of action.

*******************

Fitzwilliam excused himself from the company soon after the conclusion of the meal. He was in no mood for card games or billiards even if the atmosphere of the drawing room had been more conducive to such amusements. He made for the privacy of his rooms, but instead found himself outside of Mary’s chambers starring fixedly at the doors as if he could will them to be transparent. The house party had been frustrating in that he seldom had an opportunity to be alone in Mary’s company. He longed to hold her against his chest so as to ensure himself that she was well and to beg her forgiveness for failing to protect her. His brother’s accusations and Lady Letitia’s scornful words troubled him. The idea that Mary would stoop so low as to be anyone’s mistress was laughable, but he knew that in society’s eyes, the appearance of evil was far worse than its actual existence.

He wondered if his own actions had colored his brother’s perception of Mary. He had played the part of fiancé without the title. If they had been betrothed, she would have been protected from such accusations. He could have told his brother plainly that Mary was his intended and under his protection. Were it within his own power, he and Mary would have been engaged. And were he a different man, they would have long been off to Gretna Green to be made husband and wife despite Darcy’s objections. However, he would never disgrace Mary with an elopement.

Fitzwilliam was shaken from his contemplation by the approach of his cousin Darcy. He regarded his cousin wearily, leaning next to him against the wall and making no attempt to explain his presence there.

“Do not worry, Richard. She will be well,” Darcy said as he came to lean against the wall beside him. “Mary is a brave girl. She will recover.”

“I know,” Richard replied in a low tone. “I wish that I could comfort her all the same. I should have been there to protect her.”

A long silence stretched between the two men as they both looked off into the distance unseeing.

“I have been thinking about your desire to ask for Mary,” Darcy began after a time. “While I still worry for Mary’s reception by our family and by the ton, especially after the events of the past few days, I know that you would protect her with your life. I can see that you love her deeply, perhaps even as fiercely as I love Elizabeth.”

“I do,” Fitzwilliam replied brokenly.

“Then I grant you permission to ask for Mary’s hand,” Darcy said, turning to face his cousin for the first time. “If she will have you, then you have my blessing.”

Fitzwilliam regarded his cousin in mute shock for a few moments before a broad smile broke out over his tired features.

“Cousin, you do not know how happy you have made me!” Fitzwilliam exclaimed as he caught up Darcy in a fierce hug.

“I can imagine,” Darcy laughed as he clapped his cousin on the back.

“I shall ask her this moment,” Fitzwilliam declared once he released his cousin.

“No, let the girl rest,” Darcy replied, a small grin gracing his lips. “There will be plenty of time to make your suit tomorrow. I find that privacy is astonishingly easy to find when the house is packed to the gills during a ball.”

“You are right of course,” Fitzwilliam said with a smile. “Thank you cousin.”

Fitzwilliam hugged Darcy again, causing the man to chuckle wryly.

“If I had known this would have been your reaction, I would have informed you by letter!”

Darcy clapped his cousin on the back before bidding him a good sleep and pleasant dreams.

“They shall be quite pleasant,” Fitzwilliam said to himself as he turned to look at Mary’s door once more. “Very pleasant indeed.”

*********************

The Viscountess sat in her chambers comforting a weeping Lady Letitia.

“Everything is positively ruined,” Letitia sobbed. “The Colonel shall never ask for me now and I have your lecherous husband to thank.”

The Viscountess glared at her cousin. “Oh, stop your sniveling. If you had taken my advice and not abused Miss Farthington to his face then perhaps your chances would not look so bleak. But, no, you can never manage to control that fishwife’s mouth of yours!”

Lady Letitia spluttered indignantly before dissolving into another wave of dramatic sobs.

The Viscountess rose and paced the room in agitation.

“I cannot believe that he tossed Gregory from the house or that Darcy allowed the Colonel to beat him so ruthlessly. Why, his right eye was almost swollen shut! He shall not be fit to be seen for weeks. Gregory will be very much mistaken is he thinks that I shall miss out on entertainments staying home to nurse his split lip, foolish man!”

“I don’t give a two figs about Gregory’s swollen eye,” Letitia declared as she beat her fists petulantly against a cushion. “I have been made a laughing stock and will die an old maid!”

The Viscountess ignored her cousin’s complaints as she paced the room deep in thought. There had to be some way to salvage the situation and regain some of her dignity.

“Perhaps things are not so hopeless as you think, Letitia,” the Viscountess began, a calculating smile spreading over her lips. “If you hush your sniveling and do as I say then you may yet have your colonel, whether he likes it or not.”