9. In which there are unexpected conesquences

The next morning, Elizabeth felt unequal to the task of riding in the carriage with her sisters; she tossed aside traveling coat for riding habit, and pressed Lord Orville once more into service. The French attack had not much altered his temper, and Elizabeth reasoned that she had been more exhausted during the retreat from Burgos than she was presently. It was safer to ride and not speak to anyone, except perhaps her husband or Mr. Darcy, then spend four hours quarreling fruitlessly with Lydia.

It was a fine day, too, crisp and clear, and the faint chill of autumn in the air kept her awake. After the first hour of riding, Colonel Fitzwilliam came up to her and said, “You are very quiet, Lizzy.”

“Oh my dear,” said she, stifling a yawn, “I am exhausted. I could blather on to you, but you would not find it very coherent. I never understood your way of seeming perfectly alert with very little sleep.”

“It’s an old campaigner’s trick. You shall acquire it in due course.”

She smiled but did not respond; he said, presently, “Are you worried how we shall break this to your parents?”

“Hm? Oh no, I hadn’t the energy to really think of it except as something I must improvise based on Lydia's complaints. I must confess, I was worrying over what to do if I do carry to term. I have only been on one campaign, and barely kept myself out of trouble. How should I manage to keep myself and an infant from harm?”

“You could always stay in England.”

Elizabeth looked at him with very real fear. “Would you insist on it?”

“Not if you dislike it,” said he, looking back at her with worry. “Which it seems you would.”

“I would mind it very much indeed. I like following the drum, and I think I might fret myself to death having to wait a week or longer to hear what actions you have seen.”

Colonel Fitzwilliam considered this and sighed. “I am not sure what is best to be done.”

“It is not,” said Elizabeth, sorting through her feelings, as she might embroidery threads, “that I do not want a child. I do. But not... not yet. Not now, at least. I could be pregnant through a campaign. If we had six months in England with a child, learning how to care for it, I should feel much better about that child’s chances of survival.” She made an exasperated noise. “But I talk as my aunt expressly warned me not to! She told me not to get my hopes up until the third month. Then I might be at liberty to plan as I like.”

“Lizzy,” said Colonel Fitzwilliam, very seriously, “we shall make it work, whatever happens. I promise you that. It will all be alright.”

“Stop being so good,” said Elizabeth. “I want to be irritated and you are making that exceedingly difficult.”

He smiled at her and said, “Shall I go plague Darcy then?”

“Do. His valet told my maid that Darcy was still awake at seven, when he went into wake him. The valet went in to wake Mr. Darcy, I mean. I do not think he slept at all. Darcy, not the valet. Bother it all! Go plague Darcy as you have threatened; I am too tired to keep talking.”

Colonel Fitzwilliam rode ahead, leaving Elizabeth alone with her crotchets and her exhaustion. She was lightly dozing in the saddle when they reached the coaching inn, where they must change carriage horses. The onrush of a mail coach departing sounded, in her sleep-addled mind, very much like the French attack on the baggage train; Lord Orville evidently thought so as well, and the sight of several express riders galloping out after the mail coach was enough to make him decide that the French were attacking again and he was not going to be on the road for it. He galloped; Elizabeth yanked on the reins to control him; he protested. Elizabeth did not consider herself thrown from her horse only because she was still holding onto the reins when she hit the ground. These she released at once and rolled out of the way, as Mrs. Kirke had bade her do should she ever be thrown again, and jumped to her feet with one of the soldier’s oaths she generally pretended not to know.

Colonel Fitzwilliam and Mr. Darcy both dismounted at once, as Elizabeth brushed the dust off her habit.

“Wretched beast,” Elizabeth said to the horse. She seemed to have jarred herself badly in the landing and felt rather shaken. “I should sell you for glue.”

“Lizzy, are you alright?” asked Colonel Fitzwilliam, as Mr. Darcy seized her horse’s reins and calmed it.

“I have not broken my wrists,” said Elizabeth, “so I may still sign for Jane tomorrow morning. My back aches, but nothing to signify.” She then recalled her most pressing medical concern and felt a jolt of both relief and horror intertwined. “As to— oh God, I do not know. Marietta, Captain Patrick’s wife— she— she fell off her horse at Salamanca and—”

Colonel Fitzwilliam said, when he saw she could not go on, “Shall I call a doctor?”

Elizabeth took stock of her various aches and thought she knew the answer already. "It... it should be fairly obvious. At least, it was when I was attending Mrs. Patrick. If you give me a moment at the inn, I should be able to tell myself." 

“We must all stop regardless; they must hitch new horses to the carriage.”

A quick word in the ear of the innkeeper’s wife secured her the help and expertise she needed, and Elizabeth was unsurprised by this lady’s conclusions. They were very similar to Elizabeth’s own. Elizabeth felt primarily guilty; that she had somehow willed this, or caused it to happen because she had just been talking of how inconvenient this particular pregnancy might be. She cried a little, but not as much as she felt she ought, and mostly when she had to tell Colonel Fitzwilliam she had miscarried.

He gathered her up in his arms, as they sat side-by-side on an ugly horsehair divan in the smaller private parlor, and said, helplessly, “My dear, my very dear.”

“I am so sorry,” said Elizabeth, wracked with guilt. “You were so happy.”

“I was, and I daresay I shall be again. We have been married scarcely seven months, and were not particularly trying for children. It relieves my mind to know it will be so easy in future.”

“In a year or two, perhaps,” said Elizabeth.

“Yes, I might have enough seniority for a post permanently in London by then.” He pulled back a little to look her in the eye and say, “It will be alright, Lizzy. I promised you it would, whatever happens. Are you well enough to ride?”

“Do not force me into the carriage!”

He managed something near a laugh. “Poor Lizzy, you have suffered enough today. We could make a longer stop here, and rejoin your family later, that is all I mean. The innkeeper’s wife said you would be in some pain for the next few days.”

“No, after all the Darcys have been through, I cannot in good conscience force them to explain Lydia’s wrong doings. And I have spent the campaign riding through my usual monthly pain; this feels very like. I only need a few minutes to compose myself.” She gave herself a moment more to rest, with her head on Colonel Fitzwilliam’s shoulder. She was so used to his uniform, it felt odd not to feel the scratch of gold braid against her temples. “I am afraid it is my fault.”

“How could it be? You were doing a very fine job pulling Lord Orville back under your control—”

“I was not attending when the mail coach was rolling out.”

“He would have panicked either way. My own horse was restive at the noise. You might as well say I was at fault for failing to get you a new horse when we reached London, or for telling you I had no idea what to do if you did have the child. If I blamed myself for every injury I have ever received, I would never have the courage to go back into battle.” After a moment, he said, “Lizzy, my dear, please do not think I blame you.”

She raised her head and forced a smile, “it is ridiculous but I almost feared you might.”

“Never.” He stroked her dusty curls and said, “To tell you the truth, as much as I should like a family, I have been blind to how complicated it will be to actually have one.”

Elizabeth managed to laugh through the last traces of her tears. “You know, Darcy once told me that you misrepresented your flaws to me. It is not that you fail to take responsibility for mistakes, it is that you never notice the severity of a problem until it has blown up in your face.”

To her relief, Colonel Fitzwilliam merely smiled and said, “It is a pity Darcy should know me better than myself. Well, and here I am forewarned, Mrs. Fitzwilliam: it will be a problem for us to begin a family so early into our marriage. Does that displease you?”

Elizabeth considered this. “No. I am a little relieved, I must confess, to have that out in the open, and acknowledged. Mrs. Kirke and her husband purposefully have no children because of the logistical difficulties. Do you have a handkerchief?”  

“There is my true flaw,” said Colonel Fitzwilliam, patting his pockets. “Never having a handkerchief. The innkeeper’s wife said she would procure some hot water and clean clouts for you; I shall add a handkerchief to the order. Will a quarter of an hour suffice for all that?  I shall go up to Darcy and—”

They both paused and looked at each other, willing the other not to laugh. Colonel Fitzwilliam broke first, and Elizabeth followed.

“Oh my God,” gasped Elizabeth, breathless with laughter. “You left Darcy with three teenage girls? All by himself?”

Colonel Fitzwilliam ran a hand over his face, to try and wipe the smile off his face. “I confess, I did. I did not realize I had done so until this moment.”

“I cannot imagine it!”

“It is poor recompense for all he did last evening,” said Colonel Fitzwilliam, managing to at least look serious. “I shall go rescue him.” He paused long enough to kiss her forehead and say, “Te amo, my dear.”

“I love you too,” said Elizabeth, still laughing, “and will much more if you mark Darcy's expression and tell me of it later!”

***

When Elizabeth had arranged clouts and petticoats, washed her face, and drunk a posset the innkeeper’s wife kindly urged upon her, she went up to the larger private parlor to see Mr. Darcy had taken up his usual post by the window. He stared determinedly at the dusty drive, as if trying to commit it to memory.

Colonel Fitzwilliam turned at her entrance and said, with a trace of anxiety still, “All well, Mrs. Fitzwilliam?”

“Yes, I am sorry to have detained you all.”

Kitty had sprung up and run to her, perhaps not with the greatest propriety with with a very touching affection, and unfortunately seized her around the waist. Elizabeth exaggerated her surprised ‘oof’ and, hugging Kitty tightly, said, “My word, Kitty, you are faster than a French hussar.”

“Colonel Fitzwilliam said you’d fallen from your horse,” said Kitty. “Are you alright? You are not injured?”

Kitty had abandoned her bonnet and spencer on the table; Elizabeth found herself perilously close to tears and hid it by pressing a kiss to Kitty’s hair. “I tore my hem,” she said in a stage-whisper, so that Georgiana, who had also risen, but hung back, could hear too. “An honorable casualty against the mailcoach, do you not think?”

Georgiana smiled and Kitty giggled; Lydia, who was sulking by the fire, pretended not to be listening and turned up her nose.

“You said you lost your hat during the retreat from Burgos, did you not?” asked Georgiana. “I think you wrote that.”

“I did! What an excellent memory you have.” Elizabeth was glad to see Georgiana and Kitty’s spirits were bolstered rather than depressed by the events of the previous evening, and further, that they were using the worst weapon one teenaged girl could wield against another: social ostracization. They kept their backs to Lydia as they engaged Elizabeth in another retelling of the Powder Wagon Incident, which was apparently a more popular story with them than even Evelina had been for Elizabeth and Jane. Elizabeth kept one arm around Kitty’s waist and held out the other for Georgiana, who was both surprised and pleased by this embrace.

“But now,” said Elizabeth, when she had finished her tale, “you have seen I am well, and heard how I have endured much worse than the mailcoach! Shall we depart?”

Elizabeth was pleased to see— perhaps more out of spite than anything else— that Kitty and Georgiana ignored Lydia when going into the coach and continued to do so for the rest of the ride.

“There is nothing quite so vicious as a teenage girl,” said Elizabeth, to Colonel Fitzwilliam. “Having been one myself, I ought to know.”

Darcy was riding by them and turned at this, saying, “I am surprised at how well Georgiana has taken... these events.”

“Are you? I am not, she has been allowed to be active.”

Colonel Fitzwilliam said, “I think it helps she and Miss Catherine are now such fast friends.”

“One cannot successfully capture and send a rake to Australia and remain only indifferent acquaintances,” said Elizabeth. “I am glad of such increase in intimacy between them. Kitty always wants someone to follow, and I would much rather she follow Georgiana than Lydia.”

Colonel Fitzwilliam added, “And Georgiana, I think, has always wanted a particular friend her own age.”

Darcy inclined his head.

Elizabeth looked askance at him. The incipient lines around mouth and eyes had turned graven, and he seemed only to be keeping himself upright and moving through strength of will alone. “Mr. Darcy, did you get any rest at all? We can easily change our route to stop first at Netherfield.”

“I did not, but there is no need to alter our course,” said Darcy. “Some explanation must be offered to your father, why three of his daughters, staying in my house, under my protection, had forced upon them, in the middle of the night, the company of the worst kind of man.”

Elizabeth, a little resenting being lumped in with Kitty and Lydia said, “Mr. Darcy, I understand your scruples, but really, my husband and I can explain what happened. My father will not require you personally to account for Mr. Wickham’s visit.”

“You push yourself too much,” said Colonel Fitzwilliam, gently. “You need not always be doing everything yourself, and I daresay you had the most difficult night of all of us.”

Mr. Darcy looked particularly at Elizabeth as he said, stiffly, with weariness creeping in around the edges, “The fault is mine and so must the remedy be. I will get no peace until I have done so.”

Elizabeth well remembered the folded letter, and the talk in the wilderness. She exchanged a glance with Colonel Fitzwilliam, and tried to convey, through expression alone, ‘You must allow him this.’

“If you feel you must,” Colonel Fitzwilliam began.

“I do,” said Mr. Darcy, and spurred on his horse so that he rode a ways before them.

***

Great was Mrs. Bennet’s joy in exclaiming, before the housekeeper, Mrs. Hill, the two housemaids, the groom, and the manservant, “And here is Mrs. Fitzwilliam and the dear colonel! Oh my dear, dear son-in-law, welcome to Longbourn!”

Colonel Fitzwilliam dutifully let himself be kissed and fussed over before reaching up to help Elizabeth down. Elizabeth could not quite help her wince, nor he his anxious look and continued hold upon her. Mrs. Bennet did not notice, nor Jane nor Mary, for they were all occupied in Kitty, Lydia, and Georgiana spilling out of the carriage, but Mr. Bennet did, and looked at them in concern. But there was no time to say anything; the Gardiners and their children came spilling out of the house in response, and all was noise and confusion.

There seemed to be endless difficulty getting inside once again. Elizabeth was reassuring her husband in a low voice, that she was as well as could be expected, when her father appeared before her and offered his arm. “Mrs. Fitzwilliam, I am afraid you are the highest ranking lady present; I must lead you in.”

Elizabeth had entirely forgotten this; she had been waiting, with some impatience, for Jane to lead the way. She took her father’s arm with a smile and said, “Papa, I ought to be very cross with you. Did you not promise to come visit whenever I was in London?”

“For the sight of Lady Catherine,” said he, “which you could not deliver. After all the talk of lace I was forced to have over your wedding clothes, can you really blame me for failing to sit through yet more talk for Jane’s?” He covered her hand with his own as he lead her into the house. “I almost thanked you for being in such haste to marry. I had only two or three days of it, all told, before your mother could be distracted by the marriage settlements.”

“Yes, Lydia was informing me it was Mama’s favorite topic.” She waited only until Mrs. Hill had relieved her of her hat and gloves to say, in a low voice, “Papa, we need to talk privately about Lydia. Last night she went absolutely beyond the pale.”

“I suppose she followed through on her threat to make her dress cling by dampening her petticoats, as I am told is all the fashion in London. I venture a guess that handkerchiefs, tissanes, and lozenges will be the must have accoutrements shortly thereafter.”

Elizabeth cupped her hand around his ear and whispered a much abbreviated version of events. At last her father was shocked. He stared at her in strained incredulity, and would have continued so if Mr. Darcy had not stood next to him and cleared his throat.

“Mr. Darcy,” said Mr. Bennet, turning to him. “I, ah, I understand I owe you some apology for foisting upon you my two youngest. Will you come into the bookroom with me, sir? Lizzy, go rescue your husband. Bring Kitty and Lydia, if you can find them.”

“My sister, also,” said Mr. Darcy.

“Pray make up some excuse to your mother,” said Mr. Bennet. “I hate to deprive her of all her victims at once, but it must be done.”

“Have you any objection to my telling her merely that Lydia’s behavior yesterday was unconscionable?”

“No, no, she will interpret it as I did, at first. It has been impressed upon her that your new relations do not look kindly upon even slight improprieties.”

Elizabeth did not need to give much excuse; even Mrs. Bennet had picked up that Kitty and Georgiana were refusing to talk to Lydia, and was now asking Colonel Fitzwilliam, in a low voice, why the three youngest of the party had quarrelled.

“That is a matter Papa wishes particularly to discuss with Colonel Fitzwilliam,” said Elizabeth. She stooped to kiss her mother and said, “I am sorry Mama, but I must take them all into the bookroom to explain what has happened; I shall return your guests to you anon.”

Mrs. Bennet was baffled, but relieved her anxiety by talking in a loud voice to Mr. and Mrs. Gardiner that Lydia’s high spirits and tragic circumstances occasionally led her to excess.

“Excess, you call it?” muttered Elizabeth, shutting the door to the sitting room firmly behind it. “Oh yes, multiple felonies are nothing but excess!”

Colonel Fitzwilliam looked askance at her. “Sarcasm this early? Are you picking up my bad habits again, my dear?”

“I am told that is very common in marriage. The next thing we know, you shall go about completely covered in mud.”

“Aye, petticoats three inches deep,” said he, solemnly.

Elizabeth lightly swatted him on the shoulder.

The mood of the bookroom was very grim. Mr. Darcy had given his account of events while Elizabeth was gathering up the others, and Mr. Bennet, sitting with his elbows upon his desk and his hands to his temples, looked far older than Elizabeth had ever seen him.

“Lydia,” said he, when Elizabeth and Colonel Fitzwilliam had shut and locked the door behind them. “I hesitate to ask this, for I truly fear the answer, but what were you thinking?”

Lydia, ensconced in one of the chairs facing the desk said, determinedly, “I was thinking I must make a push, for no one else will.”

“And your idea of making a push is to steal one sister’s jewelry and force the other to be an accomplice not just to this crime, but another: assisting a stranger to break into the home of your host. Ah, but there your efforts do not end! Already guilty of grand larceny and breaking and entering, you would have added to this the sale of stolen property, a note admitting your guilt, and running away from home. How, Lydia, is this making a push?”

Phrased like this, Lydia had no response.

Mr. Bennet turned to Kitty and Georgiana, who sat once more shoulder to shoulder on a divan. “Miss Darcy, I very sincerely beg your pardon, as I have begged your brother’s. The offence my family has given yours is great indeed.”

Georgiana looked very startled to be addressed and managed a hesitant, “But it— it was not Miss Lydia’s fault, sir, Mr. Wickham lied to her. And Kitty— Miss Catherine, that is— she came up with the plan to stop him and she helped me.”

“She helped you?”

Mr. Darcy had evidently given a shorter account than even Elizabeth; Kitty eagerly gave hers, which was long, included a useless digression on the merits of parasols versus fireplace pokers while threatening rakes, and finished with Mr. Wickham’s probable death at sea, before ever reaching Australia. Sharks entered into this more than expected.

“Lizzy,” said Mr. Bennet, turning to where she and Colonel Fitzwilliam sat in the window seat, “when you came in, you mentioned that Kitty and Miss Darcy had been forced to hold off Mr. Wickham until you and Colonel Fitzwilliam came down to deal with him, but I think you left out one or two crucial details.”

“The fireplace poker,” said Kitty, triumphant. “Georgiana— Miss Darcy, that is— she thought the parasol, but I thought—”

“Yes, your views on fireplace pokers have been explained in great detail,” said Mr. Bennet. “Miss Darcy, it is natural you wish to defend Lydia, but she must bear some responsibility for last evening’s events. Lydia, apologize to Miss Darcy.”

Lydia glared at him. “But no harm came to anyone and I was only trying to help her, for Mr. Wickham said he was her soulmate.”

“Mr. Wickham,” said Mr. Darcy, unexpectedly, “is no one’s soulmate but his own. He is certainly not my sister’s.”

“Well then I am sorry for that,” said Lydia indignantly, “but I was only trying to help everyone.”

“You were only kept from harming everyone, including yourself, because Kitty thought to confide in Miss Darcy,” said Mr. Bennet. “And that was not an apology. Try again.”

Lydia said, stiffly, “I am sorry, Miss Darcy.”

“For?”

“For trying to help—”

“Try again.”

Mr. Bennet kept this up until Lydia was red-faced, but at last admitting her wrongs. When she had apologized to everyone, Mr. Bennet said, “You owe myself and your mother another apology, for bringing such discredit upon our family, but that, I think, is too long to be spoken aloud. You will go up to your room and write it out. I will require you to do it over again if I find any misspellings.”

Lydia jumped to her feet. “You are monstrous unfair!”

“Yes, a grammatical tyrant,” he agreed. “There is no room in my heart for variant spellings. Kitty, Lizzy, pray escort your sister up to her room and Miss Darcy to the sitting room. I rely on you Kitty, not to tell your mother, sisters, aunts, cousins, servants, and any traveling salesmen about this until I have finished talking to Mr. Darcy and Colonel Fitzwilliam. Lizzy, after you have stationed one of the maids at Lydia’s door, will you come back?”

This was speedily accomplished. Elizabeth was delayed a little by Mrs. Bennet and the Gardiners, but they were contented with a grim, “Lydia is writing out some apologies and will not be down again today.” Jane looked worried at this; Elizabeth signaled that they would speak later.

Elizabeth gave herself a moment to lean against the wall in the hallway, her arms around her midsection, so that she might grimace as she liked. ‘Really,’ she thought, ‘this is worse than what I have to deal with every month. I wonder how women of lower classes can bear this while harvesting grain or mixing the bread.’

When she returned, Mr. Bennet was saying to Mr. Darcy, “Really sir, you must demand some reparation of me. Significant harm could have befallen your sister due to the actions of my daughter.”

“Due to the actions of your other two daughters, no harm did,” said Mr. Darcy. “It was my pride that caused this; my disinclination to bare my private affairs to the world. No one but myself, Colonel and Mrs. Fitzwilliam, and my cousin Lady Stornoway, had any idea Mr. Wickham had tried to seduce my sister once before. No one outside my family circle knew of all his dealings with me. Had he succeeded in all his objects last night, his revenges against me would be great indeed— and my sister and Miss Lydia the collateral damage.”

“I shall say it again: you take too much on yourself.” Colonel Fitzwilliam had ceded his chair to Elizabeth, and, seeing her shift uncomfortably in it, paused to pick up a small pillow from the divan and wedge it behind her back. She smiled her thanks at him and he continued, “Darcy, it is not your fault Wickham broke into your house. As soon as you were made aware of his presence, you acted with admirable rapidity. Indeed, I cannot think of a tidier end to the whole affair.”

“At least allow me to buy up Mr. Wickham’s debts in Meryton,” said Mr. Bennet.

Mr. Darcy protested this, and Mr. Bennet was not inclined to push him when Mr. Darcy said, “Sir, argument is fruitless. Your daughter Elizabeth is now my cousin. She is family and, by extension, so are you and the rest of your daughters. You must allow me to protect my family from the results of my own folly.”

Elizabeth’s eyebrows shot up at this, but when she looked up at her husband, Colonel Fitzwilliam was smiling. It occurred to her suddenly that Darcy’s disapproval of her had injured Colonel Fitzwilliam almost more than herself. This show of total acceptance had been what Colonel Fitzwilliam had needed to see to be easy with Darcy once again, though it was not something the colonel would ever consciously realize, and, even if he did, it was not something he would ever dream of demanding.

“If you insist on keeping all the blame, I shall not fight you for it,” said Mr. Bennet, offering Darcy his hand.

Darcy rose and shook it.

“I suppose you are eager to depart for Netherfield; I shall ask for your carriage to be brought ‘round and shall send over your horse tomorrow. I understand, given the circumstances, that you might not wish to dine with us after the wedding breakfast, but you and your sister would be most welcome.”

Darcy bowed and took his leave.

Elizabeth wincingly rose to see him and Miss Darcy off, but Colonel Fitzwilliam said, with some concern, “Will you not rest, my dear? I am sure you and your father will wish to catch up; I can give Miss Darcy your regards on your behalf.”

“Thank you,” said Elizabeth, dropping gratefully back into her chair.

Mr. Bennet noted this with concern, and, when the Darcys were gone said, “Out with it Lizzy. Colonel Fitzwilliam has been treating you as if any second you will break in two, and I think too highly of his good sense to conclude he has decided you are made of glass instead of flesh and bone. What is wrong?”

“Must there be something other than Lydia’s attempt to ruin my husband’s ward and to end up an exile?” Mr. Bennet had only to look at her for Elizabeth to confess her tiredness, her inattention to the road, and, in veiled terms, the consequences of her fall. Her father at once came around his desk and sat next to her.

“Lizzy,” said he, gently, taking her hand in his, “do not look so cast down. It is very common for a woman not to carry to term. Your mother seldom did, and still managed to bear five living daughters. I am not afraid I shall never have grandchildren. It is of course painful, because it is the first time it has happened to you, but put it out of your mind as soon as you can.” He kissed her forehead. “Consider your mother’s reaction to your confinement, and feel blessed.”

Elizabeth managed a smile.

“And let Jane do something before you,” said he, still trying to cheer her. “You have stolen a march on her, marrying before her. Let her provide the first grandchild. She will be better able to bear your mother’s delight.”

“I shall do my poor best.” She did not like to dwell long on this subject, and said, “Papa, I hate to press, but what do you think ought to be done with Lydia? I tried to make her understand how badly she had behaved, but....”

Her father sighed and leaned back in his chair, briefly closing his eyes. “That, my Lizzy, is a problem to which I have no easy answer. I must think on it, for I really fear that at sixteen Lydia’s character is now set. I was used to think her silly, but in a manner that would harm only herself. At the very least, this has proved Kitty is not quite so useless as we always feared.”

“Kitty feels as she ought.”

“Yes.” Mr. Bennet took off his glasses and rubbed his forehead, in between his eyebrows. “Lydia is still, I think, writing out her apologies. I daresay it will take her all day and most of the evening to produce a fair copy. I hope that will teach her a lesson.”

“I am not certain it shall.”

Mr. Bennet wearily rose and took out his account book. “Then let us see how soon we may send her to China. We shall get no peace until we do.”

Elizabeth argued that this was tantamount to rewarding such behavior, and provided the figures she herself had scouted out. “Really, Papa, something else must be done. She must be checked....” Elizabeth trailed off.

“I think you have an idea.”

“I do,” said Elizabeth, with a brilliant smile. “You know, Papa, Colonel Fitzwilliam’s aunt Catherine loves to be of use.”

“So she does,” said Mr. Bennet, fighting a smile, “but how she could be convinced to take on Lydia?”

“That I can leave to my husband. A vague mention of Lydia needing polish, lacking accomplishments, and behaving badly will, I think, be enough to have Lady Catherine begin to think of taking Lydia on as her next project. Lady Catherine is already appalled Lydia does not speak French. You would not object to Lydia having a long visit to Rosings Park, come the spring?”

“I should welcome it with far more alacrity than I ever welcomed a single young man of large fortune into the neighborhood. The only qualm I have is in whether or not Lydia will stick the soup spoons in her apron pockets.”

“I do not worry about that; I worry more that she will tell everything to Lady Catherine, when we have been at such pains to keep from her—” Elizabeth caught herself from speaking of Georgiana’s time at Ramsgate “—well, everything, really. I do not know if Lady Catherine even knows of my adventure with the powder wagons, and I do not mean to tell her if not.”

“I cannot imagine Lady Catherine will approve of your cleverness. Indeed, I hope she does not. I shall be very disappointed to hear she has the sense to recognize it as such.” Mr. Bennet paused and said, “How now to keep Lydia quiet, if shame will not? Grim questions. Never have philosophers asked of themselves, ‘what shall I do, now my sixteen-year-old daughter has less shame than Alcibiades when he abandoned Socrates for Sparta?’ If she cannot be taught...."

An idea occurred. “Perhaps you might begin to teach her something else? Now Jane and I are gone, there ought to be some money to bring in a tutor to teach Lydia Cantonese and Mandarin. I think he or she must live here at Longbourn so that Lydia is at her book all day every day."

Mr. Bennet’s lips twitched. “Let the punishment fit the crime, eh Lizzy? And it seems like a solution that will cause me very little inconvenience. Indeed, it might make it much easier to keep to my book room without disturbance. Very well, I applaud your scheme. We shall apply it at once.”

“It does concern me as well that Lydia has no notion of money or the actual cost of things. She actually thought my diamonds would be enough to pay for passage to China!” She shook her head. “It might do more harm than good, but perhaps you might consider teaching Lydia to help do the accounts and run the household? I know Mary took care of the house when Jane was in the Lake Country, and Kitty the stillroom, and I think Lydia’s idleness then was perhaps to blame for some of her petulance. If you had her work with Mary— not with Kitty— to learn how to work within a budget, it might improve her mind enough to at least not commit felonies that will not achieve her objects.”

“She will hate it.”

“Of course; it is a punishment.”

Elizabeth was a little concerned her father would not agree to this part of her plan, as it would require some work on his part, but Mr. Bennet sighed and said, “It must be done. We will make Lydia too tired to come up with further schemes, and too cross over her lessons to complain about this most recent escapade. Six months of immersive Chinese language instruction and household management will hopefully cause her to complain to Lady Catherine about her lessons, rather than Mr. Wickham and his efforts. But there still remains the more difficult question of what we shall tell your mother. If it is the truth, the whole neighborhood will hear of it.”

“Kitty will keep quiet if I ask her, and Miss Darcy will hardly like for Mr. Wickham’s interest in her—or rather her dowry—to be public knowledge. Perhaps it will suffice to say that Lydia behaved so badly towards her hosts it cannot be spoken of. I daresay our neighborhood will not guess the truth.”

“No, that would be expecting too much intelligence from our neighbors.” A serious mood was upon him, which was rare; he looked at her and said, simply, “I have missed these chats of ours, Lizzy. When Jane is gone, I do not expect to hear two words of sense spoken together in the course of an entire day.”

“Colonel Fitzwilliam and I can come again for Christmas, if you can find the room; his father means to visit his youngest daughter in Denmark, as she is expecting her first child around that time, and Lord and Lady Stornoway will not demand we stay with them. After that— you know, you quite terrified my father-in-law when negotiating the marriage settlements. He would host you in London any time you wish.”

“I may just avail myself of that,” said Mr. Bennet, smiling again. “It is very pleasant to be toad-eaten by an earl. That pleasure aside, you are now... what, a seven month married? Is it still as pleasant now as you insisted to me it would be, when you were begging my permission in April?”

Elizabeth laughed. “Yes! I am very happy to be married. I am as much in love as I was before, though perhaps it is a little less giddy and a little more of a settled contentment. My esteem for him and his for me have only increased. Perhaps it is improper in me, but I like following the drum, even if that liking was sorely tried in the retreat from Burgos. Indeed, I have no reason to complain. And when I complain without reason Colonel Fitzwilliam either finds it amusing, or thinks I am in earnest and acts upon it. He is all I could need in a partner.”

“I am glad to hear it. I could not bear to be continually parting with you, Lizzy, for anyone less worthy.” He stood and added,  “You had better complain to your husband that Lydia needs Lady Catherine’s guidance. Even if it does not improve Lydia, it will at least amuse the rest of us.”

***

When they had blown out the candle for the evening, Elizabeth said, “It feels so strange to be in Longbourn, sharing a bed with someone who is not Jane.”

Colonel Fitzwilliam replied, “I am sorry I am not as pretty as your usual bedfellow, but you ought to have thought of that before marrying a soldier. We rough fellows must bear the evidence  of our trade.”

“Ridiculous man! You, rough? You thought eight thousand a year was not enough to live on, and sulked for three days when I bought insufficiently fine muslin to make your shirts.” He had an arm around her waist; Elizabeth idly traced the faint scars from the exploded canon on his forearm, as if connecting constellations on a star map.

He grumbled at this, but it turned soon into a yawn. “God Lizzy, I don’t know if I have ever passed a more complicated twenty-four hours off of a battlefield. I am not sure I can keep awake longer; it seems a decade since Wickham tried to bolt from the docks.”

“Did he try to fight you?”

Colonel Fitzwilliam snorted, sending one of Elizabeth’s loose curls fluttering over her cheek. “Not well, and not for long. Mr. Wickham hardly compares Marshal Soult when it comes to evasive maneuvers. Sleep well, my dear, and in the knowledge that Mr. Wickham has been thoroughly routed.”

She had been exhausted all day, but now that she was free to sleep, she could not. Eventually she lifted her husband’s arm off and said, “Richard, would you mind dreadfully if I went to Jane?”

“I see how it is,” he said, grumpily, “you have got what you wanted from me and are now in a great haste to be gone! You lure in a simple soldier to get a warm bed and then flee as soon as you have seized his hot water bottle.”

“Richard,” she protested, laughing.

“No, go ahead, I shall be asleep again presently.” He remained awake enough to hand the hot water bottle to her and bid her, with real anxiety, to wake him if she felt herself in worse pain than that morning.

They had retired earlier than the rest of the party; Jane was still undressing when Elizabeth knocked on the door to Jane’s room.

Sally looked quite surprised, but Jane jumped from her dressing table and said, “Lizzy! Oh I was hoping you would come and see me. Sally, you may go. Mrs. Fitzwilliam can assist me.”

They talked of Jane’s travels and Elizabeth’s, of their mother’s advice and enthusiasms, their various wedding clothes, Jane’s wedding gown of jaconet muslin with white work at the hems and sleeves, of household responsibilities, and obligations to in-laws and other relations. Elizabeth finished braiding Jane’s hair and then settled back against the headboard, clutching tight her hot water bottle. “Oh Jane, why must life get more complicated as we get older? It has been madness ever since I am come back from Portugal.”

“I did not think being married, or nearly so, would result in so constant a stream of responsibilities,” Jane agreed. She pinned in place the last curl paper and settled back next to Elizabeth. “I meant to tell you earlier—Mr. Bingley cannot purchase Netherfield; he sent me a note about it before you arrived this morning. I think. It was somewhat difficult to read his note. He writes more in blots when he is excited. But he has been making inquiries since we were engaged, and it appears the owner is only interested in letting it. There is some thought of our moving to the north.”

Elizabeth felt a faint frisson of disappointment. She could not think of Hertfordshire without Jane. “Did you so fall in love with the Lake Country?”

“I enjoyed it very much, but it is more that Mr. Bingley and his sisters grew up in the north of England and I think are happiest in that countryside. His sisters are eager for him to purchase an estate; it was the wish of their father.”

Elizabeth held her tongue about the wishes of Miss Bingley and Mrs. Hurst, and how they may or may not have aligned with their late father’s, or even their brother’s, and asked only, “Do you have some notion of the county?”

“Possibly Derbyshire. Mr. Darcy’s estate is there, and he knows of a property not thirty miles distant from his own that may be suitable. I admit, I have encouraged the idea, for I know Colonel Fitzwilliam and Mr. Darcy are such good friends you will often be staying at Pemberley.”

“That is very true; and I am eager to promote the friendship between Georgiana and Kitty.” She put her arm around Jane’s waist and leaned her head on her shoulder with a sigh. “Oh Jane, it is a relief to think I will never be too far distant from you. It was very hard, the first few weeks in Spain, having no Jane to comfort me, and no hope of having one again until the autumn!”

Jane leaned her cheek against the top of Elizabeth’s head. “Oh Lizzy, it was so odd being here without you. Papa felt it exceedingly. And—”

“If you mention Lydia, I shall cease to feel guilty and maudlin.”

“I shall not then, and say only that it is... perhaps odd of me, but I did not much think, until Papa and Uncle Phillips were going over the marriage settlements for me, that I should have children. Indeed, I might have them soon. How that shall alter everything! Have you and the Colonel begun to think of it?”

“A little.” Elizabeth, surprised that she could so say without feeling very upset, added, “we have come close, but only by a month, and no longer. It is not as much a disappointment as you might think; I am no Eleanor of Aquitaine, to charge into battle with a baby at my breast.”

“Oh Lizzy,” said Jane.

“Do not cry, Jane! My aunt Gardiner says it is very common. I daresay you will know that soon enough yourself.”

Jane attempted not to cry, and changed the subject. “Lizzy— are you quite at liberty to tell me what offense Lydia has given Miss Darcy? I was very surprised Lydia was not allowed to come down to dinner. I cannot remember the last time that happened. That is— it is often threatened, but Mama generally forgives Lydia well before it is time to dress and go down.”

Elizabeth was glad of this, and was quite right in thinking that talking of Lydia would keep her from being maudlin. Anger drove out any lingering melancholy, and by the time she had concluded with Colonel Fitzwilliam’s careful letter to Lady Catherine, she was in much better spirits.

Jane did not believe all at first, for she attributed her own feelings to everyone around her, and exclaimed many times, “But how could they be so desperate?”

“I cannot speak for Wickham, but I will quiz Richard about it tomorrow if you like. Lydia I know was not desperate, merely willful and spoilt.”

Jane shook her head. “No, no, Lydia cannot be so wholly blind to what is right. I think— oh perhaps I have neglected her too much. I was away so much of the year with our aunt and uncle.”

“Is this a subtle scold to me for being in Spain?”

“Oh, Lizzy, no! How can you think that?”

“Then do not scold yourself for being in London and the Lake District. We cannot help being older, and liking and needing to travel. And I beg your pardon, but I cannot think as well of Lydia’s character as you do. You did not see Kitty and Georgiana— in their dressing gowns, no less!— forced to hold off Mr. Wickham with a fireplace poker! I have never been more shocked, even while on campaign. Mary, you might argue, is equally neglected, but you do not see her committing felonies.”  

“I have been thinking that I ought to do something for Mary. Of course, Mama shall need Mary to sit with her, and I think Mary will find that more agreeable if Lydia is not there to tease her. I think she might be happier in a profession, than in trying to find a match. I am not sure she could.”  

Elizabeth considered this. It was no evil to never marry, as long as one was sufficiently supported by one of the few acceptable careers to women— mostly handling children or dead things— or by one’s family. The particular evil of the Bennet family’s situation had always been that, without Longbourn, they would not be able to live in the manner their class demanded. “I suppose if she shewed her mark to the British Museum, there might be a place for her. She does study enough for it. Whether or not she has learnt enough from it is a matter for the curators to decide.”

“Lizzy!”

“I am sorry, Jane. Mary is very studious. I am sure she could learn whatever they require of her.”

Jane could not long be kept from the events of the previous evening and soon realized something very shocking, “Oh no, Kitty in her dressing gown— in front of Mr. Darcy!”

“Oh Lord, I was too— with my hair down, no less.” Elizabeth grimaced. “I am forever embarrassing myself before Mr. Darcy. Though I daresay he didn’t notice; Mr. Wickham was threatening the most horrible things. He actually threatened to reveal Mr. Darcy’s mark.”

Jane actually gasped. “No!”

“It seems so unthinkable I almost did not notice it myself, until Richard pointed it out.”

“This is too distressing. I cannot believe— oh, that is impossible! There must have been some misunderstanding.”

“There can be none. Wickham said that unless there was significant inducement for his silence, that evening he would tell.”

Jane was so distressed she began to cry; Elizabeth held her and said, “Oh Jane, I did not mean to upset you so the day before your wedding! Nothing can ever diminish your beauty of course, not even tears, but I should not like to in any way disturb your equanimity.”

“No, I am merely very sorry for Mr. Darcy,” said Jane, thickly. “After all that passed with his sister, to now have his childhood friend, the only person he trusted to see his mark, so turn upon him, to threaten him with such humiliation! Oh poor Mr. Darcy!” She blew her nose— Elizabeth reflected, amused, that even Jane could not blow her nose prettily— and continued on, “And, oh Lizzy, you must not even tell Colonel Fitzwilliam, but Mr. Darcy has had a very hard time of it of late. Mr. Bingley does not know the whole of the story, for I do not think Mr. Darcy could easily tell even part of it, but Mr. Darcy came to the conclusion that he will not probably ever marry. He met his soulmate, and she is married to someone else.”

“Richard and I thought so, from one of Mr. Wickham’s insinuations.” Elizabeth cast her mind back to April and tried to recollect what exactly Darcy had said, but recalled instead her conversation with her husband earlier that morning. “You know, with all of Mr. Darcy’s early objections to our family— I think the lady must be of greater rank even than himself. There was a vehemence to his protestations which I think can only come to an argument one must repeat to oneself in the hopes of eventually believing it. But the only women I have never heard him disparage are his sister, his late mother, and—” She paused. “Good God, it cannot be Lady Stornoway?”

“Your sister-in-law?” asked Jane. “Oh, if it is— poor Mr. Darcy! He has suffered for so long!”

“I do not think Lady Stornoway precisely loves her husband,” said Elizabeth, “which makes it the more probable, and makes me quite understand why Darcy was so insistent the ‘Fitzwilliam’ on my wrist might not mean Richard. Perhaps the one on Marjorie’s really refers to ‘Fitzwilliam Darcy’ and not ‘Julian Fitzwilliam, viscount Stornoway’? But I run ahead of myself, I suppose. I do not know what Marjorie’s wrist says— but Wickham did say it must be very difficult for Mr. Darcy, to see his soulmate bearing another man’s children— oh, what an impossible situation for everyone.”

They were up a half-hour longer trying to determine whether or not this was possible. Jane rather hoped not, for it would mean that Lady Stornoway, who had been so kind and so charming, did not have a happy marriage, and it meant that Mr. Darcy would have been suffering for at least eight years. Elizabeth was inclined to think herself correct, but was still hesitant in her judgement, having been so recently and so dramatically wrong about Mr. Darcy before. But, as interesting a tragedy as this would have been, it could not keep them up all evening, and they were both very soon asleep.

***

As Elizabeth expected, Miss Bingley proved one of the more irritating aspects to Jane’s wedding. She met Elizabeth just as Colonel Fitzwilliam was helping her down from the coach into the churchyard, and said, “Ah, dear Eliza! I may call you such, now we are to be sisters.”

“If you like,” said Elizabeth, privately vowing to never address Caroline Bingley by any proper noun what-so-ever.

Colonel Fitzwilliam caught onto her displeasure and, hiding a grin, squeezed her hand before tucking it into the crook of his arm. Elizabeth smiled up at him with an answering twinkle before turning back to Miss Bingley. “May I present to you my husband, Colonel Fitzwilliam?”

“And dear Darcy’s cousin, I am told,” said Miss Bingley. “It is a pleasure Colonel Fitzwilliam, I assure you.”

Miss Bingley quickly ignored Elizabeth to talk to Colonel Fitzwilliam, or rather, to ask, with vague allusions, about Mr. Darcy’s marital state. Colonel Fitzwilliam blandly feigned total ignorance as to her real line of questioning, and responded with news of Darcy’s reading habits or fencing hobby, and a repeated assurance that as he and Mrs. Fitzwilliam had been in Spain, fighting the French, they had had little opportunity to observe Darcy’s social calendar.

As Jane still had not made it into the church, having been stopped by rather too many people eager to wish her joy, or to admire her white work, Miss Bingley said, brightly, “Dear colonel, do let me steal dear Eliza for just a moment. We ladies must have our little confidences.”

Elizabeth could not think of any confidence she would have liked to share with Caroline Bingley, but was, despite herself, quite fascinated by the idea Caroline Bingley had one to share with her. When Colonel Fitzwilliam would have protested, she squeezed his arm.

He let her go reluctantly— his concern over her health was still very great, and he seemed to think that she would collapse in a pool of blood if he was not constantly attending her— but was perfectly gracious in his response. He turned to speak with Sir William Lucas, who had bounded up eagerly for an introduction, and a nice chat about St. James’s Court. As Colonel Fitzwilliam was more frequently at Whitehall than St. James’s, that knight was doomed to disappointment, but he bore it tolerably enough, and even took some pleasure in getting to describe St. James’s Court to the son of an earl.

When they were a little ways apart from the crowd, Miss Bingley said, “Eliza, my dear, you know, it quite shocked me when Charles told me— in the middle of Lady Stornoway’s ball no less— that you were engaged to be married to Colonel Fitzwilliam!”

“Did it?” asked Elizabeth, politely. “I thought you were unacquainted with my husband; I am sorry to have introduced you if so.”

Miss Bingley tittered politely. “No, I knew him only by report. Mr. Darcy told me of his cousin’s cheerful disposition.”

Elizabeth thought this a stretch from how her husband tempered his tendency towards sarcasm with a polite forbearance, but kept her expression of polite interest firmly affixed.

“His... ease of manner, and his habit of acting the peacemaker. A very charming gentleman, to be sure!”

“I rather think so,” Elizabeth agreed.

“But you did always love a red coat, did you not, my dear Eliza?”

Elizabeth was taking an unkind pleasure in refusing to engage, and merely smiled.

Miss Bingley cleared her throat and said, “Yes— you know, I was quite surprised you were to be married to the dear Colonel—” ‘dear?’ thought Elizabeth, ‘you only met him a minute ago’ “—for Mr. Darcy had queried me rather specifically about a possible match for his cousin in town, last winter. It seemed to me a matter of some delicacy and privacy—”

“If it is a confidence he shared with you rather than with myself, perhaps you would do better to keep it.”

“No, for we are all now family, are we not! You are Darcy’s cousin, and I am your sister. That makes us all relations.”

That did not make Miss Bingley Mr. Darcy’s cousin by proxy, but Elizabeth forebore to mention this.

“Yes— you know, the Fitzwilliams and all their relations, including our own dear Mr. Darcy, have ever been of the opinion that a perfect match is one in which both participants are equal in rank and circumstance.” She said this with faint anxiety; her father, with all his mills, could in no way be considered the social equal of Darcy’s father. “He was... concerned that this long-held belief was not quite right. I assured him that his notion of rank was too nice, that equality of fortune and connection need not be exact as long as it was close. Our family always held temperament to be a stronger argument for matrimony.”

This said nothing good about Mrs. Hurst’s temperament, but Elizabeth forebore to mention this as well.

“From the account Mr. Darcy gave of his cousin, and some remarks he soon after this let fall about your sister’s temperament, her tendency towards cheerfulness and peacemaking, I thought... well! You will forgive me for making what seemed to me a very reasonable assumption. I admit, I concealed your dear sister’s stay in town from my brother, but only because Mr. Darcy had so strongly hinted that your sister’s soul mate was not my brother, but his cousin . I thought I would spare Charles a great deal of pain, for he was most passionately attached to your sister, and it would have ruined his happiness, perhaps forever, to declare himself and see another man’s name upon her wrist.”

A last mystery slotted into place. Elizabeth could no longer recall with exactitude Mr. Darcy’s apology, but knew he had said something about having what seemed to him objective evidence that... was it that Colonel Fitzwilliam’s soulmate was someone else? This idea apparently had not lasted very long, or at least, Caroline Bingley was neglecting to mention that her conversation had only served to convince Darcy that Mrs. Bennet would force Jane to accept anyone who offered for her.

“I see,” said Elizabeth, neutrally.

“Yes,” said Miss Bingley, beginning to be relieved. “So you can understand that I acted with what I thought was all the correct information at my disposal.”

“Of course,” said Elizabeth, with an insincere smile.

“I now wonder,” said Miss Bingley, “that Darcy should not be engaged. Does he still follow the family line, in determining a match? I wonder if he has told you. He seems to be on very familiar terms with you, now. Dear Miss Darcy was praising you to the skies last night, over some powder wagons in Bergamot.”

“Burgos.”

“Yes, that.”

“There is considerable intimacy between Colonel Fitzwilliam and Mr. Darcy, but I am afraid I cannot tell you anything about Mr. Darcy’s thoughts on soulmarks and what they may signify.”

“Surely he mentioned something of the subject to you when you and Colonel Fitzwilliam were first engaged?”

The less got into that fiasco the better. Elizabeth said, a little coolly, “It would be a little odd for my husband to rely on his younger, unmarried cousin for advice when choosing a bride.”

Miss Bingley uncomfortably shifted her grip on Elizabeth’s arm, causing the sleeve of her pelisse to slide up. The top of Miss Bingley’s soulmark could be briefly seen, well enough for Elizabeth to guess at the ‘William’ there.

Half out of spite, half out of a desire to help, Elizabeth said, “Though, now you have mentioned it, I do recall his mentioning that he thought soulmarks were never a partial match.. I suppose that to be the Fitzwilliam influence; they are high sticklers, as you yourself mentioned. A Fitzwilliam Darcy, not only born into, but baptised into such a legacy, must be very nice indeed, in his notions of true matches.”

Miss Bingley looked discontented, but no more could be said; all were processing into the church.

The ceremony was once again punctuated by Mrs. Bennet’s sniffs, the whispers and sulks by both the bride and the groom’s sisters, and the improper neck-craning of the neighborhood, when Jane and Bingley bared their soulmarks to each other, but Elizabeth was at least able to preserve the moment in the vestry for Jane, and make it as perfect as hers had been.

The vicar, who had known each Bennet girl before they had been born, could not help but beg a little informal celebration upon the marriage of his favorite; he begged the bride, groom, and their two witnesses to remove their hats and bonnets and poured them each a small flute of champagne, to toast the couple before signing.

Mr. Bingley offered the pen to Jane after a very quick scribble and a quip that Jane should forever after be Mrs. Inkblot. Jane actually laughed when, distracted by this, she took Mr. Bingley's hand instead of the pen. Elizabeth kept her back pressed against the door so that no one could wander in, and came up only when Mr. Darcy turned to her and held out the pen. Elizabeth smiled at him as she took it from him, and bent to write ‘Elizabeth Fitzwilliam.’ She took a moment to look at the page with great satisfaction, seeing in neat lines, the confirmed happiness of a most beloved sister. She felt Mr. Darcy's eye upon her and looked up to see him with an expression difficult to interpret, standing, as he was, in shadow, behind the beam of light let in through the high window to shine with sentimental symbolism upon the church registry book.

Elizabeth at first wondered if her cap was askew. She was so often riding, and Colonel Fitzwilliam was so fond of pulling affectionately on her curls, she seldom wore caps, and when she did, they were small and close-fitted affairs on the back of her head, more wisps of deconstructed mantillas than proper coverings. She put a discreet hand to her cap to check, but Mrs. Pattinson had pinned truly that morning. A glance down at her white sarcenet hussar cloak revealed that both it and its ermine lining remained spotless. She had chosen to wear under this her own wedding gown of spangled muslin, as it was still her nicest morning dress, but she did not think seven months had contrived to push it wholly out of fashion. A quick glance over her shoulder, disguised as a search for the minister revealed she had not accidentally bled upon in.

It occurred to her only after she had passed the pen to the minister that Mr. Darcy might be thinking of how unlikely it was he would marry and was perhaps regarding the register rather than herself.

Poor man, thought she.

If this was so, Mr. Darcy shewed it but little, and seemed more alive to her discomfort than his own. When all the others had processed out, Elizabeth lingered a moment in the rectory, leaning one arm against the wall, her other arm clutched tight about her torso, in an attempt to contain the sudden intensity of a cramp.

“Mrs. Fitzwilliam?” asked Mr. Darcy, turning in the doorway. “Are you— no, truly, you are unwell. Shall I find—”

“Oh, no, please,” said Elizabeth, quickly. She dreaded the thought of her mother finding out. That morning she had been equal to her father’s dry attempts at consolation, but the thought of any more commentary than a passing quip made her feel dreadfully low.

“Shall I fetch your husband, at least?”

“Oh no, there is no reason to pull him from the throng; he is already more alarmed and anxious than he needs to be,” said Elizabeth. “I must confess, I enjoy being so fussed over, but that, too, shall draw more attention than I really care to receive from all my neighbors.”

Mr. Darcy stood hesitatingly in the doorway, passing his hat from hand to hand. “I am not sure if I should wish you joy.”

“No,” said Elizabeth, a little surprised Colonel Fitzwilliam had not told him. “I suppose you might have yesterday, but that was before I was so incautious as to fall from my horse; today I endure the consequences.”

“I am sorry.” Mr. Darcy grimaced and then said, “I beg your pardon, that sounds to my own ear inadequate.”

Elizabeth almost kept herself from laughing at him. “Oh, Mr. Darcy! I am so sorry I misjudged you so early on in our acquaintance; I should have attended Mr. Bingley more, when he said you search too often for words of four syllable. I see I have mortified you by such indelicate references to my own health, and yet you can only worry that you did not express your sympathies to me sufficiently. It is more than adequate. If you will pretend to be in conversation with me a few moments more while this passes, I should be more grateful to you than I can say.”

“Of course.” Mr. Darcy exerted himself to speak of the ceremony, then, more easily, to speak of the Lope de Vega plays he and Georgiana had been reading in the evenings. Elizabeth had been reading many of them herself, while in Spain, and was eager to discuss her favorites. She was surprised to hear how much his tastes aligned with hers, but then wondered why she should think so. Colonel Fitzwilliam and Mr. Darcy were very close friends, and though perhaps such intimacy had first been formed because they were the only two sensible young men of their bloodline, they were both so intelligent and well-informed that such friendship could not have endured without a similar love of and taste in books.

“Thank you,” said Elizabeth, when the worst had ebbed away. She straightened herself out, picked up her bonnet from where she had hung it on a chair arm, and said, “Mr. Darcy, it has been a trying few days— more so for you than anyone— and yet you do not demur when I force you to entertain me with talk of Spanish golden age theatre. That is generosity indeed.”

“It comes as a welcome relief, I assure you.”

Elizabeth smiled and wished, in some small measure, to repay his kindness; she recalled his insistence on their family connection in her father’s bookroom and said, putting a gloved hand on his forearm, “Any relief I may offer you, cousin Darcy, I shall with alacrity. You have been far better to me than my treatment of you has ever deserved!”

“That is not the case,” said Mr. Darcy. There was a strange intensity to his expression. “Mrs. Fitzwilliam—”

“Cousin Elizabeth, if you like.”

He forced himself to repeat this, but it did not come naturally; Elizabeth only managed to keep from laughing because he rushed onto his next point, “You must know— I must assure you again, that if there is ever any good I can do for you, I will do it. You need only mention it, and it shall be accomplished.” He looked searchingly at her and said, “You are— you are happy, I think.”

“For Jane?”

“In general.”

“Aye, that I am. This little pain shall pass, and I must confess to you that I am as in love with your cousin as ever I was. I cannot repine any consequences of such mutual affection, even the very particular pains of loss.”

This was either embarassing to him, or not the answer Mr. Darcy sought to his question; he gently moved Elizabeth’s hand to the crook of his arm and kept his gaze on the middle distance as they walked out, behind the rest of the crowd. Elizabeth did not know what hurt Mr. Darcy was so expertly concealing, and tried her best to offer what comfort she would best like to hear, had she been in his place. “You know, my father considers it very odd we should adhere so religiously, in England, to our notion that soulmarks as only the signal of one’s future spouse.” She offered the story of all the Janes who had impacted the life of Mr. Bennet, with the same cheerful tact as she dispensed sticking plasters after battles, for this had assuredly been one for Mr. Darcy.

“I have heard some speculations that soulmarks but shew the name that will most influence our lives,” said Mr. Darcy, looking down at her. “I cannot entirely think the prevailing custom wrong, but I have taken comfort in that philosophy.”

She was relieved to hear this, and still more relieved to see Colonel Fitzwilliam and Georgiana waiting by the doors of the church. Colonel Fitzwilliam had evidently been searching for her; his sudden smile, upon seeing her, was all it took for Elizabeth to offer an answering one.

Mr. Darcy very solemnly released her and offered his arm to his sister.

Colonel Fitzwilliam waited until they had passed to pull affectionately at one of the curls by her temple and say, “Are you alright, my dear?”

“It is better than yesterday,” said Elizabeth, “but it still takes me occasionally by surprise. Mr. Darcy was kindly distracting me with talk of de Vega, who he believes has been unfairly denied the popularity that is his due in England.”

“I am always glad to see how much Darcy has changed,” said Colonel Fitzwilliam. “At least, in regards to you. I think he was always inclined to think well of you, but given....”

“Everything,” supplied Elizabeth, with a comical grimace. “I am not surprised he was cautious, perhaps even suspicious.”

“But he is no longer so,” said Colonel Fitzwilliam, “and it relieves my mind to think that if anything should happen to me, that you have not merely my family to depend upon, but Darcy in particular.”

“You are melancholic,” said Elizabeth, popping on her bonnet. “That I absolutely forbid. Jane is married and I am well, and even Lady Catherine is allowed to be of use! The only question which should now vex you is, ‘how often will you bear me company to Jane’s proposed estate near Derbyshire’?”

“They do not mean to stay at Netherfield?”

“Would you?”

His answering smile was rather wry. “I suppose it depends on how far they will reside from Pemberley; if it is thirty miles or less, we shall not be able to escape their company at least twice a year. I confess myself unequal to denying the insistent hospitality of both my cousin and your sister.”

“We have fortune enough to make travel no evil,” said Elizabeth. “Well, my dear colonel, I suppose we must resign ourselves to the north of England; you may not believe it, after the retreat from Burgos, but I am very eager to see rocks and mountains— provided they are English.”