The Improvement of Her Mind

The Improvement of Her Mind by Ayden Chapter One Portman Square, London 1820 The iron gates of Montague
House had been flung wide open, rising poised and gli
stening black through the dense fog of rain. Drops of water shone on whimsical m
etal swags, garlands and aureoles; each intricate design rendered with fine craftsmanship and sprinkled liberally w
ith artistic caprice. Like an exotic birdcage ensconced amidst the precise lines of surrounding Georgi
an facades, the exuberant stile floreale of the Montague portals dared to defy t
radition; eliciting a puzzled smile, an occasional bewildered glance from unsusp
ecting strollers happening on Portman Square. On closer inspection, however, the
chance observer might find himself singularly astonished at the solidity belyin
g the puddled iron workings; for despite their lightness and fancy Lady Montague
's gates, once closed...were virtually impenetrable. Across the square, moodily ensconced behind a screen of formal grillwork, stood
Darcy House; a dark and silent sentinel appearing to frown with aristocratic dis
dain at neighboring town homes. An air of severe austerity emanat- ed from its m
eticulously balanced stone masonry, its rigid rows of topiary trees; the whole s
eeming to bow before the conventions of taste and form. It was, however, the mer
- est of bows; an imperceptible acknowledgment tossed with imperious hauteur. As sheets of rain beat an insistent tattoo against the windows of the Darcy libr
ary their reflection cast flickering shadows on a bronze statue of "The Fencers"
perched atop the mantelpiece. Charles Bingley sat elegantly disposed in an armc
hair, glass of burgundy in hand. Leisurely stretch- ing his legs before the fire
, he noted with great satisfaction the gleam of his Hessians mirrored within the
marble sur- round. Yes, his valet's insistence on champagne for polishing was well worth the effort
, and expense. Flicking an imagi- nary speck from his indigo superfine he briefl
y debated the merit of changing from Stiller to Weston. The esteemed William Dar
cy, after all, favored Weston's fluid style and cut. Stiller, on the other hand,
was known to be a veritable genius with padding. Damn, pondering the choice of one's tailor did little to allay a man's anxiety.
What the deuce was keeping Darcy? As if on cue the library doors were thrown open and William Darcy strode in, fen
cing foil in hand. His move- ments, swift and purposeful, seemed to expand the r
oom with leashed energy. A year had passed since Darcy's sudden departure for the continent. As the month
s trickled by a yawning void had been created by the abrupt leave taking of Char
les' friend and mentor. The emptiness was one which the younger man had taken gr
eat pains to mask and fill with inconsequential acquaintances and tedious happen
ings, until it evolved into a veritable nursery parody of his life. Charles Bing
ley de- pended on Darcy's friendship as a man relied on drink and sustenance. Wi
thout it, navigating the changing currents of his moods became an arduous task,
leaving him with a deep sense of insufficiency. He scanned his friend for alterations wrought during months of peregrinations ab
road. Save for sun-darkened skin, and the unfashionable length of his midnight b
lack curls, none were blatantly apparent. As for deeper changes, past experience
reminded Charles that patience and time would uncover any fresh nuances to the
other man's character. An aesthete at heart, he was struck by his friend's long, lean and elegant form.
Glancing over Darcy's attire, he sighed with a twinge of envy; despite sweat st
ained shirtsleeves contrasting sharply against impeccably cut breeches, Darcy
exuded an air of severe refinement without detract- ing from his chiseled athlet
icism. No...Charles mused...he would remain with Stiller for the time being. "Welcome back to London, Darcy! The rumors are true then, Master Jouet does inde
ed grace your establishment with his esteemed presence. My felicitations, it app
ears you have joined the exalted ranks of Carnathren's Corinthian circle. This o
nly serves to further the other rumor rippling through the ton..." Darcy, having carelessly tossed his blade on a velvet settee, leaned against t
he marble mantle, and fixed on Charles with an intensity hinting at wry amusemen
t. "Is this how one welcomes an old friend? Pray enlighten me, what rumor?" Charles continued unperturbed, "The one concerning your doubling the family fort
une this year past." The gaze intensified, "You're mistaking fabrication for fact, my friend. That pa
rticular rumor happens to be false." He moved toward a carved tantalus, poured h
imself a finger of brandy, and raising the cut crystal in Charles' direction toasted hi
s friend from afar. "The truth of the matter is... I tripled it." He paused, took a healthy swallow of the amber liquid, and continued, "Pardon my
attire, but I was told your visit holds some urgency." Charles smiled sheepishly. "Dash it, man, you've been away for nearly a year, an
d I have need of your counsel. Therefore, here I am."?"You have my undivided attention." Charles raked a nervous hand through his hair dishev- eling a nest of gold and r
usset curls. A handsome man, he was possessed of an exuberant nature livened fur
ther by an engaging manner brimming over with charm. Some found _it irredeemably irritating, the majority however, considered the young man excee
dingly appealing. Concealed beneath his light air of insouciance lay a unique if youthful brand of
strength and intelligence, its fragile limits having been sorely tested during
Darcy's absence. He tugged nervously at his neck cloth, disturbing the meticul
ous design of knots and ties insisted upon by his valet. Darcy regarded his friend through a curtain of thick lashes, while all his sense
s honed in on Charles' discomfort. It had not always been thus he realized, obse
rving the other man intently. Previously, he'd not always seen what was arrayed
before him-hidden details and minutiae had escaped him; or rather, he had chos
en to be stubbornly blind to their presence. Since his return it was as if new l
ife-blood was coursing through him, in turn clarifying his vision. He attributed
the change to a year of continental travel and intricate financial dealings, bu
t perhaps other unseen forces were at play. If so, their nature eluded him. As h
e continued along his close perusal a novel thought entered his mind, how many s
ignals had he flagrantly missed over the years? Charles cleared his throat. "Damn, this is no easy matter. Doctor Hingston is
convinced my interminable insom- nia, restlessness and faulty concentration are
the result of a most specific affliction." Absent-mindedly flicking at the leath
er tassel of his boot, he continued in a flat tone. "I've suffered in silence fo
r months, finally Louisa prevailed upon me to consult the good doctor and..." "And?" Darcy prodded in a soft baritone. "And he concluded, without a doubt, that it was my heart." Darcy's brow furrowed in grave concern at the unexpected intelligence. "I am d
eeply saddened by your news, but are you not a trifle young to have a failing he
art?" Charles Bingley hung his head, his look one of haggard petulance. "'Tis not what
you surmise, not an actual infir- mity, rather more of a languishment...unrequi
ted love." Charles watched as his host's lips quirked into a slow smile. The smile grew, un
folding with lazy sensuality, unex- pectedly lighting up his entire countenance.
William Darcy was not a man easily disposed to gaiety; the effect of a simple
smile, when it did occur, was one of surprising brilliancy. Upon spying his fri
end's reaction Charles Bingley broke out in a wide grin and the tension in the r
oom receded by several degrees. With a vestige of mirth lingering on his lips, Darcy responded, "So it's settl
ed then, you must marry the girl or forever become an invalid. Who is she, by th
e way?" "Miss Jane Bennet."?As rapidly as the smile had been excavated, it was buried once again. "Do you seek my approval for the match, Charles?" The words were
spoken quietly, his tone laced with coolness and reserve. "No...perhaps... I don't know... Devil take it! You're the closest I have to tru
e male kin, and I value your men- _torship. May I remind you that you had expressed strong misgivings about a poten
tial match a year ago? Suffice it to say that others have joined in the fray; Lo
uisa and Caroline have been horribly disobliging about the entire situation, atr
ocious in fact. It seems they have no particular objection to Jane, but rather h
er family, or tribe as Caroline is fond of repeating, and there is the small mat
ter of the shooting." "Oh?" Darcy answered, leaning with careless elegance against a desk edge of maho
gany. "I shot Thomas Bennet," Charles announced matter of factly. Darcy threw him a speculating look. "That's mighty poor sport of you. May I ask
what possessed you to shoot the man?" "Good God! You don't think I intended to shoot him! It was a hunting accident. I
grazed his shoulder, barely pinked him, a superficial flesh wound really. The r
esulting furore! That wife of his! A most disagreeable woman! My deepest apologi
es apparently failed to meet her exacting require- ments and..." His voice trail
ed off forlornly. "Allow me to venture a guess. Given all the factors you've delineated, you've be
en uneasy about facing the injured man and asking for his daughter's hand. As fo
r the young lady in question, she is conflicted over the situation." "Spare me a homily, Darcy."?Darcy rose in a fluid motion, crossed the expanse of inlaid parquetry and stood by the window pensively observing the square. "I ha
ve no intention of lecturing you. In fact you have my deepest sympathy; certainl
y any man in your situation deserves to feel a trifle apprehensive." Relieved at his friend's surprisingly facile grasp of the situation, Charles slu
mped in his chair and exhaled a drawn out sigh. "Really?" "Perhaps even wonder if rejection were more than a distant possibility." "Right."?Darcy's tone softened, losing its earlier sang-froid. "Particularly from the lady in question." "Yes!" Darcy turned toward his friend and threw him a penetrating glance. "Tell me, C
harles, what woman has ever refused you?" Charles Bingley's cheeks heightened in colour. The al- lusion was not lost on hi
m. Darcy had been privy to a large number of his youthful dalliances, adventures
and esca- pades. Their very mention forged a narrow bridge across the palpable
divide a year's absence had created. "What of the incident involving widow Blakey?" Charles muttered under his breath
, not wholly convinced of his unblemished record. "An exception to the rule; she was possessed of decidedly uncustomary inclinatio
ns if you recall." "Pour me another drink will you? By Jove, I have missed your exceptional cellar,
" Charles replied with a bravado he had not experienced in months. Satisfied with the turn of conversation, his host
graciously obliged. Both men ensconced themselves comfortably in front of the fire. Warmed by the me
llowness of fine liquor each settled with inner relief into the familiar comfort
of their old camaraderie. Charles began speaking at length of Miss Jane Bennet,
his growing feelings, and equally mushroom- ing trepidation at offering marriag
e under the present cir- cumstances. Darcy listened with impervious attention, nodding occasionally, asking a point
ed question here and there, but mostly letting Charles' words wash over him like
fine drops of mist, slowly absorbing their intended meaning and hidden nuance
s. Bittersweet thoughts collided in his mind at once accus- ing and censuring. How
he had pressured the younger man, in earlier days, to reconsider the match! Dist
inct memories of insinuations and vigilant manipulations rose before him. He had
played at being a master puppeteer of two fragile beings without notion for the
consequences of his presump- tive behaviour. Time for repairs. "She is all radiant goodness, you know," Charles mused, after some time spent in
agreeable silence. " Somehow, I see myself as the lucky custodian of her purity
, her spirit. She is not one of those superficially felicitous creatures created
by a company of mothers, aunts, and patronesses, fashioned in the image of what
is advantageous, correct and expected. Rather, I see her as an unblemished page
in the story of my life. One I will have the privilege of imprinting, so that t
o- gether we may create something unique, and beautiful. Am I blubbering heedles
sly?" Darcy stared fixedly at the fire burning behind the grate, unable to meet the yo
unger man's eyes. Finding himself momentarily overcome with bewilderment at Ch
arles' words, he contemplated their meaning in brooding silence. Minutes trickle
d by, punctuated by the hushed cadence of a mantle clock. Finally, tearing his gaze away from the dance of red and ochre flames, he replie
d. "One aspect of travel, my man, is that it forces one to receive new ideas; th
rough comparison and judgment it increases one's understanding and imagination
. Travel compels a man to think. Over the last months I have come to the conclus
ion that I have gravely erred in my judgement of your Miss Bennet. What I once m
istook for cool and insipid disinterest, I now recognize as quiet poise and grac
e. You speak of purity, but I sense strength. She is a fine woman, Charles, and
will undoubtedly make a finer wife. For some time now, I have believed that the
two of you would suit, exceedingly well, I might add. Carpe Diem! How often is h
appiness destroyed by over-worry and preparation?" "I...thank you," Charles replied, overcome by a tangle of emotions. In a decade
of friendship he had heard Darcy apologize on one previous occasion; the situati
on itself he no longer remembered, but recalled the unexpected surprise at his older friend's response. That same sense of astonishment struck him ane
w. He was overwhelmed with gratitude and tinged by a curious sensation of lighte
ning. Reverting to old form, as young men are wont to do in such situations, he rose w
ith renewed energy and clapped his friend on the shoulder. "Will it be White's,
Boodles', or Brooks', tonight?" "I'm afraid I shall have to decline."?Not easily sidelined, now that his life he
ld the promise of being in fine order again, Charles persisted. "In that case, I invite you to
share a box at the Opera, in a fortnight!" "The Opera, it is," Darcy acquiesced with a faint nod of his head. "Oh, and Char
les...as concerns the mother..." Charles paused, his hand on the door handle. "Y
es?" "Every family is saddled with a problematic relation, an aunt for example, or a.
.." "Sister?" Charles replied with a dawning grin of understanding. "Precisely." Darcy paused, and quirked a sardonic brow in his direction. "A fina
l word of advice-Beckingham runs a fine establishment-take some lessons, my man,
or there will be no invitation for grouse hunting at Pemberley this year. I'm a
fraid I do place a modicum of value on my life." "Capital suggestion, you old wretch! I shall leave you to your musings and bid y
ou good day!" He turned at the last minute and threw a parting salvo. "And a mos
t excellent sermon, Darcy! Perhaps you missed your calling?" Having executed a s
mart bow, he turned on his heel and ducked beyond the carved doors, the sound
of his chuckling echoing through the hallway. 2The library became enveloped in blessed silence, a lucid stillness through which
filtered the muted tones of daily London life. Hypocrite. The single, ugly word
repeated itself over and over in his mind, like the insistent clanging of a cat
hedral bell. How could he discourse upon fear of refusal, never having overcome
his own? He walked toward the fireplace, and fixing intently upon its burning wood search
ed deep within himself for a truer understanding of his motives a year past. Unt
il Elizabeth Bennet's insinuation into his life the examination of his inner w
orkings had been an infrequent occurrence, one he had solemnly endured. Now, rar
ely a day went by without his thoughts straying into previously recessed and sha
dowy corners, attempting to shed light, reaching for novel ideas, and often leav
ing him yearning for something more. He had left England shortly after Wickham's wedding-the rescue wedding-as he o
ft referred to it in his own mind. What self-sacrificing impulse had lured him t
o leave? He was not an impulsive man by nature. Previous _decisions had been based on rational comparative analysis guided by unwavering l
ogic and sense. During his myriad travels he had waged an ever-present internal battle of grand
proportions, one whose intricate machinations had led him to conclude-nothing. O
r was he merely playing his inimitable self-while ostensibly pretending to con
ceal himself. William pretending not to be William. Following the shock of Elizabeth's refusal of his marriage proposal at Hunsfor
d and the short lived sweetness of meeting her at Pemberley, he had convinced hi
mself that he needed time...Time to regroup his forces and to prevent being eate
n away by his own bitter disappointment. Observing her amidst the glory of Pemberley had wiped away layers of anger, incr
edulity, and rekindled a simmer- ing passion, mixed with curious devotion. And t
hen what path had he chosen? Rather than reprising his court he had flown the co
untry in a sorry attempt to banish her from his existence, thinking that life wi
thout her would be more tolerable than the possibility of yet another refusal at
her hands. Sinking heavily into a wingchair he contemplated the as yet fresh memories of hi
s meanderings abroad. Throughout his travels he had invariably attracted the wom
en, prestige and friends that followed a man of his standing and fortune. Each a
nd every one had failed to ease the pain, the plangent melancholic ache that had
become his malady. The colourful gaiety of Paris, the lushness of Tuscany and splendours of Rome; a
ll had failed to diffuse the dense and dreamy brilliance of her. She had grown o
n him slowly-memories of her words, her eyes, her walk-adding a little here an
d there like a silky cocoon, layer by gossamer layer, until one day walking amid
st the perfumed gardens of the Alhambra he had been overcome by the pretence of
it all. He could no longer suppress nor deny his feelings. From that day forward he had built within himself a sanctuary where Elizabeth re
igned-amidst private thoughts and longings. One he would escape to during his wa
nderings, bring ideas of import, revisit conversations, situations, sights he'
d seen, books he'd read. She became real, enshrined in his mind with vivid clari
ty. She became his muse, nearly divine. But beneath it all an insistent question
hovered...were his feelings for her a blessing or sheer folly? The answer, like all facets of Elizabeth, remained maddeningly just beyond his
grasp. His painful reverie was interrupted by Winston's clipped tone, "Shall I remove y
our foil from the settee, sir?" He nodded his head in silence. With a disapprovi
ng frown, Winston lifted the offensive blade from its resting place among tasselled
velvet cushions, inwardly wondering at his master's unaccustomed carelessness.
The poor man had become Frenchified abroad by the appearance of it all. Unexpect
edly, a cacophony of voices, mixed with carriage wheels and the pounding of equi
ne hooves, poured in from across the square. _"What's with the hellish fracas outside, Winston?" Winston halted, metal blade b
alanced gingerly in his white gloved hands. "'Tis Lady Montague returned from ye
t another Grand Tour." Sensing his master's mild interest in the matter he continued, "Three carriages, twelve hors- es, a dozen servants,
a mountain of luggage and one lady's companion have arrived to great fanfare." "You seem intimately acquainted with the details of her household." "Thank you sir, we strive to remain informed. Will that be all?" "Yes, that will be all," Darcy replied, nodding absently at the butler's recedin
g figure. He sat alone in the empty library, turning and turning over in his thoughts ever
y detail of his acquaintance with Elizabeth. Listening to the occasional crackle and hiss of fire logs he burrowed deeper int
o his wingchair and let his fingers absently roam over a world globe by his side
. A distant grandfather clock chimed somewhere afar and the house settled gently
for the night. Suddenly, his fingers stilled the spinning lacquer sphere and something within h
is befogged mind unfurled, in turn filling him with a simple and lucid clarity. Charles' painfully honest declaration had flung open the gates to his own sorry
plight-that of a rejected suitor. The starkness of his reality, one he had sublimated during his travels, struck h
im anew with blinding intensity: sear- ing, fiery and raw. He could no longer plead ignorance to the true role Elizabeth's scathing refusal
had played in his departure. Her jarring words had forced him to journey into f
oreign territories, both abroad and within himself. Fields rarely trodden upon.
Unwonted. The startling aspersions she had cast upon his character had cut him to the quic
k, thinning his well-worn veneer of pride, cracking his habitual composure, his
reserve, and filling him with unease. He had grown malcontent, restless, and had
been obliged to face an unpleasant truth; that of being spurned by a woman, str
ipped of his most essential weapons and exposed in a singularly vulnerable fashi
on. Until her appearance in his life such a notion would have bordered on the ludicr
ous. Now, however, he found himself powerless in banishing her from his thoughts, a
nd in all truthfulness, from his very heart. For she had taken possession of a d
eep-rooted el- ement within him, and with the taking he had surrendered somethin
g of himself. If so, how could he live without her? He could not. The very possibility of such an eventuality was not to be borne. Elizabeth had e
nmeshed herself within him, so much so, that he no longer knew where his thought
s of her ended and his dreams of her began. Dared he hope that with the passage
of time she would reconsider his suit? Or had she surrendered to the charms of a
nother? The mere consideration of losing her to another man, any man, made him shudder. Embittered by the lingering taste of failures past, un- customarily frightened b
y what the future might hold, he reached for his heavy crystal goblet, let out a
deep sigh, and taking a long drink of the aged brandy welcomed its promise of
liquid oblivion. Chapter Two. London, 1820. The notion struck her that she was traveling backwards in more ways than one.
Ensconced in the velvety depths of the well-sprung, well-oiled Montague carria
ge, Elizabeth looked on as London facades sped by her window. La grande reculade.*?Was it merely ten days ago that she had
left the flutter of Paris, its majestic spires rising out of a clear and sunny sky? Time seemed to f
low along a differing path during travel; it slowed, halted and altered its temp
o, invisibly guided by the hand of unexplored territories. As soon as she had se
t foot in Dover time had accelerated until she had felt herself hurtling toward
the familiar. The sensation was like being pulled toward an uncomfortable truth. If her year of travels represented a rich tapestry, then its colours and texture
s seemed to be unravelling as she sat facing a slumbering Lady Margaret Montague
.** Scattered images flitted before her; the smile of a flower girl at the Luxem
bourg Gardens, a carpet of wildflowers covering some hidden valley in the Alps,
the weathered face of a ci- cerone in Napoli; common sights of common occurrence
s, the warp and weave of her experiences abroad. Where Lady Montague, a seasoned traveller, had distinctly preferred the enjoym
ent of endless daytime scenery, Elizabeth was often left to herself to pore over
architecture, art and paintings. So much so that in Florence she had de- velope
d a most Stendhalian*** "art fatigue." Overcome by the sheer volume of beautiful
sights she had taken to her bed, afflicted with the headache. Thereafter, havin
g learned a lesson in moderation, she slowed her tempo spending hours sketching
the minutiae of life playing out before her, or penning her musings, both abstra
ct and absurd, in the pages of her treasured journals. Ah Italy... a country of exquisite landscapes, filled with boundless generosity
and brilliantly witty people; people whose very speech and gestures spoke of art
; a country where labourers hummed Rossini and quoted Dante without effort. Sh
e stared sightlessly out of the carriage window. How could one not become romant
icized by it all? She glanced toward the slumbering figure of Lady Montague with a mixture of fond
attachment, sadness and gratitude. The older woman had lifted her out of a vacu
um of tedious loneliness, and effectively gifted her with wings. To this day, sh
e would remember the words that had se- duced her toward reaching for the unknow
n. "The world holds much that is good and true Elizabeth, but you must pursue it, i
t will not do to neglect it. One _must have a quest in life, my dear, or one withers away into nothingness." Pursue it she did, with great pleasure and advantage; away from family and frien
ds, away from the tall, dark man who had left a distinct imprint upon her soul.
Good God, how she had flown! Images of the Venetian Carnivale as- saulted her mi
nd...slipping out of her domino, into bed, out of bed, back into her domino...ma
sques, balls, operas. Upon setting foot in England she had been forced, mid- fli
ght, to land once again; her wings had been clipped. And as the carriage rocked
and tilted toward London her collec- tive of grand and colourful memories seemed
to take on the patina of an aged and crumbling illusion. Upon leaving on her journey she had clung to the certi- tude that her mind would
change, and in change she would surely find reprieve. Travelling had given her
a taste of knowledge, permitting her to touch a world previously foreign and u
nknown. Walking among ruin after ruin, recall- ing Latin poets, admiring great m
asters, had connected her to a larger pool of humanity, which in times past had
been relegated to the world of books and descriptions alone. True knowledge, she had decided, meant absorbing, contemplating, discovering-the
voyage transcended mere ink strokes on parchment. In her journeys she had sharp
- ened her perspective, allowing clearer shape and form to the future potential
of perhaps one day becoming useful; useful beyond the bounds dictated by conve
ntion. Vague ideas had begun coalescing in her mind, involving her travel, her s
ketches, and the possibility of sharing the entirety with others at large. Perhaps. As the carriage creaked and clopped over uneven bridge planks the spring rain in
tensified. A singularly London-like greeting, she smiled wryly to herself. Nestl
ing into the woollen folds of her travelling cape she swayed with the to and fro
cadence of the conveyance, its rhythm gentle and soothing like that of a childh
ood lullaby. Yet, rather than being lulled into peaceful calm she felt a growing
unease settle upon her. Finally, unable to contain herself, she submitted to the habitual turn of her mi
nd that, despite great effort on her part, had dimmed the brilliance of her voya
ge. Fool! She chided herself silently. What youthful naivet had led her to believ
e that a Grand Tour could erase him, with finite entirety, from her memory? Like
an uninvited, dark and silent shadow, he had tailed her on her journey, invad
ing her notions, her designs, her very dreamscapes. She'd glimpsed wisps of him
in statues, paintings, in the receding figure of an innocent stranger. A broodin
g brow, the curve of a lip... hands, torsos, sinewy legs...rapt, pensive, quietl
y searching eyes. The eyes had been the worst, following her everywhere. Da Vinc
i, Rubens, Rembrandt-cruel masters in their ability to reflect his eyes-remind
ing her of the sudden failure of her past, the pain of its unwilling change and
a relent- lessly plaguing sense of disgrace. Happy thoughts indeed. _After the ill-fated marriage proposal she had almost succeeded in banishing him
from her mind, in spite of his letter, and against her resentful feelings at the
time. Almost, but not quite. Fate was not unkind, she mused clenching her jaw;
no, fate was flint-hearted and ruthless. The chance meeting at Pemberley had ope
ned new vistas, brightly hued possibilities, only to have them extinguished anew
by the debacle of Lydia's wedding. Weeks of waiting for his return had flowed into one another. While her family sl
owly regained its equilibrium she steadily began losing hers. Were some men capa
ble of declaring themselves only once? Hopeful burgeoning passion had dissipated into sadness, and with time grown in
to a sense of bitter loss. She had felt herself swallowed up by her small, shall
ow, and closeted life. While taunting her steadily, like the gossamer wisps of
a spider web, were memories of his brilliant transformation at Pemberley, the d
eep kindness displayed toward her family in his handling of the Wickham affair..
. the possibility of a good man. She had felt so near to another proposal, and then, to have it all come to naugh
t. The whole seemed nonsensi- cal, illogical, yet very real. To her chagrin her
customarily resilient nature, one that rarely dwelled upon unpleasant matters, h
ad become irrefutably altered by the advent and leave-taking of a single man. A grey flume of smouldering resentment toward William Darcy, toward his ostensib
ly wounded pride, his reluctant disinclination, seemed to escape from her very c
ore. She had run to the continent to escape her loss, to lose herself in art, tr
avel, landscapes, thinking her mind would be transformed, and she would unlear
n feeling. The art of letting go had proven impossibly beyond her grasp. Each da
y, each hour, he would find her, and with the first dream that arrived with th
e onset of sleep she would run and gather him to her heart. Madness. Anger at he
r plight, her hopelessness, her inconsequential situation, surged and spilled ou
t. Like Vesuvius spewing molten lava. Le rouge et le noir.**** 2Beneathasweepofcreamyostrichfeathers,LadyMargaret Montague observed the changing
landscapes of Elizabeth's countenance with a partiality which, to this moment,
she found astonishing. Having rarely enjoyed the company of women, in Elizabeth,
to her utter satisfaction and delight, she had discovered a bright, charming an
d spirited companion. She reminded herself to call on Madeline Gardiner and th
ank her for intervening on her behalf. Thomas Bennet, an old friend of Lady Mont
ague's, had been easy to sway, but Fanny had required tactfuland persistent plea
ding before she would allow Elizabeth to venture abroad. Lifting her eyes she addressed her young companion. "Did we not have a pleasant
journey, Elizabeth? 'Tis possible to travel quite amiably without that annoyingl
y imperious creature-man."?Elizabeth's lips quirked upwards in the faintest suggestion of a smile. "How very true, my lady. Perhaps God, in creating man, overstre
tched his ability." Lady Montague shot the young woman a penetrating glance. Despite hundreds of lea
gues travelled, the sharing of cramped and close quarters, she was no further in
eluci- dating the cloud of Elizabeth's inner discontent. A delicious enigma; on
e she instinctively decided would be solved in London by the end of Season. Over the years she had determined that beneath every woman who journeyed afar li
ved a story, rich and complex, whispering of secret joys and hidden sorrows. Her
own life and myriad travels certainly gave credence to the theory. Richly widowed at a young age she had proceeded with single-minded aplomb to est
ablish herself as a pre-eminent salonniere among the ton. An intriguing blend of
opposites she was blessed with the peculiar beauty of the jolie-laide; sharp-ey
ed, sharp tongued, exuding an aura of old-fashioned elegance without becoming
outr. Her wit, and its incurable ability to make observations sharper than finish
- ing nails, had fashioned her into a brilliant and feared puppeteer of societ
y's minions. Nonetheless, London society had proven itself somewhat limiting. In
turn, her disappointment in its rigid strictures had prompted her to voyage
across the Channel, honing her skills along the way to near-perfect pitch. She sighed to herself, inwardly acknowledging the curious mixture of satisfact
ion and discontent that had prompted this latest journey. So unsettling to fin
d oneself balanced between youth and old age! A woman who prided herself on quoting Sophocles while dancing till dawn, she was
determined to retain her femininity while expanding her intellect through adven
- tures, antiquities and academia. Only lately, had she admit- ted to herself th
e task was rather more arduous than pre- dicted. Undaunted, she steadfastly cont
inued on her quest. Very little in life frightened her. No, her one and only fea
r was that of aging complacency paving the way toward a me- diocre life performa
nce. Lady Montague was not a woman well suited to insignificant interludes; she
craved colourful drama, and in its absence, was rather adept at fashioning it. Slipping on her kidskin gloves, she addressed Elizabeth with a glint of amusemen
t in her eyes. "We did very well I must admit. Truth be told, I shall be exceedi
ngly glad to sleep in my own bed this evening, child. Do you know what I pined f
or the most while away?" "I cannot imagine." "The library. Harry, bless his dear imperfect soul, had left me a most formidabl
e array of books. When he wasn't collecting women he occupied himself by acquiri
ng moun- tains of tomes, ancient and rare manuscripts. Oh, how I cannot wait to be settled amidst those old pages again. Ah! Here we are. They ha
ve been expecting us. A good house is a great comfort as one ages, my dear." 2A fortnight later. Montague House, London. The walls of Lady Montague's drawing room were aglow, their sunny warmth reminis
cent of lemon trees and olive groves. Potted palms, artfully arranged in footed
porcelain vases, lent the salon a faintly exotic air, one gently reflected in th
e true greens and eggshell blues of surrounding dam- asks and silks. A ray of li
ght slipped in through the parted curtains momentarily causing Elizabeth to look
up from her book and take in her surroundings. "You've captured a piece of Tuscany, my lady. Funnily, a year ago, I would have
never appreciated the complex shad- ings found in light." "Mediterranean citron. I drove the painters to sheer and complete madness. 'Tis
somewhat reminiscent of the luminosity of Siena, isn't it?" She sipped on her
tea with a satisfied grin. "Are we fully recovered my child? A fortnight has p
assed since our return." Elizabeth put down her book and nodded, "As well as one would expect. Though I m
ust admit that I am battling a peculiar feeling; every object appears different,
yet the same." "Yes, I now recall, following my first Tour, that I experienced a similar sens
ation. It soon dissipates, my dear. One more week and you will regain your custo
mary rhythm. Now that we have recovered in the fundamentals shall we make some n
oise?" Elizabeth suppressed a smile. Her ladyship was capable of turning the softest so
cial ripple into a veritable tintamarre, given her mood, whim or fancy. Riffling through a pile of invitations, Lady Montague continued along her musing
s, "Aurelia Oglethorpe invites us to dinner, but her chef does not so much cook
as torture the food. We shall have to beg off. Sir Bertram wishes to pay a call,
but it is much too early in the Season to be sub- jected to his six-foot scowls
. Lady Whistledown is throwing a Venetian breakfast; now the only flair about
her is to be found in her nostrils. We shall decline. As for Mr. Robertson-a bal
ding non-entity with side whiskers." She paused her riffling, "Mercy, how dull and tedious the first desperate slew o
f contacts becomes. We need the likes of Lord Byron to liven the dreary monotony
of the Season!" _"I have heard Lady Lamb, in Napoli, describe him as mad, bad and dangerous to kn
ow," Elizabeth offered, half in jest. "All the more reason to invite him my dear. Pity he remains abroad." Lady Montague waved a gilt bordered card. "Here is a prime example of which I sp
eak. Miss Caroline Bingley extends an invitation for tea. She is an arriviste my
dear, with a veritable gift for stepping into the limelight, however, boiled do
wn to essentials-a rather plain mortal with big teeth. No, I shall not oblige, a
nd save myself the trouble of disliking her a great deal." The mention of the Bingley name sorely tested Elizabeth's calm and poise but dra
wing on a pool of inner resolve she prevailed and assumed a cloak of serenity. All too accustomed to Lady Montague's targeted skew- ering she steered, nonethel
ess, in a safer direction, "I have received word from Jane, my lady. She and fat
her will be arriving in ten days' time. They are to reside in Cheapside." "Nonsense, my dear child! Send word immediately that we insist upon their presen
ce here at Portman Square. Why, they have been robbed of your company for an entire year, the least I can d
o is open my home to your family in gratitude. Since I do require your services
till the end of the Season, I find myself most relieved to hear that the very be
st of Hertfordshire will come to London. Now, as for this evening, shall we laun
ch our rentre with a visit to the Opera? It is to be La Cenerentola by Mr. Rossin
i. The latest on-dit is that Mr.Weber sends two of his men to sit in a well-expo
sed box and fall asleep after the second curtain rises. One is even said to snor
e! How clever and amusing. We shall have to anticipate what Rossini plans for re
venge against Weber." "Like abroad the audience's performance rivals that on the stage. I expect you w
ill be inspected the entire night for vestiges of continental caprice, my lady." "How astute of you, Elizabeth. And I shall be a most eclectic creature this even
ing. The dress will hail from Florence, petticoats from Marseilles, and my satin
slippers from Padua! Tongues will whisper and wag, wondering if I have been imp
roved or metamorphosed...And I shall keep them guessing! Do wear your aubergine
silk, the one we purchased in Venice. It would not do for either of us to disapp
oint!" Notes: *La Grande Reculade: 'The great going backwards' **Lady Margaret Montague: Patterned on Elizabeth Montagu (1720-1800), who marrie
d Edward Montagu of Allerthorp, the fifth son of the Earl of Sandwich. Upon his
death, she inherited a vast estate, built Montagu House on Portman Square in Lon
don and became the 'Queen of the Bluestockings.' She was a noted philanthropist, holding an annual May dinner for
the chimney sweeps of London. ***Stendhalian Syndrome: A medical syndrome first desribed by Stendhal, a french
novelist, upon his first visit to Florence. Overcome by the sheer beauty and vo
lume of artwork and architecture, he developed a state of confusion and transi
ent loss of reality. To this day, every year, several tourists are treated for S
tendhalian syndrome in Florence. ****Le Rouge et Le Noir: A novel written by Stendhal (pseud- onym of Marie-Henri
Beyle) in 1830. _Chapter Three Portman Square, London. later that day. Burford, Lady Montague's ever-suffering butler, impaled Elizabeth with a mourn
ful look. "You must take great care, Miss Bennet. Lady Hamilton is the leader an
d will send you on a merry chase; as for Horatio, he will follow along blindly." Elizabeth shortened
the leather leash on the straining greyhounds, glad to be out in the bracing spr
ing air. "I am but going around the square, Burford."?"Most irregular," muttered the butler res
ignedly under his breath. Years of employ at Montague House had tested his tenacious hold on t
he strictures of proper deportment; yet, he held on, convinced one day he would
be richly re- paid for his steadfastness. Motioning for a footman to follow al
ong at a respectable distance he retreated into the town house, his shoulders sl
oping beneath the weight of his considerable burden. The fresh air was immensely pleasing to Elizabeth; red- olent of last night's ra
in it seemed to temper the inevitable busy smell of London. How droll, she thoug
ht to herself, that at her first sight of Rome she had mistaken its fog- shroude
d spires for those of London, until their equipage had neared, the fog lifted, a
nd the similarity disappeared in a splash of color. She scanned along the soldierly alignment of town homes about the square, their
gates largely closed, black iron sword-tips pointing straight into the April air
. An imposing faade caught her eye as she neared its row of se- verely pruned t
opiaries. These very trees, if left alone, could have grown twenty feet or more.
But no, instead they were carefully pruned, their branches whittled down to not
hing. Oh, how lucky they were to have a pot to grow in, she mused sarcastically. A fierce tug propelled her swiftly out of her reverie as Lady Hamilton attempted
to bolt after a moving blur of tan and brown. Elizabeth pulled back quickly, bu
t the combined force of both hounds proved beyond her. She felt the leather leas
h strain and burn through the thin skin of her gloves and was soon wrenched forw
ard with startling speed. At the same moment, a black-cloaked shape swung out behind the very row of potte
d topiaries, and strolled out through the wrought-iron gate. "Dash it Hamilton, you're no lady! And you, Horatio, are a veritable disgr..." s
he raised her voice angrily as the hounds bounded ahead, pulling her along like
a clumsy marionette. Her words and very breath were jarringly knocked out as she collided with a stee
ly mass of dark wool and rigid muscle. Limbs, leather leads, barking dogs, man a
nd woman, all became entangled in an unruly, chaotic jumble. A deep voice rose out of the untidy melee. "Pardon me, Miss..." Momentarily disoriented by the force of the collision, a curious thought flashed
through her mind...if voices had color this man's would be velvety brown. Tilti
ng her head at a sharp angle, she was blinded by a flash of sun. Unable to disce
rn the face behind the voice, she decided however, that he smelled delicious: le
ather, soap and something piquant. The entirety reminded her for a moment of summer time in Provence. A silent minute stretched out endlessly. Within that space she felt the man's mu
scles ripple, tense and withdraw sharply, as if flinching and recoiling from dan
ger. Perhaps she imagined it, she thought, squinting into the sun. A pair of hands grasped her shoulders and she sensed a layer of cool air distanc
ing her from the sudden warmth of wool and man. The deep voice resumed, laced wi
th astonishment and an emotion she could not quite place. "Miss Bennet?"?A cloud, huge, calm and dignified covered the sun, and she found herself staring into the familiar chestnut depths that had pursued her
throughout Europe. His lashes were longer, much longer than she had remembered. "Mr. D-Darcy?"?"Your humble servant. Please, allow me..."?"No, I..."?"Yes, truly
..." His hands brushed hers and seized the leather leads. The hounds, sensing a new owner whose strength was inescapable, s
tilled their skittish circling and came to a complete halt. He gazed at her tongue-tied, utterly shocked by the impact of her unexpected p
resence, yet deeply grateful that chance was toying with them once again. She met his eyes with hers and felt herself drawn in by a surpassing, grave tend
erness, which to her utter consternation sent her falling-over waterfalls. Her face grows rosy as the dawn, he realized lost in her nearness. Botticelli's
Primavera...no... Da Vinci's Madonnas...which one? All of them. Standing under t
he forgotten scrap of sky, hounds sitting obediently at his feet, he floated in
delight at having found her so soon, so near. His joy was violent and intense. T
he sensation itself being heady, almost erotic, and hard to distinguish from pai
n. It enveloped him entirely while remaining completely hidden beneath a taut ma
sk of gentlemanly civility. Not knowing where to look, lost in the intensity of his presence, her eyes fixed
on his hands: gloveless, tapered long fingers, sinews and tendons straining. Sh
e watched, her breathing rapid and shallow, the way his fingers curled about the
length of leather; closing, tightening their hold, filled blue veins outlined a
gainst sun-darkened skin. _Exceptionally strong hands. The Sistine Chapel. Good Lord, how had she gotten he
rself into this predicament? He was the last person she had expected to see, so
soon, upon her return to England. His voice drifted toward her, polite, restrained, yet was that a tremble she det
ected? "What brings you to London, Miss Bennet?" "I have but recently returned from the continent with Lady Montague," she replie
d, attempting valiantly to affect a distant and serene composure. "Ah...one lady's companion," he murmured. "How in- teresting, I find myself retu
rned from the continent as well; our paths, however, failed to cross. Where, may
I enquire, did your travels happen to take you?" She swallowed hard, forcing herself to attend to his words while inwardly wishin
g she could bury herself within the satiny folds of her reticule. "France, the A
lps, Italy and back," she answered. Oh! What a magnificent summation of your jou
rney Elizabeth, she fretted inwardly. Suddenly the importance of leaving a favor
able impression upon William Darcy took on gargantuan proportions; unhappily, th
e revelation itself had a decidedly unsettling effect upon her person. "An extensive itinerary, by any standard; Lady Montague is a most seasoned trave
ler. I trust you were well looked after?" "Yes, indeed."?A pause ensued, heavy with the weight of unspoken words and feelings, as both parties balanced precariously on a crater's edge of
indecision. Doubt and hesitation wove themselves like fine threads into William'
s heightened emotions. Was she experiencing the same flight of happiness he fe
lt? Or was the blush coloring her cheeks simply one of embarrassment; or worse,
vexation at their unconventional reunion? "Permit me to walk these two wretched creatures back to the house," he offered.
Taking the first step, craving to prolong their encounter, he knew that it must
soon arrive at its natural conclusion. "No, I thank you. I shall manage just fine. They are quite settled. The spring a
ir and all..." His gaze swept over the curve of her cheek, gliding across the soft line of her
chin, and alighted, without con- scious intent, on her lips. "Yes, the spring air... Perhaps I shall have the very great pleasure of calling
upon Lady Montague in the near future." Needing to authenticate the propriety of
his visit he added, "She was a dear friend of my mother's," his voice trailed off. "Well...My humble
apologies for the collision. It was quite accidental I assure you." His lips hinted at a private smile. "Good day, Miss Be
nnet." "Good day, Mr. Darcy."?His fingers brushed hers again as the leather leads passe
dfrom hand to hand. He tipped his hat and strode away with long, purposeful steps
, the edge of his black cloak grazing _0 the ground in a mesmerizing to and fro motion. She was left standing frozen in c
hilly stupor before the open gates of Darcy House, two greyhounds sitting obedie
ntly at her feet. 2He strode away, aware of her gaze on his receding figure, his spine stiff, inw
ardly feeling like a proud school-boy again. She was in London! Across the squar
e! He felt glori- ously intoxicated with the knowledge of her proximity. He was not sorry for this latest denouement-meeting her so suddenly-he only wish
ed that somehow he had been prepared rather than taken by brisk surprise. His ea
rlier uncertainty resurfaced and grew, giving rise to a question he had skillf
ully avoided for some time. Would she allow him to reprise his court? He turned a corner and suddenly halted mid-stride nearly colliding with a street
sweep on the curb. In truth, there never had been a proper courtship between th
em, a guilty voice whispered. Well, perhaps the time was ripe to begin his suit
anew. He'd backed away from the challenge she presented once before. Never again
. After all, he thrived on challenges in every other aspect of his life. Yes...
he muttered to himself...he would court the lady. Having arrived at his decisi
on he resumed his stride with renewed vigor. As his steps led him toward Bond Street, the air seemed clean and unsullied, col
ors took on dazzling hues, and a bold energy appeared to emanate from the teemin
g life of the city. With a jubilant flick of his wrist he tossed some coins to a
pack of trailing street urchins. Macbeth was surely mistaken; life was not a
walking shadow. He thought of the sun illuminating her face... Titian, Tintorett
o, the Venetian masters and their brilliant use of light. And he decided then
and there, that Elizabeth belonged to that singular group of people who shone
with a unique incandescence. One whose brilliancy he yearned to both savor and n
urture for the remainder of his years. He turned into Penhaligon's, a shop he rarely frequent- ed. As he glanced about
the perfumed and embowered store, he scanned rows of lavender water, English flo
wer perfumes, and posies of fresh blooms. His eyes settled on a cluster of yello
w roses, luminous, sun-golden. He observed the shopgirl arranging the stems in
an artful display, and motioned to a long satin covered box. His hands reached
for a white card, lifting a nearby quill pen, he wrote Elizabeth's name, then hi
s. At the last minute, he pointed to an extravagant bouquet of irises, orchids a
nd chrysanthemums. Lady Montague was fond of lavish arrangements. "They will be delivered at once?" he enquired impatient- ly, pointing to the ros
es. The shopgirl threw him a curious glance, answering that yes, indeed, they wo
uld. 2Royal Opera House, London?"Una volta c'era un r..." ("Once there lived a king")* Amidst a sea of pale faces, shining jewels, and the susur- rant hum of the beau
monde, Caroline Bingley's aigrette quivered like the lightest blanc mange. Swath
ed in a satin confection the color of bruised peaches, she turned her opera gl
asses critically on the horse-shoe curve of glitter displayed before her. "Upon my word, if that is not Eliza Bennet preening in the Montague box!" Louisa leaned toward her sister and murmured, "Lady Smythe let it be known at he
r musicale that our Eliza ac- companied Lady Montague on her most recent Grand T
our. The country lass must be on the shelf by now, my dear. After all, is there
any other raison d'tre for touring the continent?" "How true, Louisa. A young woman who travels tar- nishes her feminine respectabi
lity. The dangers of visiting foreign climes are well established: one can lose
any proper sense one possesses and become filled by lax principles. She does app
ear quite convenient if you follow my meaning. One only has to glance at the Ita
lian cut of her gown." Louisa twittered in a high falsetto, "I have it on good authority that Italian i
s now considered over French, my dear." Having dipped rather deep at Brook's the same evening, Louisa's husband woke fro
m his befogged reverie. "What? What? French, did you say? I thought this damned
opera was Italian?" Louisa patted his hand with a reassurance borne of long years of practice. "Now,
now, dearest, I assure you, the li- bretto is entirely Italian, only the sopran
o is German, but the tenor, thankfully, quite British." "Un soave non so che" ("Oh sweet something") Charles Bingley, afflicted with near sightedness since childhood, leaned toward
his sister and whispered indignantly in her ear, "Caroline, I insist on reclai
ming my opera glasses, you have placed me at a distinct disadvantage this evenin
g." With a serpentine twist of her neck, Caroline let spill the full extent of her p
ique, "Lud, but you are notoriously pricksome, Charles. She's not even present h
ere! Now that your malady seems to have abated, can you not come about and bring
an end to this calf-love of yours? It is entirely un- becoming, besides, Louisa
and I find ourselves vastly bored with the entire affair." "I may be known for the gentleness of my disposition, but I warn you, Caroline,
this time you go too far. Louisa, Hurst, I bid you good night. Darcy, I shall me
et you at the Montague box come intermission. After all, we must pay our respect
s to the charming Miss Bennet. I hear she has returned from her journeys abroad
lovelier than ever, a be- witching muse, and sophisticated beyond belief." William Darcy, partially hidden in shadow, raised his eyebrow at the sibling exc
hange, stretched his legs before him and returned to his silent contemplation of
Elizabeth. "Zitto, zitto, piano, piano..." ("Quietly, quietly, softly, softly") He had observed her since the end of the first Act, when a ripple wove through t
he audience upon the arrival of the Montague party. As Don Magnifico bellowed a
soulful aria on stage he watched from afar; watched her gaze shift, her mouth op
en as the music soared, and settle in the slightest of private smiles as if lost
in her own secret world. The music seemed to stem directly from poetry this evening, its tones waking a h
igher life within him, echoing deeply, and filling him with an inexpressible lon
ging. The flowers, he wondered, had they pleased her? His gaze refocused upon her, the curve of her neck like pale, lightly warmed ala
baster. She had cut all her glorious hair. He sighed. What further transformatio
ns awaited his discovery? As the aria neared its finale he decided, after a long
and thorough perusal of her person, that the short riot of curls somehow suited
her, defining her features, enlarg- ing her eyes. The effect was pleasing, very
pretty, and entirely captivating. He contemplated her from far away, noting not only what others saw, but also wha
t she added to the world around her. Something deep within him thinned and shat-
tered. The sensation captured him by complete surprise. Yet something, like pet
als falling entered him, bringing with it a yearning to capture her essence, the
essence of her spirit, to cradle it, caress it till it shone, and bury himself
deep within it. Leaning back in his armchair he steepled his fingers, propped his chin upon them
and stared across the theatre. He looked out, mired in deep thoughts, momentari
ly un- seeing, and plotted his way forward. "Sprezzo quei don che versa..." ( "All is not gold that glitters") "We seem to be garnering an inordinate amount of attention this evening, Elizabe
th," Lady Montague com- mented behind her fan, while nodding here and there to o
ld acquaintances across the gilded and festooned semi circle. "Who is the creature in creaking satin?"?"Lady Catherine de Bourgh, my lady, and
if I'm not mistaken that must be Colonel Fitzwilliam by her side," "Good God, the gorgon lives
! She and my mother were at constant odds. As for the gentleman, you will notice
he is __ no longer sporting regimentals, my dear. He sold his com- mission this past year
. In fact, I do believe he is now the Honourable Mr. Fitzwilliam. I am told his
older brother died rather suddenly at Jackson's, one blow too many, leaving th
e younger Fitzwilliam in direct line for the Matlock baronetcy. I presume the tw
o of you are acquainted?" "Yes, our paths crossed at Rosings," "How fortuitous! Quite the dashing young fellow. Before his ascent in the world
a young man one would invite for tea and conversation, but not marriage material
. Now, however..." As if aware of Lady Montague's scrutiny the Honourable Mr. Fitzwilliam tilted hi
s head at a jaunty angle and flashed Elizabeth a most winning smile-warm, inviti
ng, and un- mistakably rakish. She lowered her lashes and curled her lips in a s
umptuous upturn. "Questo e un nodo avvilupato" ("Here's an intricate knot") As the heavy green velvet curtain sank in a cloud of dust and debris, a discreet
knock sounded on the box wall. Lady Montague motioned with her fan, "Ah, Willia
m, do come in and bring all the rest with you. I presume you and Miss Bennet are
acquainted since the incident with the dogs. Rotten creatures are they not? " Suddenly, the Montague box filled with a veritable crush of silks, satins, diamo
nds, and men. Caroline Bingley jostled for position, "You may not remember me, my lady, but
we were introduced two years ago." "Quite a delightful interval, wouldn't you agree Miss Bingley?" Remarked her lad
yship pleasantly, and passed on to the darkly elegant man standing by her side.
She lowered her voice conspiratorially, "A lesson in the language of flowers w
ould serve you well." Darcy's brow creased in sudden surprise. "My lady?"?"I shall expect a call on th
e morrow. Now, now, William, I won't stand for any hauteur, have we not been acquainted since your leading st
ring days?" "Indeed." He could make out Elizabeth out of the corner of his eye, her face p
artially hidden behind an open fan, smiling rapturously at his cousin. Something
within him coiled and tightened. So much for blind arrogance, he lashed himself
inwardly. In his fit of passionate resolve he had entirely forgotten a cardinal
rule in courting a desirable woman...he was but one of many. Darcy cleared his throat, and attempted a wry smile. "I shan't miss the opportun
ity of attending your salon, my lady, and partaking in the...ah...lesson." He bo
wed, and drawn by the lighthearted tones of her laughter, moved his black clad form toward Elizabeth's fauteuil.?"And when a lady opens and closes h
er fan thusly," Elizabeth demonstrated the skill with a graceful flick of her wrist, "that, my d
ear sir, signifies 'You are being most cruel'." __ The Honourable Mr. Fitzwilliam's laugh cut through the clamour of the box as he
motioned to the fan. "May I?" Having retrieved the fan from Elizabeth's hand he pressed it half-open to his lip. "Now, I wonder, what could this possibly sugges
t?" Elizabeth's colour rose slightly, she held out her palm, and raised a disapprovi
ng eyebrow at his antics, "Allow me to demonstrate the proper manner in which to
imply 'Do not be so impudent!' Why, good evening Mr. Darcy, I trust you are enj
oying the performance thus far?" He trapped her gaze in his and held it. "Yes, the performance is quite magnifi
cent," he answered, his tone cool, clipped and presaging an impending storm. "Wh
at a lovely fan, Miss Bennet, may I be permitted a closer look?" A fine tremor shook her hand as she opened the hand- painted fan, its ivory hand
le flecked in black and gold. She could feel the heat of him as he leaned nearer
, his breath intermingling with hers, the single diamond of his cravat momentari
ly distracting. There hovered about him an aura of suppressed emotion; palpable,
fervent and disquieting. He narrowed his eyes as if inspecting the fan intensely. "Ah, Vesuvius and its
environs, remarkable craftsmanship. I preferred the Falls at Tivoli myself, n
ear the ruins of Hadrian's villa. Did you, perchance, visit the Sabine Hills whi
le you were away?" "Yes," she replied, drawn in against her will by his nearness, the profound ri
chness of his voice, and a thrumming undercurrent of leashed intensity. "I shall
never forget the roar of the waters, so violent, yet mesmerizing at the same ti
me." "Neither shall I," he answered, throwing her a far away look and growing silent. Distant contemplation of his muse was one matter, he thought to himself, but thi
s woman was no illusion. She was real, very much alive and testing his mettle in
a manner that left him feeling discomposed. The chattering noise within the box grew, cloaking their interlude with an insis
tent hum. Should she mention the flowers? She pondered, strick- en with unaccustomed panic
. No, she dared not. He would think her forward and lacking sensibility. Yet, ho
w dared he send her yellow roses? She clenched her jaw, debating the virtue and
the price of being unafraid to challenge him. Some hidden instinct cautioned her
to remain silent, yet to her chagrin as he spoke his next words she realized wi
th a sinking feeling the full extent of her misjudgement. "Yes, you are magnificent, Miss Bennet," he whispered softly so as only she woul
d hear, then added softer still, "in Venice, did you have your own cicisbeo? Som
e dashing young pup worshipping the very ground you trod on? For you know, the entire institution began there..."?"No, I did not, Mr. Darcy. In f
act, sir, I find myself rather disinclined to be dissected, examined and analyse
d by your formidable intellect." She tilted her chin with pert defiance. The action, the very deliberate tilt of her dimpled chin, should have taken him
by surprise. However, it did not. Parry and riposte. It had been some time since
he'd faced a worthy opponent. For a fleeting instant he paused, wondering why they were sparring, when he woul
d have been perfectly content to sweep her in his arms and be done with trivial
duelling. No other woman had ever succeeded in arousing him to such potent emoti
ons. He resolved to temper his responses, to mellow their impassioned edge. Afte
r all, was he not attempting to woo the lady? "You give my intellect more credence than it deserves," he answered with conside
rable restraint. "Surely, Mr. Darcy, you are not suggesting that travel has dulled my powers of o
bservation?" He raised a quizzical brow, "Not at all, I was merely en- deavouring to..." and
became distracted by the shiny curve of her lower lip, the pearly edge of its ve
rmilion border. "To...?" She replied in a husky undertone. Darcy lost his words, lost his bearin
gs completely and utterly, as a faint colour rose to his cheeks. Buoyed by her advantage she continued on. "Has travel softened your mind, Mr. Da
rcy? Or is it possible that you have misplaced your manners? Somewhere between F
rance and Italy, or the Alps perchance?" His eyes bored into hers and lit up with bright expectancy. "Ah, much as it pa
ins me to do so, I must confess that you are absolutely correct. Travel has deci
dedly softened my mind in a most advantageous way. I find myself no longer above
being pleased by many things, including the finely honed wit of a beautiful wom
an." Elizabeth's own colour rose at his words, and she found herself momentarily robb
ed of a response. The crowded box seemed to fall away, leaving her strangely exp
osed and caught in his web. "A woman," he continued in a hushed tone while pierc- ing her with an unyielding
gaze, "who has returned from her journeys-altered in the most delightful of way
s-yet essentially intact. The whole is entirely intriguing." She opened her fan, slowly, deliberately. With each studied wave of the painted
silk, she attempted to create a distance between herself, his words, and the tum
ult of feeling they unleashed. Fixing him with a disapproving look, while inwardly battling a raging heat, she
replied, "Since you insist on dis- section, Mr. Darcy, you will no doubt have ob
served that I have been neither Frenchified, Italianized, or Germanized by my jo
urneys. A rather grave disappointment, to be sure." Oh, she was most accomplished at repartee, William mused with growing respect, e
xceedingly so. A year ago he'd never imagined he'd face such a battle. She was p
roving to be highly stubborn and resolute. He, on the other hand was renowned fo
r his tenacity and prepared to be relentless. Forgetting his earlier promise he threw her a parting salvo. "I cannot imagine h
ow any aspect of your person would ever truly disappoint, Miss Bennet. On the contrary, it is most refreshing
and unusual to find oneself completely unchanged by one's travels. A claim very
few, including myself, can aspire to. My compliments on your lovely coiffure;
a new English style, I presume?" Her hand flitted to her curls. How dare he disarm her! Before she could fashion
a retort he bowed, the sensual curve of a smile playing upon his lips. "Please f
orgive my imperti- nence. It was absolutely uncalled for. Indeed, you are quite
right where my manners are concerned, I shall have to send an expedition-to the
Alps-and retrieve them. I wish you a most pleasant evening. Good night, Miss Ben
net." And extricating himself from the milling crush he disappeared beyond the v
elvet-curtained doorway. Notes: La Cerenterola-The Cinderella Opera by Rossini. Quotes taken from original libre
tto-1820. __ Chapter Four Montague House, Portman Square. later that evening. Elizabeth sat upon a tufted blue chair rhythmically brushing her hair, the luxur
iant hues of lapis lazuli within her bedchamber softened by muted candle- light.
She sat with her back determinedly turned away from the window, languorous with lassitude and feeling strangely dispirited. Her short curls settled here and there. Occasionally the ivory brush would stray
lower, caressing thin air, guided by old habits. Her window faced across the sq
uare where earlier that evening her eyes had been drawn to a dim light flickerin
g within Darcy House. Was it his drawing room? Or perchance the library? Was it
a matter of deep consequence? Imaginably. A subdued knock sounded on her door followed by a softly muted voice. "Elizabeth, may I have a few words with you?"?Setting down her brush with a puzz
led frown she rose and opened the door. Lady Montague floated in, a cloud of cre
am lace and cashmere, her hair combed out for the night. Without the distracting
presence of jewels, face paint or adornments, she appeared surprisingly young.
Elizabeth wondered, yet again, at her true age.?"Sit down, child," she waved toward her, "
Let us dis- pense with formalities..." and began pacing across the length of sky blue Persia
n, looking upon Elizabeth with a long scrutinizing gaze. Finally, perching herse
lf upon the bed, she began. "In truth I could not sleep without having a few words with you. I find myself d
eeply concerned with the state of your well-being, my dear. We have become good
friends you and I, and seeing you suffering thus, particularly after the intermi
ssion, at the Opera... Well, it pains me to no end. Forgive my bluntness, but ha
s William Darcy caused you any measure of grief?" Elizabeth slowly raised her lashes and returned her gaze with a melange of sorro
w and chagrin. "Oh, lassie, I wish I had divined it sooner! Perhaps I could have helped soothe
away your distress." "The situation is of my own doing, my lady. I fail to see how any intervention o
n your part might have altered the course of events." The older woman's voice lowered, gentled, and took on a dreamy cadence. "Anne Da
rcy was my dearest friend, child. I have known William since he was a babe. I wa
tched him grow and become the man he is today. He lived the __ tragedy of having parents who loved one another too much. 'Twas the grandest of
love matches leaving little room for the product of the union-the children. Oh,
he and his sister had the very best of nannies and governesses, but were abandon
ed for months at a time. A servant's love is meagre replacement for a parent's devotion. You may ask yourself, what does an old chil
dless widow know of such things? Well, Elizabeth, I have loved once; I have tast
ed its purity and its pain. I do know of which I speak." The evening light dimmed; suffusing the room in soft yellow, lighting up Lady Mo
ntague's face with a tense, ab- stract steadfastness. "William has never known such a love, not as a child, nor in his youth. As for n
ow, I cannot speak for him, yet I do believe that he has cloaked himself in a da
rk and distant reserve against its very possibility. His parents were great trav
ellers and died abroad, they remain buried in Granada. He makes the pilgrimage e
very few years, despite the dangers lurking on Spanish soil, seeking I know no
t what." Elizabeth observed the older woman wearily, carefully, for she could not decide
what she was truly after. Suddenly the other woman's eyes bored intensely into h
ers. "His father and I were acquainted...rather well. To my eyes, William is very muc
h like him in the essentials, but not entirely so. I have yet to elucidate all t
he differences." Lady Montague's lips quirked into a rueful smile. "As a younger
man, he lacked his father's social finesse, often appearing taciturn and with
drawn. He tenaciously held on to a fierce opacity that seemed to cloud his visio
n enabling him to only discern one aspect, one dimension, at a time. Ah well, th
at was years ago, he is a full-fledged man now, and our paths do not cross as of
ten as I would wish. Yet I urge you to look about, Elizabeth. You have travelled
, seen what the world has to offer. There is a man among the rakes, fops, wits,
tulips, and scholars who stands out, and it is he; noble, strong, principled and
steadfast. Not to mention a devastating figure to behold, and in possession of
a great fortune." Elizabeth felt her cheeks flush at Lady Montague's shockingly frank assessment,
she dared not meet her eyes, staring instead at the swirling pattern of vines an
d roses at her feet. Lady Montague sighed, a sigh whispering of the mal du sicle afflicting her genera
tion. She rose and moved toward Elizabeth's form, placing her hand lightly on th
e younger woman's shoulder. "There lies within me, something you ought to know, my dear. Most are of the opi
nion that I hold an exalted position in the world of culture, the intellect, and
the ton, that I move in the highest of circles. Those same individuals think
I am invulnerable, but I am not. I hold a secret, Elizabeth; I live with a terri
ble emptiness, a veritable insufficiency of being. It is present on awakening
and keeps me up late into the night." With a tender motion, she moved a stray curl from Elizabeth's cheek. "I have sea
rched and searched for something or someone, to close up my inadequacy. Four t
imes I travelled the continent only to return empty handed, and though I amassed
knowledge, artefacts, books and culture, the gap has remained-a yawning chasm." Elizabeth's throat tightened then constricted into a tense knot. A part of her f
elt grateful upon hearing the shared wisdom, yet another side bristled at the un
invited in- trusion into her private world, one she had guarded fiercely during
her travels. The constriction strengthened, a heavi- ness descended upon her bre
ast, each breath becoming a struggle. As if sensing Elizabeth's plight Lady Mont
ague let her own hand fall away, "I don't presume to know the inner workings of your mind, nor the past events wh
ich bind you to him. You may or may not have such a void. In my experience many
suffer from the affliction yet are wilfully blind to its presence. Regardless,
a man such as William Darcy strikes me as one who could fill the empty realm of
one's life." Silence descended upon the room as Elizabeth's heart beat in an insistent stacca
to. Pride, momentary lack of courage, and a touch of indignation coalesced, keep
ing her mute, still and silent. Sensing the younger woman's reluctance to delve into private matters, Lady Monta
gue graciously desisted. Her young companion was wading into deep waters, ones w
hose murky fathoms would test both her courage and convic- tions. A year ago Lad
y Montague would have harboured grave concerns at Elizabeth's predicament. Now,
however, she was no longer certain which party stood at a disadvantage. "The trouble with offering advice, child, is that it rarely accomplishes anythin
g at all. Instead, I am extending my friendship, in all its guises, should you r
equire it in the future. 'Tis growing late, and suddenly I find myself exces-
sively weary. Good night, Elizabeth," Lady Montague offered in a conciliatory
tone. "Good night, my lady, and thank you for your kindness," Elizabeth answered quiet
ly. It was not until the door latch had softly clicked into place that Elizabeth's b
reathing lightened and her heart quieted its rhythm. Drawing her shawl about her
she rose and moved toward the heavily curtained window. Her hand reached for th
e thick cerulean velvet and parted it, revealing a second layer of silk that she
pulled aside. For a moment she paused, her fingers playing with the fine sheer
mus- lin beneath, her eyes discerning the outlines of the square backlit by a mo
onlight sky. Flinging the transparent film of gauzy white, she stared out at his
light, pulling her in like a beacon drawing a ship to safe harbour. But herein lay the conundrum...if she was looking for refuge was he offering san
ctuary or something entirely beyond her? Or was everything illusion, a product
of her over rich imagination, her secret dreams? None of us are perfectly formed, she reminded herself, we each have our faults,
cracks and crevasses-and perhaps only then can the light truly shine through. If
his was the tragedy of parents who loved too much, what was hers? The drama of
the child whose parents had loved not at all? Was this one of the many kindred b
onds linking him with such compelling force to her? She shook her head in wonderment at her predicament. He had returned in her life
, with a determination, an un- relenting intensity she found astonishing. She co
uld almost palpate his resolve. Yet deep within, his very single-minded- ness co
llided with her old anger, her resentment, and deeply wounded pride. All became a blur of swirling emotions and ideas, seeking reason, striving for
order where little seemed to exist. She was suddenly reminded of Rome, Turner's
renderings as he sat sketching by the Fontana Trevi. Formless, hazy, obscure. L
aying her palm against the cool window glass, she whispered, "I must not think o
f thee..." Instead, her betraying mind meandered back to the stark elegance of his presence
at the opera, his unmistakable displeasure at another man's attention, the char
ged sparring arcing between them, the warm feel of his breath against her skin.
And why?-Ah, why? A hitherto quiescent voice replied, "For you have glimpsed the
promise of a new world in his eyes." 2The Montague Salon, Portman Square Lady Montague's salon hummed with the energy and delight of a close coterie of f
riends who, having relinquished affectation at the door, celebrated a shared pas
sion for the arts, travel and learning with singular sincerity and joy. Sir Humphrey described his latest visit to Pompeii in one corner of the drawing
room while Lady Frances debated the merits of sitting for a Battoni portrait. Mr
. Hawthorne read aloud a pamphlet with incomparable eloquence to the notes of a
Mozart sonata played with substantial spirit by Lady Cecilia More. Flitting from party to party, her manner intimate, con- spiratorial, and delicat
ely tuned to the currents within the room, was Lady Montague. Ensconced amidst h
er closest friends the brininess of her wit turned to honeyed charm; her ladyshi
p was at once airy, warm and clever. She cast a passing glance at William Darcy as he approached a sitting Elizabet
h, cup of tea balanced in his hand, and momentarily stopped in her tracks. She w
as suddenly hurtled back to a time over a year ago when he had been standing in
that precise spot, on his own, teacup in hand, __ not looking about him but rather fixedly staring out of the window, as though no
t expecting anyone to approach, nor inviting anyone to do so. Calm, distant, untouchable. The chiselled profile, sooty lashes, dark curls, all
were the same, and yet, the whole seemed altered. A clear realization struck he
r and made her smile inwardly. Jean-Jacques Rousseau...transforming strength int
o right. Drawing on a hidden well of generosity of spirit she chose not to ventu
re in their direction. "Are you perchance reminded of a Parisian salon, Miss Bennet?" William offered,
settling his tall form in a nearby fauteuil. She had steeled herself for his attendance at the gather- ing, convinced the sit
uation called for a neutral veil of civility, but as had been her unhappy fait
h since her return, she had underestimated the effect of his presence on her per
son. What was it about the man? What ephemeral, mysterious quality of his, drew
the eye of every woman, and compelled each man to sit straighter and take notice
?"Indeed, one is much reminded of Paris, Mr. Darcy. Lady Montague has created a v
eritably mixed Bas Bleus* society in the middle of London. Everything that is wi
tty and learned seems to pass in this company. What I admire most however, is th
at no woman is afraid to vocalize the knowledge she may have acquired." He rested his chin thoughtfully against his hand and pierced her with a searchin
g look, "And you place great importance on such freedom?" "Yes, I do," she answered quietly, meeting his gaze head on. "Here, as in France
, feminine and masculine subjects mingle together rather than remaining separate
." Her lips flirted with a hint of a smile, "Politics, history, and science blend m
errily with ribbons, lace, and the latest on-dits." He tilted his head, his eyes fastened on hers, not letting go, "And which do you
prefer, Miss Bennet? Discussing eternal sense or eternal nonsense?" She raised a challenging brow in response to his query. "Why both, I imagine. Fo
r often times, one cannot discern the difference between either."?"Touch." He bowed his head in a humble acquiescen
ce of defeat.?"I presume you've been to Paris, Mr. Darcy?"?"Yes, on several occasio
ns," he replied absently, grap- pling with his primitive response to her nearness, the hidden meanings beneath
what had and had not been said. What was she about? Tired of crossing swords with her, wishing to steal her away somewhere private,
he felt the reins of his control slipping, "Do you care to share your impressions, sir?" Elizabeth enquired, all charm and
easy grace. Was this a feint on her part? Unbalanced by the uncertainty of their situation
, he answered her query with a hint of old brusqueness. "My impressions? The Lux
embourg __ gardens, strolling over the Seine to the Louvre, visiting the stalls along the g
alleries of the Palais Royal; all left a most pleasant imprint. And yourself, Mi
ss Bennet? Which sights happened to...seduce your senses?" Her eyes opened wide, effectually drawing him in, so much so, that he found hims
elf leaning toward her nearly dislodging the delicate china cup by his side. Having sensed his impatience, glorying in the feel of the interplay between them
she changed tacts. "La Salle des Saisons at the Louvre left an indelible impres
sion as did the cathedrals, and churches, but I must admit, the most pleasing si
ght was the daily life where we were lodged on the Rue du Bac. Observing colourf
ully dressed townspeo- ple selling wares, eggs, apples, nosegays...the puppet sh
ows, dancing dogs...the brightness of it all, its cheerfulness and whimsy!" She was all warmth, spiced with an effervescence he found intoxicating. Her very
words whether barbed, sweet or neutral, sounded fresh, riveting. There hovered
about her a natural and rippling responsiveness, an attentiveness that made him
feel very much...alive. "You delight in observing the uncommon lives of common people, Miss Bennet," h
e responded quietly. "I delight in observing many things, Mr. Darcy. The light for example, have you
noticed how it changes as one travels south from France to Italy? Why, it begins
rather jaundiced, then turns a honey colour, takes on a saffron hue, and ends u
p a bright primrose yellow." His colour rose at her words; the lady would not desist. Elizabeth pretended not to notice his discomfort. "How terribly gauche on my par
t, I had quite forgotten to thank you for the roses the other night at the Opera
! They were lovely and somewhat unexpected, I might add." He cleared his throat. For all her warmth, her aim was merciless. "A small token
..." he began. She smiled indulgently. "Of...?" "That is, an expression of my..." "Yes...?" she
replied and paused. She was patently aware of his discomfiture, noting the tightening of his jaw, th
e tense furrowing of his brows. A dark side of her revelled in its presence. Low
ering her voice, she continued in a husky tone. "Perhaps an expression of love l
ost...or even...jealousy?" His entire person recoiled at her words. Registering his response she persevered
, but a hint of a smile flitted upon her lips softening the sharpness of her rep
ly. "The field of botany is fraught with perils, even the language of colours it
self is open for debate. Therefore, I absolve you of any mis- step in sending me
yellow flowers, Mr. Darcy. However, I cannot ignore the fact that you chose a r
ose referred to as Cuisse de Nymphe..." Darcy's eyes darkened questioningly, and suddenly cleared as dawning realization
settled upon him. A slight smile hovered about his lips as he replied. "I find
myself at your mercy once again, Miss Bennet. Please accept my pardons. I could not refrain from choosing that very shade of yellow...for it re
minded me of you. As for the name of the rose, why, I believe that it has recent
ly been altered from "The Thigh of The Nymph" to "Maiden's Blush". A decided improvement, would you n
ot agree?" "That, my dear sir, is dependant on one's point of view." Elizabeth's eyes spark
led with a hint of mirth. A layer of anger seemed to peal away somewhere deep wi
thin. Oh, he was very good, she thought with grudging admiration and as if to mi
rror her inner musings she settled upon him a devastating smile. Feeling the loss of some inner compass, William Darcy faltered, unsure of his ne
xt step. To his profound relief, Lady Vesey swooped down upon them. "Mr. Darcy,
you must oblige us in reading Mr.de Lamartine's latest poem... Le Lac. I hear it
garnered heaps of praise in Paris this winter, causing a most delicious stir!" Darcy perused the slim volume thrust unceremoniously into his hands. Casting an
apologetic glance in Elizabeth's direction, while inwardly thanking the gods for
his short reprieve, he cleared his throat and began, "Ainsi, toujours pousss vers de nouveaux rivages, Dans la nuit ternelle emports san
s retour..." At the sound of the opening stanza conversations hushed as listeners pulled thei
r chairs a few inches nearer, drawn in by the rich timber and full resonance of
his voice. His French was entirely fluent, that of a native Parisian. She had heard it rumo
ured that his family was connected to one Chevalier D'Arcy. Perhaps there was tr
uth in the rumour? She turned her head sharply away, desperately pretending to
gaze out the window, overwhelmed, unable to bear the instinctive lure of him, h
is words, and the lustrous smokiness of his voice. The audience stilled; eyes and ears captivated by William's richly modulated ton
es. Burford happened to enter the room and halted, silver tray in hand, transfixed by the attentive tablea
u vivant before him. "Que le vent qui gmit, le roseau qui soupire?Que les parfums lgers de ton aire emb
aume,?Que tout ce qu'on entend, l'on voit ou l'on respire, Tout dise: " Ils ont
aim..." His last words flowed into a suspended silence and were followed by the scattere
d sounds of hands clapping. Lady Vesey leaned conspiratorially toward Elizabeth, "We were raised to believe
that reading French damages the memory and destroys one's powers of logic and understanding. Imagine!" A lively debate ensued, analysing the merits of Mr. de Lamartine against the lik
es of Wordsworth and Lord Byron, and spilling over into a heated discussion on t
he intellec- tual esprit of the French versus the English philosophers. Montesquieu and Diderot were pitted mercilessly against Bacon and Locke, while W
illiam's eyes remained fastened on the volume of Les Meditations Poetiques resti
ng open before him. Passing his fingers lightly over its fine parchment he rai
sed his eyes toward Elizabeth catching her unawares. Their gazes met, held, and locked. The rare brilliant smile of his appeared, lighting his countenance, drawing her
into a gilded, sensual force field, and like a bolt from the blue she felt as if
a little bit of heaven had fallen upon the earth. The feeling was exquisite and
entirely complete. He leaned closer, and fleetingly touched her hand; the barest of touches, light,
caressing and astonishingly com- forting. "At times such as this, Miss Bennet,
my greatest wish is to depart to a country where words cease to exist." Her breath hitched, "Is there such a place, Mr. Darcy?" She found herself unexpe
ctedly dazed by the similarity in the turn of their minds. His voice low, partly obscured by the spirited debate raging about them, he answ
ered, "I believe so, but I have yet to journey there." They sat in blessed silence, sharing the close commu- nion of two individuals wh
o suddenly, improbably, find themselves on the same page. Burford's form appeared from nowhere, casting a long shadow between them, "Miss
Bennet, as instructed, I am advising you of Mrs. Gardiner's arrival." Elizabeth looked at him uncomprehendingly. Her cheeks bore a faint flush but her
eyes were filled with clouds. Stratus. Cirrus. Nimbus. The servant cleared his throat. "Mrs. Madeline Gardiner, your aunt-has arrived,
Miss." "Why yes, of course, thank you Burford. Mr. Darcy, please excuse me, and...I tha
nk you." As the butler's form disappeared beyond the drawing room doorway, Darcy rose and
wishing to prolong their interlude, escorted her toward the vestibule. They wal
ked side by side without touching, nodding to passing acquaintances here and t
here, their steps echoing in dual staccato against the black and white patterned
marble. In an instant he would be forced to relinquish the close- ness of her presence o
nce again. Without further thought, flinging rational and logical preparation ou
t the window, he blurted out. "I have found myself entangled in a private, silent conversation with you sinc
e Pemberley," he confessed, his voice low, hushed, and achingly intimate. And I too, with you, she yearned to respond, to cry out in that breathing space
between a call and its answer. But instead she found herself reacting with an ag
e-old instinct, and turning away she gave him the briefest nod; a silent ac- kno
wledgment, nothing more. She ran into the outstretched arms of Madeline Gardiner
who stood beaming in welcom- ing warmth at the base of the grand stairs. By the
time she __ had extricated herself from the refuge of Madeline's com- forting presence, he h
ad disappeared. One by one guests trickled out of Montague House, some in pursuit of sportier di
versions, others to rest and prepare for a night of soires and balls. The spring
air was crisp and fresh, laced with early warmth and sunshine as Lady Montague e
scorted Madeline Gardiner to the gates fronting her extensive garden. Sighing de
eply, fatigued yet contented, she turned toward her friend. "There, Madeline, I've done my part in liberating intelli- gent conversation fro
m the watering holes and gaming hells around us." "Yes, you most definitely have, my dear, and with your customary panache I might
add. A delightful afternoon was had by all, well, almost all." Lady Montague halted her steps and absently plucked a wilted rose from a carved
planter. "You did not fail to notice then?" "How could one not?" she replied pensively. Suddenly, she tapped lightly on her
friend's arm, "Margaret, look there, on the green..." A few feet before them stood a tall gentleman, sur- rounded by a gaggle of child
ren and a harried appearing governess. "Why if it isn't William, rescuing a ball for the Bracken children...the Bracken
s insist on dragging the children along for the Season. Rather cruel in my opini
on, the gardens and central green provide little freedom following the openness
of the countryside..." Her words trailed off into silence as both women observed
William's form bending toward a young boy, offering him the retrieved ball and
gently ruffling his hair. "Margaret, did you glimpse the expression on his face? The look in his eyes as h
e bent toward the little lad?" The other woman furrowed her brow momentarily puzzled, then nodded her head, s
miling enigmatically to herself, "Yes, the look in his eyes... and therein lies the difference!" Notes?Bas Bleus: Bluestocking Chapter Five White's Club, No.37-38 St. James Street, London. Later that evening. Igust of bracing spring air. Flinging his cape, hat, and silver-tipped cane at a
taciturn footman, he turned right, as was his custom, toward the carved double d
oors of the billiard room. Charles Bingley leaned lightly against his cue stick, nib- bling absently on his
lower lip, lost in the perusal of multi coloured balls arranged upon the green
baize. Distracted by the lengthy shadow spreading across the billiard table he f
licked a quick glance at the new arrival. "Darcy." "Bingley, what are you about, marooned in this hell hole? Why are you not at Net
herfield?" Charles Bingley grimaced at his friend's rebuke. He had been pondering the same
all evening, but hearing his thoughts crystallized in a reproachful manner only
served to further rankle his humour. Perhaps Darcy's alterations abroad had impa
cted little on his capacity for politesse. "Miss Jane Bennet is expected in London in a few days, I thought it best to bide
my time. Furthermore, Tattersall's is holding a sale tomorrow and I have my eye
on a prime piece of horseflesh." Darcy leaned his frame against a darkly panelled wall and scrutinized his friend
from across the room. "Horseflesh? Is it Graydon's black you're after? I'll pro
cure it on your behalf, you can offer me thanks later." "No, not the black, I've had my eye on a pair of chestnut French Trotters from N
ormandy..." "Consider it done. As to the other matter, you hardly strike me as one who value
s a good horse over the pursuit of a good woman? Whatsoever happened to Carpe Di
em? Seizing the moment, the day?" Bending down to balance his cue stick against his outstretched hand, Charles thr
ew him a look of irritated annoyance, "Pursuit? We are not referring to a fencin
g opponent, but rather a gently bred woman. The woman I love. Must you always
approach these matters like a battle of the blades? En guarde! Here cometh Willi
am Darcy!" Tilting his head to assess the impact of his words, Charles continued in a milde
r tone, "One does not do battle around Miss Jane Bennet, rather, one must approa
ch the situation in the manner of a..." __ n the deeply hushed hallway, with its wine-red walls and worn carpets bearing the distinct imprint of century old footsteps, William Darcy strode in trailing with him a William's lip turned up in a cynical smirk. "A dance perhaps?" "Why-yes-dammit! A dance!" "Any savage can dance, Bingley. Nevertheless, if you insist, I suggest you foreg
o the quadrille, the minuet, and consider a waltz," William replied sardonically
.Charles hit his intended target scattering the multi- hued balls with a thunderi
ng clash, pocketing the red one. With a triumphant smile he straightened and met William's eyes . "I would recomm
end the same to you, my humble friend, before that formidable blade of yours tur
ns to rust! Save yourself a reply, here comes The Honourable Mr. Fitzwilliam." Richard Fitzwilliam wove in unsteadily, tripped over a heavy fringe of Persian r
ug and landed with a thud into a nearby fauteuil. "Gentlemen, delighted to renew our acquaintance!" "And damned well you ought to be, Fitzwilliam!" muttered Darcy under his breat
h, chafing inwardly at Charles' remarks. "Dipping rather deep this evening?" "Just a trifle disguised, 'tis all," the other man slurred, loosening the folds
of his dishevelled neckloth. "I was gam- moned by that abominable chap, Worsley.
Ah, Darcy...perchance you could extend me...?" Darcy folded his arms across his chest, let out a long breath, and replied, "No.
No more. I met with my solicitors this week and you have overrun your loan. Was
ting your fortune before arriving into it? Do you fail to grasp the meaning of r
estraint?" Richard Fitzwilliam waved him away with a careless flick of the wrist. "Hell and
damnation! We are certainly high in the instep this evening? 'Acquired yourself
a new Bird of Paradise laddie? Or have we staked out the field and laid claim t
o the lively Miss Bennet?" Darcy remained still, his muscles, tendons, and sinews tensed in suppressed emot
ion, betrayed only by a slight throbbing of a vein at his temple. Well acquainted with his old friend's stance, Charles Bingley sprung up and posi
tioned himself between both men, his earlier vexation abandoned in the face of a
poten- tially explosive situation. In a calm and steadying voice he addressed D
arcy. "He's completely and utterly foxed." As if to punctuate his words, Fitzwilliam snored loudly and fell into an inebria
ted stupor. "That particular fact has not failed to escape my attention," Darcy replied, h
is tone laced with sarcasm. "Good then," Charles continued in a conciliatory manner, "let us escort him ou
t of here, shall we? Before any further damage comes to his person. Prior to you
r return he was thrown out of a window at Boodles' by Eversham." "Oh?"?Both men walked toward Fitzwilliam's sprawled, desul- tory form. "Look at him. Thankfully he cannot recollect the details and the othe
r man possesses a sense of humour. Eversham advised the club manager to place th
e broken window and Fitzwilliam on his bill and let the matter sub- side. Else, you and I
would have found ourselves standing in as seconds." "To my knowledge duelling is considered illegal, Bingley," Darcy replied caustic
ally. "Right, and Hurst has never touched a drop of whiskey in his life," Charles coun
tered in a lowered voice. William's entire stance relaxed. "How long has he been carrying on in this manne
r?" He enquired brusquely, attempting to mask an undertone of concern for his
cousin. "Since his departure from the army half a year ago." "These military chaps, afflicted with aimlessness, lacking purpose; wandering
devils, the entire lot of them." "He lost his life work, his older brother, and has had a baronetcy thrust upon h
im all in the space of a few months. I believe some kindness is in order, Darcy,
a very little will suffice," Charles responded softly. William found himself momentarily taken aback by the younger man's perceptivenes
s and uncustomary censure. He would have to acclimatize himself to the newly app
arent alterations in his friend's manner. "You are absolutely correct, Bingley
, a thoughtless observation on my part. I have a mind to drag him to Portman Squ
are and dry him out. I presume no one has dared intervene to date? Here, give me
a hand." Anchored between the two men, the inebriated ex-colonel departed White's, hat
somewhat askew, silver tipped cane dangling limply from his hand. Once outside,
the cool night air seemed to revive him, "Damn that Worsley... That crafty, lecherous, old windbag of a vulture... A snivel- ling mongrel... Ma
y he choke on his own gangrene..." Charles hissed at him indignantly. "Where are your good manners, Fitzwilliam? Ha
ve you never had a governess?" The Honourable Mr. Fitzwilliam's voice rang loud and clear across St. James Stre
et, "A governess-you say? Never had one! But now that you suggest it... I'd rath
er fancy a nice, plump, luscious governess...French or English, either would do.
"2The National Library, London. A few days later. The rank, dusty and faintly beckoning smell of books as- saulted her senses as s
he and Lady Montague traversed the marble walk of the Round Reading Room. It's a
tmosphere hushed and dark, filled with obscure corners, the cavernous room seeme
d to draw her in, pulling and tugging in varied directions. Mirroring thoughts o
f him...she mused wryly. __ "I shall peruse the Latin stacks..." Lady Montague muttered to no one in particu
lar, already lost in the heady anticipation of serendipitous searching. Left to
wander on her own Elizabeth meandered toward the French Literature racks, soon f
inding herself in a concealed corner. Volumes stood sentry in ordered rows staring down at her with classical austerit
y. She drifted slowly about, lifting a book here and there, testing its heft, an
d assessing the patina of leather and gilding, some old, some new. What was she
searching for? His voice drifted into her thoughts, reciting French verse. The poem had touched
on the passage of time, and love lost; an intensely romantic work of poetic com
position. One she would have satirized a year ago, but now? Well...theperfectlyperpendicularlinesofherexistence had taken a bizarre turn and
become transformed into a veritable tangle. How to unravel it all? He had called on her twice and she had conveniently been not at home, busying he
rself with empty nothings, roaming London, purposefully avoiding his presence. There was little doubt in her mind that she held some power over him, and he ove
r her. Was it love or simply a doomed attraction? His attempt at an overture, da
ys ago, had unsettled her to the point of grave disquietude, so much so that her
flight from his presence had transformed itself into an act of self-preservatio
n. Yet what possible threat did he pose to her person? A distant cough interrupted her reverie, followed by the sound of hushed and muf
fled voices drifting from darkened corners; pages turning, covers rubbing agains
t one another as books were replaced. A ruby leather binding caught her eye. S
he tilted her head, and raising herself on tiptoes stretched her arm toward the
beckoning volume. 2He had seen her enter the room from his vantage point near the central desk, had
observed her slow meanderings, the seductive sway of her hips, and lost her as
she disappeared in a swish of curry coloured skirts, engulfed by the stacks. Following silently along her footsteps he experienced an odd constriction in his
throat, only to have his heart thunder insistently as she came into view. Their
interminable game of ebb and flow had to cease before he was driven to distra
ction. Her resistance to his courting was entrenched beyond a doubt. Perhaps Charles ha
d been right, a change in tactics was in order. He ached to discover the source
of her unwill- ingness, to unearth it, and fling it away. Far away. Filled with
new resolve, he quickened his step. A vaguely familiar form entered her field of vision as a man's arm, encased in d
ark green wool, arched above hers and plucked the intended book from its resting
place. "I trust this is the tome you are seeking?" His voice drifted toward her in a la
mbent whisper. "Mr. Darcy..." she whispered back, her lips remaining parted as if she meant to
continue her words. Yet to her chagrin, she found speech would not come. Instead
, she felt herself trembling like a leaf of grass. He could sense her response to his nearness, the delicate thrumming of air cur
rents between them, and lashed himself inwardly for failing to notice in previou
s encounters the vulnerable mixture of fragility and strength that was Elizabe
th. Blithering fool, he chastised himself. "A most unexpected coincidence. Is Lady Montague happily submerged somewhere ami
dst the Latin tracts?" His voice was gentle, soft and caressing. She found hers in turn, and despite her inner disquietude the corners of her m
outh lifted into a smile. "You're no stranger to her habits I see." "We date back a long ways..." "Leading
strings if I recall correctly?" Abruptly, he raised his eyes and trapped hers in a gaze both intense and velvety
in its scrutiny. "You've been keeping well?" "Yes, very well, thank you." The nearness of him amidst the darkly hushed atmosp
here seemed to be closing in on her until the rest of the world slowly faded awa
y in the pe- riphery, becoming almost incidental. Inconsequential. He leaned closer still extending the book toward her, an offering of sorts. "Are
you an avid reader, Miss Bennet?" "Presumably others would describe me as such. I have always believed in the enla
rgement reading bestows upon one's mind..." her voice trailed off. "And I must c
onfess to finding great pleasure in reading." "How true, reading is a most solitary pleasure. Oftentimes, I have asked myself
if it is indeed vice or virtue? For does reading substantially improve one's c
haracter? Sweeten one's disposition?" She found she could not move, rooted in the intensely private space he'd created
out of a seemingly chance encounter. "Your observation holds much merit," she answered after reflecting upon his wo
rds. "Some of the most voracious readers I have encountered have been rather rig
id in their thinking. For the study of great works does not necessarily," William's eyes followed the movement of her lips as they shaped each word, "best
ow a remarkable sensitivity towards others." His fingers began pensively stroking the gilded leather cover, the fine sculptin
g of his hands distracting, engross- ing. "Why, it may even spoil one's appetite for real life," she added after a suspend
ed pause. _0 He stepped nearer, leaning slightly against the iron shelving. "Has your appetit
e for real life been spoiled by reading...or perhaps by your journeys abroad?" "No, not at all, you mistake my meaning, Mr. Darcy," she answered, fully aware o
f the dangerous turn his ques- tions were taking. "Your meaning being?" His whisper was barely audible. "I mean to imply that some souls believe everything in the world exists to end u
p in a book or a work of art, of architecture...and these very souls live to par
take in the art rather than life itself." "And you, Miss Bennet, which world do you wish to partake in?" He enquired, his
dark brows narrowing in deep concentration. She gave him a searching look, inwardly marvelling at his persistence, and weigh
ing each word replied, "at times, my greatest wish is to lose myself in the trav
el journals I have penned abroad, reliving what have now become distant memori
es. But only... at times." "I see. Words are no deeds, but we revel in them nonetheless." His hand alighted on hers; warm, enveloping, thrumming with an energy, which d
efied description. "Have you ever considered submitting those same journals for publication so th
at others, less fortunate, could explore the continent through your eyes? Allo
wing those souls to partake in your artistry?" Her breath hitched at his effortless unveiling of a long held private wish. "Per
haps, some day I shall," she answered, glancing at the book he held in his other
hand; the one that wasn't trapping hers in its steady hold. Searching for a graceful exit she ventured into another territory. "Have you con
sidered Mr. Darcy, that these books around us may very well represent the entire
ty of human experience, a world filled with silent thoughts, longings, dreams an
d secrets? Perhaps to everything unfolding in the outside world, there truly doe
s exist a printed counterpart?" He did not relinquish his grasp. Not just yet. "Tell me Miss Bennet, somewhere a
mong these pages does the story exist of a man-a man who committed a grave er- r
or, and rather than pursuing the woman he loved, fled to distant shores with the
false hope of banishing her from his memory, only to find himself loving the ve
ry memory of her beyond words, and upon his return yearning to be with her, her
only, and no other?" She could sense her earlier resolve slowly melting within and pooling graceles
sly at her feet. The strength to stoop, to gather the fragmented remains about h
er, to walk away, suddenly failed her. He turned her palm over in his and lightly traced the lines of her hand. His fin
gers seemed to etch a white-hot trail upon her skin, leaving her helpless and pa
ralysed. The feeling, to her utter consternation, was not entirely unpleasant.
Deciding then and there to match his earlier confession, she inhaled deeply and
replied in a hushed undertone. "No doubt, somewhere among these pages there also exists the tale of a woman, wh
o sensing herself forgotten, rejected, and of no apparent consequence, sought th
e solace of travel in an attempt to forget the root of her discontent." His fing
ers stilled their path along her palm and seemed to await her words. Fuelled by the remaining embers of her old resentment, she forged on. "But found
instead, that the very man whose hold she had escaped had insinuated himself in
a most mysterious way, leaving a lasting impression...present in statues, pai
ntings..." William's fingers encircled her wrist, his thumb finding her pulse and resting t
here. Leaning into her, he whispered, his breath warm against her skin, "Not Bru
eghel's works I hope." She managed, despite her lingering bitterness, to find a smile. "No, not Brueghe
l." "Then please enlighten me, Elizabeth, what is compelling this woman to run?" He leaned his cheek near hers, almost touching, his skin scented of soap, of him
. She withdrew, unable to bear the excruciating nearness of him, his intimate us
e of her name. More than anything she was unready, and unwilling, to answer hi
s pointed question. Let him wait, as she had awaited his return a year ago only
to be pitched cruelly into despair. "Why, the answer lies presumably in one of these books," she replied with a sard
onic lift of her eyebrows, as her heart- beat, to her utter consternation, escap
ed its normal cadence and galloped in a wild cavalcade. His hand released her wrist only to alight on her chin, which he tipped to bette
r meet her eyes. "Ah, but I must beg to disagree, Elizabeth. The answer, I belie
ve, lies within you, right..." he brushed his fingers lightly against her chee
k, "here." Oh! The lordly arrogance of him! What to say? Her mind careened back and forth.
You frighten me Mr. Darcy, with the intensity of your presence, your suppressed
ardour? No. In truth, she frightened herself.?The risk of believing all the romantic pos
sibilities he embodied seemed devastatingly steep. She had only recently sampled a taste of
freedom, its heady essence, and its potential to sculpt her own destiny. Why, so
me women could carve out an existence through their writing without the insisten
t presence of a man in their lives. Would she be willing to relinquish a measure
of such a freedom in order to taste the promise he offered? Coward. Every senti
- mental notion she'd mocked and secretly envied, seemed to coalesce into a head
y blur, looming above her like a threat- ening thundercloud. He hovered near, his face a close shadow; dark, enig- matic, waiting. Yet, as st
rong as the pleasure of his presence appeared, it was tinted by a counterpoint o
f vexation and anxiety; for there were potent reasons to be drawn to a man like
William Darcy, and vital elements to fear. __ Perhaps the substance of her hesitancy lay in his strength, its very presence ha
ving the ability to engulf her, overpower her, and at its worst, leave her a mer
e shadow of her former self. She could sense his expectancy, his dark, saturnine
resolve, and slowly as he edged away a hint of wounded resentment. His hand left her cheek and wrapped itself around hers, fingers intertwining. Hi
s hold was strong, sure and unwavering. Minutes trickled by until one by one,
he let her fingers slip though his. As the sensual glissade of skin on skin neared its finale, he spoke in a hoarse
whisper. "If we were not meant to be together, you and I, then pray tell me, why
does your hand fit so well in mine?" She did not answer. Turning about, he walked away and disappeared around a corner leaving her once a
gain to herself. She felt simulta- neously hot and cold, her nerve endings singi
ng with the echo of his touch, his voice, and his compelling words, the whole le
aving her poised on the brink of some sensual discovery, one she could all but
caress with her fingertips. As he neared his reading desk the distinct sound of a book dropping on the marbl
e floor broke through the hushed stillness of the cavernous room. The echo of fa
llen leather and paper seemed to resound from where he had left her, among the F
rench Literature. He interpreted it as a good omen. 2After a time, he rose from his paper-strewn desk, ostensibly to stretch his st
iffened limbs, but in truth he found himself unable to continue his close perusa
l of aged botani- cal manuscripts. Pulled by a restless disquietude, his steps l
ed him to the foot-worn marble stairs that arched grandly into the bowels of the
building. He walked slowly, mired deep in thought, unaware of his surroundings, only to co
me face to face with Lady Montague as she wended her way back to the Reading Roo
m, a sheaf of dusty parchment tucked under her arm. "Ah, William, what a lovely surprise, might I impose on your time for a moment?" He came to a jarring halt, towering a few steps above her. "Certainly, my lady,
may I suggest the private alcoves upstairs?" She fixed on him with a speculating smile. "No, my dear boy." He raised his brow in faint surprise. "No?" Groaning inwardly he prepared himself for yet another contretemps. He'd hoped to
gather his thoughts before being peppered mercilessly by her ladyship, unfort
unately, as was her wont, she would end up having the upper hand. "Here will suit just fine. The stairwell after all, is quite..." she peered up a
nd down the length of curving marble for effect, "deserted, is it not?" Steadying herself lightly against the wrought iron balustrade, she continued. "A
s you are well aware, I have grown most fond of Elizabeth Bennet over the past y
ear. She has brought me much comfort and joy during our journey abroad. Noneth
eless, having observed her closely here in London, I find myself terribly chagri
ned at seeing her thus conflicted over your situation." "Our situation?" He murmured quietly. "Since you appear intent on repeating my words," her ladyship snapped back testi
ly, "I shall cut to the chase. It is eminently evident to all but the dullest of
lack-wits that you are utterly besotted by her, and rightly so, I might add. No
w, don't glower at me in that manner of yours, William. She is truly the lovelie
st of women with a sparkling je ne sais quoi about her. However, if I were in yo
ur shoes young man, I would tread delicately, mind my imperious manners and open
my starched notions to new possibilities, particularly where women of intellect
are concerned..." He skewered her with a look both dark and intense. "Little does she realize how
much I suffer." Lady Montague shook her head in mock exasperation. "Fiddlesticks! Elizabeth know
s full well how you both suffer. Beneath those fine eyes resides an even finer mind. She is merely caught in the
age-old struggle of finding that elusive balance between the principles of sense
and sensibility. If you have been substantially altered over the past year, as
I suspect you have, then such an observation should come as no surprise! In fact
, I wager you can win her heart if you wish it enough." He clenched the banister, seeking respite in the cool touch of metal against the
roiling heat within him. "Your ladyship and I both know that I abhor gambling,
and much prefer to deal in certainties." "Love is a gamble, William. You've trod a long way since your leading string day
s, take care not to retrace old footsteps." Silence fell momentarily between them as he struggled to make sense of her words
. "Pray tell me then, my lady," he capitulated with a long sigh, rifling his han
d though his hair, "what is a man to do in the meantime?" "Do nothing. Allow her to bide her time. Loosen the reins, just a little." "Are you suggesting I am to endure this interminable wait like some placidly doc
ile creature for Lord knows how long? Please enlighten me as to whyfor?" Lady Montague's countenance softened at his exas- perated tone. "Because, she is
no ordinary woman-she is Elizabeth-and worth every ounce of your restrained ar-
dour, your denied passion. Whereas any ordinary woman can handle the 'little ma
n in the brown suit,' it requires time and reflection for even a remarkable woma
n to embark __ on managing the likes of you. For you, my dearest William, are most definitely n
ot the little man in brown!" She raked him up and down with steadfast purpose. With each sweep of her eyes ov
er his person, he felt divested of his coverings until, in the end, he was left
feeling entirely naked.?Satisfied with the effect of her perusal, Lady Montague gathered her skirt and proceeded up the stairwell. " I must be on my way, dear b
oy. I suggest you procure yourself an invitation to the Claymore Ball. While I s
aid 'do nothing,' only a fool would proceed without a strategy... Good day!" Wit
h a regal nod of her head she swept past him, toward the Reading Room, and disap
peared from view. He stood, for he knew not how long, rooted to the marble stair
s. Chapter Six Longbourn, Hertfordshire. Mobstructed view of the gardens. Her calico skirts grazed the floors in a rhythmi
c swish, punctuated by an occasional sigh emanating deep within her expansive bosom. She was
feeling highly disadvantaged at having to view the evolving proceedings between
Mr. Bingley and her daughter Jane from afar, and without the added benefit of so
und. "Fanny, my dear, are you intent on wearing out the rug with your pacing?" Thomas
Bennet enquired dryly without lifting his eyes from the book occupying his atte
ntion. "Why, I was admiring Mr. Bingley's matched pair, what fine temperaments they pos
sess! Just like their master. I must admit, Thomas, he is by far my favourite of
Jane's suitors." Thomas raised an eyebrow at her response. "He's her only suitor, if one insists
on calling his phlegmatic wooing a courtship." She waved him away and continued her pacing by the parlour window. "Well, no mat
ter...the situation appears to be progressing along nicely, she's on the garden
swing looking entirely angelic, and he appears so very attentive. What an exemplary daughter, my Jane. Unlike your Lizzie. I shudder to think of h
ow all this travel has corrupted her person." "And now the deluge..." Thomas muttered to himself. "How we erred in letting her travel abroad! Why, it is a truth well acknowledged
that journeying to the continent poses a fundamental threat to English domest
icity. Women who stray from home learn follies, they contract vices," Fanny lowe
red her voice for effect, "and may lose all idea of religion. I've even heard it
rumoured that Hell lurks abroad!" "Hell, you say? And here I held the distinct notion that it lurked on English so
il. My dear, I find myself most pleas- ingly astounded by your words, have you b
een perusing Mary's copy of Fordyce's Sermons?" Fanny threw her husband a vexatious look and continued, "You and I both know t
hat Mary is no longer so inclined in her readings; there is the new problem of h
er aptitude for mathematics though. Oh Thomas, what sins did I commit to deserve
such grief over my daughters? 'Tis more than one woman can bear in a lifetime.
As for Lizzie, we should never have permitted her to leave alongside that... rs. Fanny Bennet ambled back and forth before the one window of her home that offered a conveniently un- __ that widow, who in my humble opinion is but every other inch a lady!" Thomas Bennet closed his book with a firm snap. "Madam, you do wrong to chastise
Lady Montague, she has been all generosity and kindness to our daughter."?Fanny harrumphed loudly and p
atted her lace cap into place. "Generosity! Pah! A woman of her standing, inviti
ng London's chimney sweeps for tea every May is an example of misplaced generosi
ty! Had I only listened to my own judgment Elizabeth would be obediently ensconc
ed here at Longbourn."?She fixed on him with a suspicious gaze. "If I didn't know any better, I would think you held a tendre for Lady Montague..." Thomas Bennet raised a sardonic eyebrow in response. "Ah, you do possess some kn
owledge of French, after all." Fanny clenched her jaw, and remained resolutely mute. A few minutes trickled by,
while Thomas sat and mused upon his wife's occasional flashes of silence, which
resulted in a conversation that bordered almost, but not quite, on the delightf
ul. Suddenly Fanny stopped her pacing and gasped in a combination of utter shock and
disbelief. "Oh my! The swing has tipped and Jane has fallen to the ground...so
has Mr. Bingley... I do hope no one is injured!... Oh!... OH!... Well, I never!... Hill! Hill! My hartshorn!"?Thomas rose from his chair and join
ed his distraught wife at the window. Patting her absently on the back, he scrutinized the scene p
laying out in his garden. "Now, now...it appears Mr.Bingley has matters well in hand. Perhaps a little mor
e vigorously than I would consider proper, but then again he has sat on the fenc
e for so long that I was beginning to fear the iron had entered his heart, or hi
s head. I am much relieved to discover that I may have misjudged the man." Thomas Bennet craned his neck and readjusted his spectacles. As he registered th
e titillating scene unfolding before his eyes, he deftly turned Fanny away from
the window and settled her upon a chaise, all the while murmuring to himself,
"'Pon Rep! I'd best make my presence known before the situation ripens any furth
er!" Having securely spirited her away to safer waters, he patted her lace cap and pr
oclaimed reassuringly, "Cheer up Fanny, by the look of things you'll have a wedd
ing in the family, and very soon I might add. Now where the devil is Hill? Hill!
Mrs. Bennet is in dire need of her hartshorn!" 2Claymore House, No. 10 Grosvenor Square, London. A few days later. Muted strains of music, the delicate clinking of china and crystal, and muffled
tones of conversation and laughter drifted through the French doors of the Cla
ymore ball- room. Elizabeth stood on the terrace, swathed in a cream gown of organza and silk, a s
tudy in simplicity. Shielded by an overhanging balcony from the quietly persiste
nt rain she sipped pensively on her champagne. Her third champagne. The ball had proven to be a horrible crush. After extricating herself from the
overly familiar advances of an old rou, Lord Tansley, she'd longed for a breath
of spring air. Crystal flute balanced delicately in hand, she leaned against the
cool stonework behind her and breathed deeply. He had arrived late, escorting the Bingley sisters. She had glimpsed his starkly
elegant form dancing with Caroline Bingley, and then lost him in the crowd. Clo
sing her eyes, she hoped to erase the affecting image of his arms enveloping a
nother woman. Their paths had not crossed for days. She suspected he was deliberately creating
a space between himself and her person, yet even the distant nearness of him ma
de her heart alternate from a steady tempo to a thrumming staccato. You are a rational creature, she told herself, why then does he set your soul on
fire? Had she not erected iron gates about herself? Only to have him slip through them
, dark, sinewy, exigent. His words, uttered a few days ago at the library, echoed over and over. "Yearnin
g to be with you, and no other." Yes, that was it, she attempted to reassure herself, he was claiming her for his
own with a calm urgency she found overpoweringly elemental; an insistence that
seemed to di- vest her of the ability to choose her own path; unrestrained, unfe
ttered, yet, the entirety was growing highly irresistible. Was William Darcy crafting a deliberate seduction? Somehow, on this rainy evenin
g, such a notion did not give rise to displeasure, rather, she felt giddily tran
sported. "I have sorely missed the pleasure of your company." A deep voice spoke out of t
he shadows. She heard the unmistakable soft click of doors closing and opened her eyes to fi
nd him leaning casually against the brick faade. Attired in midnight black and op
alescent white, he exuded an intriguing aura of refinement and power. Oh, he w
as more than agreeable, her mind whispered with silky persistence. "It's raining," he observed, his voice husky and low.?She raised the glass to he
r lips, took a sip of champagne and replied, "I see more distinctly in the rain, Mr. Darcy." "How curious, so do
I." He cast an appraising glance over her figure. The look he threw her was fra
nk, fiery and achingly potent. "May I persuade you to call me William?" __ He ventured with a half smile playing at the corner of his mouth. "Persuasion..." she mouthed the vowels slowly, "a beautiful word is it not?" He crossed his arms before him and tilted his hips forward, his stance at once
distancing yet magnetic; a study in contrasts. "As beautiful as the person utte
ring it this very moment." Perhaps it was the champagne induced haze, for despite his provocative words she
did not falter, rather, she responded with a charming smile flitting across h
er lips. "You flatter me...William." "Ah, progress," he replied with a measured degree of surprise. She was playing
with him again, that much he sensed. The very knowledge fed his growing desire and sharpened his determination. "You would be well advised not to allow such a paltry victory to cloud your thin
king," she warned, her voice light and tinged with irony. Who, after all, was fl
oating among champagne clouds? Grasping on to the last vestiges of her proper self, she mustered a sober tone a
nd stated matter of factly, "Miss Bingley is a most accomplished dancer." His eyes glinted with amusement. "One must not disappoint Caroline's penchant
for admiration, the results can be unpleasant in most women... In Caroline's cas
e, they run the risk of terror and mayhem. I assure you it was but one dance, a
token of my friendship with Charles." "You are a most obliging friend, and a keen observer of female nature." "I consider myself a neophyte, with much to learn where female natures are conce
rned," he murmured, inwardly be- mused by the turns of her mood. She raised her glass in a mock toast, and took another sip of champagne. "No dou
bt the same dubious distinction applies to your friend, Mr. Bingley." It must be the champagne, William pondered with growing trepidation. Why else
would she turn from warm to cold, in the space of a minute? Then again, perhaps
not. He recalled overhearing two aging aristocrats, in a Parisian club, debating
the merits of a woman's mysteries and im- perfections. At the time he had faile
d to understand the subtly provocative nature of the subject matter in ques- tio
n. This evening's encounter was proving most instructive. Perchance his real edu
cation was only truly beginning. She raised an eyebrow at his deeply confounded de- meanour and forged on. "My si
ster arrives tomorrow, and will be residing at Montague House." "Yes, I know. Charles acquainted me with the news before his departure to Hert
fordshire. I trust, all in all, that he shall be successful in his suit." She sipped absently on her champagne, staring off into the distance. "You are no
t averse to the union then? A considerable change of opinion." "Opinion exists to be altered, Elizabeth. My good opinion of your sister has r
isen over the past year. Charles would benefit greatly from her charm, her good
character, and her quiet strength. I have encouraged the match since my return
, the remainder is in their hands." Despite the champagne fog settling upon her she was taken aback by the simple ki
ndness of his words, for they spoke of a fluidity of thought and gentleness of s
oul she found deeply affecting. "Your new found generosity towards my sister leaves me filled with gratitude. I,
however, will reserve my judgment concerning the suitability of their union unt
il past events and the present situation are further clarified. Since we are sha
ring impressions, I must admit that my opinion of the Honourable Mr. Fitzwilliam
has fallen dramatically in the last few days. I have heard the most dreadful ta
les floating about. One of those purports he is residing with you at the moment,
having been evicted from his own lodgings." "Perhaps, Elizabeth, I could prevail upon you to consider the situation in a m
ore benign manner. The poor man is in need of some guidance. Since his departure
from the army he has faltered, drinking and carousing in the hope of erasing an
y lingering memory of his brother, the war and avoiding the future." He paused f
or a moment and gazed at her with dark intensity. "All men make faults*." He looked away, seemingly distracted by the pattern of raindrops splashing on th
e stone balustrade, yet inwardly tempering a rising swell of emotion. Finally, h
e put into words the thoughts that had plagued him for weeks. "Some misdeeds hap
pen to be graver than others. He deserves a second chance." As do I, Elizabeth, as do I, he yearned to shout across the rooftops. Reigning i
n his impulse, he clenched his jaw and momentarily closed his eyes, hoping the b
rief respite would calm the seething fervency within him. "Another rescue, William?" She queried lightly, patently aware of the swirling e
ddies of strain hovering about them. "Possibly," he answered, staring out at the
hazy forms of pruned trees, orderly gardens and twinkling lights of stately residences surrounding them. All of a sudden, precisely ordered harmony beckon
ed with a disquieting allure. No, he reminded himself, he had never been partial
to artificiality, elegant affectation. Elizabeth's fortuitous reappearance in his life had filled him with a simple and
lucid clarity. A clarity, which, he now realized, begged for acceptance of fres
h new ideas, a willingness to view situations from various angles, a widen- ing
of his previously narrow and opaque vision. All at once, the verity beneath Lady
Montague's words crystallized in his mind. A weighty silence fell upon them. She breached it first, plucking a thought seem
ingly out of nowhere and deposit- ing it before him, like a tentative offering a
t his feet. "If I close my eyes, I can almost feel Venice around me. I did not care for the
city at all at first, if you must know. I __ found it distant, proud, and distracting. Until one evening, returning from a ba
ll in a gondola, our entourage heard a serenade across the canal and all convers
ation ceased. After a time, our gondolier caught the air, and began singing; soo
n others joined him, echoing in the distance. Their voices were haunting, plai
ntive and mournful; the effect was ravishing, almost magical. That very night, w
hen I retired to rest, my heart was filled with sound and to this day, if I thin
k very hard, the melody seems to resonate in my ears." He remained silent, observing her intently, drinking in her words. His eyes alig
hted on the camber of her bare shoulders, the shady hollow at her throat, each i
n turn il- luminated under the starlit sky. Moonlight becomes her, he mused, partially hidden in the shadows beneath the bal
cony. He felt the reins of his control, his patience, slowly slipping away. How much more of this was he capable of enduring? If there was an art to waiting
and hoping, he was well on his way to becoming a master. Endure he must. Anchor
ing himself with the last shreds of temperance he possessed, Darcy arrived at a
decision. If she wished to speak through metaphors, as she had skilfully succeeded in doin
g since his return, he would indulge her-a very little-for the time being. "I was not taken by Venice at first either, Elizabeth, but slowly I began collec
ting impressions; the muted watery pink and green of the palace facades, the fre
sh air of the sirocco, the complete lack of clatter and rattle of carriage wheel
s. Little by little the city grew on me, until one day at the market near the Ri
alto I tasted the most wonderful figs. They were newly ripened, picked from the trees early that very morning and they
burst within me in an explosion of crimson glory, and then I knew..." She hung raptly on to his every word. "Knew...?" He moved from his resting place, and stood before her, tall, sinewy and blatantl
y heated. "I knew then, that the essence of Venice, was akin to being in love."
The back of his hand grazed the bare flesh of her shoulder. "Bella Elizabetta...
" he murmured. She clutched her champagne flute in both hands, the clear liquid flowing back an
d forth within the cut crystal. Her eyes widened at his words, the bold turn of his actions. He was so near, aga
in, yet the sensation felt entirely foreign. A frisson shook her and she earne
stly hoped it would escape his notice. With refined finesse he extricated the champagne flute from her grasp and set it
upon a ledge by her side. Drawing nearer, he braced his hands against the stone
faade effectively locking her in his embrasure. He could sense her pos- ture s
tiffening, resisting. "Stay," he murmured hoarsely, his tone proprietary, on the verge of becoming lor
dly. "Please," he added, catching himself. "I merely do not wish to have you flee...y
et again." __ She tilted her head, looking into his eyes, seeking surety. What she beheld, ins
tead, was a kaleidoscope of dusk and dawn; the promise of a mysterious adventure
in the skilled yet gentle hands of a powerful man. The whole beckoned provocatively.?His voice became husky. "Since my return, we have conversed through travel, art, books, even friends and family, through every m
anner possible save for one." "Indeed?" She answered, fully cognisant of his intended meaning, but choosing so
mewhat desperately to play the ingnue. "Yes, indeed." He spoke with a quiet, steely conviction. Reaching beyond her, he
dipped his finger into the champagne and slowly traced the outline of her lips,
until they glistened under the moonlit sky.?"Your lips are the colour of mulberry..."
he whispered and drew nearer still. She could feel the imprint of his muscles on her thighs
, her torso, the cool champagne on her lips a bold counterpoint to his burning h
eat. His voice settled into a hushed whisper. "In Persia, one can find a dozen names
for the mulberry...each one meant to capture the divine beauty of the divine fru
it. Until now, I knew not why...until now." "P-Persia? You've travelled the Far East?" She whispered in turn, feeling her ba
ck arching, and bending like a young branch against the wind. "No, Elizabeth, but I would dearly love to transport you there, some day...metap
horically speaking." He mouthed against her skin, his lips flitting across her t
emple, her cheek, the nameless place beneath her ear. "And here I was under the impression you were a man of few words..." "I am," he answered thickly.?With consuming tenderness, his lips alighted on her
s, warm and assured. The primitive conquering instinct within him tempered, but m
erely so. She tasted of champagne and wild ginger, the kind that grew along the lake at Pe
mberley, he thought fleetingly, breathing her in, drinking in the splendour of t
he moment. Ah, she'd been kissed before-but not like this-never like this. It was a wonderful kiss: tender, deliberate, and undeni- ably whispering of his
intentions, of old regrets and young promises, all spoken in silence, the whole
reaching out to her in soothing warmth. She felt herself being enticed, en- chan
ted and slowly, all about her metamorphosed into a new world...fresh, transcende
nt and glinting golden. "Oh..." she murmured coming up for breath, unsure whether she ought to be elated
or running for dear life. "Is this an apology...?" "Did I apologize?" He answered huskily and settled upon her a slow, lazy smile. "No...but since I am feeling somewhat charitable this evening, I shall pretend t
hat you granted it nonetheless..." "And did you, perchance, accept my meagre offering?" He whispered, his eyes dark
ening. "Of course, I would not want it to be said that I was being disobliging..." Sh
e closed her eyes, as he kissed the curve of her neck. "Or ungracious..." She whispered as his lips alighted on the crest of her should
er, and skimmed down her bare arm. "Let alone...unamiable." He lifted her hand a
nd kissed her fingertips, slowly, one by one.?"Are you intent on wooing me, Mr. Darcy?" She qu
eried, feeling somewhat light-headed.?"Oh, yes," he answered, looking up at her beneath
his lashes. "However, were we not on first name terms? Perhaps, I have not been pers
uasive enough...?" He straightened before her, drawing nearer still, and graze
d her bare arms with his hands, caressing lightly. "No, not quite...enough," she responded. "In fact... hardly...enough." "Very well," he said. "You win. I shall have to improve upon my efforts..." She stilled him with a light pressure on his chest.?"Ah, not so hasty, dear sir,
for I find myself not at all easily disposed to agree with you."?He froze. A look of such sheer astonishment
crossed his features, that Elizabeth found herself suddenly, inexplica- bly, bursting out in
laughter. The sound, rich and pure, resonated about them, ampli- fied by the rain and surr
ounding night. Her eyes dancing with mirth, she let her fingers roam across the wide expanse of
his torso and rest with finality over his heart. She whispered, "I believe the
victory is very much mutual." Swept away on a tidal surge of sweet triumph, he could feel his entire being fil
l with a thrumming energy. He leaned closer. His lips slanted over hers again, c
aptured her entirely and deepening the kiss, enticed her to open...tan- gling, e
xploring, plunging further and further. He kissed her as if there was no ending, no hereafter. Transporting each in turn
, then together, to a land of shady lemon tress, scented with jasmine and mimosa
, and sur- rounded by light, still and brilliant...all at the same time. The waltz strummed on somewhere in the background, and without breaking his embr
ace, he encircled her waist, merging her unto him. Her softness seemed to meld w
ith his rigid strength, until he no longer knew where he ceased and she began. Slowly, they embarked on a languid and rhythmic un- dulation under the shelter o
f the balcony, the curtain of spring rain creating a private enclave. Legato...
Amoroso... Dolce... The sweeping melody of strings soon ebbed away, but their da
nce continued into the night. *William Shakespeare Chapter Seven Montague House, Portman Square, London. The next day. Ted from the myriad citrus trees, ferns, and orchids growing in wild exuberance w
ithin the perfumed bower. Seated on a wrought iron garden bench amidst the leafy greenery Jane gazed at he
r sister with concern and more than a hint of curiosity. They had been deep in c
onversation all morning, catching up on the multitude of news, events, and happe
nings that had unfolded since their last written correspondence. "Do you not find him, dark, brooding even somewhat taciturn, Lizzy?" Elizabeth sat poised on the ledge of an ornamental fountain absently trailing he
r fingers in its verdant waters. "A year ago, I did believe him possessed of a j
udgemental reserve, a refusal to compromise, but my opinions have been altered with time, and
now I find myself having somewhat erred in my first impressions. I have glimpse
d another man; one who is kind, generous, patient and altogether...highly agreea
ble." Jane scrutinized her more closely, taking in the subtle changes a year abroad ha
d effected on her sibling. There hovered about her a new softness, as if the sha
rp angles of her fiercely independent spirit had become muted, and polished. Alo
ng with this she seemed to emanate a glow, a brilliancy that had been lacking pr
ior to her leave-taking. If William Darcy had played any role in the transformation, then perhaps she ought
to consider him in a more pleasing light. "As for the darkness," Elizabeth continued, her voice taking on a filmy cast, "h
e is filled with darkness...midnight...but you know, Jane, the coal is midnigh
t black before it suddenly lights and burns fiery red." As if shaking herself out of a distant reverie, Elizabeth turned to her sister c
atching a look of speechless stupor upon her face. "Now tell me again about Char
les swooping upon our household prior to your departure for London." Happy to oblige, and relieved to veer back into familiar waters, Jane recounted
her tale as her sister listened intently, basking in her sibling's obvious pleas
ure at the sudden turn of events. "Oh, Lizzy! He was incredibly dusty and dishevelled, but so very earnest in his
proposal! Then again, so was I! Having fallen off the swing...and all." Jane's c
olour rose he conservatory was warm and filled with early morning light. Sun-kissed tiles covered its floors in colourful mosaics, while a rich loamy scent emanat- __ upon remembering the unfortunate incident. "The wedding is set for the end of
the summer, and Mamma is beside herself with joy!" "Are you beset with joy, Jane?" "Why ever not, you goose!" Jane continued her tale in a breathy voice. "He must
have travelled without rest or sleep the poor dear, for he repeatedly murmured t
he strangest of things...something about a carp." "A carp? Are you certain? Isn't that some sort of fish? Perhaps fatigue addled h
is wits. Oh well, I am certain he shall return to fine form in no time. Tell me
of father's reaction to his proposal." Jane's colour deepened. "He stated, in that dry manner of his, that he was most
heartened by Charles' decision to vacate his perch on the fence, and hoped he wo
uld not take such an inordinate length of time to secure his succession," Elizabeth convulsed into a fit of laughter just as Thomas Bennet entered the con
servatory. "Ah, I find Jane smiling and Elizabeth laughing; all must be well in the family
again!" He approached Elizabeth and deposited a fond kiss on her forehead. "Let me have
a closer look at you, Lizzy. The short curls suit you. Your mother, no doubt, wi
ll have a conniption. She is utterly convinced that you have returned filled wit
h all manner of vice and folly. I believe contami- nated is the word she insists
on flinging about. I can see plainly that Fanny, once again, has misplaced her
wits. We shall leave her to indulge in self-pity shall we not? Have you been kee
ping well?" "Yes, father," she answered with a warm smile. "Good, good. Now shall we partake of tea? Before Charles and his family descend
upon us? You must tell me of the last leg of your journey, Lizzy. Your letters m
ade me a veritable fireside voyager and I long to hear your last impressions.
In the meantime Jane may compose herself into a semblance of calm." Tucking Elizabeth's arm beneath his he walked by her side towards the drawing ro
om. Partway there he halted, and stated with quiet conviction, "I am glad you ar
e come back, Lizzy. You've travelled enough, child. 'Tis time you came home." Home, she thought to herself. Yes, she had arrived home in more ways than one. Thomas Bennet awaited her reply, receiving none he patted her arm affectionately
."What? No witty retort? Has your caustic humour been softened by exotic capricci
os?" Before she could fashion a suitable response, Burford approached wearing a disap
proving frown, and gingerly holding a package in his gloved hands. A parcel cleverly concealed beneath an intriguing nosegay burst with red roses
, sweet alyssum, forget-me-nots, honeysuckle and peach blossoms. "A delivery for Miss Elizabeth Bennet," he announced, placing undue emphasis on
the unmarried status of her name. "Thank you Burford. Father, I shan't be long, I promise. Please, do go on withou
t me." She stood beneath a tall potted palm, aglow with anticipation, for she knew be
yond a doubt that the gift was from him. The previous evening had forged a new d
imension in their acquaintance, an inner space she found strangely pacifying. Pa
radoxically, in tasting the heat of their shared caresses, her earlier unease ha
d been quelled, appeased, and dulcified. A last fragment of the puzzle had seemi
ngly fallen into place. She inhaled the fragrant blossoms within the nosegay, and smiled. Ah, he had bee
n most meticulous in his re- search. Devoted love...true love...beautiful love..
. I am your captive...forever love. As her fingers unravelled the beribboned par
cel the folds of soft parchment fell open, one by one, to reveal a ruby leather
binding. A book. Raised gold lettering boldly announced its title. 'Observations and Reflections on a Journey through Europe, by Elizabeth Bennet' Her fingers trembling, she opened the substantial volume only to find it fille
d with blank pages. She smiled to herself, shaking her head at his gesture. She
was but beginning to unravel him, to understand him, and already sensed that h
e promised an existence beyond the limits of genteel ennui. Her fingers absorbed
the texture of white paper, the suppleness of its leather binding; both spoke o
f the highest quality. She leafed toward the opening page and found a dedication
.Dearest Elizabeth, Will you grant me the very great honour of joining you alongside life's journe
y? With ardent love and devotion, Fitzwilliam Darcy. Oh. There it was. Black and white. She studied the strong, elegant script, and s
oon the letters blurred, becoming a charcoal smudge on white parchment. In the
dry, arid desert of convention he was offering her a measure of choice, perhaps
even freedom. He had grasped her need for safety but also her longing for the uncertainty of
new discovery. Her experiences abroad had charmed her imagination, Elizabeth re
alized, but it was he, and he only, who held her captive. Yet, she was no cageli
ng, rather, his evolving courtship had reopened old vistas, ones she had buried
beneath layers of anger and resentment. __ Past memories, sights, and conversations all collided with future hopes, secret
dreams and longings; sparking, catching fire. A flaming apotheosis. Without a se
cond thought for propriety or decorum she strode out of the hallway through th
e double entry doors, past the filigreed gates of Montague House, and onto the s
quare. Burford half ran, half walked behind her. "Miss Bennet, Miss Bennet! Wait! You m
ust not! I shall escort you! Miss Bennet!" Not until reaching the knocker of Darcy House did she catch her breath and take
a moment to compose herself. "Do I pass muster, Burford?"?The faithful servant, breaking with long standing t
radition, grinned. Tentatively reaching out toward her he tucked a stray curl behi
nd her ear, and wordlessly nodded his head. She bestowed a charming smile upon him, one he stowed away in his memory to revi
sit during solitary times. "Let us proceed, shall we?" Elizabeth announced, and lifted the heavily carved k
nocker. 2He leaned against the door-jamb of the drawing room, his white shirtsleeves gapi
ng open at the neck, having earlier completed a satisfying scrimmage against Cha
rles Bingley. The younger man was proving to be fleet of foot and had a surprisi
ngly good arm. Who would have surmised that swordplay would prove to be Charles'
forte? Handing his blade to a hovering Winston, Darcy stepped into the room and began o
bserving Elizabeth without a sound. A deeply appreciative look grew on his fac
e as he studied her with intense fascination. She stood in his drawing room, a young woman in grey blue, appearing lost in the
contemplation of a painting. He noticed, with a surge of relief, the crimson co
vered book clutched to her breast. Had she read the inscription? Dare he hope fo
r an answer so soon? She stood still and solemn, appearing utterly absorbed in the work before her. T
he moment he had longed for loomed so near, so very close, that for an impossibl
e instant he yearned for time to slow its tempo. Perhaps she shared the same sen
timent, and this in turn had cloaked her in pristine calm. He was struck, once again, by what she seemed to offer to the world about her; e
ntirely subtle, making no appeal, nor loudly claiming her place, yet drawing him
in with deep magnetism. Despite her youth she seemed to resist the confinement
of artificial manners, encompassing a natural, fine and free nature; a nature wh
ose siren-call he was long past resisting. Whereas on previous occasions he'd witnessed a quick- silver vibrancy of movemen
t and colour about her, at this very moment she was the picture of stillness and quietude. Serenity. Morning lig
ht poured in through the window, reflecting on the wall behind her and casting
a milky white- ness upon her skin. A sonata of blue, pearl grey and white. Her
lips parted ever so slightly she seemed poised on the brink of expectation, yet
nothing about her was passive or submissive. The moment of silent contemplation brought with it a new understanding of the wo
man he was learning to love. Among the richly opulent and distracting clutter of
his life, Elizabeth spoke the promise of a true and strong simplicity on one
hand, and the potential to carve out an unusual destiny on the other. An adventu
ress willing to barter the ordinary for the uncommon. Light and dark all at once
. At times such as this, he thought, when least expected, life did mimic art. Bu
t only so far. Sensing a presence in the room she glanced over her shoulder, and gazed at him,
accepting his being there with unquestioning ease and grace. Rather, she seemed
to be reaching to him, taking possession of him in an emotional resonance that j
arred him to the very marrow. "A remarkable painting, William, filled with subtle colour and light," she beg
an quietly, her voice barely above a whisper, clutching on to her poise, her bla
nketing calm, despite the intense assault of his potent physicality. Dark. Viril
e. Magnificent. He crossed the room, and stood by her side. "I've grown rather fond of the work
since acquiring it in Delft some time ago. At first it was mistaken for an early
Rembrandt, then attributed to a little known Dutch painter." "The woman appears elusive, almost out of reach, yet the canvas begs to be touch
ed," She ran her fingers lightly over the gilt frame in a light caress. A hauntingly familiar sentiment, he thought to himself. Patience. "Elizabeth," he said quietly.?By the timbre of his voice she surmised the inevit
able conversation was about to unfold. Would he go down on his knees like a faithful
supplicant? Fleetingly, she imagined trading places with the girl in the paint
ing, standing by the light of the window reading a letter. The impulse, however,
soon faded away. "I wish to thank you for the lovely book and flowers," she stated earnestly, smi
ling quietly into his eyes. "They pleased you?" he enquired, fixing intently upon her smile. "Yes, very much." She bit her lower lip and sighed, long and deep. The soughing breath of air seemed to shake him, like a wind shaking ancient oaks
on a mountain-top. "Elizabeth, are you sighing yes, or sighing no?" "Ah, Elizabeth..." he repeated, when she didn't answer. "I do not pretend to ful
ly understand the nature of passion, love and devotion, but I believe in it all just the same. I was driven to leave
after Pemberley, to better understand what __ I had left behind, only to discover I had erred in my judgment. The sole sourc
e of my mistake was within myself. I was faced with a choice: to accept the inev
itable and walk away or to return and repair my folly. I have returned; I live w
ith the hope that you shall find it in your heart to forgive me." He came nearer and held her hand in his, drawing delicate circles on her skin.
"For some time now I have lived with the knowledge-no, the certainty-that with
you I feel something entirely beyond my deepest expectations: a buoyancy utterly
alien to my nature, life giving and preserv- ing at the same time. You live in
my waking thoughts and come slow and sweet in my dreams. I find it impossible to
let you go." He tipped her chin with his other hand, and gently stroked along the line of her
jaw, her neck. "From this day onward, beloved, I shall stand by your side, sile
ntly holding out my arms, waiting for you to come to me." Entwining her slender fingers through his, she raised his hand and rested it on
her cheek. "Tell me William... Whose hand, after all the leagues we've travelled, would fit so well into mine?" "Whose, indeed?" "I must warn you, I do hold a vast collection of views on the subject of marriag
e." "I expected as much." He smiled into her eyes. "I may grow restless with domestic residence and wish to journey again." His smile widened, became brilliant, and spilled into another sphere. "And we sh
all do our utmost to keep restlessness at bay, my love. Should you wish to wan
der abroad, I would promise not to curtail your liberty; however, I do insist on
accompanying you." "Then, I may not have my way in all things?" "Almost all." He paused momentarily. "As for the rest, I am not averse to negoti
ation." "Or...persuasion?" she ventured with a seductive lilt to her voice. "Indeed." The simple word, low and thrumming, resonated somewhere deep within
her. No, she decided, he would not be falling on his knees professing his undying lov
e, and neither did she wish him to.?Her eyes sparkling, she continued, "And the children, of course, will come along on our travels?"?"Ah, how could one forget the childr
en," he murmured hoarsely into her hair.?Relinquishing her grasp and encircling her waist with both hands, William pulled her into an intimate embrace: solid, secure, and fina
l. They remained entwined in a private cocoon, immune to the passage of time,
delighting in each other's presence. Neither heard the soft click of the drawing room doors followed by the conspirat
orial sound of receding footsteps, nor the ripple of hushed murmurings reverberating throughout the house. Her cheek nuzzled against the crook of his neck, she tilted her head gazing up a
t his profile. "The title of the book is a trifle long, think you not?" "Oh?" he murmured. "Perhaps, A Journey, by Elizabeth Darcy..." She began, but was unable to finish
her words as his lips alighted on hers. "Yes, much better," he replied after a time. "My sentiments exactly." She sighed again, contented, replete, then tilting her chin at a pert angle anno
unced with determination, "I will have you know, William Darcy, that I am sighin
g yes." He looked at her searchingly and asked her the question, which had quietly but
insistently hovered inside him since she had crossed his threshold. "Might I inquire what precipitated your change of mind?" She fixed on him with a long scrutinizing gaze. "Oh, I remember the very moment
when my feelings began to transform themselves. I was in Italy, at the Villa Med
ici in an impossibly charming walled garden. I had just entered it when I spotte
d a tall grey figure disappearing into a dusky forest of evergreens and oaks bey
ond the locked gates. For a suspended moment I thought it was you, William, and
I was filled with inexplicable longing, a heavy plunging sensation, and if you
had asked me at that very moment to circle the world with you I would have said
, without hesitation, yes." "Perchance did this occur in early November following a light morning rain? The
walled garden with the twisted miniature trunks that looked like dwarfs? The ent
ire place was filled with mist as I recall, and appeared haunted?" "Why, yes..." "It was I, Elizabeth, the man in grey. I had walked beyond the gates, for they
were open, to explore the forest." He stroked her hair and pulled her closer. "
We almost crossed paths. Almost." "Oh." She could find little else to say, and both stood silently for a long mome
nt musing upon the strange twists and turns that fate had meted out in her delib
erate way. "Yet, dearest Elizabeth, my curiosity remains unsatisfied, what actually led to
the happy conclusion which brings us standing here today?" "Persistent man."?William chuckled softly, and deposited a soft kiss on the crown of her head. "Come now, madam, take pity upon your suitor." "Very well. After my return to London, following each of our encounters, the fee
lings grew stronger, at times over- whelming my entire being, yet maddeningly th
ey remained a convoluted tangle until..." "Until..." _0 "Until the night of the ball when I realized that you had finally learned to be
laughed at. Prior to that moment on the terrace you had accepted my merciless te
asing with cool, logical reasoning, but that particular evening when I laughed a
t you, you kissed me!" "And all this time I mistakenly held on to the belief that I had swayed you with
my proficiency in an entirely different arena." Elizabeth tilted her head toward him and blushed. "Well, that too, just a little
." "I see," he responded in a solemn tone, then to her surprise burst out in laug
hter, rich, resonant and deep. She threw him a bewildered look, her lips quirkin
g uncertainly, and finally joined him in shared merriment. Their peals of laught
er could be heard reverberating throughout the house. "An auspicious beginning, Elizabeth," he stated with quiet conviction once their
gaiety subsided. "Bright with promise, my love," she answered?This time, despite his attempt at s
elf-control and well- forged restraint, William became entirely consumed by the intoxicating essence o
f her. Capturing her mouth in a sweeping tidal wave of a kiss he forgot the year
of the Lord, forgot his middle name, and in the end, was left feeling like a li
ttle boy falling out of the sky. "The falls at Tivoli," Elizabeth murmured hoarsely after what seemed an eternity
of William wildly tasting her lips. He replied with a dazzling smile. "Oh yes,
darling, I know. I know." 2Thomas Bennet leaned against the wrought iron spires surrounding Darcy House, an
d squinted up at its austerely elegant faade. The spring sun shone fierce and bri
ght, momentarily blinding him with its luminosity. Folding his arms across his
chest he glowered at Lady Montague. "An art lesson? You will have me believe that William Darcy is instructing my da
ughter on the finer points of chiaroscuro unchaperoned, as we speak?" Lady Montague laid a quieting hand on his arm, "William is an expert on Caravagg
io and his Dutch fol- lowers: Rembrandt, and the lesser-known artist, Vermeer. While in Italy, Elizabeth developed a true fascination with the contrasting use
of light and dark..." Thomas Bennet smiled indulgently at his long time friend. "And you, Margaret, ar
e the worst yarn spinner this side of the Channel. Caravaggio and Rembrandt, I c
an understand, but you give yourself away with Vermeer, my dear. Never heard o
f the man and likely never will. Fine, I shall capitulate; one more turn about t
he square then we shall cross past these damnably imposing gates and demand an e
xplanation." "Ah, Thomas, the trouble with us English is that we drink too much tea." She gui
ded him gently away from the metal portals and began strolling along the perimet
er of the square. "Why, all that sepia-coloured liquid dilutes our powers of ima
gination, positively marring our ability to partake in the art of happiness." "Art you say," he muttered under his breath, gingerly rubbing his left shoulder.
"At least this one is proficient in weaponry." Smiling to herself she scolded him in a quiet voice. "Proficient in more areas t
han one, my dear friend. And is your Lizzy not meritorious of something more? For an ex- tended length of time n
ow, I have held the opinion that a woman in possession of a fine mind is deservi
ng of an equally fine husband." Thomas Bennet's scowl lightened, hovered on the edge of indecision and, followin
g a prolonged pause, transformed into a wistful smile. "Be not alarmed Margaret, for some time now I have suspected he was an excellent
man if one looked sufficiently long and deep. As for Lizzy, her travels have ce
rtainly altered her in a most advantageous way. The gulf, in the end, was not
impassable." Lady Montague patted him fondly on the arm. "There is hope for you yet, my dear
Thomas," she announced with a mischievous twinkle in her eye. "Are you making sport of me, Margaret?" "A rhetorical question, my good friend. Come let us continue our turn about th
e square. Now, do regale me again with the tale of Bingley's proposal..." Leading him determinedly toward the green, she cast a last look over her shoulde
r at Darcy House. The Georgian faade stood noble and tall, basking in the spring sunshine, as if il
luminated by some inner radi- ance. Surely a trick of the light, she thought fleetingly; then paused mid-flight, str
uck by an inspired notion. How fool- ish of her! 'Twas not the sun at all, but r
ather the lustre imparted by a young pair of lovers ensconced somewhere within a
nd enlightened by the felicity uniting them. The End __

The Improvement of Her Mind

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The Improvement of Her Mind by Ayden Chapter One Portman Square, London 1820 The iron gates of Montague

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