10

Chapter 1

Fitzwilliam Darcy came as close to slamming the door of his chambers at Rosings as he possibly could without arousing his aunt's suspicion. That she believes him! That she would trust him so implicitly over me. ME! Fitzwilliam Darcy; Master of Pemberley! He who has saved George Wickham's reputation and life from debtor's prison for the last five years, and longer.

He tore off his cravat and tossed it onto the chair, certain Briggs his valet would be none too pleased with him. Yet he did not care. The one woman whose esteem he desired the most had championed Wickham. Wickham! He shook his head in disgust and walked to the window with measured steps, staring out into the ink black night. I have lived a life of honor, of responsibility, and she believes the words of a man whose illegitimate children Pemberley is still supporting!

He snorted with derision and turned back towards the room, pacing with nervous agitation. Luck would have it that Richard and I were summoned by Aunt Catherine for the Christmas holiday. And then to have Elizabeth here with the newly married Mrs. Collins only a month since I left Hertfordshire? His hand slammed down on the writing desk as he passed it. "Miss Bennet, Darcy! She is not yours to think on as 'Elizabeth.' She made it quite plain to you this evening that she does not value the title of 'wife' by you!"

He shook his head and slowly came to a halt, still not believing how the evening's events transpired. "Do I not know the heart of women? Or at least one worthy of being pleased?" Have I become so base? Always being chased by fortune hunting mothers and daughters that when a woman of substance is placed before me I cannot act in accordance with my values?

Slumping down in the great chair, he leaned his head back and sighed deeply before whispering to the ceiling. "'You could not have made the offer of your hand in any possible way that would have tempted me to accept it.' Truly, Elizabeth? No possible way?" He reached over to the bottle of brandy on the table next to him and poured two fingers before downing it in one fiery gulp. No, this is how it should be. Elizabeth Bennet has no money or connections, but a mind and spirit that would send my world spiraling like a whirling dervish. It was providence that she…rejected me. And now I can leave Rosings cleansed of my fantasies of bringing her home as the mistress of Pemberley. "But Wickham," he spat standing up and walking back to the window, her words smoldering within him as he stared across the lawn. 'If your father had not had a son, Mr. Wickham could have fulfilled that role more admirably.' His jaw tightened at the thought. I wonder which version of his lies she was subjected to? Where I did not award him the living after my father's death or where I refused him any inheritance at all. Maybe both? Tapping the glass separating their two worlds, he looked down towards the parsonage and saw a dim light in the distance. Oh, Elizabeth.

Darcy called for his valet, who seemed to be there within seconds. "Briggs, we will depart in the morning after we breakfast and I conclude a small matter of business."

"Yes, sir."

"Let Colonel Fitzwilliam's man know as well."

"At once, sir."

Waiting for the door to close behind him, he touched the window and traced the far-off box of light. As much as my pride is hurt, if I do nothing, her name will be added to the list of women soiled by his touch. I cannot allow that to happen.

He walked to the writing desk and withdrew a piece of parchment while dipping his quill in ink. "If only I had not been born?" He snorted and then began writing...

Be not alarmed, madam, on receiving this letter…

XXXXX

The early morning light had not yet reached the top of the woods of Rosings Park as she stood at the window of her chambers and watched him ride down the path, and out into the trees beyond. He was going to her. This man whom she had known the entirety of her life; whom she had been promised to since infancy, but whom she had not spoken to in years, was in love with another.

In truth, she had spoken to him–– common civilities, nods of welcome, acknowledgments of his departure from her family home. But, not anything of substance; nothing of our likes or dislikes. Mama still expects us to unite our estates, but how can one have a unity of minds… Anne de Bourgh traced the glass with her finger, and sighed. "Or even of hearts when we do not speak?" Our future was the fancy of two sisters who did not consider the personalities and proclivities of the tiny infants in their cradles. It is impossible to give credence to the proclamations of my mother.

However, they had not always been so distant, Anne and her cousin Darcy. There was a time when they were each other's confidants. He and Richard would compete to make her laugh; she would make them crowns of wildflowers and they would dance with her in the woods. But that was when we were children, and before Lady Anne died. Her death changed everything.

"And it only increased my mother's ceaseless assertion I was to marry William." William of all people! Had she any sense, she would see he is not the cousin I am most suited for. He would not make me happy, and I am convinced I am the last woman in the world who would make him so.

She gazed once more out the window before turning as she heard footsteps moving down the hallway outside her room. They grew closer and the faint sound of her cousin, Colonel Richard Fitzwilliam whistling as he passed her door sent a flutter through her.

"There is but one man I wish to marry," she whispered to the closed door as the sound of him continued down the hallway. "But, although I am not in love with Darcy, I am not strong enough to stand up to my mother. And I fear I never will be.

XXXXX

The crunching of snow beneath her feet gave Elizabeth Bennet a small sense of power over the roiling emotions within. She had come to Rosings at the request of her dear friend Charlotte Collins, nee Lucas, after her husband, Elizabeth's cousin and the heir to her father's estate of Longbourn, had been sent to London at the behest of his patroness Lady Catherine de Bourgh. A month's separation is not conducive to matrimonial bliss. However, that great lady will not be ignored, and dear Charlotte would not leave her new parishioners during her first Christmas as their minister's wife. Elizabeth chuckled to herself, and determined that she must cut her walk short due to both the cold andher hope of not meeting with Mr. Darcy.

She grimaced at the thought, knowing where all her anger rested. I could never accept such an arrogant man! He who at the village assembly, only two months previous, stated I was not handsome enough to tempt him? It was obvious he felt I was beneath his notice, yet he proposed? Does he think I could accept a man who had both ruined my dear sister Jane's hopes by taking the man she loved away from her, and was also so cruel to one who was raised as his own brother? Mr. Wickham did not choose his lot in life–– to be the poor son of the steward of Mr. Darcy's family estate.

The benevolence of the Elder Mr. Darcy before his death had been spoken of by not only Mr. Wickham in his and Elizabeth's conversations, but also from her relations who had been raised not five miles from Pemberley. They had spoken of the Darcy's charity and love for the local townspeople. Did Mr. Darcy have no honor for his parents? For his family name? Did their benevolence not touch the cruel, stone-heart of their son, the current master? If only the elder Mr. Darcy had not had a son, Mr. Wickham's future would have been secure, and our little village would have not have been forced to endure months with Mr. Darcy!

She continued to walk along, choosing a path which she seldom frequented to return to the parsonage, when turning a corner, she came face to face with the man himself.

"Mr. Darcy!" She jumped back, uncertain if she should flee or attempt another awkward and stilted conversation.

"Miss Bennet. I have been walking the grove with Ulysses for some time in the hopes of meeting you. Will you do me the honor of reading this letter?"

She instinctively reached out and grasped the missive, as he bowed and turned back towards Rosings, before mounting his horse, and was soon out of sight.

If anyone saw me accept that letter. She looked around and quickly stuffed it into her pocket hurrying towards the parsonage, all the while praying Charlotte was still out visiting her parishioners.

After only thirty yards, the parchment was burning a hole in her pocket. She stopped along the road, and looked in all directions until she saw a small path leading into the woods. Following it a short distance, she wiped off a patch of snow from a fallen log, sat down and began to read…

'Be not alarmed, madam, on receiving this letter, that it may contain any repetition of those sentiments or renewal of those offers which last night were so disgusting to you. The writing of this letter could not, however, be avoided as charges were brought before me which I felt honor bound to defend— my character and very being demands it.

'The first charge dealt with my friend and your sister. I will answer that in the most concise manner possible, yet I fear you will mistake my meaning. Yes. I did separate Bingley from Miss Bennet, and I rejoice in my success for a number of reasons. Howerver, the most notable two are as follows:

She does not love him, nor does he love her. My friend is a fickle being. He does not realize the pain he causes when he arrives amongst new aquaintances and makes love to their daughters and sisters. This is a habit that he has tried to break, but is unable.

Please believe me when I say that the eldest Miss Bennet is all that is lovely, and Bingley did have feelings for her. But, just like all the rest, they will not last. He is besotted with the idea of being in love.

I also found no true depth of regard in your sister towards Bingley. There was an obvious attraction, but he is a handsome man––his genial manners and kind attentions should make all women flutter. Yet she did not. Your sister's responses to his courtesies were nothing more than had she been reading a horticulture book. Also, as an obedient daughter, she would have responded as instructed to secure a marriage of convenience, rather than one of true affection. Bingley deserves better and it is my responsibility as his friend to secure that possibility.

The second charge laid before me dealt with Mr. Wickham, but before I answer that, I must first appraise you of my connection to him. Mr. Wickham was the son of a very respectable man who had the management of our family's estate. The Elder Wickham was a devoted member of our staff, and before I had left the nursery, married a widow with a young son close to my age.

'My mother and father encouraged our friendship, and I enjoyed having a playmate. As we grew older, however, George Wickham began to show signs of a defect in his character. His cruelty to animals began to extend to humans, and many a servant was abused by his hand, always fearing reprisal.

'His malevolence did not show its darkest character until we were at Cambridge, where my father gave him a gentleman's education in honor of Mr. Wickham senior. This is where our friendship all but ended– My playmate found more enjoyment in debaucheries and other activities not befitting the ears or eyes of a lady.

'After the death of both his father, and my own excellent one five years ago, my father instructed in his will to give Wickham a living should it become available. Declaring no interest in the church, my former-friend asked for and received three thousand pounds instead and abandoned our family for what pleasures I know not, nor do I wish to know. He then returned a year later when his funds had dissolved attempting to retain the living.

'All of these things may not sway you, but the next one will hopefully allow you to see George Wickham in a truer light. My sister, Georgiana, was summering in Ramsgate with her companion, a woman in whose character I was greatly mislead…'

Elizabeth continued to read, brushing the tears from her eyes which had begun to escape.

'Her tender heart was convinced of his love, which was in truth only for her dowry of 30,000 pounds. Had I not arrived for a visit unannounced, her future of misery would have been secured with her elopement to Gretna Green and an eternal shackle to the most unworthy man in all of England. She was but fifteen years old…'

"Fifteen years old?" Elizabeth said aloud between sniffles. "That is my youngest sister Lydia's age." Oh, I am a wretched being. My anger at him stemmed from his comment at the Assembly months ago. Yet, our whole acquaintance, I judged him on my misplaced pride and the lies of someone wholly unconnected to me.

'…and now, Miss Elizabeth, I think on your words from last night, 'If [my] father had not had a son, Mr. Wickham could have filled that role better than I. Quite possibly you are correct, as I have seemed to become lax in the role my father and mother prepared for me, and in the duties towards those I care about the most. However, my greatest failure is not within the confines of my family, but in those of my heart.

I will only say, God Bless,

F.D.'

"What have I done?" The neighing of a horse made her start, and she looked up to see Ulysses, Mr. Darcy's stallion pawing at the ground on the path. Drying her tears, she looked around for its rider, unprepared for an interview so quickly after reading his missive. After no sign of Mr. Darcy, she walked to the large animal and rubbed his muzzle. "Where is your master, Ulysses? Did you break free of your groom and escape the stables?"

Shall I let this beast go, or stay with him and run the risk of seeing Mr. Darcy? But, she had no choice in the matter. The animal began to nudge her with his head in the direction Mr. Darcy had departed. Holding the reins and allowing the horse to guide her, she walked slowly beside it, formulating what she would say when the awkward meeting took place. However, her concern was in vain. For as she turned the bend, there was Mr. Darcy's body slumped on the ground, his head bleeding from where it had struck a large boulder.