A/N: Welcome back to my loyal readers and a hearty welcome to new ones.

This is yet another writing experiment where I smash one of my cardinal rules to pieces and see if anything survives. I didn't invent this style, but it's not common. I have felt myself quite in your debt for some dialogue after Letters from Cheapside, which was a completely dialogue free zone. Hopefully this little experiment will even the scales a bit.

I intend this to be a short story around 6-7 chapters of widely varying length (some 5k words, some 1). Somewhat uncharacteristically I had the entire story in my head before I even started writing, but there's no guarantee I'll write the one I envisioned.

I'm on vacation at with my family in Spain, so I should get this one out before the new year. Let's see where it goes.

As always, reviews and PMs either make my day or make me an even more insufferable man – you decide which.

Wade

Rosings – Jan 1812

"Your husband is dead, Mrs. Collins!"

"Dead?"

"Yes ma'am"

"Really dead?"

"Yes ma'am"

"Truly dead?"

"Yes ma'am"

"How dead?"

"I am only a coachman madam, but I believe it is universally acknowledged that there is only one kind of dead."

"My pardon, Mr. Thornton. You are quite correct, but I meant something more like, 'how long has he been dead'?"

"I know very little of these things Madam. It seems likely it has been a few hours, but I could easily be wrong. I presume you have been asleep for some time?"

"Since just before the last stop to bait the horses… I guess it does not really matter in the end. Is this the parsonage?"

"Yes ma'am"

"I know not what to do… Perhaps you could take me to Rosings. I imagine Lady Catherine de Bourgh will wish to know what has happened, since she apparently controls everything else in this county. Mayhap she can advise me."

"Are you certain you wish to travel with… well, with er… him… er… that is… er…"

"I understand your concern Mr. Thornton. How far is Rosings?"

"A half-mile madam. It will take a quarter-hour."

"I do not mind, as I am not particularly missish. It seems unlikely he will become more nor less dead in that time, and to be frank, he wasn't all that lively to start with. I have already shared a coach with… it… for several hours. Another quarter hour will do no harm."

"Are you certain you would not like me to remove er… him?"

"Do not trouble yourself. It seems just as likely Lady Catherine would make you come right back for the body, and for all I know she will want to inspect it."

"As you say, Mrs. Collins"

"I do thank you for your solicitude, Mr. Thornton. You are an excellent coachman."

"I do not consider this my most successful trip. I usually deliver my charges alive."

"Not your fault, Mr. Thornton. Not your fault. These things are bound to occur from time to time."

"Yes, I imagine so. Thank you, ma'am. Shall we to Rosings."

"Perhaps I could ride up with you? I have never done so. It seems diverting and I have a convenient excuse."

"I am at your disposal madam."

"I thank you, Mr. Thornton. Let us be off."

"Mrs. Collins, my lady"

"Mrs. Collins?"

"Yes ma'am"

"Just Mrs. Collins."

"Yes ma'am"

"By herself?"

"Yes ma'am"

"Extraordinary! Show her in."

"Yes ma'am"

"Good evening, your ladyship."

"You are Mrs. Collins? Come over where I can see you. Since there is nobody here to perform introductions, I shall take up the office. I am Lady Catherine de Bourgh, and this is my daughter Anne."

"A pleasure your ladyship. Delighted to meet you Miss de Bourgh. I am Elizabeth Collins."

"You appear to be a very genteel, pretty kind of girl, Mrs. Collins. I assume you are here to pay your respects as is proper, but I am curious as to why you feel the need to do so on your wedding night? That seems overly deferential, even for Mr. Collins… and come to think of it… speaking of your wedding night… where is your husband? I might have expected him to call on me today, but not you."

"Therein lies the difficulty, Lady Catherine. I come to you for advice. It appears that my husband is dead, and his body is sitting in the coach that you so graciously provided for our transportation."

"Dead?"

"Yes ma'am, dead!"

"Dead, you say?"

"Yes ma'am, dead!"

"In my coach?"

"Yes, my lady."

"Really dead?"

"Yes ma'am"

"How dead?"

"We seem to think similarly, Lady Catherine. That was my first, or well, possibly my third question. Mr. Thornton, though he claims to be a mere coachman, seems quite knowledgeable when he asserts there is truly only one kind of dead. Having done extensive reading in my father's book room, I believe I must concur with him. If you require more details, I could add that he appears to be completely dead, thoroughly dead and absolutely dead."

"You seem a bit impertinent, Mrs. Collins."

"My apologies Lady Catherine. I would like to blame it on my upset over riding the last several hours with a corpse in your coach, but I fear you will find I am that way most of the time anyway. At any rate, he apparently has been dead for several hours but I did not notice, as I was asleep."

"Asleep, you say… on your wedding day."

"Yes, My lady. I can assure you that had I been awake, I would have detected his death when he stopped talking for thirty seconds, since that would be the only possible explanation for his silence."

"Upon my word, you give your opinion very decidedly for so young a person."

"My apologies, Lady Catherine. I meant no offense."

"Oh, I am not offended. Amused would be closer to the mark. Tell me Mrs. Collins, do you assert that sleep would not be a good explanation for your late husband's silence?"

"No, ma'am. I believe I tested that theory on the first part of the journey, and I can assure you that a sleeping William Collins was very little quieter than his waking counterpart."

"That is shockingly impertinent, Mrs. Collins."

"My apologies, Lady Catherine."

"I must say, I like you Mrs. Collins… impertinence and all"

"Thank you, Lady Catherine. I like you as well. You are not at all what I expected from the descriptions I got from Mr. Collins, although I must confess that I would find any similarity between Mr. Collins' description of just about anything the world and the actuality to be almost entirely coincidental, so it is not that surprising."

"Even more impertinence! I imagine you are wondering what to do next?"

"Yes, your ladyship. I assume you will know how to deal with the mortal remains, but I know not what else to do. Might I stay in the parsonage for some time until you get a new rector, or perhaps you could guide me to some lodgings in the village? I do not have very much coin, but enough for a time. I will also beg of your indulgence to help me find some type of employment or situation. I believe governess or companion are the traditional employments for those in my position."

"You do will do no such thing! You must stay here with us. Anne will find your acquaintance most stimulating I believe."

"Oh yes, Mrs. Collins… You must stay here. My cousin Georgiana is the only other woman close to my age that I know well, but she is 10 Years my junior and she only visits once or twice per year. Please say you will stay, at least for a time. You are to be in mourning for a year, so you should spend it here. You will be most welcome."

"I thank you. This honor is most unexpected. You are quite generous Miss de Bourgh and Lady Catherine."

"Think nothing of it Mrs. Collins. I am the executor for your husband's will anyway, so I will need to keep you close so I may attend to the matter properly. It will take at least a month to sort it all out. I am very attentive to my responsibilities. I shall send for my solicitor on the morrow, and we shall begin."

"I thank you, Lady Catherine. It is much more than I have a right to expect. I am very much in your debt."

"Might I make an observation, Mrs. Collins?"

"Of course, Lady Catherine."

"You do not seem overly distraught over the death of your husband."

"May I speak frankly?"

"Of course. I am celebrated for my frankness, and I expect no less from members of my household. Pray continue."

"It was a marriage arranged over my objections, my lady. My mother pressed the suit most vigorously, and my father eventually overrode my sixth denial of Mr. Collins' suit, most likely just to shut her up. Then my mother and three of my sisters relentlessly hounded me for a fortnight to get me to marry him. I finally acquiesced when my father threatened to throw me out into the hedgerows, and my formerly favorite eldest sister joined the maddening throng. It turned out they all preferred me as the sacrificial lamb to themselves; a sensible enough attitude, but not one designed to promote sisterly affection."

"My word! Why would they do such a thing?"

"My father's estate was entailed on Mr. Collins, as you know. Even my beloved aunt and uncle Gardiner encouraged me to accept my fate and find a way to learn to live with it once my father put his foot down for the first time in his life; and I could wish he had acquired a backbone either earlier or later in the process. I am not of age for several months so I have no legal remedies. I eventually acquiesced, but by the time I got to the church I was looking at the hedgerows with envy. However, the die was cast and it was too late to run away. Frankly, I feel like I have just dodged a bullet."

"An interesting analogy for a gently bred lady, Mrs. Collins. Somewhat shocking I must say, but interesting."

"I am not the ordinary sort of female, your ladyship. My father educated me more like a son than a daughter. It is either to my creditor my chagrin, but that remains to be seen. However, since I am now a widow for the foreseeable future, I imagine it is not of very much import. I shall simply seek employment sooner rather than later."

"Does that mean you have no intentions of returning to your father's house, Mrs. Collins?"

"You assume correctly Lady Catherine. I would willingly live in the hedgerows or become a governess or companion before that. I am quite finished with my family, and you seem like the type of lady who could assist me in finding a position; unless I am very much mistaken."

"I believe we can find some better occupation for you than that, Mrs. Collins. Let us get through your year of mourning first. You must be tired from the long journey. Anne will accompany you to your room, and I shall see you at breakfast."

"I am in your debt, Lady Catherine!"

"You are, Mrs. Collins… but do not distress yourself. I will collect in due time, but it shall not be too onerous. You owe me some amusement."

"I shall happily pay my dues in that matter, your ladyship, but might I ask one more boon?"

"Of course."

"Please do not call me Mrs. Collins. If you do not object to some informality, I would desire that you call me by my given name most of the time. Please call me Elizabeth or Eliza. I used to go by Lizzy to my family, but I do not wish to be reminded of them right at this moment."

"And how long will 'this moment' last, Elizabeth."

"I imagine somewhere between a year and until the end of time."

"We shall comply happily, Eliza. I should beg you call me Anne."

"I am not quite the stick in the mud people think I am, although Eliza might be a bit too far for me. I shall call you Elizabeth."

"Thank you, my lady. Shall we see my room now Anne?"

"Follow me, Eliza!"

Rosings - Feb 1812

"Good morning, Lady Catherine. I trust you had a pleasant sleep. I must thank you for your hospitality once again. The last month has been lovely, and Anne nearly walked to the parsonage yesterday. She will be walking for miles in no time, and I heartily approve of your idea of giving her a season later in the year."

"Good morning, Elizabeth. I very much approve of the new mourning clothes. They suit you."

"Did you doubt yourself when you ordered them, Lady Catherine?"

"Never!"

"As expected. Thank you once again for the dresses. They are lovely."

"Elizabeth, my solicitor has obtained the will and all of the other information about your late husband, and I have a surprise for you."

"Do tell, I beg you."

"You are not quite as poor as a church mouse anymore. Much to my surprise, Mr. Collins had some money saved that he inherited from his father, and he just inherited from another obscure uncle. All of it will go to you as part of his will… which I naturally wrote for him."

"I am indebted to you for insuring it was done properly, Lady Catherine. I shudder to think what would have happened should the late Mr. Collins have been in the employ of someone less attentive to her duties. Pray tell me; how many church mice am I worth these days?"

"Just over 10,000"

"10,000 church mice you say!"

"Yes, my dear. Do not take this smirk for levity… I am simply enjoying the chance to be more impertinent than you for a change."

"10,000?"

"Yes, 10,000"

"Just to be clear, Lady Catherine! In this particular conversation, you are equating a church mouse with one English Pound Sterling."

"Yes, my dear. You now have a fortune of £10,000."

"I am speechless."

"I have been waiting a month for that rare occasion."

"I am all astonishment."

"I imagine so. There is more!"

"More!"

"Yes, indeed. My solicitor has developed a rigorous scientific theory about your great grandfather which may explain a lot about your father's behavior. Would you like to hear it?"

"I am all ears, your Ladyship."

"He theorizes both your ancestor and his solicitor were either heavy drinkers, opium eaters or barking mad. It is the only explanation for some of the clauses in one more legal document."

"Pray enlighten me!"

"Apparently, since Mr. Collins was the very last of the Bennet males, you inherit Longbourn on your father's demise, rather than your mother and sisters."

"Me?"

"Yes, you. Elizabeth Collins."

"That makes no sense."

"Hence the heavy drinker theory, although in some ways it makes a certain kind of sense. They would not want the estate to be broken up. If you had a son, he would be the heir, but since you do not, the estate will go to you as the wife of the last living male. Otherwise it would have to be split between your mother, sisters and any daughters you might have. It is extremely unusual, practically unheard of, but apparently legal."

"I can see your solicitor's heavy drinker theory has merit."

"Just to be certain, there will be no children, will there?"

"No, My lady. As I am certain you can appreciate, I did not anticipate my vows, and I will be in mourning for a year. I am perfectly safe on that score. William Collins will not have any children, male or otherwise."

"The world will thank you for that, Elizabeth. When will you tell your father and your family?"

"Is there any hurry? I would just as soon remain a penniless beggar in the eyes of the world for a while if you do not mind."

"There is no hurry… not as long as you have a way to know when your father dies."

"I will let them know when he dies or I quit being mad at them. My friend Charlotte will keep me appraised of the gossip from Meryton so I will know if he dies. Neither his death nor my relenting are likely to happen any time soon."

"Sensible enough. Now I can see Anne chomping at the bit for your phaeton ride, so you had best get to it."

"I shall see you at supper then."

"Enjoy your ride, Elizabeth, and try to keep Anne out of trouble!"

Rosings – April 1812

"Elizabeth, I see you received more letters from Hertfordshire. Are you planning to answer these any more reliably than those that preceded them?"

"Do you have an opinion about whether I should or not, my lady?"

"No, I am just curious is all."

"You, Anne"

"I am also curious."

"Well, the latest batch proceed along the same path as the previous. I mostly read them and burned them, but not necessarily in that order. My father even exerted himself to write this time."

"Did he say anything interesting."

"He did not in the first half of the letter. I could not read the rest as it was burning too quickly."

"Still angry I see!"

"Yes, still angry. Just because the reaper paid me a favor does not make what they did right."

"Well, I can hardly blame you. I say let them sweat a bit."

"That seems sage advice, Anne. I shall follow it with relish."

"Was the entire pack a waste?"

"Actually, my friend Charlotte wrote with some real concern and I believe I will write back to her. And… oddly enough, my sister Kitty showed some real contrition about the way they treated me before the wedding. That was surprising, so I may write her a note and enclose it with Charlotte's letter. I will not see my name grace a letter delivered to Longbourn, but I would like to reestablish a connection with Charlotte and possibly Kitty."

"It would be good if you could more or less recover at least one of your sisters."

"I believe one is optimistic Lady Catherine, but I shall try."

"Do they know you are the heir yet?"

"Unless they have better sources of gossip than I suppose, or your solicitor told them, they do not even know Mr. Collins is dead."

"Probably for the best."

"Yes, for now whether it is the best or not, it is what they will get."

"By the way, Elizabeth my nephews will be visiting for Easter."

"Can you be more specific, my lady?"

"Richard Fitzwilliam is the son of my brother, the Earl of Matlock. He is a colonel in the army. He will accompany my other nephew, Fitzwilliam Darcy."

"Oh!"

"Why do you look like that, Elizabeth? You look a bit ill."

"I am acquainted with Mr. Darcy."

"Do you know him well?"

"No Anne, but I was acquainted with him when he visited his friend Mr. Bingley on his estate three miles from my father's. We do not particularly like each other. It might be better if I went to visit my aunt and uncle in town during their visit."

"Nonsense. You will tell me about this purported dislike immediately."

"I cannot, Lady Catherine. Please do not ask it of me."

"Very well, Elizabeth. I will not pry, but neither will my guest run and hide from my nephews. You can be civil to him, I suppose?"

"Yes, I can."

"And he can be civil to you, I presume."

"He has been quite civil around eight times out of ten that we have been in company, so I am willing to take my chances."

"And the two time he was not. How far was he from civility? Will you elaborate?"

"Quite far from the mark, is all I will say."

"Very well. You may run and hide if you like, but I do not recommend it."

"Mr. Darcy can hide from me if he so chooses, but I will stay and be civil if you request it. Perhaps I will like the colonel better."

"Oh yes, Eliza. You will like Richard."

"Very well, Anne."

Rosings - Easter 1812

"I do not see what right Mr. Darcy had to decide on the propriety of his friend's inclination, or why, upon his own judgement alone, he was to determine and direct in what manner his friend was to be happy. But, as we know none of the particulars, it is not fair to condemn him. It is not to be supposed that there was much affection in the case."

"That is not an unnatural surmise, but it is a lessening of the honor of my cousin's triumph very sadly."

"I am curious, Colonel. Perhaps you can enlighten me who specifically the triumph was over? Was it a triumph over an 'unacceptable lady', despite a complete lack of any real knowledge of who or what the lady was? Do you assume any lady your cousin disapproves of is unacceptable by definition? Or perhaps it was a triumph over an inconstant and indecisive man who can have his affections pushed around like a feather in the wind?"

"That sounds a bit more like condemnation than you previously asserted, Mrs. Collins. I imagine the former is the only thing that could be considered a triumph, and then only if he was correct about the lady; and Darcy's understanding of women may be imperfect. Perhaps I should rephrase that assertion."

"And why should you make up an incorrect assertion just to be polite when you have one that perfectly matches your feelings, sir? Nay, I would prefer your honest condemnation of the woman to prevarication. As for Mr. Darcy's sensibilities, I shall not comment."

"I sense we are perhaps straying from comfortable topics of conversation."

"Yes, we left the realm of propriety some time ago, and I desire that we return. The whole thing is of no importance anymore anyway. It confirms my opinion of your cousin, and that was useful but I would leave the subject now."

"Shall we head back to Rosings, Mrs. Collins?"

"With pleasure, Colonel"

Rosings – January 1813

"From the very beginning-from the first moment, I may almost say-of my acquaintance with you, your manners, impressing me with the fullest belief of your arrogance, your conceit, and your selfish disdain of the feelings of others, were such as to form the groundwork of disapprobation on which succeeding events have built so immovable a dislike; and I had not known you a month before I felt that you were the last man in the world whom I could ever be prevailed on to marry."

"You have said quite enough, madam. I perfectly comprehend your feelings, and have now only to be ashamed of what my own have been. Forgive me for having taken up so much of your time…"

"Not so hasty, if you please. I have by no means done. I have listened to you, and now you shall listen to me. You owe me that courtesy if nothing else, Mr. Darcy."

"I would by no means suspend any pleasure of yours."

"It is not from pleasure I wish to speak sir, nor from pride or malice; but the need to defend my own self‑respect. I have already had one husband who wished to keep me under his thumb, and I have no wish for another. Do you realize your proposal had very much in common with my previous one from Mr. Collins?"

"No madam, I did not. It seems my crimes are even greater than I feared, and I heartily apologize for any offenses I may have committed. Now I shall take my leave?"

"No sir, you will not! A weak apology is far worse than no apology at all. May I continue?"

"Of course, madam"

"Mr. Darcy, I fully realize that I have an ignorant mother, a maliciously indolent father and four silly sisters; and frankly I do not particularly blame you for severing the connection. Colonel Fitzwilliam informed me that you did everything in your power to separate your friend Mr. Bingley from my sister Jane, and that you no doubt rejoice in your success. I only wish you had been as kind towards yourself as you were to him."

"Perhaps…"

"Let me finish if you please. I may once have been nobody and nothing, but even so, I would never again marry without respect and affection. Once was one time too many, I assure you."

"That was not…"

"Perhaps not your intention Mr. Darcy, but it was what you proposed and what you no doubt think. You believe your wealth and position in life should give you leave to ignore your character, but I am unimpressed with both. I should also like to point out that unless your aunt broke my confidence, which seems highly unlikely, you will be unaware that today I am a respectable widow with a fortune of £10,000 and heir to an estate of £2,000 per annum. In Lady Catherine and those she has introduced me to this past year, I have a few minor connections to the first circles of society including your own cousin and uncle."

"I assure you I never…"

"Let me finish please… I have over the past year mastered most of the skills you and Miss Bingley thought so highly of back in Netherfield, partly out of boredom as my mourning left me little society, but mostly to help your cousin with her accomplishments and her health. All of this means that in the misguided ideas of worthiness the first circles espouse, I am something of a catch; but none of that makes me any more or less worthy as a woman than I was as a penniless gentlewoman. You are a gentleman and I am a gentleman's daughter so we should be equal. You have no right to speak to me in such a way; just as you had no right to disparage my handsomeness the very first night you declined to be introduced to me. I will not have another marriage like the one I was forced into, nor will I willingly endure a marriage like my parents have. I will not be looked down on by my partner in life every day until I become a silly woman like my mother. I will marry for affection or not at all."

"An admirable goal, madam. I applaud your desires and hope they will one day be fulfilled. To be honest, I thought I was offering that, but I apparently was grossly mistaken."

"You were! I have one more thing to say, Mr. Darcy. I have this fortune and connections only because I had the good fortune to have my husband die. Had he still been healthy, I would be chained to him for life, mainly because you dragged Mr. Bingley away from Netherfield without so much as a by your leave. He generated expectations with his behavior, and then left in a very ungentlemanly way which eliminated my chance to reject Mr. Collins. There is unlikely to ever be any affection between you and me, so I am doing you as big of a service as I am myself. Now I am done, and I bid you good day, sir. Please accept my best wishes for your health and happiness."

"Please accept my abject apologies, and my best wishes for you as well. Goodbye, Mrs. Collins."

"Goodbye, Mr. Darcy."

"He proposed to you!"

"Yes, Lady Catherine."

"He proposed!"

"Yes, ma'am"

"Proposed marriage?"

"Yes, your ladyship"

"Did you draw him in with your arts and allurements. You are much more accomplished than Anne, and frankly much livelier. Is this the thanks I am to receive for taking you under my wing?"

"I swear to you Lady Catherine, I had no idea he looked at me with anything but disdain; nor did I welcome his addresses in the least. The entire thing came as a shock to me. I long believed we had a mutual dislike of each other that was quite evenly matched. I am as astonished as you are!"

"So, when am I to wish you joy, Mrs. Collins."

"I asked you not to call me… well, it matters not. You shall not, Lady Catherine as I declined his offer."

"YOU DECLINED MY NEPHEW, FITZWILLIAM DARCY!"

"Yes, your ladyship!"

"Declined?"

"Yes, ma'am"

"Declined the richest and perhaps handsomest man you are ever likely to meet?"

"Yes, my lady"

"Declined my nephew?"

"Yes, Lady Catherine"

"You must leave at once."

"Very well, I shall do so. May I ask a question?"

"If you must."

"Am I to be sent away because it is time after you generously hosted me during my mourning, because I rejected your nephew or because he asked in the first place?"

"Your own conscience should tell you that."

"Very well, I shall know how to act. Shall I leave now, or will the morrow be sufficient."

"Do not be ridiculous. You shall leave at a decent hour after you have a few days to pack and establish a new residence. I shall send you to your new home in the barouche box."

"It shall be done as you say Lady Catherine… Before I go, may I say one last thing."

"If you must."

"I must. My conscience demands to be heard."

"Then have your say, Mrs. Collins."

"Lady Catherine, I wish to thank you from the bottom of my heart for your kindness to me this past year. I know I have not deserved it, and I know it is time to leave your care, and you have ample reason to see the backside of me; but nevertheless, you have been everything a lady should be, an example to be followed, and kindness itself to me. I owe you my sincerest thanks. I would have been lost without you."

"You are welcome. Retire now, and we shall start preparations in the morning."

"Anne, wake up… wake up! I have done a terrible thing! Last night in a fit of pique I told Elizabeth she must leave."

"Why did you do that mother?"

"She received and rejected a proposal from Darcy."

"Which part did you object to, the proposal or the rejection?"

"That is the exact question she asked."

"How did you answer, Mother?"

"I… I… I did not answer. My mind failed me and I told her she must leave."

"That was badly done Mother! That was very badly done! It is not her fault if Darcy is a lunkhead who could not tell that she disliked him. Eliza was not subtle about her feelings, and I believe my cousin is not particularly astute. I imagine men who think themselves in love seldom are."

"Yes, it was very badly done! I was entirely wrong! Come with me to help apologize and ask her to stay."

"It is too late, Mama."

"Too Late! What do you mean?"

"I just looked in her room and talked to her maid. She left long before first light with nothing but the dress she appeared in a year ago and the trunk she brought from Longbourn. A servant saw her leave by the kitchen, but thought nothing of it. She must have taken a post coach. She left this letter."

"We must find her! I have done a terrible thing."

"Yes, Mother, you have! But we shall not compound it by chasing after her like a common criminal. You are not the only one in this house with a fiery temper… or at least you were not yesterday. She will calm down and write to us eventually. She will realize we are her family. We will give her the respect she deserves. She never abused our hospitality even once, and I would argue my improved health is almost entirely due to her. Let her come back to us when she is ready. She will not forsake us."

"Are you to be the wise one in the family now, Anne?"

"Only sometimes, Mother. Let Eliza settle herself. She will write to us, I assure you."

"It seems we must."

"We have one more problem, Mother?"

"Yes?"

"Darcy is going to kill us!"

"I had not thought of that."

"Perhaps you should. Disguise is your abhorrence, so you will have to tell him."

"You are right. He will be furious, but he shall not interfere with her life again."

"Can we at long last utterly and completely abandon the scheme to have him married to me. I will not be anybody's second choice."

"Agreed. I imagine I must face the lion now,"

"Courage mother. Remember who you are."

"I am the mother of Anne de Bourgh!"

"Very well! Go talk Darcy off the cliff, Mother."