And herewith the Misses Bennet's careers as candidates to marry rich and genteel husbands ended. Where were they who had been once so much in love with them? Mr Darcy, as we have seen, was sans friends after the reprehensible affair, and was of a mind to pass the summer with his sister at Pemberley in great sorrow and regret. Mr Bingley, irremediably dragged by his poisoned mind, never replied to his beloved letter and, in lieu of the hymeneal tour he had planned, fled to the continent with his small retinue, likewise in pain and sorrow.

Half a year passed, and none of the girls saw Mr Darcy or Mr Bingley, or ever heard of them again, except from time to time when a letter from Colonel Fitzwilliam made mention of them. The great dragoon returned to Longbourn after the infamous couple had withdrawn to Newcastle to pay his compliments and give his farewell, since he could not postpone his commission abroad any longer.

"My dear Elizabeth, do not be frightened. There is no danger so great that can do away with me, I tell you," said he to Miss Bennet on occasion of his adieu, giving himself some airs, but not with the intention of impressing the lady's sensibilities. He was in fact trying to ease her mind, for Elizabeth was exceedingly gloomy. Of course, her low spirit was not so much due to the colonel's impending march to the battlefield, but to the absence of any intelligence from Mr Darcy; but this the colonel partially knew. Yet it was more appealing to fancy that her heart was bleeding for him instead of his cousin.

By the time the war on the Peninsula was over, Colonel Fitzwilliam had gone and come again. He suffered hugely while away on his commission. Not for the briefest moment did he forget the unrequited love he had left behind and, accordingly, had penned her several letters with surprising regularity for a man who abhorred the exertion. In Madrid, he went on parade with his fellow officers with amazing zeal and worked the hardest in their drills. Yet he never attended a single ball or enjoyed the favours of a single lady. His whole heart he had given to Elizabeth and preferred to drown his sorrows in liquor in the comradeship of the quarters better than surrender to the fleeting pleasures of the flesh. Truth be told, the colonel found the Spanish ladies rather vulgar and could not wait to return to his dear old England and away from those eccentricities with which this society presented him.

Needless to say, the colonel was a favourite with the regiment, always treating the young officers better than expected and amusing them with his tales. Having frequently been in the presence of the enemy, in other words faced death on several occasion, his stories left his soldiers in such awe of him as to ensure their compleat trust and admiration.

But it was not his officers who admired the good qualities of the colonel. The Duke, too, sought his society and, when the siege was over, offered him a post in Madrid together with a generous sum of money apart from the regular wages for his campaigns.

Such an offer would have been palatable for Fitzwilliam had he been able to take an English bride with him. Hence, his thoughts returned to his old love in Hertfordshire. He dwelled on the possibility during his journey back to the island and again from Ramsgate to London.

Fitzwilliam knew Elizabeth was still unmarried through his correspondence with her. Her friendship she had never withdrawn. What is more, he knew he had once been a favourite with her. What his joy might have been then when, on arriving at his parental townhouse, he was informed by his mother that Miss Bennet had been inquiring after him only a week before. At once, he was assaulted by a wild impulse and, leaving all his unpacking behind, asked his manservant to take up his job and shouted orders to his men to ready the chaise and four for a journey to Hertfordshire. In less than six hours, the good Colonel was at Longbourn, sporting a family ring and on his knees in front of Miss Bennet.

And so it was, that one fine brilliant moonlight night in late May, saw Colonel Fitzwilliam kissing with great tenderness the trembling hand of Miss Elizabeth Bennet and then disappearing behind the door of Mr Bennett's library to ask the gentleman for his blessing.

It is hard, when being so much in love with another, a girl finds herself tempted to conform with a man less loved, just for the sake of getting married and being saved from the shame of remaining a spinster. But it was not merely that what Elizabeth saw in Colonel Fitzwilliam's constancy. After all, it was the least she could do. Had he not saved her family from shame? True, she could not give him her heart, yet she could give him everything else: her respect and admiration, her trust and faithfulness. All in all, the colonel would be a husband easy to please, for he was ready to accept whatever Elizabeth might condescend to give him. Yes, it was a bargain of a marriage. She knew of many other marriages founded on much less than that.

Still, Elizabeth knew herself deeply in love with Fitzwilliam's cousin. But Mr Darcy had deserted her. Oh how much her poor soul had hoped for him to return to Longbourn and rescue her from the great scandal that hung over her family! Oh! thought she. How wicked and selfish I am! Selfish in accepting Colonel Fitzwilliam's hand while still pining for Mr Darcy! For no matter how fond she was of Richard, she did not love him ? not even with the intelligence that he had rescued her sister Lydia from a tragic future. And there lay her wickedness.

Colonel Fitzwilliam requested an immediate celebration. Thus the wedding was celebrated without much noise, except for Mrs Bennet's steady weeping during the I do's and the couple rushed to London the same day sans wedding breakfast as would have been proper for people of their condition. But they would have a hymeneal night at a beautiful hotel in Madrid, so Fitzwilliam promised his bride, and they would spend a whole month touring the continent before settling in their new residence in Madrid.

The event of their marriage was copied into the London papers, from which Mr Darcy read during breakfast at Pemberley about a week after the wedding was celebrated. The gentleman had spent a year of torment, thinking how close to harm Miss Elizabeth's reputation had been and feeling thoroughly guilty as regards Bingley's detachment from his beloved angel. The acuteness of his sorrow on reading the news of Fitzwilliam's marriage was beyond bounds. So shaken was his mind by it that he was left unable to think properly for quite a while. It was during this period of his life that Lady Catherine and her daughter visited with him in Derbyshire. What was her ladyship's surprise when, on the occasion of repeating her eternal wish that Darcy and Anne would be united (which had been so long pending between the two families), instead of the accustomed sulky negative, her nephew finally agreed to the deed!

Only when he was left alone with his bride for the hymeneal night, did the penny drop for Mr Darcy of both the inequity and inequality of the match. His bride was far from the lovely round-shaped maiden with whom he had fallen in love. With what revulsion did he kiss the pale thin lips! How could he ever learn to love these when he had tasted those red full ones! With what longing did he touch the quivering limbs that were not hers, not Elizabeth's! He closed his eyes and tried to picture what it would have been like if he had his beloved in his bed instead of Anne. But the idea brought about the painful image of Elizabeth in bed with her own husband. So he thought of her no more and endeavoured to concentrate on the present.

He had a daunting task to complete.

And so Mr Darcy's task was done and very thoroughly. Done by Jove, for Anne was found with child ere she could claim she had lost her chastity, if you would allow me the hyperbole. With what joy Lady Catherine's face shone upon the news of the pending arrival of an heir. What a magnificent future awaited the infant to be born in such prosperous surroundings!

"Oh, what delightful news, nephew! A little boy, as beautiful as a cherub, I am certain. An heir for Rosings and Pemberley at last!"

But Mr Darcy could not share his aunt's expectations of a happy childbirth. He knew his wife was not of a healthy constitution and his fears were well founded, for the doctor who attended Anne was of the same mind. The long months of doubt and dread Darcy passed with her were nothing to the horror in which he found himself on hearing the terrified cries of his wife at childbirth.

Every reader prone to sentimentality (and the only ones who could enjoy the following events) will find the turn quite heart-breaking, for Anne died at childbirth.

But, alas! The child survived. Among the torturous cries of the poor mother upon delivery, the horrified father distinguished the distinctive sound of life. Anne never saw it; her heart stopped as the child was being pulled from her body. It was a terrible scene, one Darcy would never forget, not unlike a bloody battlefield, though in no way foreign to the matron. With what sorrow did the wretched grandmother receive the baby into her arms! There was no motherly bosom to be offered, no sweet smile but the one that the poor infant elicited from the wet nurse out of compassion.

The cards from good-wishers upon the wedding had scarcely stopped when a feminine hatchment was ere long attached to the doors at Pemberley. It was the same hatchment that had served as a funeral adornment for the previous Mrs Darcy; such was the measure of the haste in which the unexpected demise caught the servants. So Mr Darcy was a widower sooner than he could remember to call himself a husband.

The news of Mrs Darcy's death provoked no more grief among the people of Derbyshire than might be expected since she had not had the opportunity to get herself known among the commoners in the north. Conversely, her demise was the cause of great commotion among the people in the south, and the lonely soul that belonged to Mrs Darcy was carried thither to be laid in its last abode.

"I suppose Mr Darcy will need a mother for that poor child," cried Miss Bingley when she was imparted the tragic news, and added after a pause. "Do you think he will marry again?"

"I hope he will have the decency to wait at least a year," Mrs Hurst remarked in astonishment at Caroline's suggestion. Her sister was indeed desperate to trap the gentleman at all cost, and someone must help her see reason.

"Do you think he will, then?"

"Actually, Caroline, I do not think that any sort of hymeneal prospects can be in his mind at the moment. The poor man has just lost both a wife and a cousin, and was left with a child again to boot!"

"Again?"

"Do not forget he raised his sister like his own daughter. Lord, that man deserves Heaven like any other!"

"I wish I could go to him to offer some comfort for his poor soul," sighed Caroline without remorse. Louisa sent her sister a quizzical look.

"You daren't! It would not be right to go to him!"

"You need not tell me that, sister. But nonetheless, I imagine he must be suffering the indescribable!"

Contrary to Miss Bingley's expectations, Mr Darcy was not what one could call a desolate widower. He was grieved, by Jove he was. After all, he had witnessed the most horrific death he could ever conceive. But his sorrow did not go beyond the mortification of the pain Anne had suffered in passing away. He neither loved her nor missed her at all. Not twelve months had passed since his wife lay in her tomb that he was again in London attending the theatre and soirees, to the sheer delight of the likes of Miss Bingley.

But he was not to remain there long. The hatchment that had come down from the front door and had been placed in some dark corner in the house soon reappeared as a funeral compliment for another member of the family, thus condemning Darcy to yet another six months of mourning. Indeed, Lady Catherine's life and mind never recovered from the blow that had befallen her. Stupefied under the pressure of her sorrow, the grand lady soon followed her daughter. However, many of the members of the staff would swear that it was not the terrible loss of a beloved daughter that had killed her, but the fact that the baby that took her life would never be the heir of the estates, for the Darcy inheritance was entailed away from the female line.

To add to Mr Darcy's long list of misfortunes, he had scarcely returned to Pemberley when he received a desperate letter from his aunt, Lady Matlock, bearing the disturbing news that his cousin, Colonel Richard Fitzwilliam had disappeared during action in Portugal after his regiment had been compelled to retreat to those lands. He reread the letter with horror and consternation, to see if he had understood correctly. His cousin had indeed disappeared, yet his demise had not been declared since his corpse had not been found. A canon might have blown him away entirely or perhaps his body had suffered a compleat transformation that rendered his soldiers unable to recognise him among the pile of dead. Her aunt's plea consisted in asking him to travel to the peninsula and begin a search of him since his wife (Lady Matlock dared not call Elizabeth his widow) was the mother of his heir and was apparently currently with child, thus in great need of the family's attention. His elder cousin, the heir to the house of Matlock suffered from sea intolerance that had prevented him from travelling abroad since infancy, thus leaving Darcy the only relative who could go in aid of Richard's family.

How to bear such dreadful news with equanimity! Fitzwilliam's demise would have been preferable to the suspense of thinking him to be suffering a slow death with an unrecognisable countenance among strangers. Knowing how useless the indulgence of miserable thoughts was, Darcy did not wait a minute to prepare his trip to the peninsula and was resolute to stay there until he had found his cousin. Dead or alive.

The reader who fully enjoys history will be happy to pay attention to the following explanation of the affairs occurring on the continent. However, it would be advisable to bear in mind that the present tale is by no mean a serious account of the famous siege. It was previously said that the war on the Peninsula was over. Nothing could be further from the truth, though certainly such was the wish of the heart of Fitzwilliam, as well of every man who had seen the horrors of the war. At this the reader will have to excuse the manner of this account, so disorganized, but I must say that some trifling disarrangement is always excusable and why not, to some extent becoming, coming from a novelist and not a historian. Yet it was true that at the moment of Fitzwilliam's alighting on English land, shortly after the battle of Badajoz, on April 6th 1812 (ha!), the odds were increasingly favouring the allies' victory, or so thought Colonel Fitzwilliam. Having been wounded in an arm, he had been sent back to England in charge of a group of severely injured officers. For the Spanish hauteur for the French had resulted in a violent intolerance of the enemy to the extent that every Spaniard, from child to old, like one single man, saw their duty to fight them out of the country. Every city that had been conquered rebelled with such force that the English-Portuguese alliance found a soldier in every Spaniard, man or woman, armed with whatever they happened to have handy. Fitzwilliam was only too glad to be away from that for awhile.

May 25th, 1812.

The Earl of Matlock's Townhouse.

Our story is destined in this chapter to go backwards in a very urgent manner. Indeed, having presently given proper enlightenment to the life of our hero from Pemberley, we shall immediately proceed to step back a year an a half and peep into the life of our hero from Matlock, so that the whole of the tale may get hearing. So we are now in London, where our dazzling colonel was staying ere taking his boat back to the continent with both his wife and her dame of company, who was none other than sweet Jane. After supping together in the dinning room in the parental home, the gentlemen had retired to partake of a tumbler of claret while the ladies, namely, Lady Matlock, Elizabeth and Jane, kept each other company as was the custom among genteel families.

"Richard. Why do you insist upon this journey? Can you not stay in England now that you are married?" Lord Matlock asked with concern. "You have already done enough harm in marrying the penniless daughter of a country square to dare risk leave her widowed and at my charge, sir. I dare say you are a fool to endanger your life in this manner."

Fitzwilliam flinched a little. He knew his father was not speaking nonsense. During the battle of Badajoz, a grenade had exploded too near him, and his right arm had been slightly hurt, yet that had been serious enough to afford him a passage to England to heal. Instead of resting, his indomitable nature had compelled him to flee to Hertfordshire and marry Elizabeth Bennet. No doubt he had done quite a romantic thing but thoughtless from the point of view of his stern father. [EJP1]Indeed, he was loath to displease the earl even further, but Fitzwilliam was a man of honour. Although he was certain there was little to be accomplished on the peninsula, he was still under Wellesley's command, and as soon as his arm got better, he knew he had to return to the field. (Badajoz had been a costly assault for the allies but the English general was certain of his own supremacy, a confidence that soon imprinted in his men's hearts) Hence, he parried his father's question as best as he could. "My regiment is there, sir. I am a hired man I've no other option."

"No option? Of what are you talking, sir? I can procure you a seat at Parliament any time, by Jove. There is no need for you to return to the madness of the battlefield. Look at your arm. I doubt it is recovered."

"My arm is fine, sir. I have rested long enough. I must return. You must not concern yourself. Wellesley knows what he is doing, and everything is under control for now. I am certain the conflict will be over by the time I get to the peninsula."

"Hang Wellesley! Boney is still on his two feet, sir. I would not be so sure. I dare say you have already done your duty. You must stay and take care of your wife."

"So that I show up as a coward, sir, and our name dishonoured?" Fitzwilliam interposed.

Lord Matlock staggered at this manner of response. Why, his son was absolutely right. In truth, it was Lady Matlock who had begged him to cajole her favourite son to renounce the red coats and stay in England. He told him what his mother's fears and wishes were and that he was ready to offer him a generous allowance if he stayed.

"If money is what you want, call upon my clerk," he finally offered. "You know I would deny nothing to my family."

But when Richard Fitzwilliam was bent on a thing, this line of discourse would only render him more resolute.

"I thank you, sir," said he to the old man. "I have made up my mind already. I am a gentleman and a soldier, sir. My word is given. I shall honour it."

Elizabeth's mind reeled with confusion. They were only a week married and she was already suffering from regrets. She trembled for the future. Her wit, spirits and accomplishments would not help her cope with the terrible notion that she was not married to her true love. How shall I be able to submit to my husband in our marriage bed, if I am still thinking of Mr Darcy's kisses? she berated herself. I ought to have refused him, only I have no heart to do it. How noble it was of him to marry me, to give up the possibility of marrying a rich woman instead of me! Oh, I am not worthy of him!

It is a great misfortune that ere a se'nnight of marriage was over, the poor girl's mind dwelled on such thoughts! But so it was, and there was no one's ears into which she could pour her confessions. Not even her sister!

But every cloud has a silver lining. Before Elizabeth succumbed to despair, Gad smiled on her, and mercifully provided Fitzwilliam with uncommon wisdom in a besotted groom.

Indeed, one would have expected a heavy dragoon as himself, and so in love with his wife (setting aside the fact that he had been for so long deprived of a woman's favours) to have thrown himself over his bride head first. Yet, Fitzwilliam was not a brute, and he was aware that Elizabeth needed time to come to terms with her new situation. Hence, he had made up his mind to presently woo her instead of claiming his connubial rights directly, thus postponing his wedding night for a while.

A week after the vows had been pronounced, however, he found he had wooed her long enough.

"Gad, what a fine night, and how bright the moon is!" Richard said as he approached his wife from behind. He had been watching her spying the blue moon from one of the windows in the blue room.

Elizabeth gazed at the round orb with a smile.

"I would like to see the moon from your room, tonight. Will that be agreeable, my love?" he whispered into her ear.

Elizabeth shuddered a little, her bright eyes blinking twice before she could nod her assent to her husband's suggestion to visit with her that night.

"I know I promised you a wedding night at a hotel in Madrid, but, unfortunately, the French refuse to allow me the pleasure. Your room will do, will it not?"

She nodded, her countenance as red as his coat.

"Blush not, my love, for your blush only intensifies the violence of my desire for you. It will not do, my own. I must control my wit for your sake." With that, he withdrew from her side and returned to the table where Jane and Lady Matlock were playing cards, leaving poor Elizabeth biting her nails with expectation.

But he did not leave her to fret over the future too long. As soon as the exceedingly flushed Elizabeth abandoned her window, Richard expressed his wish to retire early with his wife, and without much ceremony, took her trembling hand and ushered her up the stairs to her bedchamber under the astonished look of Jane and the knowing smile of his mother.

When they reached her bedchamber's door, he kissed her white fingers, his lips lingering on the back of her hand for longer than she could bear. With an agonised countenance, Elizabeth looked at him, not knowing what to do. Thankfully, her maid had heard the movement and promptly made herself noticeable with a light cough.

"Pray, tell your girl you do not wish to take your bath tonight. I shall come to you in a couple of minutes."

Elizabeth nodded again obediently, and was instantly gone behind the door.

The sound of a floorboard startled Elizabeth. She raised her eyes to discover her husband standing at the adjoining door, wearing but his shirt. He was too busy with the knot of his neck cloth to grasp the tension reflected on his bride's countenance. But Richard need not look at his blushing bride. He was aware of the awkwardness of the moment, since his nervousness had rendered him all thumbs at the simple task of untangling his cravat.

He came into her bedchamber, however, regardless of his state of undress or the tension of his emotions. With an air of nonchalance, he paced towards the corner of the room in which she was trying to pass for a wayward piece of furniture, her eyes averted to avoid the sight of Richard's bare legs (truth be told his legs were not what she was trying to avoid seeing, for the length of the shirt half concealed yet half pronounced the secrets bellow his waist). With a look of helpless impotence, Richard gestured her to help him with the rebellious cloth. She reciprocated in turn with a look of tender alarm in her features, but nonetheless obliged him, shaking her head in distress for it was the first time she ever found herself at the task of undressing a gentleman.

At length she managed to loosen the tie, and Fitzwilliam finished the job, his neck finally freed and on display.

"Faith! I do not fathom how Spencer manages to untie it so quickly," he exclaimed good-naturedly. That said, he backed a little holding her hands, realising she was wearing a beautiful shift.

"Let me look at you," he said as he grazed her body with his eyes. "Good Lord, Lizzy. You look beautiful. But you must know that." He turned her around to watch her gracefully make a slight curtsy at the end of the turn. Still, as hard as she tried, she could not erase the look of sheer apprehension from her face.

"Thank you," she gasped.

"Come," he said as he gently guided her to the bed." I have something for you."

When Fitzwilliam reached the bed, he released Elizabeth's hand and unexpectedly produced a small box, nicely wrapped, sporting a green lace in a knot.

Her lips parted to elicit a sound of surprise. "Oh!"

He sat on the edge of the bed and gestured her to imitate him, forgetting for a moment the sensual implication of the piece of furniture.

"Pray, open it," he said, hardly containing himself with the pride of having surprised her. He congratulated himself on having thought of the trinket, for the tentative smile that blossomed on her lips told him that things could go well after all.

Elizabeth fumbled with the lace, aware of the enchanted gaze of her husband, and she felt universally agitated, the pressure of what would follow in the near future a monstrous burden on her shoulders. "Let me help you," he said, perhaps losing some patience. And they were once again engaged in the task of untangling knots.

She giggled nervously and he laughed soundly, their hands lightly touching each other as they unwrapped the small packet together. When at last the lace and the paper gave way, Fitzwilliam let her finish opening the present on her own. The effect was the one he had desired. She was enchanted by the jewel in front of her, her mind instantly forgetting the sight of the half-dressed man who sat beside her. Why is it that women liked stones so much?

"Oh, Richard! You should not have! This is too much."

"This is nothing. You deserve the world. I am sorry I cannot afford anything better."

"Anything better? This is too much already."

"Let me put it on your finger." He took her hand with the greatest care, selecting her ring finger and sliding the band on slowly, his own fingers enjoying the task as a prelude to what was coming. Taking her hand to his lips, he repeated the gesture of kissing its back as he had continually done the past week, as if his lips had found the tender skin of her palm the natural recipient of their attention.

Only this time he would not be content with her hand alone.

Elizabeth noticed his beautiful face a little flushed as he dropped her hand. She followed his eyes as he leaned closer for a kiss, his gaze fixed on her lips. When he was close enough to kiss her, he halted for a second to take a quick look at her eyes, which had frozen with alarm. He smiled knowingly and then, without further ceremony, pressed his lips against hers.

Between them, Richard knew, nothing should happen quickly. He must proceed with great caution. He had never been anything less than a gentleman with her ? always polite to a fault. Only once had he dared graze her lips with a feathered kiss. But that had been so long ago he doubted that it counted as experience. Now, as he deepened his kiss, he felt the secret portion of his body harden and stir in excitement. Proceed slowly, he reminded himself. That was easier said than done for sure.

One of his hands, disobedient to his resolution for cautious progression, quite unexpectedly found its way under her shift and began caressing the cold flesh in between her thighs. To his surprise she did not recoil, but seemed compliant at his surreptitious touch. Her breathing was steady and deep, while his was beginning to be difficult and ragged. He stopped kissing her and directed his attention to that sensitive part behind her ears, whispering her name, telling her he loved her, again and again. Her leg under the hem of her dress felt smooth and tender, and his thumb came perilously close to her smooth confines, the name of which no proper girl dared mention.

Elizabeth was doing all she could not to ask him to withdraw his hand. She knew he had the right to touch her so. His hand was there because he was her husband. Because she had gone behind the sacristy at church and signed a written permission for him to act in this manner. The notion was quite strange, that an activity that had been expressly prohibited for them a few days before, now the simple signature on a book rendered perfectly normal, even desirable. The profound difference a wedding ceremony made was amazing.

Without her noticing how, Richard had eased her across the mattress and Elizabeth found herself lying supine on the pristine sheets of the four-poster bed, the boards of which protested sadly as Richard bent over her, his hand tenaciously remaining in place, examining her thigh with its strokes, his other arm cushioning her head on the mattress. How beautiful she was lying in his arms, her nightshift in a tangle up and around her thighs, her hair spread out on the white linen of the bed! Dearest, loveliest Elizabeth! Richard could no longer hold his horses. His desire had lifted and spiralled into pure bliss. So much for self-restraint!

Richard removed his hand from under her shift and used it now to unbutton the portion that sheltered the sweetness of her bosom. He held her gaze with such a look of adoration that Elizabeth felt thoroughly guilty for not sharing his feelings. She wanted to love him, faith she did, with all her heart. With my body I thee worship. Those words still rang in her ears as her husband pronounced them during the wedding ceremony.

She felt his hands, warm and gentle, sliding through the opening to her décolletage, which he had worked laboriously unbuttoning the front of her shift to uncover, and watched his head dive into her bosom with heedless hunger. She tried to concentrate on the pattern that the fabric of the four-poster bed's ceiling afforded her eyes. She was trying not to think what was going on when an unpredictably soaring feeling assaulted her. Suddenly the bed was roofless and she was transported, weightlessly, in a powerful embrace; sheer breathless ecstasy enveloped her. A deep sound she could scarcely define escaped her lips, alerting her husband he had found his target. He rose from her bosom and looked at her. His countenance was pinker than ever, his blue eyes almost dark, his lips parted, his breathing rapid and hard. There was a smile on his lips. A smile of satisfaction.

Elizabeth covered her mouth with her hands. Goodness she was supposed not to make a sound! Yet, her husband's ministrations were eliciting quite unknown emotions that compelled her throat to release the strangest sounds.

"It is all right, love. Tell me. Show me," he murmured into her ear. Never before had Richard been associated with such overpowering a sensation. Yet there it was, definitively physical, but unquestionably her own. Such an important advance merited a second round, so she wordlessly directed him to that part of her body where the sensory discovery had been made; the beginning of womanly desire, however foreign, gradually pulsing for freedom from within.

His shirt and her nightshift soon became obsolete, hence they were readily discarded compleatly. For decorum's sake, as he divested her body from robes, he opened the covers and invited her to go beneath them.

She felt the bed dip and shake under their bulk as Richard climbed onto her, his pulsing anatomy between her thighs. The novel feeling of his bare legs against her soft skin was unexpectedly pleasurable and when she felt his naked hardness against her softness, a spreading thrill ran through her body, and she clung to Richard as if by instinct. She dared not, she wished not to see any of it, yet the picture of them both, so intimately joined, came inevitably to her mind. She closed her eyes fiercely as though that would prevent the embarrassing image from invading her senses.

Within a moment, and without warning, Richard had trespassed into the limits of her womanhood and they were one. To seal their union, he sought her lips; his tongue, in imitation of the activities beneath the covers, invaded her mouth. Contrary to her expectations, the path from maidenhood to womanhood had brought no pain, no blood. Instead, an overwhelming growing sensation spread through her navel from the darkest corners of her body, invoking her to whisper the three words she had thought she did not feel, but that nonetheless came with unknown violence reaching her husband's ears for his satisfaction and pride, binding her to him as he engaged her in frenzied lovemaking.

Thus, Elizabeth was pleasantly introduced into a wife's duties. Faith, she had never imagined them to be like so. The bitter picture with which her mother had presented her as her wedding day approached had been quite full of tales of sorrow and words that spoke of obligations and dues better than all the love and tenderness that she had felt. Though war and danger were in store, all she could think of was the hoarse groan of her husband as he called her name in fulfilment.

The reader has been warned that our history is destined to go backwards and forwards, and having conducted it to yesterday presently, we must go to tomorrow for a while before the tale of Fitzwilliam's life is readdressed, assuming of course that more than one reader is desirous to peek into the particulars. Thus we return to our hero, Mr Darcy, as he readied himself to go in search of his cousin, seemingly lost in battle, and his potential widow still in the continent.

He wrote a letter addressed to Mrs Fitzwilliam, in which he put her wise of his intentions to go to her, using an extremely decorous language, selecting the most appropriate words according to the occasion and at all time avoiding over-familiarity, though in truth his heart was thumping widely with excitement of the prospect of seeing her, of being useful to her, of being her saviour, her rock of salvation.

The morning when he finally went on board the boat that would take him to the continent from Ramsgate, Darcy's emotions were threatening to overwhelm him. With misty eyes, he contemplated the preparations for sailing. The day was rainy and gusty, and Darcy had had an exceedingly wakeful night, listening to the wind roaring, and imagining what Elizabeth might look like now, and how she bore his letter. Would she be expecting him with trepidation? In the end, despite the fact that he was exhausted, he had got up early and insisted to walk to the port disregarding his man's opinion that he should take a carriage. Once on board, Darcy paced the platform of the steamer to and fro, the rain beating mercilessly into his face, and he looked westward across the dark sea-line, and over the swollen billows which came tumbling and frothing to the shore.

The steamer's whistle announced its departure, and Darcy watched the smoke being poured into the sky while his own fears poured one over the other into his heart, as fast as the waves broke onto the deck. Had Elizabeth received his letter? Would he find Richard alive? Most importantly ... how would Elizabeth bear Darcy's presence? Would she still be resentful with him?

Dipping and rising in the water, the steamer crossed the sea, while Darcy's emotions went up and down in perfect imitation of the boat during the whole journey. Not twelve hours later, the crossing was completed. The day was so bad that as the vessel came alongside of the quay, there were no idles abroad; scarcely a commissioner on the look-out for the few passengers in the steamer. But as Darcy, heavily cloaked, stepped out on to the shore, he saw the most heart-piercing sight he had ever beheld after his own wife's dead. A lady in a dripping brown bonnet and a shawl, with her two little hands clasped before her, suddenly held them out as she ran up to him and in the next minute disappeared under the folds of his black cloak.

Mrs Gardener admired Colonel Fitzwilliam very much and trusted her dear niece would be happy with him. She hoped Mr Darcy would be consoled, for she liked the young gentleman, too, and knew he loved her niece dearly.

She had every reason to know this, for only the most unselfish love would have inspired a man of Mr Darcy's station to perform the services he had done for Elizabeth and her family entailing the rescue and consequent (and onerous) wedding of her rebellious sister, Lydia, and not say a word about it to anyone. He had put both Mr Gardiner and Mrs Gardiner under strict obligation to keep his intervention a secret. This had puzzled the lady at first, but then she understood that Mr Darcy must have had reasons of his own to act in this manner and, though a bit reluctantly, complied with his wishes.

What her surprise must have been, the reader can imagine, when she was told that Elizabeth was to marry Colonel Fitzwilliam and not Mr Darcy after all.

Full of curiosity, she had witnessed the wedding celebration and seen Elizabeth's confidence perfectly restored, though the girl expressed certain apprehension for the wedding night. But then again, all maidens are apprehensive, with some exceptions of course, one of them being her younger niece, Lydia, who had been but too eager to get to it, so much so that she had completely forgone it.

Therefore, when she spied the carriage belonging to the colonel's family at her door that afternoon, she made up her mind to see whether her niece's felicity was indeed compleat after a se'nnight with her husband. Two ladies were in the carriage, as expected. One, a little person with dark hair, dressed in the height of fashion in accordance with her new situation as the Earl of Matlock's daughter, and a rosy, round, happy face that did Mrs Gardiner good to behold; the other in a blue pelisse and a straw bonnet with pink ribbons that contrasted with her sad, but nonetheless beautiful, face.

Colonel Fitzwilliam followed them on a tall horse, the tallest Mr Gardiner had ever beheld. And what a fine figure he cut, by Jove! He was smartly dressed, faultless Hessian boots and uniform, a manly appearance and a happy fierceness of manner, all of which gave him enough credit to be among the handsomest men in Mrs Gardiner's acquaintance.

The first thing Mrs Gardiner noticed about her married niece was the beautiful ring Elizabeth was sporting on her finger. So the colonel was a generous man, seemly alert to those small shows of affections like trinkets; though, judging from the stone, his generosity went to large scales indeed.

Mrs Gardiner also noticed the intimacy her niece had with her husband. The girl had recovered her joviality. She laughed and chirped and sang and played at the pianoforte, and was a great deal too happy for a girl who had married a man she did not love.

"So I might have been mistaken after all," thought the lady to herself. Elizabeth's happiness notwithstanding, Mrs Gardiner's heart was pained to see Jane so sad, and she prayed to God that this journey would help her dear niece ease her mind from the bitter disappointment she had suffered.

But she was universally happy for Elizabeth. The colonel was exceedingly attentive and affectionate with his wife, and Mrs Gardiner was sure she had spied him sending her niece rather shocking looks that had embarrassed Elizabeth in such a manner that had forced the girl to break eye contact with him, and look away, her countenance visibly flushed. Granted, they were still enjoying the first blushing days of their marriage bed, and such exchange of looks was not only expected but also desired.

Just when they were about to open the backgammon table, a servant announced the arrival of unexpected visitors. They were none other than Mr and Mrs Wickham.

Despite the fact that the pair was thoroughly disliked, they were still family, and Mrs Gardiner was not inclined to close the door at a beggar's nose, let alone a niece and her husband. So in they came and sat with the rest of the family as if it was nothing at all. Conversation centred around the young people's recent marriages. Lydia was merry as merry could be. She pronounced her sister's clothes to be excellent and praised the exquisite taste of the colonel at selecting stones. Mr Wickham was as good-natured as always; his impeccable manners soon conquered Jane, who readily pronounced both scoundrels fully recovered and repentant.

It was Mrs Wickham who spoke first about war.

"George's regiment is ordered away, dear aunt. So we have come to bid you farewell."

"We?"

"Oh, yes. I am one of the staff. I am going with him."

"But, dearest girl, you cannot possible go with your husband to a war."

"I have no intentions to go to the war, uncle. But I would not miss the military balls for a kingdom!"

"Balls?!"

"Of course! And the parades! Those are my favourite ones. George has bought me a mare, and I mount beside General Marshal. He is a great flirt of mine!"

George laughed. "She is quite a rider, me wife!" and he patted her bottom in an affectionate fashion, at which she let out a sound like a squirrel.

Fitzwilliam raised an eyebrow and coughed. Thank goodness he seemed to have been the only one to understand the double meaning of the young man's speech. By Jove, the man was daring! To show himself and his wife in front of him and with such language! But Fitzwilliam was in no mood to allow past evils to cloud over his present happiness. What was done was done. He would not dream of inviting Mr and Mrs Wickham into the presence of his parents, of course, but he could tolerate their company.

"You are a military man," Mr Gardiner said, speaking to Colonel Fitzwilliam. "What is your opinion?"

"Well, I must say there is nothing unreasonable about it. If he is indeed not a man in the first lines, there is no risk of danger."

"I trust you know what you are doing," Mr Gardiner said.

"And you, dear Richard? Are in you in the first lines?" asked Lydia with great over familiarity and in compleat disregard of social etiquette.

"You are to go abroad, sir?" asked Mr Gardiner in astonishment.

"I am, sir. I expect to return soon enough, and hope you will take care of my wife until then."

Elizabeth sent him a look of reproach. "They will not perform such service, husband, for I intend to go with you," she announced.

Mr Gardiner laughed. "Laugh not, uncle," said Lydia with impertinent playful manners. "I think Elizabeth means every word."

"Indeed I do. If Lydia is going, why can I not? I intend to go in earnest." Both Colonel Fitzwilliam and Mr Gardiner flushed quite red. Looking at Colonel Fitzwilliam, Mrs Gardiner said pleadingly, "She cannot go."

"I can and I will," answered Elizabeth with the greatest spirit.

"Is it not too dangerous, my love?" asked Mrs Gardiner with excessive care.

"Hey! You do not seem that worried about me!" protested Lydia. Wickham roared with laughter.

"I am not afraid," declared Elizabeth with boldness. Looking at her husband, she said, "You have once told me I was to go with you, remember? I know I will not be sleeping in tents, which I thoroughly regret, but I shall be content as long as we are together."

"I am very happy to find you both so fond of your husbands, but I strongly believe a camp full of soldiers is no place for a lady," Mrs Gardiner intervened.

"Oh, that is the best part of it!"

"I suspect that Colonel Fitzwilliam here does not share your opinion."

"Indeed, I do not."

"Neither do I," said Wickham. "I confess I had hoped you would help me to make her see reason. Such a termagant my little wife is!"

"Elizabeth. Have you thought what might befall you if there is further fighting? What will you do if that happened?"

"Do not be afraid, aunt," Lydia said while sending a sheepish smile to her husband. "George has already told me that battlefields are not close to cities. And I intend to stay away from gunfire."

"Yes, but what about sieges? What if the army is defeated?"

"That cannot happen," declared Wickham patriotically. "We are going to chase Bony out, sir. Besides, as Lydia has already explained, we don't belong to the line. I go as General Marshal's aide-de-camp."

Putting her arm around her husband's waist, Elizabeth pursed her lips and declared that she would not leave him, no matter the risks, and the gesture enchanted her husband so much that he almost kissed the little pout off her mouth in front of everyone.

"I am going, too," Jane said, speaking beyond the meek answers she had given to small pleasantries for the first time in the evening. "I shall be your chaperone."

"But, girls. This is ridiculous! You must stay here. Colonel, surely you will not risk ..."

But the colonel's heart was commanding his mind. And everyone knows of the dangers one risks when allowing that treacherous organ to be in command of one's wits. Silencing his better judgement, Fitzwilliam was thrilled to hear Elizabeth's avowal to go with him. He began to ponder the idea and thought that, at any rate, they were enjoying a respite that might be of some duration, and war and danger might not befall them for months. He could send the ladies back when his regiment was ordered to march and, meantime, enjoy his wife's company. He was exceedingly pleased to see her so determined to follow him, for such attitude spoke of her love for him. To be permitted to see her every morning was now his greatest privilege, and he would be loath to part with her and deprive himself of the nights in her bed.

Elizabeth's determination to follow Fitzwilliam stemmed from the profound sense of duty she felt for him, the extremely curious nature she possessed, and a strong sense of independence that ran through her veins. From the earliest days of their acquaintance, Fitzwilliam had told her repeatedly of his travels and commissions abroad, and they had dwelled on visiting those very places together when he had first proposed. Besides, Elizabeth had been raised to know that the place of a wife was with her husband, a very wise concept, since everyone knows what happens when a man is away from his spouse for too long. Of course, she was not aware of the reasons behind that piece of advice, but she was determined to follow it.

On the other hand, she had grown quite attached to Richard, especially after their wedding night. Even now, sitting across from him at her aunt's backgammon table, Elizabeth found it difficult to hold his enamoured gaze, and flashes of the moments they had shared in the intimacy of her bedchamber came back recurrently, like waves lapping the shore of her mind.

So in the end, Colonel Fitzwilliam complied with Elizabeth's wishes to go with him to the continent, though he warned her that she and Jane would have to return with his man the moment he received his orders to go to the battlefield.

Little did he know the horrors that awaited them on the continent.

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