When Mr Darcy arrived back from Pemberley that afternoon, he was quite disappointed to find that instead of his lovely fiancé, it was his dog that ran towards him for a wet kiss of welcome.

Now Darcy had been thinking of his oncoming wedding the whole journey back to London, making inward notes to see to the last detail. The notion that he would be finally united to his beloved Elizabeth was exhilarating, and he devoted this quiet moment at home in his townhouse to dwell on the thought. As he undressed himself, whilst alone in his chamber, which would soon witness his coupling with his bride, he imagined what his life would be like in a few days, and the passion which inflamed him left him breathless with anticipation.

Having Elizabeth so close to him in his own townhouse all through those past days had been in itself a glorious experience not only for him but for his family too. Emily had grown so fond of her would-be mother, if not a little anxious for the novelty, that the little girl had almost forgotten Georgiana. She now sought comfort with Elizabeth every time she felt in need of some. Elizabeth, in turn, was only too glad to spend time with her, since Richard's parents were taking care of her son's every need.

Darcy himself had grown excessively fond of Master Richard too. Truth obliges us to confess that the boy's mien and appearance were his father's, though he had Elizabeth's hair and complexion. Perhaps it was prescisely that that had made him fall in love with the infant. His ruddy face lit up every time he saw Darcy. The little fellow had even called him Da-da the other day, bringing tears to all who had witnessed the event. Truth be told, Darcy had always wished for a son. Although he planned to have children of his own with his wife, he thought of the heir of Matlock as his own flesh.

They made a merry party. Their meals together were moments of joyful companionship and tons of laughter. What with one occurrence or the other, the little ones always managed to end their parents' meals with a broad smile on their faces, and sometimes with a pain in their stomach after laughing so much. Indeed, contrary to social rules, Darcy had insisted on the children being with them at meal time.

Georgiana looked so relieved now that Emily had a mother. Not that the company of sweet Emily vexed her in any way. On the contrary, Georgiana was of such a humble disposition and loved her niece so much, that she could hardly do anything else other than devote herself to the poor child. It had been a trying time for the young lady from Derbyshire, to found herself alone, in charge of a child that was not her own, when she was supposed to be frequenting dances and balls instead.

Now with Elizabeth in their lives, everything seemed to be settling down in the right way. Georgiana would be able to pursue her personal interests, and Darcy and his little family would soon retire to the peaceful life on the beautiful grounds of Pemberley.

Little did Darcy know, when he rose to answer to the light knock at his bed chamber door, that his wonderful world was about to suffer a spectacular downfall.

"Elizabeth," he almost gasped in surprise. His fiancée had never knocked at his bed chamber door before or ever trespassed into it. Elizabeth was dressed very neatly and smartly, while he solely had his robe on and bare feet since he was readying himself to take a bath. This and her presence there had the effect of leaving him with a headless feeling. Had she missed him so much?

"May I come in?" she blurted out as she made a shrinking curtsey in front of him, completely ignoring Darcy's state of undress. Her entering the Master's room, albeit completely inappropriate, induced Darcy to imagine she had envisioned the warmest of welcomes. "But of course," he replied, slightly bemused, as he moved aside to let her into the antechamber. If anything she looked pale and out of sorts.

"Thank you," she sighed as she stepped in. Not a little puzzled at the feeble tone in her voice, Darcy surveyed her with suspicion. "It is good to see you too," he said, sounding a little hurt.

At once Elizabeth realized she had given too cold a reception to her poor fiancé. Poor, poor Darcy! After all he had no idea what had befallen them. It had not been her intention to hurt his sensibilities with her cold response, but she was far too worried to feel romantic, let alone unsure of the state of affairs as regards their union. "I am sorry. It is good to see you," she said apologetically. "It is just that I am not myself at the moment."

Darcy came closer and in a forward manner endeavoured to hold her in his arms. He had never attempted anything like this before. At least, not since those glorious days in Cheapside, when they were young and naïve and he would sit enraptured gazing at her white face and bright eyes, when his entire happiness depended on the fleeting touch of her bare arm, or the exquisite sweetness of a stolen kiss.

She quickly stepped back and with an impatient gesture put some distance between them. Albeit surprised at Elizabeth's unresponsiveness, Darcy still thought that her reaction stemmed from her modesty. He cursed himself for his thoughtlessness. Still, he could not help feeling hurt, so, sending a look of reproach in her direction, he did the only thing he could do: he apologized. "Forgive me. How presumptuous of me."

"What?"

"Never mind. 'Twas my mistake," he sighed. How much he wished to hold her, kiss her, make her his at last! He was longing for it. "But since we are so close to our wedding ... and seeing you here in my bedchamber..."

"You do not understand," she exclaimed almost vexed. "Something ...unexpected has occurred, Darcy." She began to pace the room trembling, nervously twisting her hands as she went up and down the room. Soon Darcy understood that her appearance in his bedchamber did not have romantic purposes nor did her strange behaviour stem from pre-nuptial nervousness. By the look in her eyes he saw that a great crisis had befallen them. His first thought went immediately to the children. Had something awful happened to one of them?

"Where are the children?" he asked with certain alarm.

Elizabeth stopped and beheld him for a while. Then she tilted her head and sighed profoundly. She was getting ready in silent misery to break the terrible news to the man she loved. "They are just fine, Darcy. It is not them," she mumbled in heartbreaking distress.

"Then what is it? Do not have me in suspense."

"We have had some ... news ... from the continent."

"News?"

"Someone came from the continent yesterday."

"Jane?"

"Fitzwilliam."

Elizabeth knew how to conjure away any signs of melancholy in her fiancé, but this time, after she broke the news of Fitzwilliam's return, his gravity became such as to leave her speechless. Greatly shocked by the news, Darcy went and leant on the chest of drawers. Poor, poor Mr Darcy! Poor Elizabeth! The long laborious edifice that had taken them so many pains and struggles to build, all of a sudden had fallen apart as if it was nothing. So much longing, buried passions and self sacrifice ...one word and away it all flew!

"Fitzwilliam?" he asked with incredulity. "He is alive? Good Lord. This is grave indeed."

"Just how grave?" she asked almost in a whisper, too afraid to hear what she already knew.

He blushed a good deal and made a great effort to gather himself before he answered. "All will be well. Don't be alarmed."

She surveyed him with perplexity. What she saw in his countenance did not bode well. Addressing him in the lowest, most tremulous voice, she asked again, "But you said it was grave. How grave?"

Darcy blushed violently. "I do not know," he said and averted his eyes.

This manner of answer struck Elizabeth even harder than the worst response. After the first moments of abashment, a feeling of anger succeeded, and from being pale before, her face flushed up red and returned his look with unseemly steadiness. "O don't you dare to hide anything from me! How grave?!" she demanded, agitated to an excess.

"Hang it, Elizabeth! If you mean to ask me if you are still tied to your husband, I just do not know. Let your own heart answer that question."

On hearing his words, almost cruel to her ears, her face crumbled and she almost gave way to tears. "My heart ... O Darcy. I have been on my knees ever since I returned from the cemetery trying to figure this out."

"Cemetery?"

"It is a long story," she answered dismissively.

"But is it certain? Is it truly certain that Fitzwilliam is alive?"

"O yes, it is. I have already seen him this afternoon. It is so unexpected! I feel so awful! I am happy and yet grieved!"

I am shocked, grieved, he attempted to say, but those words did not represent his chagrin. Speechless, he reached out for her hand and merely held it after applying a gentle squeeze to it.

"The worst of it is ... I believe Fitzwilliam does not know anything."

"Do you think him inclined to welcome you as his wife again?"

"I think he expects to be so reunited with us this evening."

"Don't be agitated. I shall talk to him. He saw us in happier days before he married you. He is noble and generous and will see that things have changed. You will divorce him and ..."

Elizabeth tried to draw back her hand. Never since her life began had she felt so forsaken. Divorce him ... Good God! Could she divorce a dead husband with no memory? Could she explain a man who had returned to her from the dead that she loved him no more? Could she deny such a man what was rightfully his; his son, his wife, his life? Was she to betray a hero? She drew back her hand and trembled all over.

"You do not understand. Fitzwilliam is not himself. He lost his memory in a cruel way. He had no recollection of me or his son... oh, for shame! This is so ..."

"You mean he lost all recollections of everything? Even of you? Do I take it that he does not remember that you are his wife?"

"No. He does not remember me or his family. He has even adopted another name. But Jane ... Jane is also alive. She is here in London and will be at Fitzwilliam House this evening. She is well and will surely pass more intelligence as to what happened to Richard." She took an envelope out of her belt and gave in to him. "Here. There is a letter from your uncle. It was sent this morning. I did not see it until I returned from the cemetery. I wager he is addressing you on the subject."

Darcy took the envelope, opened the seal and proceeded to read immediately, but the reading seemed to be taking ages. After a while, Elizabeth could bear the suspense no more and she demanded intelligence of the contents of the missive.

"So he does not know yet?"

Darcy did not seem to hear her. He was looking vacantly at the paper in his hand. At length he gathered his thoughts and sighed.

"Good Lord. He does not."

Mr Darcy could not find consolation. The result of the distressing news about Fitzwilliam's return was that Elizabeth had to be returned to Matlock House and to Fitzwilliam's side. Mr Darcy accompanied her with little conviction of the fairness of the business. True, after Fitzwilliam's resurrection there was no hope for their life together. Never again would they walk in pleasant companionship, hand in hand! Instead, they would be forced to see each other daily, yet unable even to exchange minimal words lest the feeble façade they had so painfully built to hide their true feelings would crumble.

But they were not the only ones to be suffering cruelly. Others had been forced to part with loved ones too. Sweet Jane was one of them. It was she who had brought Fitzwilliam back to England and to his wife's arms. To see Jane hiding her emotions when Elizabeth was reintroduced to her husband was a heartbreaking sight, one that would have melted a general's heart.

What to say about the man, once known to us as Colonel Fitzwilliam. He was confused as confused could be. The only memory he had was his home in Spain, where he had left his adopted family who loved him; the only person that meant anything to him was Jane, whose presence was his one consolation. Sadly enough Jane was restored to her parents shortly after their arrival to London, leaving him all alone to face his family. Everything was new to him, everything was strange.

To add to Fitzwilliam's misfortunes, he found the new environment in London extremely confusing. The simplest task became a whole enterprise: to find the way to his bedchamber had been an odyssey the first day, yet everybody seemed to expect him to remember names, locations, details of his past life of which he, in truth, had no recollection at all. It was exasperating, yet he bore the pressure with perfect composure as became a gentleman of good breeding.

It was a fine evening when Fernando, for that was the name under which Richard Fitzwilliam was travelling, left his suite of splendid rooms which he had occupied at a fine hotel in Cavendish Square, the same place where he had honeymooned two years before and of which he had no recollection whatsoever. Jane, who had also occupied a separate suite of rooms in the same hotel, walked with exceeding shyness and timidity by his side. They could have easily strolled to their destination, for the evening was cool and Lord Matlock's townhouse was an easy distance from Cavendish. But in the scarce year and a half in which he had lived in the opulence of the great house of Ruiz Albornoz in Spain, Fernando had made these foreign people's manners his, hence he preferred to make the short journey in a fashionable barouche with four horses, as became Spaniards of exceeding wealth and rank.

When they found themselves in front of the grand townhouse belonging to the Earl of Matlock, Fernando squeezed Jane's hand, which was resting on his arm, and they proceeded to announce their arrival to the doorman. Mr Darcy and Elizabeth had arrived earlier and were waiting for them in the drawing room. As soon as Jane perceived her sister seated impatiently beside her fiancé, she stifled a cry of emotion. Instantly, Elizabeth rose to her feet to go to her sister's side and the two girls melted in an embrace while tears welled in their eyes, and lumps formed in their throats, leaving both of them breathless and unable even to speak.

Fernando came up to Darcy and shook hands with him heartily.

"How do you do, sir."

"Fitzwilliam. It is good to see you, old man. I am so glad you are on your feet."

"Darcy, Richard knows who you are, but he..." the earl started to explain but was interrupted by Fernando.

"Sir. You must pardon me. Though I understand you are my cousin, I have no recollection of you."

"He is a good friend of yours, Richard. A brother, I dare say."

Nodding towards Elizabeth, Fernando smiled weakly. "I understand that you took prodigious care of my wife and my son during my absence."

Darcy frowned with uneasiness, not knowing what to say. Was his cousin's comment said with sarcasm? Or did he really mean it? He was relieved to find out that it was probably the latter when Darcy heard him say, "I thank you, sir. I do not know how I will ever repay you."

Relaxing, Darcy acknowledged with a light bow and then smiled weakly. "Well. You can start by forgetting the etiquette and calling me what you have always called me."

"Very well, Edward."

"Darcy," Mr Darcy corrected.

"Darcy?"

"Yes. Your father prefers my middle name, since my first name is his last. But you have always called me Darcy, for similar reasons."

"I see. Then Darcy it is."

"I am very happy to see you again, Fitzwilliam." And he smiled wearily to Elizabeth who was watching the exchange with apprehension. Noticing his cousin's frown, Darcy imagined he was not comfortable with the appellation. "Do you wish that I call you Ruiz or Fitzwilliam?" he inquired.

"Do not be absurd, Edward. You must call him by his name, of course," protested the earl.

Darcy's eyes darted from Fernando to his uncle, obviously inquiring what that name was.

"Richard, of course," finished the earl, anxious to recover his son once and for all though unable to comprehend what prevented him from remembering his own family.

Fernando nodded. "Call me as it suits you, Darcy."

"Very well then. I have always called you Fitzwilliam. Same as you have always called me Darcy."

"Jane, dear," said her ladyship in a compassionate tone, eager to change the topic which evidently had distressed both her husband and son. "I hope you have had a pleasant rest."

"I have your ladyship. Thank you," she answered meekly.

"And how do you find your sister?" her ladyship inquired with a fond smile as she guided both her daughter-in-law and Jane into the dinning room.

"Very well, your Grace." Beyond this, Jane hardly opened her mouth again, except when she exchanged a few words in Spanish with Fernando at the dining table while she thought the rest were distracted. Their familiarity was quite evident, though. Elizabeth noticed this and she resolved herself to ask Jane about it when they were left on their own.

Indeed, Jane, being overpowered by a befuddlement of emotions, became universally timid and reserved. The moment Elizabeth stood by Fernando, or when on one occasion, he leaned towards his wife's ear to inquire after their child, Jane, having no intelligence of the nature of his approach, became remarkably unhappy.

To think that he had been hers for a while! How she had nursed him back to good health, and fed him and lived upon him, and scarcely allowed any other hand to tend to him! How many sleepless nights had she spent by his bedside, watching him sleep in painful slumber, worshiping every minute they had spent together, need not be referred to! That man was her being, her life! Love like hers was not to be found in all England. It had been her doing that had kept Fitzwilliam alive, yet she had no rights over him any longer for she could see with fatal perspicacity that there was no place for her by his side. He belonged to Elizabeth. And so, gently, she bore her fate, as only good-natured Jane would.

Elizabeth was also silent and subdued after her husband's apparition, and scarcely said a word more all evening. Under the earl's insistence, she had vowed not to say a word to her husband of her previous engagement to his cousin Darcy, but to stay by her husband's side until his health was completely restored.

Darcy had refused to comply with such an outrageous petition at first, but on further inquiry, his lordship's lawyers informed him that in a case like this the wife was still tied to her husband. The only solution was a divorce and to this aspiration Darcy clung fiercely, though deep inside he knew theirs was a helpless case.

Indeed, Darcy comprehended there was no way he could prevent seeing Elizabeth by her husband's side in the near future, but so far he had had enough. To see her, looking so pale and unhappy, and Richard, so distant, so much unlike himself, pained Mr Darcy more than it would have pained him seeing them happily reunited. Immersed in confusion, he sank down on a chair and gazed at Elizabeth with pleading eyes, for Darcy knew how his noble beloved felt about all this.

Elizabeth was unsure whether she would be ever bold enough to go through a divorce and return to her fiancé's arms. After all, she loved her husband. At least, she used to love him before all this had ensued. True, this recoil gentleman dressed in extravagant clothes and speaking with a slightly foreign accent was far from the affable red dragoon she had married. Yet, he was the man that had fathered her son, the man she had vowed to love and serve until death drew them apart. Well, it seemed life and death had both conspired and played a dirty trick on them all. In any case, honour was uppermost in her mind and she would never go against her duty. This she dared not do.

Yet, if Elizabeth felt uncomfortable, Darcy's uneasiness was only destined to increase to a frantic note before the night was over. As the evening closed down, it became clear that Fitzwilliam was exhausted to excess and soon it would be time for someone to show him to his chamber. Darcy trembled to think the task could fall on Elizabeth. What if Fitzwilliam requested that she share the marital bed with him? The sole idea was revolting to poor Darcy. His Elizabeth would not be his cousin's again. No, no, that could not be! He racked his brain thinking of an excuse that would enable him to stand up and seize his fiancé before any of this happened. Maybe if Emily was found ill, he could request her presence at Darcy house to comfort her... A suspicious movement made by his cousin instantly brought Darcy back from his reverie.

Alas! What the deuce does Fitzwilliam think he's doing? Darcy thought as he instinctively almost rose to protect Elizabeth from another man's advances.

With inexpressible abhorrence he observed his cousin whispering something to Elizabeth ere rising to his feet. Had he asked her to accompany him up the stairs? He felt the wild impulse to throw something at Richard's face before calling him out. He restrained this exhibition of jealousy, however.

"I think I will retire now," announced the fair cousin, carefully brushing his neat lap and straightening his collar with gracious fingers.

This simple declaration staggered the poor lover. With a look of alarm, Darcy entreated him to stay on. "But the ladies have not sung yet. I am sure you will be delighted to hear them, cousin. Do stay."

If anything, the comment was out of place. Not in a million years would any of the ladies present have dreamt to be asked to perform under the circumstances. Lady Matlock sent her nephew an arch look while the rest of the ladies looked down to the hems of their dresses.

"I am afraid I am too tired to really appreciate their musical talents," Fitzwilliam answered with sincerity. "I am sure there will be plenty of opportunities in the future to hear them, which most certainly I look forward to. As for now, I beg you to excuse me," and with this final remark he began to make his way towards the stairs, which Elizabeth thought was a hint for her to follow. Accordingly, she rose too.

"Oh, no. Please don't trouble yourself," Fitzwilliam interposed. "I understand it is your talent Darcy was talking about. Do stay and play for the company. I am sure you have much to converse about with your sister, as well. I can find my way with the help of the servants."

Hardly had Colonel Fitzwilliam left, when Mr Darcy's happiness was instantly restored. He sat in silent contemplation at first, but as the evening closed he became bolder and sought Elizabeth's company.

"I shall find it difficult to sleep tonight," he confessed.

"I know."

"Will you..."

"No, of course not," she interposed.

"No, of course."

"He is a gentleman, you must know..."

"I know."

"Well then?" she inquired, a little vexed.

Darcy sighed, then, he shrugged. "I wish you would honour me with one of your songs. I think there is a chance that I could go to sleep if at least I had the memory of your voice in my heart. That might help..."

She nodded. Of course she would sing for him. With a certain degree of contentment, Darcy sat by her side at the piano forte and turned pages for her. Jane enjoyed her sister's playing with excessive pleasure, too. But she also perceived the over-familiarity with which Mr Darcy interacted with her sister. She resolved herself to ask her sister about this in the morning.

Ere long, Darcy made up his mind to retire himself. He had lingered on with only one purpose: to make sure that Elizabeth stayed away from her own bedchamber long enough for her husband to fall into deep slumber.

As his carriage drove off, however, he turned around and looked up to the drawing room windows still illuminated. Without a second thought, he ordered his men to a halt. There he remained, at some distance from the house, until one by one all the lights but one went out. By nine, the chamber occupied by his fiancée was still illuminated. Darcy was very tired, but deep inside he needed to know that Elizabeth would remain in her bedchamber. That she would not enter her husband's.

At least not while their professions of love were still fresh.

Imagine some six months after Elizabeth's conversation with Mr Darcy that fateful evening have passed in the lives of our hero. Afterwards, he spent the most dreadful time in sorrow, comparable only with the loss of a dear one. Having presented him with such an enticing future, Fate had capriciously divested him of it in the blink of an eye! Cruel, cruel life! How dare it have failed him!

You might find it difficult to picture him suffering in such an ignoble manner. True, he withstood the loss of his beloved's company with quixotic courage, never letting others prone to sadness know his true feelings. But much as he succeeded in his endeavour of hiding his heartbreak, in his solitary hours he indulged in melancholy. Fancy him deeply wounded and cast down, housebound in his own nostalgia. I know that this kind of account can be tedious to an excess, but this was what Fortune allotted to poor Mr Darcy.

Having being most politely hinted not to visit with Elizabeth, the impossibility of seeing her with regularity vexed him greatly, thus he became restless beyond measure. Yet that would not be the end of his misfortunes. To make sure that his nephew would not be tempted to enter into any secret endeavour to see Elizabeth, and at the same time to avoid word of his son's awkward situation being spread amidst the ton, the earl took his whole household to Matlock in the north. Without warning, Darcy's life, which had once again begun to give him joy, suddenly became an insupportable amount of time in which he found no other employment but to mull over what had been expropriated from him, and yet he was unable to share his depression with anyone. Deprived of both romantic expectations and a friendly shoulder to cry on, what sad, unsatisfactory thoughts invaded his sleepless nights!

Many and many of said nights he would spend supine in bed, lost in thoughts, recounting the times in which he had almost forgotten niceties and had made up his mind to open Elizabeth's bedchamber door (conveniently located just across from his) in the middle of the night and make love to her, only to hesitate at the last minute and finally abandon the whole enterprise. O how he wished he had been bolder! It was all too late now. He was destined never to know what it would be like to satisfy Elizabeth's womanly needs and desires. He was never to roam his hands over her trembling body, entwined in her scent.

Instead, Colonel Fitzwilliam was the one entitled to take whichever liberties he would fancy over her. The sole idea was insupportable. All in all he inwardly thanked Gad his uncle had hinted to him not to call on them for a while. It saved him the embarrassment of witnessing Fitzwilliam's connubial bliss.

There was not one single day in which Mr Darcy would not walk the corridors of Darcy house and end up at her door, now deserted. Not one single day had passed in which he had been able to resist the temptation to revisit every single place in the house where they had resided in blissful happiness.

With such melancholy swelling his heart, there was no employment he could find to pass the time. No fencing club, no morning rides, no backgammon at White's, not even a single night at the theatre to accompany Georgiana, for fear questions might be asked by those whose noses enjoyed meddling with the lives of others. There was nothing that tempted him beyond his solitary imprisonment, his one occupation being idle, sitting about in the library or in vain trying to focus on work, of late a cheerless duty that had once been merry enough. From time to time, he recovered, then rallied, and relapsed again until having taking more than he could bear, he merely gave in to depression.

In the midst of all this solitary resignation, one thing shone as a stone of salvation for his poor-spirited heart. Indeed, something or rather someone had changed dramatically in his eyes during Elizabeth's absence from his house: Emily. Darcy had grown very fond of his daughter, with whom he had not been inclined to spent time before. But whether it was for Emily, since the girl had grown so fond of his once fiancée, or solely for the fact that he had so much unrequited love to spare that he simply chose to spend it on his child, our gentleman, having resolved to feel better, took to whiling away the time with Emily. Indeed, the innocent child became his one source of consolation.

It was for Emily's sake that he abandoned his agonising lingering at home for the sunlight outdoors. Every now and then, the girl encouraged him to go for ices at a pastry-cook's shop in Charing Cross, or a simple walk in the street. These invitations were grudgingly accepted, but after several of such outings, Darcy discovered he quite enjoyed them. So every so often, he took to going with his daughter for rides along Kensington Gardens, and even allowed her to run up and down the slopes and broad paths, while he sunned on a bench, communing with his own thoughts.

Hardly had his heart begun to heal, when the unexpected happened. After six months had passed since his family had left London, he received a letter in which he was notified of their imminent return. And not a day passed after the appointed day of their arrival that his cousin was at his door. Darcy welcomed him with great warmth. After all, they had always been the best of friends.

Unsurprisingly, Fitzwilliam was determined to love him, too. While he avoided social activities of all kinds, every so often he would visit with Darcy for the sake of good company, which Mr Darcy valiantly strove to provide. In truth, his cousin's visits were to a certain measure tranquilizing, since Fitzwilliam would stay with him for the longest time, and would not return home until very late, thus leaving his wife in solitude for the major part of the night.

During such nights, Mr Darcy and his cousin would sit together in the library emptying Mr Darcy's brandy decanter and puffing cigars, revisiting their passed lives together in hope that the elusive memories would finally return to the good colonel. But Darcy found Fitzwilliam a different man. He was no longer the cheerful soldier he used to be. He was more collected and a little more like himself. At least Fitzwilliam's thoughts were still just, his brains were fairly good, his heart as honest and pure as ever.

In these conversations it was wonderful with what perseverance and ingenuity Mr Darcy would manage to bring about the topic of Elizabeth. He did not know as yet what events had happened between husband and wife in their intimate hour, though he imagined the worst. Of course, he dared not ask. But the fact was that he was love-smitten with his cousin's wife and he was bent upon loving her for life, no matter what. Indeed, he was not aware of it himself, but he hypocritically wheedled, and complimented his cousin with a perseverance and cordiality which men only use over male relations of the female they are courting. Without realizing it, Mr Darcy turned into a rogue, ready to please the unaware husband in order to extricate information regarding the object of his desire.

The reader must be aware though, that Mr Darcy had turned into this hypocrite by force, since there was no other way he could find to see Elizabeth or at least know something about her. At heart, he was the same honest gentleman we all know. But are not all men prone to such comportment when in love? Are we all not fools for love? Mr Fitzwilliam Edward Darcy was no different than the ordinary, I tell you. He did love his cousin. He was a brother to him. In truth, the only time in which his feelings for Richard had suffered a significant change had been after Elizabeth Bennet was introduced into their lives. Thus Mr Darcy always welcomed Fitzwilliam's calls. When Fitzwilliam failed to come, however, Mr Darcy would grow so impatient and ill-humoured as to surprise his closest family and servants who had always admired his amiability and good temper.

He longed to see Elizabeth. The knowledge that she was there, so close and yet so out of reach simply tortured him. Until one day, Emily's innocent but devastating logic came to his rescue.

"Where's mummy?" Emily asked on a certain occasion.

"Mm?"

"Where's mummy?" she repeated.

"She is...she...is visiting with Uncle Fitzwilliam."

"Can we go see her?"

"Can we go see her?" Of course, as simple as that. Go see her. If only he could. Wait a minute. He could, could he not? It was his daughter's request. Not his. Why must he deprive the little girl of seeing the person she regarded as her own mother. "Hang it," he thought if only a little unconvinced. "Yes, Emmy. I suppose we can."

The girl then stretched out her hand and offered it to her father as she began to walk.

"Fine," she encouraged. "Let us go see mummy."

"Now?" Darcy asked incredulously.

"Yes, Papa. Now."

And so, without further notice, the two of them walked the short way to Matlock townhouse. Mr Darcy began to tremble as he walked the lane leading to the street where the grand house stood as if he was about to commit the greatest sin ever. As they approached the well-known neighbourhood, Mr Darcy prayed to God that he could control the thumping of his heart. A myriad of thoughts arrested his mind. Was she going to be happy to see him or not? Had her affection for her husband grown again? If he were to meet her alone, good God, what should he do? An idea began to trickle into his mind. He would ask her to come with him. Yes. They had had enough of this charade. They belonged together, she and he. They had a family already. She must come to him and they should go to Pemberley...no, not Pemberley...somewhere further away...to Italy...or perhaps to Scotland... Gad ailed him to find the words to persuade her to his plan! He saw a lady with a baby in her arms coming his way...was that she? He began to shake at the possibility. When he came to the house, at last, and to the gate, he got hold of it and paused.

"Is Mrs Fitzwilliam in? Mrs Richard Fitzwilliam?" he asked the footman.

"I am afraid she is not, sir," was the dispassionate answer.

Darcy's face fell. He looked down gloomily at his little daughter and the girl immediately comprehended his look of disappointment. She sighed and dropped her little hand. "When is she expected back?" asked Darcy perfunctorily.

"Your Excellency must pardon me, but I have not been informed of Mrs Fitzwilliam's plans. Would you like to come in and inquire of the colonel?"

"No thanks," he said quickly. "We shall come tomorrow at a more convenient time. Good day."

"Good day, sir."

Hardly had Darcy and Emily returned from their little outing when the bell of the front door at the grand Darcy house rang signalling the presence of a visitor. Emily, inquisitive as a little cat, abandoned her games and ran after the manservant to see who had called.

"Papa, papa!" Emmy cried out before the manservant had any chance to announce the visitor. "Mummy's come, mummy's come!"

Mr Darcy started up, shaken in surprise. Then he stepped forward, as pale as a ghost, and made a bow to Elizabeth who stood a little distance from him.

When Elizabeth stepped forward to salute him she had a brilliant smile on her face. "Lord bless me, sir. Don't you remember me, Mr Darcy?" she said and she laughed girlishly. The gentleman instantly understood that she was visiting them alone. On which, and I believe it was for the first time that Mr Darcy ever so conducted himself in his life in front of others, he took the lady in his arms and kissed her on her cheek. Emily laughed joyfully, delighted to see her Mum and Pa together again, and gave little cries of excitement, which brought up the attention of Georgiana, who was astonished to find Elizabeth in the embrace of her brother again.

Elizabeth quit Darcy's arms and made a curtsy to Georgiana who responded in kind. "I am so glad to see you all," she said, and she blushed prettily. "Richard...my husband has told me he visited with you, so I made up my mind to pay you a call myself," she explained to a disbelieving Georgiana.

"Are you staying to dine?" asked Georgiana almost in a whisper.

She shook her head and her brown ringlets that peeked out of her bonnet bounced prettily too. "I'm very much pressed for time," she explained giving Darcy a meaningful look. "But I was dying to see my little Emily." Smiling to the girl, she beamed, "Come. I have a present for you." And she took the little girl in her arms and carried her to the drawing room she knew well. There, she produced a beautiful parcel with a pink ribbon on top and gave it to Emily. The girl was both charmed and astonished at the size of the package. "For you, my love." Elizabeth said with a sweet smile, wrinkling her nose prettily.

The party of three sat in the drawing room, with Emily at their feet playing with the adorable doll that her "mummy" had presented her with, the three conversing amiably about the latest events in their lives, in the midst of which they were several times interrupted by Emily who wished to draw all of Elizabeth's attention to herself. Darcy was deliriously happy. Every so often his eyes would lock with hers, causing poor Georgiana to feel universally discomfited. Finally, when the clock on the mantel piece struck seven, Mr Darcy, desirous to have Elizabeth for himself, requested Georgiana that she withdraw with the little girl so that he could have his chance alone with Mrs Fitzwilliam.

The request astonished the sister, but she complied all the same, and aunt and niece bounced away to their apartments, leaving the couple on their own.

Once they had been left alone, Mr Darcy went to the door and locked it behind them. Then he returned to his seat in front of the flushed lady. He watched as she unlaced her bonnet with soft feminine fingers. Then she retrieved her gloves, which she neatly folded into her reticule, thus revealing the satin of her hands for him to feast on. After such coquettish actions, which in fact were nothing out of the ordinary any lady would perform, Darcy remained mute, incapable of any movement, so enthralled was he in watching her. They were both so silent that the tick-tock of the clock on the mantel piece became rudely audible.

What was it that made them so nervous, I wonder, when they had been so comfortable in each other's company before? What was it that made Elizabeth start back and gaze upon him as if it was the first time? What made her lose her self control? Why was she so violently agitated under his gaze?

For he was scrutinizing her. He actually had the courage to change seats and go to sit beside her on the little settee. He looked down at her face, o how fondly! She was so lovely, if only a little paler and a little lighter in figure. Her eyes still shown for him, he knew. They were speechless for yet another moment. Why, o why could he not sway her in his arms and keep her for himself?

Elizabeth not completely unaware of the nature of her companion's thoughts, is very much to blame for what followed. She blushed at his scrutiny and looked at him with a devilish grin that sent Darcy's heart thumping wildly. But what finished him was her next movement. She gave him ever so gentle a pressure with her pretty little hand and then drew it back quite frightened looking for one instant in his face and then down at the carpet. By Gad, if that was not an advance then what was it?

The intelligent reader will notice the difficult alternative before Mr Darcy. Either he vented the pent-up feelings he had till then painfully secreted in the innermost confines of his soul the whole summer and took the chance that Elizabeth herself had afforded him to intimate with her on the smooth carpet of his drawing room, thus forgetting his convictions and ideals about honour and loyalty or he collected himself and dismissed the lady before the inevitable happened.

After meditating for a while on the chances before him, he finally concluded that to be so united with Elizabeth, whose bright eyes were now fixed anxiously on him, would be much more desirable, not to mention pleasurable. To this conclusion he arrived while his eyes roamed immodestly the swell of her bosom. Indeed, to miss such an enticing opportunity would be a misfortune. A terrible misfortune.

Honour notwithstanding, he was a man with needs. And presently the satisfaction of those needs sat all together with that pretty lady in white that was nervously biting her adorable ...tender... pink lower lip he wished to kiss so much ... The wonderful part of all this is that not for one moment did Mr Darcy meditate in the evil his plans entailed.

"So you were dying to see Emily?" he finally asked saucily with a knowing smile on his lips. "Is that the only reason you had to come?"

She shook her head, an inviting look upon her face. "No," she murmured, her eyes alight with amusement. "I had a more pressing reason to come."

"And may I be so bold so as to ask you on the ultimate reason for your calling on us this evening, madam?"

"I needed to see you, sir."

"I am glad to hear that ... for I also have great urgency to see you too."

"Oh."

"But ladies first. How can I be of service?"

"I am ashamed to confess that my husband does not know of this call ... I ..."

Elizabeth did not immediately notice the double entrée of his question, nor take immediate heed of the decidedly sensual expression that Mr Darcy's countenance assumed in hearing her speaking so, but she realised it soon enough when it was too late. Suddenly it struck her, with great mortification, that she had been encouraging Mr Darcy with her manners and discourse to an excess. A meaningless exertion if you ask me, since the gentleman needed no encouragement.

"I do not think Fitzwilliam will ever learn about it," he answered with a mischievous smile.

Elizabeth blushed. "You do not understand..."

Darcy nodded. "O yes, I do. Most definitely I do. You need not concerned yourself. No one will ever know." That said, he leaned forward and for the first time in a long time he opened up his heart. "I have missed you so," he confessed with an aggressive look that sent Elizabeth's heart into such a flutter that she was ready to surrender to him at once.

Yet she did not. Instead, she blinked twice. She noticed that Darcy's eyes had that certain look she had not seen for a long time. It was a dark, sensuous, almost indecent look. She instantly searched for a safe subject to talk about but nothing came to her mind.

"Have you not?"

"Have I not what?" she asked back quivering.

"Missed me."

She nodded quickly.

"How much?"

"How much? I ... I ...think it is getting late, I ..." but her hesitant observation went unnoticed for he took both her hands as she looked, flushing, into his handsome face. He took the two little hands between his two and held them there, and Elizabeth knew her heart had decidedly melted inside her chest.

"How much, Elizabeth? Have you missed me so much that you have not been able to rest at night? Have you felt forlorn and bereft even in the best company? Have you felt that you are not home in your own home?" and he raised her hands to his lips and planted an ardent kiss on the satin skin there. Then he turned them and kissed her palms with great tenderness, sending thrilling shivers up her arms that in turn, shook her whole body.

Upon my word he was playing his cards rather too fast! Elizabeth quickly understood that she had unwisely awakened a sleeping lion. Not that she did not welcome his attentions, mind you! Only that she had not expected such forwardness in the light of her marriage to his relative. What did he have in mind? O silly, petty woman! Was she not well aware of Mr Darcy's passion? But women are vain creatures that seem to think that they are entitled to play with a man's sentiments as a cat believes he is entitled to play with the mouse by nature. Had not Pandora unwisely opened the box that contained the most dangerous trap within? Had she not been warned that once opened, it could not be sealed again? But she opened it all the same. Well. So did Elizabeth.

And in so doing she had not realised that her visit would encourage the gentleman into shameful comportment. Her nervousness was soon visible in her face and she tugged a little to free her hands. As she retrieved them, however, Mr Darcy noticed she was no longer wearing her ring, the one that he had presented her with upon their engagement.

"What have you done with your ring?" he asked a little alarmed.

Elizabeth smiled reassuringly as she withdrew a golden chain from under her blouse with a cameo attached where she had secreted the lovely ring. Darcy was exceedingly pleased to see she still clung to it.

"I'm glad you kept it," he said in a very sentimental manner. "I was afraid you no longer had it with you."

"How could I ever get rid of it? I value it more than anything I have in the world."

"Do you, Elizabeth?" cried he, very agitated.

"Yes. It is the only memento I have of the happiest time in my life."

Mr Darcy could hold it no more. "Elizabeth, Elizabeth", he said as he wrapped his long arms around her and kissed her hair with devotion.

Ere long, he was kissing her adored face, clinging to her, pouring out his whole heart in front of her. In other words, he behaved quite ungentlemanly. "Elizabeth! Elizabeth," he said softly into her ear. "When I bought that ring for you I thought you would always wear it until death drew us apart. I loved you then as much as I love you now. I think I loved you from the very minute that you spoke to me, when you rebuked me for my taste in poetry. You were but a girl then, do you still remember? And we used to argue about every subject that we talked about. And then that night at Netherfield, when we danced, I thought you ... you were the handsomest woman I had ever danced with. Do you remember? Since then, I have thought of no other woman in the world!"

Elizabeth, who was not used to seeing Darcy behaving in such a way, was greatly moved by this sudden outburst, "I do, I do remember," she said with emotion. "There is not one single day in which I do not think of those days, sir."

"Lord. This will not do. I have longed to feel your lips on mine so much! Why o why did you ever allow me to touch your lips! To be deprived of your sweetness again will be the worst of punishments! And I do not deserved to be punished, do I, do I, Elizabeth?" with that he kissed her tenderly on the lips.

O the glorious feeling! The velvety of his lips upon hers was simply enrapturing! Her hands, quite of their own volition, set quickly to wrap his neck.

After a moment, however, it was Elizabeth's conscience which reacted first. "Darcy," she objected. " Pray, someone may see us..." He paid no heed to her words and proceeded to hold her in a tighter embrace still, his mouth tracing kisses all over her face.

"Darcy...someone..."

"Hush. No one dares to enter without knocking. Beside, I have locked the door myself."

"Darcy...This is not correct."

"Shhh. Just let me hold you this once. I missed you so much." His kisses were all she could wish for, and so she indulged in the feelings that his intelligent lips were awakening. It took only one caress, one light touch of skin to skin, to persuade her of the benefits of a dumb conscience. One touch of his hand on the tender skin of her neck and her resolution caved in like an old dome. Next they were kissing each other with unprecedented hunger and longing.

When Mr Darcy's passion, however, reached a certain barrier that all gentlemen long to break in a woman's embrace, Elizabeth knew it was time to wake up from the dream.

"I don't think we should be doing this," she whispered, quite agitated, when from the position in which she was she could spy Darcy pondering his chances to dip his hands into the valley of her bosom and reveal the magnificent vision her breasts would surely afford.

"What?" he said, much too busy with her tantalizing decolletage to pay heed to her words.

"I say we should not be doing this. It is not...it is not..."

"What?" he gasped breathlessly.

"It is unfair for Fitzwilliam." That was it. Fitzwilliam's name was the magic word. Instantly, Darcy recovered his common sense.

"Right," he said as he reluctantly abandoned the territory he had so painfully won.

"I should have never come," she mumbled tidying her ringlets in a proper way.

Dejection is the worst thing a man can be exposed to. Darcy was no less prone to the bitter feeling than any other of the male species. "So why did you come at all?" he asked a little vexed.

"I ... I ... I cannot do this to Fitzwilliam."

"And yet, you can do it to me."

"What do you mean?"

Darcy, in a state of great indignation, if only uncertain of the results his insulting discourse would have on Elizabeth, vented all the frustration that he had accumulated over the months. "Have you not thought of what I feel knowing that you sleep in a bedchamber with an adjoining door to Fitzwilliam's every night? Have you not ponder the sleepless nights that I have endured ever since you parted to be so reunited with your husband? The longing I feel when I merely look in the direction of your house?"

"And what is it that you propose? That I come to lie with you in the nights while my husband stays in his own bedchamber?"

"I do not wish you to fool your husband, Elizabeth. But I ask for nothing more than your love which I know well you feel for me. I am asking you to be true to your feelings and stop this charade. You must leave him at once and get a divorce. I would not have you otherwise and you know it."

"Leave him? And then what?"

"The world is open for us. We could start over anywhere."

Elizabeth shook her head with indignation. "Pray, tell me," she endeavoured to reason. "Suppose we were to run away. Where could we go that shame would not follow?"

"Upon my word, there is no shame in true love."

"I cannot believe it is you, sir, who is saying this. You, who have always done what is right."

"Precisely. For I have always done nothing but what is right. You must trust me, Elizabeth. This is the right thing to do."

"I cannot! I cannot! How could I ever betray our family? They all love us, Darcy. And I am still Fitzwilliam's wife!" and here her voice broke and she hid her face from him. Feeling the worst of rogues, Mr Darcy folded his arms around her, holding her to him as if his life depended on it.

"You must see that we cannot live this way," he whispered as he kissed her head. "It is not only you and I who are suffering. There is also Emily. She thinks of you as her mama. What shall I say to her when she sees you with Fitzwilliam? What am I to do when I see you with him?"

"Do not be cruel. Do not use your little girl to torture me. You know I love her. I never wished to part with her or you!"

"You could have refused to comply with my uncle's wishes..." he complained.

"Stop! Do not mention the subject any more," Elizabeth said with some spirit. She pulled away and rose to her feet. "Anyway, this is not what I came for," she declared annoyed.

"Indeed," he rebuked frustrated and sought refuge in his corner by the window facing the park, though this time it was a silly posture he adopted for the window panes had already been closed so it was pointless to look that way.

Far from enraging her, seeing him so angry and out of sorts only diverted her. "My silly dear sir," she said compassionately. "I know what you are feeling now. You are hurt in your heart and are tired of waiting. But I think I have discovered something that might speed our reunion."

"Do not trifle with me Elizabeth."

"I dare not, sir."

Intrigued, he turned to face her and inquired, "what are you speaking of?"

"I ... I ...There is something of the greatest importance that I have to discuss with you."

"Discuss?"

"I came to speak ... that is that ... no, I mean ... Darcy, it's about Richard."

"About Richard," he chanted in a tone so discomfited that Elizabeth almost feared him.

"Yes. That is ... ahh ... about Richard and Jane," she continued.

"Well. What about them?" Darcy asked impatiently.

She paused a little, unsure if she was doing well in confiding such outrageous thoughts to Darcy. Yet she knew she had to confide in someone, so she sighed deeply and began her tale. "There has not been one day in which Richard has not asked for news of her."

"So?"

"Well...is it not obvious?"

Darcy looked at her in utter confusion. What was it that she was trying to say?

"You know how much I love and respect my sister... such an angel has never walked earth ... but ..."

"But?"

"Who knows what could have happened in those days when they were left alone in Spain."

"What do you mean?"

"Well ... they were left alone for several days ... and then lived together in this house ... Richard has never spoken a word about it. But I wonder... under what pretext did they live together under the same roof? If Richard had no memory at all...why did not Jane ever write to us to tell us what had befallen them? Why did my sister leave so quickly and never send a word again? I have sent her countless letters, Darcy, but it is only mama who answers them... I strongly believe that something is disturbing Jane. It is not like her not to correspond with me."

"And what says your mother?"

"Oh you know, mama..."

"What about your father? Has he not written to you?"

"No, he has not. I am worried. No news of Jane, and yet Fitzwilliam seems to be expectant..."

"Indeed. Richard has changed so much..."

"But that is not all...there is also...I mean... he has...he has not even..."

Darcy blushed. Twice or thrice he had meant to ask about the marital bed question, but his heart had failed him. "Say no more," he said hastily.

"Is it not ... "

"It is uncommon to say the least." But to hear Elizabeth whining about her husband's coldness in the marital bed displeased Mr Darcy not a little. His tortured jealous heart sunk heavily.

"What do you expect me to do?" he cried, deeply wounded. "Have you come to ask me to talk to your husband into making love to you? What am I to do? To watch and long like a poor boy looks at the contents of a rich man's table?"

"Lord, Darcy! How can you speak so? That is not my meaning at all!"

"Then I am afraid I fail to comprehend."

"Don't be agitated, sir," she said reassuringly. "Please do not misunderstand me, I have never wished for him ... On the contrary, I was determined to reject him had he ... but there has been no need for it. He never ever gets close to me, further than reaching out for my hand to escort me to the table."

"I still do not see what all this has to do with your sister."

"Don't you see? I think he is in love with Jane."

"Fitzwilliam? In love with Jane?"

"Please, I do not mean that anything out of..."

"You are telling me that you suspect that Fitzwilliam..."

"No ... not Fitzwilliam. Fernando."

Understanding suddenly hit on him. Of course! Fitzwilliam was no more. Instead, there was this new man around them. And he was not in love with Elizabeth. O joy! Relief of the greatest nature washed over his soul.

"Good Lord, I see," he exclaimed as a lopsided smile crooked the corners of his mouth. Fitzwilliam was dead, long live Fernando!

To be continued.

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