~~~
Bingley laughed again, and said something unexpected. “Have you ever noticed the large oak tree, a mile from the parsonage right near the edge of the park?”
She was taken aback by the oddity of the question. “I am familiar with it.”
“That is the closest I came to breaking my word to you. I turned my horse back at that tree thrice in the past four months. Before that, I made it halfway twice, and ten miles from Netherfield more times than I can count. I understand you have learned I am more resolute than I was, but I have to admit that staying away from you is the promise it has been hardest to keep, and I was admittedly unlikely to keep it very much longer anyway. Our meeting was inevitable.”
Jane’s jaw dropped in surprise. Her plan, never much of one to begin with, was now lying in shambles, but she did not repent its loss. Eventually, she just decided to cease prevaricating.
~~~
Darcy shook his head at Lady Catherine’s suggestion of leaving the colonel to his father. He suspected the lady just offered it to give him an easy escape should he desire it, but they both knew the Earl. He was a proud and disagreeable man, very status-conscious, and altogether unreliable. The colonel’s father would simply laugh that it all had worked out for the best, slap the colonel on the shoulder, congratulate him on his matchmaking, and go on as before. Even if it had not worked out for the best, the man would not be any more concerned about an impoverished gentlewoman than he would a laundress, and would just wash his hands of the affair. That thought left Darcy most uneasy, because that was not so very different from letting Wickham continue when he could have stopped him.
He saw no point in dragging his aunt into the upcoming very unpleasant interview, so he simply thanked her for her advice and walked down the hall to the room where his cousin was locked. Darcy was preparing to dismiss the footman on guard duty when a crash sounded on the other side of the door.
~~~
Mr Read finally calmed down and asked, “Can you be more specific, Miss de Bourgh? It seems unlikely you are speaking of Africa so I will tentatively rule it out, but France or Spain would not be out of the question, and that radius might even reach Germany or Sweden.”
Anne just laughed with him, though refraining from slapping her knee or any other part of her person. “England, sir. Do not pretend you did not know. Our estate is around fifty miles southeast of London.”
Mr Read laughed along with her. “Shall we dance, Miss de Bourgh?”
Anne nodded in surprise. “Might we sit out this one and dance the next? I am not as robust as some, and I would like to rest a half-hour before taking the floor. Perhaps you could tell me something about yourself.”
Mr Read agreed to the plan immediately, and they spent the next half-hour talking, and completely forgot to take the next dance, and the next after that.
Mr Read, like Anne was an only child, but unlike her, he had ended up with just about no fortune to speak of. Still, he had done well for himself, and Anne was impressed with his tale. They had surprisingly many things to talk about considering their vast differences in experience, and the time passed quickly.
By the time half the company of dancers had gone to their beds, and Anne’s footmen were waiting mostly patiently for their own, Anne reluctantly took her leave.
Mr Read asked, “May I call on you tomorrow, Miss de Bourgh?”
Anne's big smile was sufficient for his purposes.
~~~
The thoughts, questions, and contradictions of Elizabeth’s reflections on her past and future left her head spinning, inaddition to the pain she still suffered. This probably explained why she struck what was left of her head on the bottom of the instrument on her way up. That event, of course, made more sound than you might imagine, though less than when she had hit the actual keys on the way down. This event also did not feel anywhere near as pleasant as it sounded, and it did not sound all that diverting to start with.
Elizabeth fell back to her knees and screamed. She screamed for the first time in four years, the first time in as long as she could remember, the first time since she had decided in her own mind and her own heart and her own soul that she would never-never-ever show weakness. The scream would have made both her mother and Lydia cower in fear and embarrassment. It might have even been enough to coerce her indolent father out of his library if she were back in Longbourn. She screamed and screamed and screamed until her voice was ragged and she had nothing left.
When she finally had all the screaming she cared for, she gingerly reached out, found the pianoforte, and worked her way carefully to her knees. There was no bench, probably because the instrument had been in the house when Anne took the lease, and nobody bothered to move it or even notice it again. The footstool that started the whole escapade was close enough to grab without standing, and of barely sufficient height to make a tolerable bench. She dragged it over to the instrument, climbed slowly into the seat, and reached out to push a single key at random.
~~~
Jane knew her fate was sealed the moment she heard about the oak tree, and was not displeased in the least, so she decided to proceed.
“Very well, Mr Bingley. Since you are about to offer your hand, shall I just accept it in advance and save us both the bother? You have managed to cover the last mile this time, so let us see about the last three feet.”
Nobody would ever know if she had anything else to say, or whether Mr Bingley would ever get around to his entirely superfluous proposal that he had been rehearsing for fifty miles of good road.
Jane Bennet would always consider this her first kiss, and with the last man she would ever kiss, and it was glorious. It was everything a kiss ought to be. It was a wonderful bit of exquisite delight that she could not wait to repeat. She was quite certain she would sink into the floor with the intensity of the feelings, and it was not very long before she began to wonder if she could wait another day for what was to come next.
~~~
Darcy struggled with the recalcitrant lock for quite some time. Whether it failed because he nervously twisted and nearly broke the key or from wretched timing, he would never know; either way, it took more than a moment to open. Eventually, it gave way just as he considered charging the door to break it down with the footman. He forced it open and let out a shout of alarm at what awaited him.
Richard Fitzwilliam, a cousin more like a brother, lately of his Majesty’s Hussars, survivor of both Badajoz and Salamanca, had through a small amount of ingenuity fashioned a credible noose by pulling the cords out of the bed. It was tied using the traditional hangman’s knot, as neatly as any professional hangman. The sound Darcy heard was the chair he had kicked over, and the time the sticky lock took to admit Darcy’s key was almost enough time to snuff out the colonel’s life.Almost, but not quite.
