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“There are four things I fear more than battle.” He ticked them off on his fingers. “Jane Bennet in a murderous rage. Lydia Bennet in a murderous rage. Kitty Bennet looking at me in sympathy over my ineptitude and patting me on the back like an errant and particularly stupid child. Mary Bennet explaining to me in detail what a lunkhead I am and precisely how many ways I have failed her.”

Surprisingly, that recitation brought a bit of a laugh, complete with perhaps the beginning of a smile. Oh, he had the charm all right—just like Wickham. That thought put my mood back to the black side.

“If I cannot play on your sympathy for me, think of my poor cousin Anne. She is bedridden and will miss your acquaintance if you leave now. Please say you will stay!”

I still had not the slightest desire to accost Lady Catherine in her own home. I had already endured enough censure from people who thought themselves better than me because I was in the family way, and Mr Collins made her sound like a real dragon, which my father’s preoccupation mostly confirmed.

“I appreciate her plight, Mr Fitzwilliam, but I cannot and will not go to Rosings. Not today! Not ever!”

He looked at me carefully. “Do not say I failed to warn you, my lady. Desperate measures are called for, and I shall employ them.

I was somewhat amused. “Which measures?”

“You can easily stand up to me, a mere man. I can see you are made of stern stuff, and I admire that. However, I doubt you will survive the combined might of Jane Bennet and Lady Catherine de Bourgh, so I shall do as you ask. Let me arrange a room; then I will fetch them.”

“I can arrange my own room, if you please.”

“I will be in enough brown books for offending you as it is. Pray, allow me this one small indulgence.”

I wondered if everyone in this county was as implacably stubborn as he was, but finally acquiesced. It was not as if I had unlimited funds.

“Very well, Col… Mr Fitzwilliam. Betsy and I shall await Jane at the inn. Only Jane, please! Not Mr Darcy. Not your aunt. Only Jane, and we shall not trouble you after today.”

Conference

Kitty

Going from penniless and disparaged outcasts of an almost entirely female family (at least the non-library portions) to what amounted to six sisters and two brothers ensconced in one of the principal estates in England, practically an inch from the peerage, happened with breathtaking speed, like some kind of fairytale, and I must confess two things.

The first is that I have not the slightest idea how it happened. It was still less than two months since we left Longbourn under a black cloud, and now we had a routine that made it seem as if we were born and bred in Rosings. Fitzwilliam Darcy, my mostly brother now, well known as a fastidious man, dispensed with proper forms of address altogether within two days of meeting us again. Lizzy understandably disdained the name ‘Collins’, and he was astute enough to pick up on it, so she was to be ‘Elizabeth’. You cannot mix Elizabeth and Miss Bennet in the same sentence without sounding silly, plus Jane had some kind of intense discussion that first day, probably about Mr Bingley, and lo and behold, we had Elizabeth, Jane, and Miss B… You can see how awkward that gets, plus I believe Fitzwilliam mentioned a conversation he overheard with our father which made him not very enamoured with the name ‘Bennet’, so within a day we were all on a given-name basis. By two days, we were the same way with Georgiana and Anne. Not to be outdone, Aunt Catherine rounded out the informality to the point where we might as well all be farmers or tradesmen; or more likely family. Fitzwilliam would pull Lizzy back to health if he had to go to Hades and make a deal with the devil. Nothing he did could possibly surprise me now.

The second thought is that I would happily give it all up, return to the dubious company of my father, sit in my mother’s parlour and listen to her lamentations day and night, practically camp with Mrs Phillips and Lady Lucas and listen to gossip all day every day, unlearn all the beneficial lessons of the past year, and go back to insipidly following Lydia around—just to get Lizzy back.

Aunt Catherine picked the best room in the family wing for Lizzy. Actually, as it happened, Anne had the best room and had her maids move her while her mother was away bludgeoning Fitzwilliam into submission. Anne then prepared to dig in her heels no matter how much her mother argued, but Aunt just looked at the change and smiled. “Good.”

Everyone in Rosings was on a given-name basis, just because Lizzy allowed it for Fitzwilliam, and we all followed suit like a bunch of little ducklings—or maybe sheep; ducklings are Lydia’s analogy.

Our other new cousin-brother-friend-confidant apparently decided we were not matrimonial prospects within minutes; probably while he was lifting a spitting mad Lydia off the floor trying to keep her from killing Mr Collins. I have no idea how that happened so fast, but maybe it had something to do with wanting to ensure he was never on the receiving end, but there was more to it. He never had a sister, so he attached himself to us like a piglet, and all were satisfied with the arrangement.

We had all become close, so when Richard came in with an actual thundercloud following his head, we knew something serious had happened since his last letter. Looking more carefully, the event seemed recent, very recent, as within the hour.

He practically ran by me, saying, “We have an emergency. Please gather your sisters… well, perhaps only the Bennet sisters at the moment… and Fitzwilliam in the parlour. I will be right back.”

With that, he ran up the stairs two at a time, but of course that part is just me having some diversion. What I mean to say is he only forgot about his bad leg and fell back down cussing like a sailor once, then hobbled up as quickly as he could.

He was back in less than fifteen minutes, dressed in his gentleman’s clothing, though looking like he had a blind and crippled valet. He was carrying his regimentals. His agitation was so severe that brother Darcy was ready to accost him over it; but then Richard stopped a footman and gave him the strangest instructions.

“My good man, if you would be so kind as to burn this uniform… now! Also, if you would not mind, instruct the rest of the staff to burn any other uniforms that happen to appear in my luggage.”

All right, that was strange.

He saw we were all sitting down, and sat down to join us—by which I mean he alternated between sitting and staring at us as he talked, getting up and pacing agitatedly in a fine imitation of our other brother, nearly falling over with his bad leg, and sitting back down to repeat the process.

The story he told was of an unusual encounter with a lady in the middle of Hunsford. The lady was apparently accompanied by only a girl of around fourteen, and as best we could make sense of his rambling story, she was an angel sent from the very heavens, who thoroughly despised him within minutes, or possibly on sight. It got to the point where she had a list of things he had done wrong in less than a half hour almost long enough to require quill and paper to keep track.

Brother Darcy, who was usually a bit taciturn and also had a reputation for sticking his foot in his mouth, said, “Richard, you astound me. It took nearly six weeks for Elizabeth to accumulate ten things she hated about me. It sounds like you did it in six minutes.”

My other brother was not amused. However, I suspected Fitzwilliam had endured endless teasing all his life, and from the looks of Richard, this might be his last opportunity, as it was obvious he was besotted with this ‘angel’. He was beginning to sound like Mr Bingley.