Mr. Darcy allowed me to nap for some time before I felt his hand on my shoulder. I sat up immediately for fear that we were in danger, but when he assured me that all was well, I felt relief that my only threat was a growling stomach; Gert's meagre rations had not satisfied my hunger. He bade me rise and follow him, explaining that, while I slept, he had explored a short distance from our retreat and to our great, good fortune, he had discovered a narrow country lane that might possibly lead to Hazleden. He guided me through a brief tangle of trees and it did not take long before we reached the edge of the forest. From there, a rough roadway lay before us, its worn ruts indicating it was traveled, although how often, of course, neither of us knew.

"I think we should continue our journey well back from the road within the cover of these trees, lest our captors also use this path," Mr. Darcy said. "From here I can observe one coming from afar and, if it appears a possible harmless soul, I shall step forth and secure our passage. To be safe, you should remain out of sight, Miss Bennet, until I have found us a ride."

I looked him up and down and wondered if he had any idea of his appearance. The once perfectly dressed gentleman who had begun this journey some days previous now appeared bedraggled, unkempt, and highly suspect. His beard and hair were untidy; the bottom of his long coat possessed a good six inches soiled and stained from his misstep into the river; and his once polished boots were by then scuffed and laden with layers of dirt and mud. I entertained serious misgivings that anyone would welcome him into a conveyance.

"Do you not think it more prudent that we ask for a ride together, sir?"

"I do not," he said hastily. "It will be a simple task; I do not need your assistance. Now keep behind the trees and I shall walk near the open."

I did as he said, but beneath my breath, I muttered, "Stubborn!"

We walked for some time. The sun had climbed high in the sky before we heard the distant clatter of a horse and cart. Mr. Darcy darted back into the edge of the forest and we remained concealed until the transport could be viewed clearly. Seeing that it contained only an old man driving what appeared to be an empty cart, Mr. Darcy strode forth from the woods, raising his hand to hail the driver. The poor, frightened man took one look, immediately grabbed a whip and urged the horse into a fast clip, yelling at him to run. Although Mr. Darcy ran after the driver, entreating him to stop, the man's fear of this wild-looking stranger rushing from the wood proved evident; he and his horse and cart soon disappeared from sight.

"Stupid fellow! Why would he not stop?" Mr. Darcy was extremely vexed.

We continued plodding on through the perimeter of the woods. The day had turned muggy, unseasonably hot and yet full of clouds threatening rain. Eventually I removed my coat, growing warm from the steady pace at which we hiked. Mr. Darcy, likewise, stopped to take off his, and in so doing, caught it in a vicious snarl of thorns and briers neither of us had noticed. Accompanied by various exclamations, he laboured to dislodge it, but the greater his attempt, the more entangled it became. I had just offered assistance when we heard the distinct sound of another rider or riders approaching. Mr. Darcy warned me to remain hidden and we both strained to see if the forthcoming traveler belonged to the gang of highwaymen who had abducted us.

"Ah, it is but a single young man driving a cart," I said softly.

"Blast! I must get this coat loose before he passes by."

"Allow me to approach him, sir. Perchance I shall find greater success and he will offer a ride."

"You? Absolutely not!"

I had, however, already walked hurriedly through the trees toward the road.

"Elizabeth!"

"Free your coat, sir. I shall secure our passage."

I proceeded closer to the path, stepped out into the open, smiled and waved at the driver. Immediately he pulled on the reins and halted the horse. I could see a large pen in the cart and noises indicated it contained some type of animal.

"Hello," he called.

"Good day, sir," I answered, walking nearer. "You have come just in time." I went on to tell him that my horse had suffered a mishap some ways back and that I was in need of a ride. When he looked askance at my appearance, I explained that the accident had occurred the day before and that I had wandered through the woods all night searching for the road. "Could you tell me to where it leads, sir?"

"To Hazleden, Miss."

"And how far might that be?"

"Another 14 mile or so."

"And might you offer me a ride? I would be most grateful."

"I go only as far as the cut-off to Mr. Martin's place, but I'll take you that far and gladly."

I thanked him with another big smile and then added, "Just let me fetch my brother from the woods."

"Your brother, Miss?"

"Yes, he's had a slight mishap with his coat; it will take but a moment." I ran a few steps back and called, "William, this kind fellow has offered us a ride. Can you not hurry?"

The young driver looked somewhat apprehensive when Mr. Darcy emerged from the trees. "What's wrong with him? He don't look a fellow what had no accident. He look like he fell in with hard times."

"Oh, it is of little consequence," I said quickly, for I could see that Mr. Darcy had abandoned his greatcoat to the brier patch and, either because of losing that fight or because I had been successful in securing a ride when he had not, he appeared quite angry. Flushed and scowling, he barely nodded at the driver as I made the introductions.

"My name is...Mary...uh...Smith and this is my brother, William...Smith."

"Jack Burnaby," the young man said, doffing his hat and exposing a shock of red hair. He appeared to be a callow youth, about the age of my sister, Lydia. He hopped off the cart on the opposite side and made his way around back, loosened the slats across the rear and shoved the heavy pen aside.

"We are brother and sister now?" Mr. Darcy hissed. "What next? Shall you be my daughter?" "Shush," I cautioned, "he will hear you." I then walked to the back of the cart, whereupon I was shocked to see a huge black and white sow inside a rude sort of pen. "Ah, is it...quite safe to ride back here with...your pig?"

"Yes, Miss. Sadie won't hurt your brother none. And you can ride up front with me."

"What?" Mr. Darcy exclaimed.

"Come along, William," I said quickly. "We must not delay this good man; he is showing kindness to strangers."

I refused to meet Mr. Darcy's eyes, keeping my head down as I hurried past him to the front of the cart, but I could feel the ferocity of his glare. I stopped short, however, upon finding the young man directly in front of me.

"Need a hand up, Miss?"

Mr. Darcy immediately stepped between us. "Never mind. I will assist my...sister."

Before I knew it, he placed his hands around my waist and lifted me up to the driver's seat. I murmured my thanks and closed my eyes at sight of the grimace on his countenance. Glancing over my shoulder, I watched him walk to the back of the cart and climb aboard, knowing with certainty that he possessed little appreciation for the seating arrangements.

All of a sudden, the pig began to squeal like a wild woman! She snorted and snuffed and tried her best to push her snout between the bars of the cage into Mr. Darcy's back.

"Hush up there, Sadie," Jack yelled, then smiled and winked at me. "Don't mind her, Miss. I'm taking her over to Mister Martin's prize boar. 'Tis breeding time."

"Ah."

The young man and I conversed for much of the short journey. He was friendly and seemed harmless, and I attempted to discern as much as possible of what he might know about our whereabouts. He told me that he lived with his parents on a farm about three miles back, that if he did his work well, his father had promised him a trip to Hazleden on market day. When I asked if he ever traveled to Jonah's Village, he frowned, saying that his parents would not allow him to set foot in it because everyone knew that town had gone bad. Far too much riff-raff hung out there and his father thought it a dangerous place for his wife and children. He went on to say the locals claimed Nate Morgan and his men stayed around there from time to time. He had never actually seen Morgan, but he knew all about him, an infamous highwayman.

"Did you come through that way, Miss, when you met with misfortune?"

"No...we were on our way to town when it happened."

"To London, Miss? Then you be traveling the main road on the other side of the river?"

"Yes," I said, hesitating somewhat. I knew that I had never been on that road, but was afraid to tell him the truth, that we had been kidnapped far from this part of the country. When he looked puzzled, I said that we had wandered around during the night and found ourselves completely lost by morning. Quickly I reiterated how grateful I was that he had come along, hoping that he would not ask me how we had crossed the river. He did, however. I was forced to prevaricate again, weaving a tale about how my horse stepped in a hole and broke its leg. I then doubled up with my brother until his horse fell as we crossed the river.

"You crossed the river?" Jack's eyes bulged out in surprise. "It be treacherous in spots."

I agreed. "That's when we lost our other horse, along with my brother's money pouch."

"All your money be gone?"

"Utterly - at the bottom of the deep - lost forever." I gave a great sigh and attempted the saddest expression I could conjure. Silently, I amused myself with the idea that if I did manage to survive this adventure and my reputation did not, I could always go on the stage, for I had acted more parts than I cared to during the last four days. I stole a sideways glance at the youth and felt satisfied that he believed my cock and bull tale.

"That is enough of my sad story. You say that you are on your way to Mr. Martin's? Is it far off this path?"

"About three mile west once I leave the road. I'd take you and your brother with me, Miss, but Mr. Martin not be much for company. He don't even allow me in his house. I'll sleep in the barn near Sadie tonight."

"Does reason exist for his unfriendly demeanour?"

"Folk say he turned sour when his only boy run off and joined up with Nate Morgan's gang."

I felt a chill run down my backbone. "And does he keep in touch with this son? Is it possible that he sometimes shelters the highwaymen?"

"Don't know, Miss, but I don't much think so, else me father wouldn't send me over there alone. He says that boy turning wild broke the old man's spirit and that be why he keeps to his self."

"You say he is an excellent breeder of pigs, though?"

"That he is, Miss. Ain't a sow around here what can keep away from his boar! You ought to see him - he be the biggest in the county!"

Just then Sadie erupted in another long round of excited squeals and snorts.

"She certainly seems delighted."

"She is, Miss. Wound up like a top! I hope that old boar's had a good, long rest a'fore we gets there."

I turned slightly to see the sow had worked her way through the bars of the cage enough to nudge Mr. Darcy's back with the tip of her snout. I could imagine the anger and frustration he must be suffering. Goodness! I had managed to place him in a situation even more difficult to bear than my sister Mary's performance at the Netherfield Ball.

Eventually, we reached the cut-off to Mr. Martin's pig farm. Jack offered his regret at not taking us all the way to the next village. I thanked him, however, and assured him that his aid had been of great assistance to us. Mr. Darcy said little, merely nodding curtly before we resumed our journey toward Hazleden on foot.

We walked in silence, staring straight ahead until the horse and cart could no longer be heard. Only then did I chance a quick peek at Mr. Darcy's countenance. I expected darkness and did not meet with disappointment. His brows pulled together in a deep frown; his lips tightly pressed together; he plodded forward, each step angrily resolute. The muscle in his jaw even seemed to twitch in time with his tread. I, who cannot abide indefinite silences, finally broke the wordless tension.

"Mr. Darcy, if you are angry with me, would it not hasten the resolution of our conflict if I were informed of your reasoning, for I cannot determine the cause if you will not speak."

He took a deep breath. "Miss Bennet, allow me the courtesy of time sufficient to recover from this recent experience before imposing upon me for conversation."

"Forgive me, sir, I did not mean to impose." We continued on a short way, but I could not let it rest. "Sir, I fail to see why the benevolence of a stranger should result in your resentful manner, unless this is further manifestation of your general nature which you warned me about earlier in our acquaintance and of which I am now more than well aware."

He stopped abruptly and turned to face me. I had already walked a few steps ahead before I noticed and turned back.

"Madam, if you had been forced to spend the last hour in far too close company with a pig the size of a small cow and endure its wild antics, not to mention its odor, your own sunny disposition might possibly be termed resentful!"

I struggled not to laugh or even smile, but his fit of pique was so petty and beneath him that I had to press my lips together to control my expression.

"You made a great sacrifice, sir. I am sure the pig will recall that leg of the journey with pleasure." No longer could I maintain my composure and as my shoulders began to shake, mirth bubbled up from within and despite all my efforts, I burst forth in laughter. Mr. Darcy turned aside, but when I did not cease after a few moments, he faced me anew.

"I rejoice that I provide you with such merriment. Are you quite finished?"

I nodded and, in truth, I endeavoured mightily to quell my laughter, but as oft times happens when one attempts to stifle amusement, it only added fuel to the emotion, and so I continued in helpless, embarrassing abandonment. By that time, tears streamed from my eyes and I doubled over with the pain caused by such wild hilarity. Mr. Darcy turned to glare at me. If I had thought earlier that fire shone forth from his eyes, it was nothing compared to now, but I simply could not stop.

I shall be eternally thankful that laughter is contagious, for it eventually cracked even Mr. Darcy's stiff armour and he, too, began to smile and then softly laugh. Encouraged by my continuous inability to smother my response, he soon laughed aloud with me. Thus we stood beside the path, helplessly out of control for some time until slowly, sanity returned. Wiping my eyes with my hands, I marvelled at how handsome he was with his countenance lit up in joviality.

"Not only do I smell like the river and dirt, but now I reek of pig," he said, which started both of us again on another riotous uproar.

"Can you not see the look of horror on Miss Bingley's face if she were to meet up with us now?" I cried.

"At last I might be freed of her attentions, for I can hardly see her drawing near to one who looks and smells as I do."

"Nor me, as well, sir." I took a deep breath and did my best to gain control of my emotion. Yet, what relief swept over me with that spontaneous release provided by the sharing of hearty, abundant laughter. I felt as eased as though I had slept ten hours on a fine feather bed. The old proverb flashed across my memory: A merry heart doeth good like a medicine.*

And then as quickly as amusement overtook us, self-consciousness returned. We began our trek once again and I did my utmost to turn my attention to the surroundings, acutely aware that once again we had shared an intimate moment. Laughter and tears verged closely upon each other and it seemed that either one or the other tore down the boundaries between us. I determined to restore those barriers as much as possible, beginning with a return to the danger of our surroundings.

"Could you overhear my conversation with young Jack, sir?"

"In between squeals."

I smiled again, but did not give way to amusement. "So you understand why I refused his offer to take us to Mr. Martin's house?"

"Because of his association with Morgan's gang, yes, that was prudent. Even though the boy thinks the farmer has broken relations with his son, it may be unlikely; he and his cohorts could take refuge there at any time. Yes, Miss Bennet, you made a wise decision."

I was pleased that he agreed with me. "In truth, sir, I was called upon to make up tales with such haste that I wonder at their believability."

"Well, no one but a besotted youth would have deemed your story true. Your horse falls in a hole? And then mine falls into the river? My word, Elizabeth, we must have been riding two decrepit old nags."

I rolled my eyes. "Of course, it was an insupportable story, but we have been hard pressed to come up with myriad accounts these past days. I confess that my imagination has quite run its course."

"What I consider most bizarre and fail to comprehend is why you said we were brother and sister. Of all things - brother and sister! No one would believe that. Why not leave it as we were - husband and wife? We now have some experience enacting those roles."

"I feared the boy might mention to acquaintances that he had picked up a husband and wife. They, in turn, might know Morgan and pass the information on to him or one of his men. I changed our names for that reason. Mary Smith, I know, is unoriginal, but as I said, my creativity has vanished."

"I disagree. Your creative impulse is highly charged to paint us as brother and sister."

"But why, sir? Our appearance is somewhat similar; we are both dark-haired and possess brown eyes. I fail to see the incomprehensibility you claim."

Again he stopped walking and turned to me, his expression troubled. "It is just impossible! No one but that besotted youth would ever think we are in the same family. Married, yes, but never brother and sister."

Aha, now I saw his reasoning. I turned on my heel and began to pick up the pace, outdistancing him in an instant. "I understand your meaning, sir. You need not insult me further."

He hastened to catch up with me, which did not take long, as his long stride could make two of mine at any given moment. "Insult you? What do you mean, Miss Bennet?"

"That you consider it a degradation for anyone to think we are part of the same family! Do not worry, sir. No one would ever call you a Bennet!"

"You mistake my meaning! I meant no disparagement toward your family. If I had, do you think I would have earlier represented ourselves as married?"

"One sometimes marries beneath oneself. That is more excusable than being born into such a family. I do not wish to discuss it further."

"I do. I shall not have you think ill of me."

"What I think of you is of little consequence, sir. As long as that besotted youth believed me, we are secure. And on that subject, why ever should you describe him in that manner not once, but twice?"

"Because any fool could see that he could not tear himself from your fine eyes."

"My fine eyes!"

"Yes," Mr. Darcy said quietly, looking away. "I have described them thus, myself, in times past."

I was shocked at his disclosure. When and to whom could he have spoken of my eyes?

We did not return to the subject at hand, however, for at that moment, we heard movement behind us. In the far distance, a rider-less horse approached, obviously lame, for its limp was pronounced. United in thought, we hastened back to the perimeter of the woods, seeking its concealment. The poor horse continued on until it stood directly in our line of vision. Still saddled and bridled, a huge, red gash tore across its left foreleg.

"Wait here," Mr. Darcy cautioned, before gingerly approaching the animal. I kept a watchful eye up and down the path, but saw no one following the horse. Nervous and scared, the creature would not allow Mr. Darcy too near, and after several unsuccessful attempts, he gave up and returned.

"She's been shot," he said, shaking his head. "There is nothing I can do for her without a weapon."

"Shot! But who would...where is her owner?"

He shrugged his shoulders. " 'Tis a dark portion of the country in which we are stranded, Elizabeth. Who knows what happened to the horse or its rider?"

I watched the wretched animal limp a few more steps, saddened that we did not have the means to end its suffering. Suddenly, something about the saddle appeared familiar. I peered more closely and my heart turned over. "Mr. Darcy, does not that horse look like the one Morgan rode?"

He narrowed his eyes, following my gaze. "Morgan! Why do you say that?"

"Look at the saddle. A black feather like the one he wore in his hat is caught beneath the saddle horn."

He cautioned me to wait and once again walked toward the animal. Although unable to draw close enough to grab the feather, when he returned, he confirmed that my suspicions were correct. "That means Morgan may be shot, as well, if the horse is his. It also means there is a high possibility that he and his men are in this vicinity. We must return to the inner wood."

Catching my hand, he pushed his way into the labyrinth of undergrowth and we disappeared into the depth of the timber. How long we scrambled through the woodland, I know not. At length, my legs began to ache and my blistered feet burned. For some reason, I began to sense a slight shortness of breath.

"Mr. Darcy, can we be climbing a hill?"

He nodded. "A marginal one, it seems. Unusual, for most of this land has been flat except for that small knoll near the highwaymen's cabin."

"May we rest a moment, sir?"

He stopped and looked around before answering. When still, I was struck by the silence. Not a leaf fluttered, bird chirped, nor creature scurried through the grass. "We must proceed," he whispered. "It is too quiet. We must find a place to hide."

We struggled on through the wildwood, our breathing growing more laboured with each step. Not a doubt remained by then that we were ascending an incline. When I feared that I could not take another step, Mr. Darcy finally stopped short. "Remain here," he said. "Let me scout out what lies ahead within that clearing."

We had come upon a break in the vegetation. There the land was rockier, filled with large stones and slight open spaces. I watched him advance into the glen, and then climb up a slight cliff, disappearing around its curved precipice. I recall how dry my throat felt - whether because I had nothing to drink all day or because of the trepidation I felt at no longer having Mr. Darcy within sight, I know not - but I cannot think of that time without remembering the ache in my throat. What would I have done if he did not return, if he fell off that cliff, if he met with one of Morgan's gang on the other side?

As I have always preferred to dwell on the positive, I willed myself to find suitable distractions. Surveying the surrounding coppice, I determined to count the variety of flora in which I stood. Beech and chestnut trees intermingled between the oaks with a plentiful supply of hawthorn interspersed here and there, as well. Examining the branches a bit closer, I spied a tangle of vines wound around the limbs of several shrubs. I stepped closer and was thrilled to spy remnants of once thick clusters of berries hanging therein. Blackberries! My mouth watered and hunger awakened at thought of the succulent, juicy fruit. Carefully, I reached into the maze of vines and began to pick the few berries overlooked by birds and creatures of the forest. I had rarely tasted anything that gave me greater pleasure. I ate until my hunger was somewhat assuaged and then plunged deeper into the shrubs to collect fruit for Mr. Darcy. Without pail or basket, I was compelled to lift my skirt to hold the precious treasure. So entrenched was I in pursuit of the delicious food, that he returned unbeknownst to me.

"What a lovely sight," he said.

I looked up immediately and found myself overjoyed to see his face. "Oh, I did not hear you. Yes, look at the riches I have discovered! Lovely is the perfect adjective."

He looked quizzical. "Riches?"

"Blackberries!" I held my skirt forward to display the bounty.

"Ah, I did not see them. Excellent, Miss Bennet. I do believe you have happened upon the final portion of this season's fruit." He took a handful from my skirt and popped a good portion into his mouth. "But let us proceed. I have discovered a rough haven for the night."

"Haven? What do you mean?"

"Come with me." He pushed the thick tree limbs aside, holding them until I had passed through the barricading growth. I scrambled to keep up with him and retain our supper while doing so. Eventually, I was forced to hold my skirt with one hand and cling to Mr. Darcy's hand with the other in order to climb the steep rocks. In doing so, I noticed that I could not do so without exposing a good portion of my petticoat. Somehow, it seemed unimportant. He and I had shared far too many familiarities during the last few days to bother about a petticoat that was four inches deep in dirt at least.

We rounded the cliff on which I had watched him earlier disappear; walked several yards more, and then he stopped. "Look here, Miss Bennet - it is a cave, high and dry, secluded from the wind, and hidden away in this wood. Is not this a perfect shelter for the night?"

"A cave! But is it safe, Mr. Darcy? Are there not wild animals within or bats or some such things?"

"None that I found. I've already explored as far as I could, and I discovered nothing other than some ancient, broken crockery, which indicates that others have previously made use of its hideaway."

We advanced up the stone formation and entered the shallow hole cut out in the side of the cliff. Once inside, I could see that it was actually smaller than it had appeared from a distance. Mr. Darcy explained that he had walked back as far as light permitted until the cave ended in a hole. It was possibly large enough for a person to slip through and might lead to an underground cavern. He had earlier made a loud commotion and tossed rocks down the hole, but received no response from below. Neither animal nor man emerged and he deemed it safe enough for us to stay the night. I was conscious that the light was already beginning to fade and darkness could not be more than an hour away.

"I know that you suffer from fatigue," he said. "Why not sit here against the cave wall and rest? Perhaps you might remove your shoes; earlier you said that your feet hurt."

I sat down with relief, conscious that he spoke the truth. He picked up a portion of an old stone bowl and after wiping it out with his handkerchief, I emptied the berries into it. We then both ate our fill of the fruit.

"But for scones and sweet cream, we have dined sufficiently," I said with a smile. It amazed me how easily my outlook had improved with our recent discoveries.

"And a decanter of wine would not be unwelcome," he added.

"I would not refuse a tall beaker of water."

"Nor I." He stood up and walked to the mouth of the cave. "Listen! Do you hear that? Does it not sound like the faint whisper of the river?"

"I cannot hear it from here, sir. Wait a moment and I will join you."

"No, no, do not rise; remain there and rest. But I do believe we are not that far from the stream."

"Can you see it, sir?"

"No, but if I climb down that slope and follow the noise, I could be there within a short while." He looked around quickly, and spying an old pitcher, grabbed it up with a pleased exclamation. Determined to bring back enough water for the night, he promised to return before dark. Once again, he urged me to take off my shoes and rest.

"I shall not be long, less than an hour."

I hated to see him leave. "How shall you find your way back? What if we are lost from each other?"

He knelt before me and took my hand in his. "That will not happen, Elizabeth, I promise you. I would never leave you."

With a brief squeeze of my hand, he rose once more and departed down the cliff and through the trees. In spite of what he said, I rose and walked to the cave's entrance, watching until I could no longer see any trace of him. A shiver ran down my spine as I thought of how alone I was, at the mercy of whatever lurked without. Just then, however, an unexpected stream of late afternoon sunlight burst through the canopy of clouds above, illuminating my face. I smiled at its warmth, suddenly filled with thanksgiving. In this heavily overcast day, I counted one more treasure.

I turned back inside, sat down, and unlaced my boots. Pulling off my stockings, I noted light stains of blood. As feared, raw blisters had formed beneath two toes on my left foot. It felt good to expose them to air, even though it was cool within the cave. I massaged the other parts of my feet that were sore, but not blistered. Gradually, my body succumbed to the weariness accosting it and before I knew it, I drifted into slumber.

How long I slept, I know not, but I awoke to the sound of footsteps crackling the twigs strewn along the ground outside the cave. I sat up quickly, unconsciously smoothing my hair with one hand and drawing my bare feet beneath my gown, anticipating Mr. Darcy's return. The steps grew closer and closer and I could hear heavy breathing. He must have run back and now the climb through the rocks caused his laboured breath. I opened my mouth to call out his name in greeting, when I spied the faintest glimpse of his head moving through the leaves of the trees just outside the opening to the cave.

I did not cry out - my greeting caught in my throat. I began to tremble, my heart raced and my hands turned to ice, for with dismay I saw that the approaching person's curls were not dark...but golden!

* Proverbs 17:22

To say I was frightened would not do justice to the feeling that enveloped me upon sight of the person making his way straight toward the cave. I was terrified! I knew that it could be none other than Morgan and my fears were justified.

With great haste, I arose, not even wincing when my swollen, blistered, bare feet touched the cave floor. Frantically I looked around and grabbed a large, jagged piece of broken pottery. I clasped it behind my back and edged toward the rear of the cave, hoping that simple crockery would somehow protect me from the gun I knew the highwayman bore. Where could I hide? The only option lay behind me and I could not force myself to crawl into that deep, dark hole. I had to take my chances above ground where I could at least see my adversary.

Two more steps and he appeared, breaking through the leafy cordon into the open. A look of utter astonishment spread over his face. "Mrs. Darcy!"

My eyes narrowed at his appearance. Dishevelled, hatless, and muddy, he appeared nothing like the handsome, rakish man whom I had danced with the night before. He wore his coat on one arm, but casually slung over the opposite shoulder, a black cape tied loosely around his neck. I watched him reel toward me as one heavily intoxicated.

"Begging your pardon, Missus, but I can no longer stand."

With that, he fell to the floor of the cave with a moan, his eyes rolling back in his head. Seeing that no one followed behind, I threw the shard aside, and knelt beside him.

"Mr. Morgan, what...what is wrong?"

His only answer was another moan and a plea for water.

"I have none," I answered, "but would it help to eat? I have berries."

He shook his head and turned over slightly, crying out as he did. And that is when I saw it - blood, a great amount of blood coursing down his right side. I must have inhaled audibly at the shock of it, for he opened his eyes then.

"Mmm, my apologies, Missus. Know I am a sorry sight, especially for one in your condition."

"What happened to you?"

"Shot in the shoulder by me own men. Ain't that a pretty turn of the screw? And here I thought they be loyal boys."

"We must stop the bleeding."

"Pretty hard to do; the hole be deep."

"Wait here, I'll be right back."

I ran outside the cave and after quickly looking around to make certain I was alone, I slipped off my petticoat. Picking up a stick, I rammed it through the material until I got a good tear started, whereupon I ripped off the lower muddy hem and threw it aside. I then tore the remainder into strips, knotting them together until I had a fairly long piece of muslin. Returning to Morgan, I again knelt beside him and gently prodded him until he opened his eyes.

"What?" he cried, reaching for his pistol.

"It is me, Mr. Morgan, you need not fear."

"Mrs. Darcy...Elizabeth." He groaned again and attempted to raise himself.

"Let me bind your shoulder, sir." Clumsily, I assisted him to a seated position and removed the part of his coat caked in blood. I bit my tongue to keep from crying out at the ugliness of the wound. If only I possessed water, at least I might have cleansed it, but the best I could do was wrap the muslin around it tightly, attempting a poor, awkward excuse for a tourniquet. It was evident he had lost an inordinate amount of blood and was in dire need of medical attention.

"Mr. Morgan, where are we? How far is it to the nearest doctor?"

"Too far for me. I fear there be little assistance any sawbones can render at this stage."

"You do not know that for certain. If you direct me, I shall fetch help while you rest here in the cave."

"You would do that for me?" He smiled slightly, and raised his good arm, touching my face with his finger and running it down the curve of my cheek.

"I would do it for any man." Well, perhaps not, I thought to myself. It would take a bit more Christian grace than I possessed to tramp through the woods in the dark for Sneyd.

"Where's Darcy?" Morgan asked suddenly. "Did he forsake you? Leave you stranded in this place?"

"He has gone to the river to fetch water. I could not...that is, my feet hurt and he wanted me to rest."

"How gallant; always the gentleman, is he not?" His voice was mocking.

"He is," I retorted. "And a kind one at that."

"Ah, do I detect a change in your feelings for the man?"

"I fail to comprehend your meaning, sir. Mr. Darcy is a generous, compassionate...husband."

He laughed softly. "But not your husband, Elizabeth, is he?"

His eyes held mine in the steadiest of gazes and without a doubt I knew that I could no longer keep up the pretence.

"He was never your husband and you be not with child, correct?"

I looked away, refusing to confirm his suspicions, but convinced that nothing I said would persuade him otherwise.

"It no longer matters, Elizabeth. You can speak the truth now."

"What do you mean? Will you no longer harm Mr. Darcy or myself?"

"I should never have harmed you. Darcy, well..." He shrugged and then winced in pain caused by the movement.

"What about the ransom? Have you received your money? Is that why you were shot? Did your men disagree as to the division of spoils?"

"You might say that. Truth is, that weasel Sneyd convinced them to turn against me before we even left to fetch it. Last night after you and I parted, I spent far too long with that bottle of wine and more tankards of ale than I remember. When I stepped outside, Sneyd and Rufus waylaid me, demanding to know where Darcy's uncle was to meet me with the ransom. Naturally, I refused to tell them and that's when Sneyd accused me of plotting to run off with it all. Said I was besotted with you and planned to take you with me. Well, he was half right...I am besotted, but my life be not one for a lady like you."

I was aghast at his statements. I felt little shock at Sneyd's mutiny, but to hear Morgan actually declare his feelings filled me with dismay. I could not return his affection and yet, for some unknown reason my heart overflowed with sorrow for him, for whatever misfortune had rendered him such an angry man, for the ill-fated choices that had brought him to this moment, for his wasted life. In another time, another circumstance, who knows what he could have achieved?

He went on to relate how his encounter with Sneyd resulted in a fistfight and how it had ended with a pistol pointed at him until he revealed the planned destination for receipt of the ransom. Sneyd and Morgan both ran to mount their horses and they exchanged gunshots, the results of which Morgan and his horse both suffered. Then Sneyd and the others rode away, the other men casting their lot with him. Gert had run out to help Morgan, but he took off in pursuit of the gang, unaware that his horse had been shot.

"But not before you gave her the key to our room and told her to release us," I said.

With a great sigh, he closed his eyes and leaned his head back against the wall of the cave. His countenance contorted in pain and I was at a loss at how to alleviate it. I rose and walked to the entrance, scanning the woods for any sign of Mr. Darcy. Oh, why could he not appear? He would know what to do. My search proved fruitless; all I could see was an absence of that brief, earlier sunlight and all that approached was the beginning of a light rain. I walked back to the wounded man and knelt at his side.

"Mr. Morgan, would you not be more comfortable lying down?"

He roused slightly, his eyes clouded with pain.

"Here," I said, sitting beside him, "rest your head in my lap."

"Your lap?" He looked confused. "I'll stain your frock."

"It is of little matter. Come, I shall help you." Gently, I aided him in turning to shelter his injured shoulder, and place his head in my lap.

"Be you an angel, Elizabeth?" He attempted to smile. "My mother...she was an angel. I remember her touch - the softest ever - even though her hands be rough as bark from scrubbing and cleaning all day long. She deserved better..." His voice trailed off and once again he closed his eyes. I felt the heat from his head and recognized that fever consumed him. If he fell asleep, I feared he might not awaken.

"Tell me about your mother, Mr. Morgan."

"Wha..." He attempted to open his eyes again.

"Your mother - you were talking of her - does she live near here?"

He frowned. "She lives among the angels now. The hardness of that lot what fathered me done her in far too soon."

"I am sorry," I murmured.

"She was a maid in my father's house. A maid when she should have been a lady." He uttered the words with a bitterness the like of which I had rarely heard. I urged him to continue talking and so he told me that his mother had been born the seventh child of a poor country curate. The family had once been gentry, but the parish his grandfather served consisted of a majority of houses that had fallen into difficult times, resulting in a genteel type of poverty.

"Reared in a God-fearing house, she was, though. That's why she give me this name from the Bible. From the time I be just a little one, she'd tell me I was called Nathanael after the apostle. Do you know the story, Elizabeth?"

I shook my head.

" 'Nathanael be a man without guile,' she'd say. 'See that you grow into your name, son.' "

A man without guile? Hardly. I said nothing, but my expression must have betrayed my thoughts.

"I see what you think," he said, closing his eyes. "No matter. She died a'fore I went bad. At least she was spared that."

When he did not speak further, I asked him to continue, hoping to keep him awake as long as possible. At first he refused, attempting to slip away into the unconscious world, but when I would not relent, he resumed his tale. As a young girl, his mother had been sent from home to board with and work for an innkeeper whose wife was an invalid confined to her bed five years. A pretty girl, but timid, his mother was helpless against her master's advances and subsequently gave birth to Morgan when she was but 15 years old. The innkeeper had a daughter only a few years younger than Morgan's mother. Surprisingly, the girl accepted her father's dalliance and helped care for the baby; a bond grew up between them.

When the innkeeper's wife died a year later, he did the right thing and married Morgan's mother. For a while he enjoyed a somewhat normal childhood, although they never had much and times were difficult. From the time he was a small boy, he was forced to work hard alongside his mother and sister and often he went to bed hungry. Then when he was not yet nine years old, his mother took sick and died; his father lost the inn because of unpaid taxes and a love for the bottle; and the orphaned children were sent to live with their paternal grandfather in the country.

I recalled his earlier anger at how his grandparents had lost the land on which the cabin sat. When I asked if it was the same, he nodded, confirming my suspicion. Morgan was a lad of fourteen when that happened. He and his grandparents attempted to live by odd jobs, but eventually were consigned to the workhouses where his grandmother soon died and his grandfather not long afterwards. His sister had gone to work as a scullery maid for a squire two years earlier, much like his own mother had. Morgan eventually escaped the poorhouse and struck out on his own, angry and bitter at how life had cheated his family.

"And the girl, your sister - what happened to her?"

His face darkened in a frown and he closed his eyes tightly. "No more. Too tired."

Although I persisted with questions, he either fell asleep or refused to answer. I thought of the sad tale he had told and wondered if it was true. But why should he lie? One rarely lies about one's mother. When he began to groan and turn his head from side to side, I instinctively touched his forehead, smoothing his curls back and whispering soothing sounds, much as one would do for a child. Briefly, his eyes flickered open.

"Sing," he said.

"What?"

"Sing that song from last night, Elizabeth. My mother taught me that tune." A spasm of pain gripped him and he began to twist back and forth once again. Neither my touch nor consoling words relieved him, and so I began softly singing the ballad to which we had danced.

"Did you not hear my lady Go down the garden singing"

As though given a calming tonic, he grew still and quiet and I continued.

"Blackbird and thrush were silent To hear the alleys - "

"Do not let me interrupt you," said a voice laden with sarcasm.

I startled, ending the song in mid-sentence. "Mr. Darcy!" So intent was I in observation of Morgan's feverish countenance, I had failed to hear his return.

Pulling Morgan's coat back, he quickly removed the gun from his waistband. One glance at his face told me that he was furious to return to such a scene. With a single movement, he grasped Morgan by the throat and thrust him from my lap! The highwayman cried out with pain when Mr. Darcy attempted to pull him to his feet.

"How dare you touch her!" he said, his tone deadly. "I shall make you regret you ever laid a hand on her!"

"No!" I cried. "Mr. Darcy, I pray you, release him, he is badly hurt."

By that time Morgan was fully conscious and his coat fell open, revealing the bloody wound concealed beneath. Mr. Darcy's eyes widened in shock and he pushed him away, allowing the highwayman to fall back against the side of the cave and slide down to a sitting position.

"Ah, Darcy," he muttered. "So we must meet again. Pity. I much prefer Elizabeth's company." He then fell over, slipping back into unconsciousness.

I immediately hastened to explain what had happened, relating Morgan's account of his gang's treachery. "Will you not help me see to him? If I can use your handkerchief, perhaps I can wash away some of the blood."

"Do not waste the water for that task when it is raining. Far better to give him a drink."

"Yes, of course," I said, reaching for the pitcher Mr. Darcy had set down at the entrance to the cave.

"But not before you have drunk your fill." He took it from my hands.

"Sir, he is injured."

"And he is a murdering thief. You are thirsty, Miss Bennet, and you shall drink first."

We stared at each other; how hard he could be, I thought. I took the pitcher from him and drank. The water did taste wonderful; I had forgotten how thirsty I was, but when finished I wiped my mouth with my hand and said, "Is that enough, sir, or shall you insist upon a particular amount?"

Ignoring my sharp remark, he picked up an old chipped cup and filled it half-full with water. Kneeling, he raised Morgan's head and placed the cup against his lips. "Come on, man, drink." He shook him, and none too gently, until he roused somewhat and did as he was told. When finished, he let him lie back, soon lapsing into sleep again.

"We must get help, sir," I said. "He shall die if we do not."

"And how do you suggest we accomplish that? Night has arrived and brought the beginnings of a storm, along with a strong north wind."

I glanced outside and saw that he spoke the truth. It was now pouring and lightning flashed in the distance. "Yes, conditions are not favourable, but you could go on to Hazleden, find a doctor, and return with him."

"And leave you here alone with Morgan?"

I nodded. "It would be impossible for us to carry him without some type of litter, and someone must stay to give him aid."

"Are your senses addled, Elizabeth? In the first place, it is highly unlikely that I could find my way out of these woods in the dark and rain. Even more important, I shall not leave you in this god-forsaken place at the mercy of a criminal!"

"Look at him! He cannot harm me now."

"But his men can. If Morgan knows the whereabouts of this cave, do you not think it likely that Sneyd and the rest of those ruffians do, as well?"

"He's right, Elizabeth," Morgan said, attempting to rise to a sitting position. I was surprised that he had overheard us, for I supposed him to be in a deep sleep. "This cave be a favourite of many a highwayman. They say even the famous ol' Dick Turpin used it. 'Course that be far before my time, but I believe 'tis true 'cause I found his initials carved on the wall back yonder." He motioned with his head toward the rear of the enclosure.

"And how would you recognize his initials?" Mr. Darcy asked, a sardonic expression on his face. "You cannot read."

What? How did Mr. Darcy know that?

Morgan smiled slightly. "You be brighter than I figured. Tell me, just what did you write in that note to your uncle?"

"Enough so that you and your gang would be met with sufficient force."

The outlaw smiled again. "Did you at least tell them to meet up with us at the place I named?"

"I did."

Morgan chuckled. "Ol' Sneyd may get his comeuppance then."

Mr. Darcy asked him how far away the trysting place lay. Morgan replied that it was fifty miles from the cabin, about twenty miles on past Hazleden. The appointed time had been set for that morning, so most likely by now Sneyd and the men had either picked up the ransom or they had been apprehended. They never intended to return Mr. Darcy and I to the Earl; instead, they planned to send him on a fruitless chase in the opposite direction.

"And what were your plans for us?" I asked Morgan.

Mr. Darcy looked at me as though I were dim-witted. "What do you think? Tea and crumpets?"

My eyes widened and I caught my breath at the thought! I turned back to Morgan. "Does Mr. Darcy speak the truth?"

"Do not waste your breath asking for a straight answer from him. He would just as soon shoot us as look at us." He strode across the small enclosure and peered out into the night.

I, however, kept my eyes fixed on Morgan. "Tell me, would you have killed us?" He looked away and closed his eyes. "I do not believe it. You could not have...you would not have shot us!"

"Why do you find it incomprehensible?" Mr. Darcy asked. "Was he not bragging last night about the last man he killed?"

I whirled around and faced him. "That was the only man he ever killed."

"Do you expect me to believe that?"

"Yes, I do. He killed a man in self-defense, the same man who scarred his face."

"Ah, Elizabeth," Morgan said, groaning as he attempted to raise his head. "Must you ruin me good name? People 'round here think I be the worst of the lot. If you go spreading that tale, won't no one be a'feared of me."

"Then why did you tell me?" I asked softly.

"Yes," Mr. Darcy said. "Why did you? What happened between the two of you last night?"

Morgan did not answer; instead, he fell over in a slump, this time truly slipping into an unreachable state. I dropped to my knees and attempted to rouse him; when he did not respond, I spread his cloak over him, hoping to provide as much protection from the elements as possible. It had now grown exceedingly colder. The wind rustled through the branches outside. The rain whipped the remaining autumn leaves against the sides of the cave. I shivered even though I wore a pelisse made of wool. Glancing at Mr. Darcy, I realized that his clothes were wet and he anticipated a long night without his greatcoat.

"I should have gathered wood while you were gone, sir. What could I have been thinking?"

"What, indeed," he muttered, stomping around the cave, obviously searching for anything we might use to build a fire. Two or three small tree branches had blown into the cave before we arrived. He began to strip them of leaves, snapping them into twigs with what I deemed particular vengeance. I ventured farther into the darker rear portion of the shelter. Finding a generous amount of dead leaves and debris blown up against the wall, I used my shoe as a broom, sweeping up the refuse into a pile. Kneeling, I gathered up the shavings into my skirt and carried them to the middle of the cave where Mr. Darcy had placed the broken twigs.

He had turned Morgan over and now untied the small flask of gunpowder attached to his belt. My pulse quickened when I saw him also retrieve a large dagger encased in a sheath attached nearby. And then I gasped - a large amount of blood had escaped the wound and lay pooled beneath his body.

"Mr. Darcy, look! He shall bleed to death!"

"He shall," he said in the most matter-of-fact voice, "unless we get a fire started."

"A fire? Yes, that will help keep him warm, but how can that save his life?"

He set to work as he talked, measuring and sprinkling gunpowder over the mound of dried leaves, grasses, and twigs. He then took Morgan's flintlock pistol and struck it against a sharp rock. "If I can heat that knife blade, I can sear the wound. Do you think you can hold his hands still?"

"Of course," I said quickly.

He struck the rock again and a faint wisp of smoke appeared. "Even though he is ill," he cautioned, "he is much stronger than you." With another strike the smoke increased. He lowered it to the powdered litter, blew gently, and the requisite flame ignited.

"Now, let us turn him again and remove the bandage."

I pulled Morgan's cape aside, as Mr. Darcy leaned over his injured shoulder. A quizzical expression appeared upon his countenance when he unwrapped the makeshift tourniquet. "What in blazes did he use for a wrapping?" He held the bloodied muslin out and then a shock of recognition passed over his eyes, as a long strip of lace slipped through his fingers.

"Miss Bennet? Is this...did you...? Does this garment belong to you?"

I attempted the haughtiest expression I could muster. "That is of little importance, sir. I pray you will not be impertinent. Desperation calls for unusual measures. Let us not haggle about my petticoat, but employ immediate haste in tending this wound."

His look was unreadable, seemingly a combination of disapproval and grudging admiration. Shaking his head slightly, he turned back to the task at hand. "Morgan!" he called. "Wake up, man! Can you hear me? Wake up!"

"Must we awaken him?"

"He needs to prepare himself for what is coming. The actual cauterisation will most likely make him pass out, so do not be alarmed when it happens. Morgan! I say, Morgan! Wake up." He shook him again and again; finally, the man opened his eyes, but it was obvious that he could barely see us through the haze of pain.

"I am going to sear the wound, man. Mrs. Darcy shall grip your hands. You must allow her to do so and not interfere. It will hurt like the devil, but it beats the alternative." Mr. Darcy knelt beside the highwayman, looked directly into his eyes, and spoke slowly and distinctively, as though to a child.

"Don't...don't take too much pleasure in it, Darcy," Morgan managed to say. I then took his hands in mine and Mr. Darcy plunged the knife blade into the fire.

"Do not watch, Mr. Morgan," I said. "Keep your eyes on me."

"Much rather do that anyways, Miss."

With one swift, deft movement, Mr. Darcy pulled the blade from the fire and placed it against Morgan's shoulder. The man jerked and screamed aloud - a terrifying cry that reverberated around the cave - and then, mercifully, he fainted. Even unconscious, though, his grip on my hands did not lessen. Mr. Darcy continued to hold the knife on the wound for what seemed like forever, but could not have been more than a few seconds; then, laying it aside, he untied his neck cloth and took it, along with his handkerchief, to the entrance of the cave and washed them in the rainfall without. He then cleansed blood from around the wound, rinsing out the cloths again and again. At last, he seemed satisfied and covered the seared flesh with the re-washed wet material.

Only then did he turn his gaze upon me. "Miss Bennet, are you ill?"

I shook my head, conscious only of the way Morgan still clutched my hands. Gently, Mr. Darcy loosened his fingers and released me from the highwayman's hold. "You have gone quite pale. Are you certain you are well?" He lifted me up and moved me closer to the small fire. "Sit here and drink some water."

While I sipped from the pitcher, Mr. Darcy covered Morgan with the cape and made further attempts to make him as comfortable as one could be, lying on a stone floor. As I watched him, my senses slowly returned. Sick to my stomach, I now wished I had not eaten earlier. I raised my hand to brush a strand of hair from my face and was surprised to find it wet, not with rain, but tears. Unbidden, I had silently joined Morgan when he cried aloud.

At last seemingly content that he had done what he could for the man, Mr. Darcy returned to the cave opening and washed his hands anew in the rainfall. I marvelled with what skill he had cared for him, how he had taken command of the situation and done what was best. With mortification I thought of how unreasonable my idea had been. It would have been foolish, indeed, to send him off in the storm searching for a way out of that forest in the dark. My emotions had caused me to demand the impossible, while his calm, rational manner had prevailed.

"Are you feeling better?" he asked, as he sat down beside me, and stretched his hands out to the warmth of the fire.

"Yes," I murmured.

"Good. 'Twill not do to have two patients on my hands."

I looked up to see a friendlier manner about his eyes. "Mr. Darcy, I must ask you to forgive me. I fear that my alarm caused me to make unsound requests. I defer to your better judgment and I am grateful for what you have done. If Morgan lives through the night, it will be due to your skill and wisdom."

"You must prepare yourself, Elizabeth, for the eventuality that he may not live."

I nodded.

"Will your heart survive if he does not?"

My heart! "I...I do not understand what you mean, sir."

He averted his face and stared into the fire. "I sensed...an attraction between you and Morgan. Am I correct?"

"You are incorrect, sir. I am in no danger of a broken heart, whatever his outcome. I do feel for him - one could hardly refrain from doing so - but it is nothing more than pity. I cannot help but sympathize with the injury he has suffered; that does not mean that I condone the unwise choices he has made. No, Mr. Darcy, you are mistaken as to any attraction between us."

"Partly, perhaps."

"What do you mean? Do you not believe me? Would you accuse me of dishonesty?"

"I believe you are as truthful as you can be; however, you may not know the true depth of your feelings. As for Morgan, I know he is enamoured."

My face began to burn and not from the heat of the ever-diminishing fire.

"You say that you do not return such feelings," he said, "but then why in blazes, may I ask, did I find his head in your lap and you singing to him?"

It was his countenance that burned now, aflame with anger and...could it be jealousy? Had Mr. Darcy play-acted the role of husband so long that he now believed he had that right? "Sir, I tried to soothe him. He was feverish and restless, out of his head for the most part, and I sang simply to ease him somewhat."

"That tune sounded oddly familiar. It seems that I recall hearing the faintest snatches of it last evening when I listened at the door while you had dinner with Morgan. You then returned in tears and refused to tell me what happened. Why, Miss Bennet? What is it you are hiding? Did the man make advances toward you?"

I closed my eyes in regret and resignation. He insisted on hearing the story and eventually I gave in, telling him how Morgan had demanded that I sing and dance with him. He was angry that I suffered such humiliation, but he continued to probe, asking leading questions until he asked the one query I hated to answer. Had Morgan made love to me? When I told him that he tried, but that I rebuffed him, he rose and began to pace the short circumference of the cave. At long last, he stilled and stood peering out into the rain. Almost at that very moment, the small fire consumed the last of the final twig, flaring up for a moment only to vanish, plunging our shelter into darkness. A strong gust of wind blew in immediately thereafter, and I shivered, pulling my coat closer.

"Well, that is the end of our fire," he said, turning back to face me. "The night shall grow very cold. Should you not replace your shoes?"

I agreed if he would grant me privacy. While he turned his back, I scrambled to pull on my stockings and shoes. Although my feet still hurt, I was glad to see that the brief absence of boots had allowed the swelling to subside somewhat. We discussed the best place for me to sleep, agreeing that the back of the cave would be most protected from the elements. He then checked on our patient once again, felt his forehead, and placed his ear upon his chest to make sure he breathed.

"He is still feverish, but fortunately for him, in a deep sleep." Mr. Darcy then announced that he would remain near Morgan in case he grew restless during the night. I recalled once again that he must face the cold with his long coat lost in the brier patch.

"Sir, how shall you stay warm? You have nothing with which to cover yourself. You must...well, that is...why not allow me to share my coat with you tonight, for you may grow ill with the mere protection of a waistcoat." He immediately refused, protesting that my pelisse was much too small for the two of us. "You are wet from your walk through the rain," I replied, "easily susceptible to a dangerous chill. Now I insist that you be sensible, for neither can I handle two patients."

"I am only a bit damp, not wet through. I reached the cave before the rain descended in earnest; I shall do fine."

I knew that he spoke in error, that once again he was protecting me, putting my interests before his own. Had I not witnessed this same behaviour throughout our ordeal? "I shall not rest, sir, unless you agree to share my coat."

"Elizabeth, it simply will not do. We...well, we would be forced to lie...that is, to be exceedingly close together in order to share such a narrow little coat, for your figure is light and pleas..." He cleared his throat. "I could not impose upon you."

"Have we not shared a blanket three nights, sir? I believe I know you well enough to be assured you are not a man who takes advantage of a woman. You shall not impose; I insist. I do not need to lie down. Can we not sleep sitting up? Why not over here with our backs against the cave wall." I motioned toward an area in the rear of the enclosure.

I could just make out in the dim light how his chest heaved as he sighed. "Very well, but I suggest we sit nearer Morgan. If he becomes restless or worsens during the night, one of us will awaken."

And so it came about that somewhat awkwardly we sat down, Mr. Darcy placing himself on the side closest to Morgan. I had unbuttoned my coat, removed it and now opened it up to spread over the two of us. I quickly felt the lack of my petticoat; the cold easily penetrated my muslin gown and undergarments. I shivered and drew up my knees so that they might benefit from the wrap. Mr. Darcy was right, however, about the insufficiency of the garment; it covered neither of us. No matter how we turned it about, the pelisse was simply too small.

He pressed his lips together, looked around, and then once more cleared his throat. "I trust you understand, Miss Bennet, that I am not attempting liberties, but if you would turn a bit more toward me and...uh...allow me to place my arm...here behind your head..." He gently slipped his arm around my shoulders, also turning toward me and drawing me into an embrace. "There. Now, rest your knees against my leg. Is that...is that uncomfortable?"

"No." For some reason, I was unable to manage more than a whisper.

"And if you...well, if you care to...you might lay your head on my shoulder." He slipped his other arm around my waist and pulled me even closer. "Now, are you warmer?"

"Yes," I whispered again. I wondered if anyone's skin had ever literally caught fire from the heat of a man's arm. If not, mine might be the first.

"And your coat now covers more of both of us. That is much better, so let us try to sleep. Good-night, Elizabeth."

I could not answer. Every part of my body felt as though it were aflame. Never had I felt this way before: not when any young man had held my hand or briefly touched my waist when dancing; certainly not when Sneyd had clasped me to him in that vile, repulsive way; and not even when Morgan had held me against his wild beating heart. It was a familiar feeling, akin to the sensation I had experienced when Mr. Darcy held me last night, but now magnified a thousand times. This embrace was all encompassing, for I very nearly sat in his lap. Not only could I feel the taut strength of his body, but the smooth power of his shoulder on which I lay, and the hypnotic rhythm of his strong chest beneath my cheek. My forehead nestled into his neck now exposed by his open shirt and the earthy, heady scent of his skin seemed to pervade my senses. How could I find it pleasing when he had not bathed in days? What was happening to me?

"And Elizabeth?"

"Yes," I said, breathlessly.

"Do not fear the arrival of Morgan's men tonight. I have his gun and knife within reach."

"Thank you, sir. That is...most reassuring." How I lied! Reassurance was not what I felt at all!

If truth be told, I did not fear what lay without that cave. I feared what lay within...and most of all, what had taken hold of my heart.

If I live to be a woman of great age, so old that the majority of my memory fades, I shall never forget that night I spent in the cave with Mr. Darcy...or the morning after.

More than once during those dark, bitter hours, Mr. Darcy arose to tend Morgan. Bathing the highwayman's face anew each time did little to lessen his fever, but it seemed to comfort him and ease his restless thrashing about. Upon each occurrence, I scarcely awakened - I admit this to my shame - but dozed against the cave wall, missing the comfort of Mr. Darcy's warmth. With his every return I gladly opened my coat, hurriedly cuddled close to him, and welcomed his strong, consoling embrace.

Evidently, some hours before daylight the rain ceased, leaving a raw dampness in the air that seemed to permeate my bones. That time before dawn has always proved my deepest sleep and, fortunately, it did the same for our patient for he did not awaken us for some time. The dimmest glimmer of sunrise filtered into my sleep-drugged senses before I struggled toward wakefulness. When I did open my eyes, I was amazed to discover that I lay across Mr. Darcy's chest, my mouth against his face, his arms clasped tightly around my back and waist. I thought it was but a dream, that I could not possibly have slipped into that position. The last I remembered, we had been sitting up and now it seemed we had slid down upon the floor of the cave.

As I attempted to lift my head, my lips brushed against his cheek. Instinctively he turned toward me, his eyes still closed. Before I knew what had happened, I found his mouth upon mine, his lips searching, hungrily pressing ever more eager kisses until...my own lips parted. Deliciously, he began to probe my mouth with an increasing, intoxicating fervour; helplessly, I responded in kind. Still drugged in the early haze of sleep and drowning in this unexpected, pervasive passion, I felt my mouth go soft and slack, surrendering to his provocative exploration.

His arms tightened around me and he began stroking my back, one hand finding its way to the back of my neck. I became conscious that my own fingers now tangled among his curls, caressing the silky strands again and again.

"Well, seems I be mistaken."

The sound of that statement jarred my senses as though a wild animal screamed in my ear. Immediately I awakened, as did Mr. Darcy! Opening his eyes, he gazed at me, as shocked as if he saw a spirit. Quickly we released each other, turning toward the voice. We sat up to see that Morgan was conscious, all too conscious it would appear.

"And here I thought you didn't care for him, Elizabeth. Won't be the first time a pretty face fooled me. Hate to interrupt, but I'm bedeviled with a powerful thirst." He still remained on the floor where he had lain all night although he had now turned over to face us.

Mr. Darcy jumped up, raked a hand through his hair and straightened his waistcoat. He picked up the pitcher of water and poured some in a cup before taking it to Morgan. Although the man could talk, he was still too weak to lift his head and had to rely upon Mr. Darcy for aid. I, too, quickly rose and self-consciously attempted to smooth my skirt and hair. It was a hopeless task, however, and I donned my pelisse to cover my wrinkled clothing. Unable to face either man, I walked to the mouth of the cave and stepped outside. The ground was soaked, the leaves on the trees laden with remnants of last night's raindrops. The approaching sunrise made them twinkle and sparkle like fairy lights. The wind had ceased and although it was bitterly cold, the world seemed suddenly brand new.

Or was it my life that was brand new?

My lips still throbbed with the memory of his kiss and surely I glowed from head to toe. How had such a thing happened? Why had he kissed me? And even more important, why had I kissed him back? Could I be in love with Mr. Darcy? Did that explain this tempest of emotions racing through my heart?

Before I could think clearly, he stood beside me. I turned expectantly, but I did not know whether to smile or speak. What anticipation did he hold?

He met my eyes briefly and I was stunned to see the tortured expression therein before he turned away. "Miss Bennet...Elizabeth, I...I hardly know what to say. I do not know what possessed me to forget myself in that manner. I can only ask you to forgive me. I should never have...if I had been more awake..." He sighed deeply. "I am floundering. I pray you understand it was all...a mistake."

Mistake! He thought our kiss a mistake?

His words could not have stung more if he had struck me. My heart fell to my feet and I forced myself not to sway visibly. Tears misted my vision and all I desired was to escape his presence. Where could I flee? I heard him say my name once more but I lowered my head to the ground, unwilling to allow him witness to my emotion. Swallowing, I steeled myself to quell my shaking voice.

"Then let us not speak of it again," I said softly.

"But do you not want to...that is, should we not discuss..."

I shook my head. "I pray you will excuse me, Mr. Darcy. I must answer life's necessity." Quickly, I stepped away from the cave and hurried into the sanctity of the woods.

"Of course," he called after me, "but take care that you do not stray farther than privacy demands."

My body's needs did demand compliance, but I wandered much farther than necessary for that accomplishment. Over and over his words echoed in my head - a mistake! I was a mistake. Kissing me was a mistake. Of course, it was. How could I have allowed myself the least thought that he loved me? I was a fool, an utter fool. Again and again I berated myself with such thoughts. What must he think of me? Did he consider me wanton, a girl who shamelessly allowed such licence? Why had I lost control so easily and given in to him? I had felt as powerless as a tiny leaf blown about in a great wind, unable or unwilling to resist the strength of his passion. I trembled, thinking how natural and easy it had been to allow him command over both my body and my heart.

And now, what would I do? How could I face him? Once again, all my old fears of what lay before me if and when we reached safety surfaced anew. Not only had I portrayed the role of Mr. Darcy's wife, I had shared a room and blanket with him night after night. Although we knew that we were innocent, what would society think when our story was revealed? Perhaps it would not have to be known. I could not imagine that Mr. Darcy would reveal it willingly, but then I thought of the witnesses to his declaration that we were married: not just the highwaymen if they were apprehended, but Miss Bingley, Mrs. Hurst, and the servants attending the carriage. There would be many questions and I had little hope that I could survive unscathed.

After this morning I did not even feel I should escape censure, for surely my behaviour demanded such. I began to question myself anew: my motives, my foolishness, and my helplessness in the grip of Mr. Darcy's affections. Did I love him and if so, how could I? Much of the time I did not even like the man!

No, that last thought was false. I did like him. I admired him. I respected his strength, his intelligence, his courage and compassion. Heaven knows I did not always agree with him, but I knew him better than I had when we began this journey and yet, I felt as though I barely knew him. He was a reserved man, a quiet man, a man who rarely revealed his emotions and yet, had I not witnessed a greater range this week than he had exposed during his entire visit to Hertfordshire? Had I not seen him angry, arrogant, foolishly brave, and yet kind, tender and wise? And had I not caught but a glimpse of the raw passion he kept hidden from the world? I closed my eyes, remembering the unleashed force of his affection and wondering what greater depths yet lay just below the surface.

I shook my head, trying to erase the longing now awakened in my heart. Surely, the last four days and how much we had endured together had created a false intimacy, causing me to believe I cared more deeply for him than I truly did. After all, we had been deprived of restful sleep, catching what we could here and there; our senses had been on constant heightened alert; and we had been thrust into each other's sole company with little escape both day and night. Surely that could be cause for my lapse in judgment, could it not?

With sudden swiftness Mr. Wickham's accusations echoed about me. I recalled the harshness with which Mr. Darcy had treated him and Morgan, as well. Then I thought of his solicitous care of the highwayman through the night. I felt utterly bewildered. Who was the man?

I cried for some time, but at last my tears subsided and sanity returned. Leaning against a tree, I had not noticed that its rain-soaked bark dampened my pelisse until I attempted to wipe my eyes and found my hands already wet from pressing against the tree trunk. At that point I was past concern as to my appearance; what difference would it make to wear a wet coat? I pushed my hair back, using my fingers to search for possible hairpins. I was relieved to discover the last two I owned and had just begun to pin a few strands back when I heard a horse whinny and crash through the underbrush!

"Who goes there?" a man's voice shouted.

I darted behind the tree and cowered low, hoping he could not see me. I heard him alight from the horse. I held my breath as his steps drew nearer, thinking surely my heart would jump from my chest. Dear God, I prayed, please do not let it be Sneyd!

I heard the click of a cocked gun and screwed my eyes shut. If I were to be shot, I did not want to see it coming.

"Hello!" the man said in wonder. I opened my eyes to see a gun pointed straight at me, but to my amazement I found that it was not Sneyd who held it, but a handsome soldier, instead. He smiled and lowered the weapon. "And who might you be?" When I did not answer, he asked, "Do you live around here? And if so, have you seen a man and a woman traveling the roads?"

I shook my head, the only response I could manage.

"His name is Darcy and she is Miss Bennet. Are you certain you have not seen them?"

My eyes now widened in wonder. "I...I am Elizabeth Bennet, sir."

"Capital! My men and I have been searching for you and for my cousin, Darcy. Is he nearby?"

"Your cousin?"

"I am Colonel Richard Fitzwilliam."

I let out my breath with a great sigh. "Oh Colonel, I...I cannot tell you how glad I am that you are here!"

After I told him that Darcy and the highwayman were at the cave, he fired three shots in the air as a signal to his men. He then offered me his arm and I led him up the path to the shelter. On the way I attempted to fill him in on the major events that had transpired since Mr. Darcy and I had been released from the cabin and how we found the cave. He had questions as to Morgan's condition which I answered to the best of my ability.

"Mr. Darcy seared the wound last night and it is thanks to his good care that the highwayman awakened this morning."

"Well, I shall recommend my cousin's nursing skills to my doctor," he said, laughing. "Perhaps he can find employment there if he should ever lose his fortune."

I liked the colonel. He was pleasant and agreeable, easy to converse with, and by the time we reached the cave I felt comfortable in his company.

Mr. Darcy, however, met us with Morgan's pistol drawn and ready. He, too, was much relieved upon recognition of his relative and soon eight or nine more uniformed men had ascended upon our hideaway. They made short work of preparing a litter on which to carry the injured man, cutting down small saplings and using ropes from someone's backpack to attach a blanket. All of the soldiers were on foot other than the colonel, having left their horses at the road in order to comb the woods more thoroughly. Four of them held the litter while two more picked up Morgan and deposited him thereon. They did not take pains to lift him gently, but instead almost tossed him onto the makeshift device. He cried out in pain and I immediately stepped forward to assist him, but Mr. Darcy caught my arm, restraining me.

"Let him be," he said quietly. " 'Twill not do to make a fuss over an outlaw."

"But he is seriously injured!"

"They are aware of that fact. You must not make a scene."

He held my arm none too lightly and I was forced to acquiesce to his command. My better sense told me he was right, that I must remember to caution my responses for the time of censure had arrived. My heart, however, yearned to offer the poor man some measure of comfort.

Colonel Fitzwilliam approached us then and offered me his horse for the journey into Hazleden. "You look fairly haggard, yourself, Darce. Perhaps you should ride as well if Miss Bennet does not object."

I shrugged slightly, but Mr. Darcy declined, stating that he could easily walk the distance. However, when he walked somewhat unsteadily as we left the cave and had to reach out and grab a branch to gain his balance, the colonel insisted. "Here man, when is the last time either of you has eaten?"

I told him of the blackberries I had discovered last evening, but he brushed aside such simple fare, declaring that Mr. Darcy and I were probably both faint from hunger. "Come on, Darce, swallow your pride and take the horse. I shall not have my men in need of constructing another litter. It is a good 10 miles to the village."

With reluctance Mr. Darcy mounted the great, black mare. He then reached down to lift me up as Colonel Fitzwilliam assisted me. I caught my breath when Mr. Darcy's hands encircled my waist and my pulse quickened as he settled me on the horse directly in front of him. It seemed that once more we were forced to endure each other's close company. I held myself rigid, leaning forward, striving not to nestle against his chest, but it was impossible. The horse took a single step and I bounced backward. His arms closed around me as he held the reins and I did my best not to tremble in his embrace.

The colonel walked beside us and he and Mr. Darcy conversed for much of the first hour. They had caught Sneyd and the rest of the gang the day before when they arrived to retrieve the ransom. Evidently, they were unskilled in such treachery and their innate ignorance contributed to their fairly easy apprehension. Colonel Fitzwilliam stated that from what he had learned, they were a second-rate bunch of ruffians, lacking experience in the crime of kidnapping. They preferred local petty thievery and only recently had progressed into highway robbery.

"Highwaymen are, for the most part, a scourge of the past," the colonel said. "Unfortunately, this bunch strayed from their usual haunts and happened upon your carriage. A singular matter of bad luck, one might say."

"Indeed," was Mr. Darcy's only reply.

"I found it surprising that they should hold you for ransom; in truth, I doubted those chaps had the intelligence to think of such a scheme."

"They did not," Mr. Darcy said. "I fear that it was my idea."

"Yours? But why?"

"Because of me, sir," I said, joining the conversation for the first time. "They threatened to abscond with me and Mr. Darcy spoke up for my protection."

"I see. Well, we shall return to civilization within the hour and I trust neither of you are the worse for wear. Miss Bennet, I do hope that you, in particular, may quickly put this experience behind you."

I nodded, but knew within my heart that it would be an exceedingly long time before I forgot one moment of this journey. Shortly thereafter, the colonel left us, walking back to check on the prisoner in answer to a request from his aide. I felt the loss of his presence. Now even more than before, I was aware of how Mr. Darcy's arms touched my body, one arm around my waist and the other encircling my back, and how the canter of the horse caused us to sway back and forth against each other. And even more alarming, I was intensely aware of how silent Mr. Darcy remained now that we were alone.

I felt certain this would be the last time in my life that I would ever feel his arms about me.

That evening I was to join Colonel Fitzwilliam and Mr. Darcy for dinner. Hazleden was not a large town, similar in size to Meryton, but it possessed more than one inn and the colonel had made arrangements for us to spend the night at the finest the community had to offer. He had carried from town a change of clothes for Mr. Darcy and one for me that my aunt had prepared. I was most interested in his recital of how things had transpired in our absence, especially as to my family.

Mrs. Hurst and Caroline Bingley had been forced to endure captivity in the carriage with the menservants for several hours before the men eventually succeeded in kicking the carriage door open. The highwayman had not only securely closed the door, but tied it shut as well. I could imagine their suffering! Two gentlewomen bound and gagged with three menservants similarly constrained, all stuffed into the inside of Mr. Bingley's carriage (which was crowded when transporting only four passengers), and the servants attempting to kick open a securely-tied door when they, themselves, had their feet bound? Abominable, I am sure, but I was forced to chew my lip to refrain from smiling at the thought. During the colonel's recital of these facts on our journey into Hazleden, I wondered if Mr. Darcy shared my amusement at such a vision. He did not indicate thus and I quickly subdued such ill-timed thoughts. Was it only yesterday that we had given ourselves up to the shared abandonment of uncontrollable laughter?

After being rescued by a mail coach, the sisters had reached London that first night while we were held in captivity at the highwayman's cabin. They had immediately dispatched a messenger to the Earl of Matlock, who arrived upon their doorstep well past midnight. He had then sent express posts to Hertfordshire early that very morning, one to Mr. Bingley and Mr. Hurst and another to my father. The gentlemen, along with my father and Jane, had arrived in London the next afternoon and Colonel Fitzwilliam and his father had spent hours with the men discussing possible rescue attempts. When I asked as to my father's health, the colonel assured me that although worried, he remained well. Mr. Bingley had retrieved my trunk and he and the colonel had escorted my father and Jane to the home of the Gardiners that very evening. The colonel remarked how pleased he was to meet them. I wondered at Mr. Darcy's reaction to such approval by his cousin of my Cheapside connections, but he remained curiously quiet during the entire time.

At the inn, I had endured curious stares while making my way upstairs to my quarters. Mr. Darcy and I were a surprising pair I am sure: dirty, unkempt and shockingly road worn. Never had I enjoyed a bath more than the one I took in that small room upstairs. After washing my hair and scrubbing the journey's filth from my body, I asked the maid to refill the tub with clean, steaming water. I then dismissed her for half an hour's time and simply soaked, reveling in the comfort derived from such luxury.

Now, the clock had struck eight times and I knew that I must make my way below stairs to join the gentlemen's table. The maid had assisted me in dressing and I was pleased that my aunt had sent one of my favourite gowns, a pale green frock. I surmised that Jane had possibly suggested it, for she knew my preferences as well as I did. With a final peek in the mirror, I was about ready to leave the room. The girl had done well with my coiffure, but I peered closer in the glass. Circles lay beneath my eyes and my face had grown thin. What does it matter, I said to myself. There is no one below who will notice your looks.

I, however, could not fail but admire Mr. Darcy's appearance. Upon descending the stairs, I saw both gentlemen in earnest conversation in the dining room. As I made my way into the room, Mr. Darcy saw me first; they both stood and bowed while I curtseyed. How strange that we so quickly reverted back to society's formality, I thought, when only hours earlier, Mr. Darcy and I had undergone days of familiarity with each other.

It was amazing what a bath, shave, and a change in clothes could do to that gentleman's image. He was remarkably handsome and although he did not smile, I thought I detected a light in his eyes when he said my name.

"Miss Bennet, I see you have benefited from a return to civilization."

"She certainly has!" Colonel Fitzwilliam declared. "You look utterly charming."

I smiled and assured them that I was more than pleased to reacquaint myself with the niceties of life. I had rested over an hour on a soft feather bed after partaking of a light luncheon.

"Is it not pleasant to have a pillow once more?" Mr. Darcy asked.

"Indeed it is, sir."

"Do you mean to say that while held at that cabin you did not even have a pillow, Miss Bennet?" the colonel asked.

"Nor a bed, sir." I laughed lightly, but then caught Mr. Darcy's eye and saw him frown with the barest shake of his head as though he were warning me not to speak further of our sleeping arrangements.

"That is insufferable! Where did those barbarians make you sleep?"

"The floor was our only option," Mr. Darcy interjected. "Shall we not speak of more pleasant subjects?"

"Of course," his cousin replied as he filled our glasses from the carafe of wine placed on the table. He could not conceal the expression about his face, however, or the way he looked from Mr. Darcy to me and back again. Fortunately, the serving girl appeared then and we gave ourselves up to partake of the steaming plates put before us.

The colonel did attempt to speak of more mundane matters - discussion of the recent rains, the approaching Christmas season, and he questioned Mr. Darcy as to the abundance of sport in Hertfordshire - but by the close of the meal, our conversation inevitably returned to the harrowing experience we had just undergone. He informed us that he had dispersed a contingency of his men to the cabin to apprehend the woman.

"Gert? But why?" I asked. "She did not harm us; in truth, she is the one who released us."

"Yes, but she is a material witness and it is up to Darcy as to whether he wishes to press charges against her for aiding and abetting in the crime."

When I turned to him, his expression was non-committal. "I think it best that she at least be questioned," he said.

"I fail to see any reasoning behind that statement," I said emphatically.

The colonel smiled. "Best to let us sort it out, would you not agree, Miss Bennet?"

No, I did not agree, but I bit my tongue and purposefully tried to modulate my tone. "What about the highwayman? Has he received medical attention?"

Instantly Mr. Darcy's eyes met mine, but it was the colonel who answered. "Yes, he has and Mr. Jones removed the bullet about an hour ago. It seems you were correct, Miss Bennet. My cousin's amateur doctoring proved to stem the loss of blood and if all goes as planned, the rogue should be healthy enough to join his mates in Newgate and heal in time for trial."

"Shall Morgan be imprisoned with the gang who shot him? Surely, that would prove dangerous, would it not, Colonel?"

"Well, they will be bereft of weapons, so I see little to fear."

"Yes, but ..."

"Miss Bennet, you must not worry about the highwayman's benefit. After all, he had little concern for yours," the colonel answered.

"I beg to differ, sir. Although Morgan did take us hostage, I believe ultimately it was he who was responsible for our freedom."

"What? I thought you said the woman released you."

"She did," Mr. Darcy said, "but she told us Morgan gave her the key."

"And while imprisoned, it was Morgan who allowed us certain necessities that added to our comfort," I added.

"Well, you owe him little gratitude for that. I would not describe sleeping on the floor as a comfort," Colonel Fitzwilliam replied.

"No, but..."

"What Miss Bennet means, "Mr. Darcy interrupted, "is that in the long run Morgan proved less menacing than his men, although that hardly proves him guiltless." He turned a piercing gaze upon me. "Would you not agree?"

I nodded and said nothing more. What could I say? Morgan was guilty of kidnapping, robbery, and extortion. The fact that he had saved me from Sneyd's attack or that he had spared us by allowing our release did not absolve him of those crimes. And yet, I longed for the colonel or whatever authorities who held him to at least know of his background, to understand from where he came, and all that had happened to him. How could I speak of it, however, without appearing to favour the man? I sipped from the glass of wine, my mind miles from the scene before me.

"Is that not true, Miss Bennet?" Colonel Fitzwilliam broke my musing and I was ashamed to know nothing of what he asked. I begged his pardon and he repeated the question, something about the beauties of the Hertfordshire countryside. I murmured my concurrence and he continued.

"I recall visiting a portion of that county a few years back and I enjoyed it immensely."

"Oh? I wonder that we did not meet," I said.

"My visit was constrained to the southern portion I believe. Is not Netherfield somewhat north, Darce, near Meryton, I believe you said?" Mr. Darcy nodded. "I have never traveled through there. But since meeting you, Miss Bennet, I shall look forward to exploring that part of the country. Now, if you had proved to be part of the family that Darcy wrote and warned me about, it would be another story, would it not, cousin?" He laughed and raised his eyebrows at Mr. Darcy, which pricked my interest.

"And what family might that be?" I asked.

"I do not know their name, but Darce here was all up in arms over some frantic husband-hunting mother with a houseful of unmarried daughters. Seems she handpicked his young friend, Bingley, for one of them and it was all that Darcy could do to talk the man out of declaring himself."

My pulse began to race; I felt as though the blood had drained from my face. "Really? How interesting. Mr. Darcy is uncommonly kind to Mr. Bingley and takes a prodigious deal of care of him."

"Care of him! Yes, I believe Darcy does take care of him in those points where he most wants care. I would think Bingley very much indebted to him."

Mr. Darcy had begun to squirm in his chair. He sat up straighter, coughed lightly, and placed his hand at his throat as though his neckcloth might be in danger of strangling him.

"What is it you mean?" I asked. "Did Mr. Darcy give you his reasons for this interference?"

"I understood that there were some very strong objections against the lady, is that not correct, Darce?"

"Well, uh..." Mr. Darcy said.

"Is that true, sir? Do tell us." I demanded. "And why were you to be the judge? Why should you determine and direct in what manner your friend is to be happy?"

He stared at me, looked away, opened his mouth, and then closed it. Colonel Fitzwilliam evidently had not the slightest inclination of his cousin's discomfiture, for he simply laughed and said, "Believe me, Darcy rarely interferes unless it is warranted. All I can say is he is exceedingly fortunate that you, Miss Bennet, were the one to accompany him on this journey and not an offspring of that fortune-hunting mother. Would you not agree, cousin?"

Mr. Darcy picked up his glass and took a long drink from it. I took the opportunity to rise from the table, which, naturally, caused both men to stand, also.

"Miss Bennet?" the colonel asked. "Are you unwell?"

"A sudden headache," I replied. "Perhaps I have tarried over the wine too long. If you will excuse me, gentlemen." I smiled at the colonel and turned aside.

Mr. Darcy pulled back my chair. "I shall see you to your room."

I turned and stared at him with an expression I made certain he could not mistake. "Do not trouble yourself, sir. Stay and enjoy your wine and your talk. Perhaps you can further enlighten the colonel on the savagery of Hertfordshire society. I am perfectly capable of finding my own way. Good-night."

Before he could make any response, I fled the table, but not before I heard Mr. Darcy admonish the colonel. "Fitzwilliam, have you taken leave of your senses? Must you repeat everything I tell you?"

I hurried up the staircase into the sanctuary provided by my room. Dropping my shawl upon the bed, I walked to the fireplace, grabbed the poker and jabbed viciously at the burning log. I was breathing heavily, my anger blazing as much as the fire before me. I began to pace back and forth, chewed my lip and clenched my fists.

Very strong objections to the lady! How those words echoed round and round in my mind. Oh yes, and I knew exactly what those strong objections probably were: she had one uncle who was a country attorney and another who was in business in London.

"To Jane herself," I exclaimed aloud, "there could be no possibility of objection; all loveliness and goodness as she is! Her understanding excellent, her mind improved, and her manners captivating. Neither can anything be urged against my father, who, though with some peculiarities, has abilities which Mr. Darcy himself need not disdain, and respectability which he will probably never reach!"

When I thought of my mother, however, my confidence gave way and I could not deny the imprudent behaviour of my younger sisters. Those objections, though, would have little material weight, were it not for Mr. Darcy's pride. Their want of sense would warrant a wound, but not as deeply as that of our connections. Yes, it was that worst kind of pride that had produced such venomous interference on Mr. Darcy's part.

How had I ever thought he might love me, I wondered, and even more, why had I ever entertained the idea that I loved him? It went against everything I believed in. I had vowed that only the deepest kind of love would entice me into matrimony and I could not possibly love a man whose character I found sorely lacking.

I threw myself across the bed, pounded the pillow until feathers began to fly, and then I flopped over and allowed myself to weep. What a fool I had been! How had I allowed myself to indulge in such fantasy? And what was I to do with this aching need deep within me - this horrid betrayal of all I espoused - this painful, physical yearning to be held in his arms in spite of everything?

I did not speak to Mr. Darcy again until the time came to board the carriage and return to London the next day. Sometime during the evening before, a maid had entered my room with a message that he wished to see me, but I refused, instructing her to tell him that I had retired for the night. I was far too angry to trust myself to speak with him in a civil manner. I still could not believe he had actively interfered between Mr. Bingley and Jane and then bragged about it in a letter to Colonel Fitzwilliam. I certainly was not interested in hearing any trumped up excuses he might attempt to render.

Even though it was the first night I slept in a real bed in five days, my sleep was disturbed and I spent far too many restless hours. The next morning the circles under my eyes appeared even more prominent, but with a maid to dress my hair and proper clean clothing, I at least felt presentable. At my request, I breakfasted alone in my room on sausages, muffins, and steaming hot tea. I had just risen from the small table when the maid reappeared stating that I was wanted below stairs.

"I told you to extend my regrets for breakfast," I said. "Did you not tell Mr. Darcy and Colonel Fitzwilliam that I had already dined?"

"Begging your pardon, Miss, it is not those gentlemen who ask for you."

"Then who?"

"It's an older gentleman, Miss, and a young lady," the maid replied. "They didn't give me their names, but were ever so eager to meet with you."

I was dumbfounded as to their identity for I knew no one who lived in Hazleden. With a quick pat of my hair and a glance in the mirror, I left the room and made my way downstairs. The maid led me into the public room and in a far corner I saw the two souls I desired to see most in this world!

"Papa! Jane!" I cried, almost running into their outstretched arms. We kissed each other and embraced, my father clutching me closely in spite of the arena in which we met.

"Lizzy," he said softly, his eyes misting. "I feared I might never see you again."

"Oh, Father, I am well. Do not distress yourself."

"You look so tired, Lizzy," Jane said, openly crying. "You have deep circles under your eyes and scratches on your face and hands. Was it so very horrid?"

"Not so very." I smiled, attempting to make light of all that had happened, hoping to put them at ease. We sat down at the table and the servant brought another cup and saucer for me. "The cuts shall heal. In truth, I have emerged without scars and nothing worse than these dark circles, which shall surely vanish as soon as I have slept in my own bed once more. You may depend upon it."

"Oh, Lizzy," Jane said, squeezing my hand. "We were all so worried about you."

"And I for you; I knew you would be concerned, fretting about on my behalf. Tell me, how is Mama? Has she left her bed these five days?"

Jane shook her head, but my father added, "Her appetite, I am happy to report, has not suffered during the ordeal. For that we can give thanks." We laughed and I was thrilled that we were able to do so.

"But how - where - why are you here and how did you know where to come?" I asked.

"Colonel Fitzwilliam was good enough to send one of his men with a message as soon as you were recovered," my father answered. "He arrived at Gracechurch Street last evening and I made plans to depart at first light and see for myself that you are truly well. Jane, here, would not allow me to leave the house without her. Your uncle wished also to come and, indeed, he is outside at this very moment, seeing to the arrangements for our return to town."

"What a tiring trip for all of you. Here you have traveled since early morning and you shall have to turn around and make the trip all over again."

"It will not tire us, dear Lizzy," Jane said, "if we have the joy of your safe company." She caught my hand anew; in truth, I did not want her to ever let go. A few moments later, my uncle joined us and I basked in the glow of familial affection. Both Mr. Gardiner and my father lauded Colonel Fitzwilliam with praise. They also spoke highly of the Earl of Matlock, told how both men had gone out of their way to put their minds at ease and how capable and efficient the colonel was in his detective work. More and more I liked what I heard of Mr. Darcy's cousin and his family.

" 'Tis a pity that Jane's affections are already attached to another," my father said with a twinkle in his eye, "or her mother would recover from her malaise quickly enough and set her cap for the colonel."

I turned to Jane, raising my eyebrows in expectation. "My affections are not attached, Father," she said demurely, blushing like a pink rose.

"Ah, then I must write to your mother straightaway. The impending thrill of securing an earl's son will surely spring her from her bed!"

Jane and I both protested, laughing at his fanciful speculation. Mr. Gardiner, however, put the truth of the matter to utterance. "I am sorry, Jane, but I have it on the best authority that the colonel is a younger brother and thus, must marry a woman of means. Otherwise, I am sure you would be first on his list."

We continued to talk lightly, as though they needed to keep my spirits up. I wondered, though, in all their jesting why they did not include me as a possible candidate for the colonel. It was most unlike either my uncle or my father to leave me out of their teasing refrain; perchance they were treating me gently because of what I had been through.

By mid-day, our carriage was ready for the trip to town and so were we. I had little to carry with me: only the small valise my aunt had sent which now held my soiled garments. There had not been time for the servant to launder them and I elected to take them back wrapped in newspaper.

While overseeing the maid pack my things, I received an unforeseen jolt. As she spread out the paper on the bed before placing my clothes on it, I happened to see a headline.

EARL OF MATLOCK'S NEPHEW STILL MISSING

The words amazed me! I had somehow never thought our kidnapping would make the newspapers - how naïve of me. I grabbed up the paper and directed the servant to secure another. Carrying it to the fireplace, I sank down on the settee facing it and began to read:

Fitzwilliam Darcy of Pemberley in Derbyshire has now been missing four days, along with Miss Elizabeth Bennet of Longbourn from the county of Hertfordshire. Highwaymen abducted the couple on Thursday from the London road. When last seen, they were carried off through the woods in an eastern direction.

Also robbed, bound, and left for dead on the road were Mrs. Ambrose Hurst and Miss Caroline Bingley. The ladies and their servants have now been rescued and returned to town. The gentlewomen are in seclusion, still suffering from nervous conditions and the loss of their jewels and money.

The constable refuses comment as to any possible ransom sought for Mr. Darcy. Requests for information from his relative, the Earl of Matlock, also remain unanswered. One of the recovered servants, however, reports that before they were kidnapped, Mr. Darcy announced that Miss Bennet was his wife - an acknowledged surprise to all of London.

I stopped in shock and re-read that last line before continuing with the article. I could not believe it had been written in the papers for all to see!

Lady Catherine de Bourgh of Rosings Park in Kent, aunt of Mr. Darcy, has offered a reward of 5,000 pounds for his safe return. Anyone with information concerning the case should report it to the constable's office immediately.

Although I scanned the remainder of the article, it mentioned neither Mr. Darcy nor myself again, but continued on lamenting the fact that the plague of highwaymen preying on innocent travelers was not a thing of the past, as had been recently announced. Even though such instances were uncommon, the writer called for immediate means to rid the country of said curse.

Much of the article blurred in my thoughts because of that singular sentence that resonated in my mind: London society now thought Mr. Darcy and I were married! Surely it could not be. It was impossible. Did not Miss Bingley and Mrs. Hurst explain that Mr. Darcy had made that statement solely for my protection? I wondered if he had seen the paper. Most likely he had; perchance that is what he wished to speak to me about last evening, to warn me of what was to come. I had thought he might wish to apologize or make some excuse against the colonel's revelation. How foolish! He would not apologize for warning his friend against marrying into my family. I knew with what little esteem he held my connections. And now he was in a pickle, for he must in some way explain to society that he had not made a similar blunder. Oh yes, I could certainly see his need to speak to me and secure my cooperation in explaining the matter. He had little to fear; I could hardly wait to make it known that Mr. Darcy was the last man I should ever marry!

Outside the sun shone brightly, providing welcome warmth against the recent cold, wet weather we had experienced. My uncle and father awaited us at the carriage and Jane and I hastened to join them. As one footman lifted up my valise, another opened the door for us to enter. Jane had just placed her foot on the first step when we heard Colonel Fitzwilliam call my name. We turned to see the colonel and Mr. Darcy approach from across the drive.

"Miss Bennet, I trust you have everything packed," the colonel said.

"Yes. I have little to carry, so it did not take long."

"Let me add one more item." He reached inside his breast pocket and, taking my hand, placed an object in it. When he drew back, I was amazed to see my garnet cross.

"My necklace! Colonel Fitzwilliam, where did you find this?"

"The highwayman had it."

"The highwayman?" my uncle asked. "Which one? Were there not three or four of them?"

"Four," the colonel answered. "Unfortunately, they had sold all the other stolen jewelry, but Morgan, the ringleader, had this on his person. He offered it freely; asked me to return it to you, an action I, frankly, found surprising."

I had lowered my face to my hand, examining the chain, pleased to see it was not broken. When I raised my eyes at the colonel's words, I met Mr. Darcy's piercing stare instead. He held my gaze with such unspoken command that I found myself unable to look away. "I, too, have no idea why, Colonel, but I am grateful for its return," I murmured.

"Well, shall we board, Jane, Elizabeth?" my father suggested. Jane climbed into the carriage and I turned to follow, but for some reason when I placed my foot upon the first step, I drew back, suddenly overcome with revulsion and fear. My hands grew cold and yet clammy at the same time and my head began to throb. I must have gone quite pale, for my uncle took my arm.

"Lizzy, are you unwell? What is it, my dear?"

"I...I do not know. A sudden feeling of illness." I fumbled around, attempting to quell the uneasiness that had overtaken me.

"Shall you return indoors?" my father asked. "Perhaps you need a glass of water."

"Yes, a glass of water for Miss Bennet!" Colonel Fitzwilliam ordered a passing servant.

"No, no, I do not want to delay the trip. It is just...I cannot explain it." I turned to look at the carriage and felt the sickness wash over me anew. What was wrong with me? I thought I might surely faint if I climbed aboard.

Suddenly, I felt Mr. Darcy's presence at my side. He took my arm and gently led me to a nearby bench. The others remained behind, an action I failed to question at the time. I sank down upon the seat while he stood before me.

"Elizabeth, are you afraid? Is it the thought of riding in a carriage that fills you with alarm?"

I looked up at him and nodded, grateful that he was able to put into words what I could not. He sat down beside me and covered my hand with both of his. To this day, I remember how warm his clasp felt, as though I had found a safe harbour to which I might cling.

"I am sorry," I murmured. "I do not know what is wrong with me."

"Do not be sorry. It is to be expected. You are reliving the terrible event that happened the last time you rode in a carriage. 'Tis perfectly natural."

"But how shall I ever leave this place? I do not wish to walk to town." I smiled slightly and he did in return.

"No, we have both had enough of walking for awhile. Sit here for a moment until the feeling passes."

How long we sat, I know not, but I made not the slightest attempt to withdraw my hand nor did he remove his from holding mine. At last he asked if I felt better and when I replied in the affirmative, he said, "Come, I shall help you board the carriage but before you do, I want you to look around. Not only shall Fitzwilliam and I ride our mounts beside you as escort, but you shall be surrounded by armed redcoats for guards, as well. On this trip you shall not be harmed, I promise you."

He rose and led me back to the vehicle, assisting me up the steps and inside. There, he sat beside me for a moment, still holding my hand. "How are you feeling now? Is it any better?"

"Yes, thank you, sir."

"Remember, I shall ride outside your window." He pressed my fingers briefly to his lips and then departed. Jane, who had left the carriage when I became ill, quickly bounded up the steps and sat beside me, her blue eyes wide with wonder. My father and uncle followed thereafter and it was but a matter of moments before we were off. No one asked me any questions as to what Mr. Darcy had said - another strange occurrence - and I offered no explanations. I took several deep breaths and each time I felt the panic begin to rise, I turned to the window where I could see Mr. Darcy riding on his great black horse.

We arrived at Gracechurch Street by late evening and I hurried inside into the welcoming arms of my aunt.

"Lizzy, is it really you? Are you returned to us safely at last?" she cried.

I could only smile and nod and embrace her once again. There was much confusion greeting my young cousins, and Jane came to my assistance by answering their questions and shielding me from their unrelenting curiosity. We had been ushered into the small parlour and urged to partake of a cup of tea. Both Colonel Fitzwilliam and Mr. Darcy declined, stating that they must depart and meet with their own anxiously awaiting family. I, too, refused the tea, and asked my aunt if I might be excused.

"Of course, Lizzy! You must be exhausted. Jane, go with her, dear, and I shall send up a tray," Mrs. Gardiner exclaimed.

All of us convened in the foyer as the gentlemen were leaving. I had just climbed the first two stairs behind Jane when I heard my father speak to Mr. Darcy. "Of course, I understand, sir. You must hurry home tonight to your sister and you will want to see your uncle and aunt. Tomorrow will be soon enough for our talk."

"Thank you, sir," Mr. Darcy replied. "I shall meet with you about mid-day if that is convenient."

"Perfect," my father answered.

Mr. Darcy and Colonel Fitzwilliam then walked toward the stairs and both of them bowed. The colonel expressed his wishes that I should recover quickly from the trip.

"Thank you, sir," I said, "and allow me to once again express my deep appreciation for all you have done to rescue us."

He smiled and turned his attention back to my aunt and uncle. Mr. Darcy, however, spoke directly to Jane. "Good-night, Miss Bennet."

He then turned back to me and locked his gaze upon mine.

"Good-night, Mr. Darcy," I murmured.

"May you rest easy tonight, Elizabeth," he said softly. Gooseflesh crept up my arms. Why had he addressed me in that familiar way within earshot of others? Had it become such habit that it slipped out or did it mean something much more important? Did it have anything to do with meeting my father on the morrow? Before I could even begin to think of possible answers, he and the colonel walked out the door.

In my room after I had changed into my gown, Jane offered to brush out my hair, a practice we had performed for each other since childhood. I gladly accepted and, throwing a shawl around my shoulders, sat at her feet on the rug before the fireplace. How comforting the repetitive strokes felt as she ran the brush from my scalp down the length of my curls. I closed my eyes and gave myself up to the rhythm, longing to be back at Longbourn, wishing it was a week earlier and I had never begun that journey to town. Our greatest concern then had been how soon Mr. Bingley would call after the Netherfield ball.

"Jane, did Mr. Bingley travel to town in the carriage with you and Father?"

"Yes, and Mr. Hurst."

I rolled my eyes. "What stimulating conversation did that gentleman offer?"

She laughed lightly. "Very little that I can recall. We had gone but five miles before he began to snore."

"Excellent! Now tell me that Father also fell asleep and that Mr. Bingley took advantage of the situation to propose."

"Lizzy! Do be serious."

"But you were often thrown together throughout this nightmare, were you not?"

"At first."

"What do you mean?"

Jane sighed. "When we received that horrible post informing us of what had happened, Mr. Bingley called that very morning. He was most kind and tried to be as reassuring as possible."

"As well he should have."

"He also offered his second carriage for our trip to London and he suggested that we all travel together that evening."

"Well and good," I said, rising to stir the fire.

"But since we arrived in town, I have not seen him."

"What? He has not called in three days?"

She shook her head, turning her eyes down to her lap. "I am sure he has had many things to take care of, what with his sisters' distress."

"But what was he like before that when you were together?"

"What do you mean?"

"Was he himself? Was he pleasant and amiable and did he appear to be as much in love with you as ever?" I took the brush from her and began to apply generous strokes to her long, blonde hair.

"Oh, Lizzy, I do not know that Mr. Bingley is in love with me."

"Jane, how can you doubt it? I have never seen a man so attentive, so doting." She did not make any reply and so I ventured further. "Has his manner changed since the Netherfield Ball?"

"No," she replied somewhat wistfully, "I cannot say that it changed. Of course, he did not call at Longbourn even once during the week after the ball, which seemed somewhat unusual, but you are aware of that. And then I received the note from Caroline saying the entire party was removing to town and shortly after that Father came in and announced that you were to travel with them. Lizzy, I have the strangest feeling that Mr. Bingley might never have called again except for your misfortune."

And I knew the reason why! Mr. Darcy had already cautioned him against Jane. How could he! My blood ran hot just thinking about such blatant injustice committed against my dear, sweet sister, but I bit my tongue and did not tell her. I could not bring myself to squash her hopes and dreams. I laid the brush aside and crawled up on the four-poster bed, kicking off my slippers and hugging my knees to my chest while staring at the dying fire.

Jane rose and gathered her things. "You must go to sleep, Lizzy. I have kept you long enough." She walked over to kiss my forehead and I caught her hand.

"Jane, sleep with me tonight."

"But dearest, will you not rest better alone?"

I shook my head. "I do not want to be alone."

She sat down beside me and patted my hand. "Are you still afraid?" I nodded. "Then, of course I will. Would it help to talk about it?"

I sighed. "Oh, Jane, I hardly know where to begin."

"At the beginning," she said.

And so I told her the story from the way Caroline Bingley had flirted with Mr. Darcy in the carriage to the moment Colonel Fitzwilliam surprised me in the woods. She was horrified at my description of Sneyd and his vulgar remarks and vile threats, and her eyes grew wide when I described Gert and the other two men and the cabin where we all stayed. My picture of Morgan, however, caused her to gasp aloud, especially when I told her of his scar and how he had rescued me from Sneyd's ugly advances. She could not believe I had actually sung for him and that we had danced together and when I related the story of his childhood, I saw the sympathy that I expected reflected in her eyes.

"Perchance he is not as bad as he wishes people to think he is," she said softly.

"That is exactly what I think, Jane. He pretends to be this dastardly, infamous character, but when it comes down to it, he seems more like a poor, unfortunate boy who never really had a chance."

"You said he did kill someone, though."

"He did and I do not know how it came about, but I believe it was to save his own life. The man evidently came at him with a knife or sword."

Jane leaned forward and looked directly into my eyes. "Lizzy, do you like this Morgan?"

I glanced away and rose from the bed to stir the fire. "In another time, another place, I might have, Jane. As it is, I can only feel pity for him. And fear."

"Fear?"

"They may hang him."

"Is that the punishment for theft and kidnapping?"

"I do not know, but if he is wanted for killing that man, then murder will be added to his charges and he has not a chance."

She lowered her eyes and made no reply. What could she say? I could not see any way out for Morgan. Silently, we pulled back the blankets and plumped our pillows. She was just about to blow out the candle when my aunt tapped lightly at the door and then opened it.

"Lizzy, I have brought you one of my sleeping draughts. I thought you might need it, for your father and I agree that a night of good, sound sleep will benefit you more than anything. Shall I mix it up for you?"

"Yes, please, Aunt," I said. She busied herself stirring the medicine into a glass of water. "Has my father retired yet?"

"I believe he has. He has been under a great strain the last few days, my dear, but of course you realize that. Did you wish to see him tonight? I am sure he would not mind rising for you."

"No, no it can wait until morning. It is just that...well, I wanted to ask him about this meeting he has set up with Mr. Darcy. Do you know anything about that?"

My aunt and Jane exchanged glances. "Come and sit here by the fire, Lizzy." I did as I was told while Jane pulled up a chair and Mrs. Gardiner sat across from me. "My dearest girl, there has been a great deal of talk. It has even made it to the newspapers. They say that you and Mr. Darcy represented yourselves as married when accosted by those highwaymen."

"We did, but only to save me, Aunt."

"They threatened her with terrible things," Jane added.

"I can well imagine and Mr. Darcy is to be commended for his actions, but you must see what this has done to you. When those men go to trial, the story will be broadcast far and wide."

"Everyone will know that we only pretended to be married and they will know the reason why. I should think it a good thing!"

Mrs. Gardiner pressed her lips together and twisted her hands. "Lizzy, what kind of arrangements...how were you and Mr. Darcy...that is, where did you stay? Were you placed in the same room all those days...and nights?"

It felt like a great stone had fallen on my chest, pulling me down into a whirling vortex of dread. I hung my head and could not face her. "Yes," I said softly.

"Then you see what I mean."

"But nothing happened, Aunt. Mr. Darcy did nothing untoward. We did nothing wrong." Was I lying? I had omitted what happened at the cave; I had not even shared that with Jane; at times, I fancied that perhaps I had somehow imagined it.

"Must all that be told?" Jane asked. "Why should anyone know of that at the trial? It has nothing to do with the crimes those men committed."

"You are right, Jane," my aunt said, "but I doubt there is any way it will not be revealed. As I said before, this has made the newspapers. Reporters will be present and questions will be asked. You can hardly expect criminals to protect Lizzy's reputation." She rose to leave. "And even if by some miracle the particulars were not told, just the fact that Mr. Darcy declared you as his wife and you spent four days and nights in captivity together...well, people will assume the worst. Oh, it will not harm Mr. Darcy's good name, but Lizzy, unless he offers marriage..."

Marriage! There, the word had actually been spoken aloud.

"Well, it will do none of us any good to dwell on it tonight. Drink the potion, dear, and let it work its magic. And let us pray that Mr. Darcy will do the right thing and if he is not willing, that your father and uncle can persuade him otherwise." My aunt patted my shoulder and kissed my forehead. "Good-night, my dear."

She must have left the room, but I do not remember it. I sat there stunned, unable to move. Why had I been unable to face this inevitability? Why had I allowed my sanguine nature to believe pie in the sky, that everything would somehow work itself out once we were freed? Why was I such a fool?

"Lizzy?" I became conscious that Jane stood before me. "Shall you not do as Aunt instructed and take the medicine?"

Woodenly, I put the glass to my lips and swallowed its contents. I allowed my sister to lead me to the bed and tuck me in. Blowing out the candle, she crawled under the covers on the other side.

"Dearest, try not to worry," she said. "I have always thought Mr. Darcy a better man than you do. I think all shall work out well."

"He will not marry me, Jane," I said, my voice coming out utterly defeated.

"How can you say that? You do not know for sure."

"I know."

"But how?"

"Oh, do not ask me," I cried. I would not begin to tell her how he had ruined her chances with Mr. Bingley, how he considered any alliance with our family with abhorrence; I could not break her heart. "And besides, I do not wish to marry him."

"But Lizzy, think about it. He is rich and handsome and has a great estate in Derbyshire."

"There is more to a man than wealth and looks and great estates, Jane. I should never marry a man whose character I could not admire. Remember how he disregarded his father's wishes and cheated Mr. Wickham of his inheritance."

Jane sighed. "No one is perfect, Lizzy. And remember, there are two sides to every story. Have you ever asked him about Mr. Wickham?"

"I have and he has not denied it. Oh, what does it matter? Believe me when I tell you, he will not ask me to marry him."

"But how do you know?"

"I just do." I turned over then, welcoming the drowsiness caused by the sleeping draught as it released me from a world I could no longer face.

The next morning I slept quite late. The sleeping potion had put me under and provided the first truly refreshing rest I had experienced in days. Glancing out the window, I could see that the sun was now high in the sky, the morning fog completely burned off. Suddenly, I recalled my father's meeting with Mr. Darcy was set for mid-day, and I hurried to get dressed. Not bothering to call the maid, I washed, then fastened my dress, pinned up my hair, and put on my shoes. I was pleased to see that the dark circles had now vanished from beneath my eyes and I almost looked myself again.

Below stairs, I found the breakfast room empty, but the teapot was still warm and I poured myself a cup. A maid soon appeared, asking if I desired breakfast, which I refused.

"Where is everyone?" I asked.

"Miss Jane took the children to the park across the way," she answered, "but not until that Mr. Darcy shooed them reporters away from the front stoop."

"Reporters? Here?"

"Yes, Miss, four or five of them. They been camped out there since early morning, pestering me when I went out to pick up the milk and Firkin when he went for the paper."

"What do they want?"

She looked down, appearing hesitant. "Don't rightly know, Miss. Just asking lots of questions about you and the gentleman."

"Oh," I said, sinking down upon a nearby chair.

"We didn't tell them nothing, Miss, I promise. Neither Firkin nor me said a word."

"Thank you," I murmured. "You say Mr. Darcy is here?"

"Yes, Miss. He's with Mr. Bennet and the master and mistress in the parlour."

"I see. Thank you, that will be all."

She left the room and I placed the cup of tea on the table, having swallowed just a sip. I closed my eyes and sighed deeply. An uncomfortable knot burned in my stomach at the thought of what was being discussed in the parlour. Well, I thought, I may as well face it. I would not have my father and uncle beg the man to marry me.

In the hallway I observed that the door to the room where they gathered was closed, but just outside, I stopped, for I could hear conversation within.

"Naturally I am aware of the inferiority of our alliance, of my family's objec