The morning after Bingley’s fine fox hunt — a day as good as he’d been promised — Darcy whistled and grabbed an apple tart from the piled plate on the wide table in the breakfast room. It was freshly baked so that the family and guests could enjoy whenever they woke. He savored the sugary richness of the apple combined with the flakey tenderness of the crust. Even food tasted better now that he was to marry Elizabeth. Darcy put the tart down and poured himself a strong mug of coffee from the carafe set out and mixed in the cream and a lump of sugar.

He tasted it, and the coffee tasted better than it ever had before. Taste. Her lips. The velvety taste of her tongue. The friction of lips rubbing against each other.

The house still slept, despite the hour being past nine. The dissipation of the past night had not ended until many hours after they toasted the bell tolling midnight. Bingley yet lacked thirty; he had excuse for not sleeping, but the bed had called too strongly to Darcy for him to resist, or even try to resist, after Elizabeth and the Longbourn party left.

Why would he wish to resist and spend hours with Bingley’s other guests when he could dream of Elizabeth?

Darcy’s entire being glowed at the memory of their dances last night. Her hand. Touching her hand. Her trusting smile. Her laughter. Her flashing eyes. The sweet curve of her bosom.

He loved her. He loved her and he had her. A man in such a fine situation had an excuse for whistling as he breakfasted with coffee.

Darcy whistled the tune from the final dance of the previous night’s ball.

After he put away the roll, Darcy rang the bell to call a servant. The uniformed footman immediately responded, looking fresh and ready when he entered the breakfast room. Impressive. Darcy had noted this same man awake, partying the birth of eighteen hundred and seventeen late the past night. The footman had been dancing a spinning reel on the lawn outside with a pretty maid. Darcy said, “A sheaf of paper and quill and ink.”

When the supplies were brought, Darcy seated himself at a small writing desk kept in the room next to one of the windows for the purpose of people being able to do such work while still remaining part of the party. His partial break with his cousin had lasted long enough. He still cared for Colonel Richard Fitzwilliam dearly, and if Richard would stand in a room with Georgiana, he dearly wished the man to be present at his wedding, and as more than simply a distant guest. They had been distant the times they had met for family matters since he had not made Georgiana marry Mr. Carteret.

Elizabeth had mentioned meeting Richard at Rosings Park when she visited her friend, the wife of the parson. It caused him to have a longing to see his cousin again.

Richard,

I know not what salutation to use. You were angry with me, and I refused to argue with you. I withdrew from everyone following the events with Georgiana and the birth of Anne. I ought to apologize to you, and I think you ought to me. Neither of us were happy, neither of us provided the friend the other needed. I do not repent of allowing Georgiana her choice to not marry. However, I heartily repent of allowing you to retire from me, and of not making an energetic and close effort to return our friendship to what it had been.

I am to marry in a few weeks. A woman who you met once at Rosings, she tells me, Miss Elizabeth Bennet of Longbourn in Hertfordshire. I am entirely in love with her. It changes a man, when he makes the choice to marry. Love for her fills his dreams and his breakfasts and travels and evenings with a glow. And Miss Bennet is wise; when I think how my relations with you appear to her, I appear petty in my own eyes. I realize how I have missed our friendship and companionship.

If you attend my wedding, it would be an added joy to a happiest day. You are my friend and my cousin. Once we were as close as brothers. I wish that again.

Please attend and come a few days early, if you can, so we might reminisce. You remember Mr. Bingley, I am resident at his manor, Netherfield in Hertfordshire near the town of Meryton. Please come.

Yours sincerely,

F Darcy

Darcy closed the letter, and he held the wax up to a candle. It had been thoughtful of the servant to bring a stick of wax along with the writing materials. He sealed the letter, pressing his ring into the gooey wax that dripped onto the stiff paper, and he called for the servant once more. After the footman took the folded letter, Darcy let out a long breath.

That was done. He felt powerful and happy. It was strangely difficult to make such a move of reconciliation. Before he always had hesitated at sending a letter of this sort to Richard, afraid admitting his own wrongness would make him seem weak, or afraid he would be misinterpreted by his cousin.

Elizabeth made him better.

Darcy poured himself a fresh mug of coffee. He put his nose close to the cup so he could enjoy the strong aroma and then cradled the saucer in his hand and walked to the window to smile at the icy day. Colder than the previous day when they were hunting. It had been a fine game. Along with Darcy, Mr. Peake had managed to outride many of the local gentlemen, showing off a certain Derbyshire pride.

Georgiana had danced the last dance with Mr. Peake. She had looked too…happy. His sister looked like she was in the grip of something more serious than a mild infatuation that could pass without any consequence.

Damnation. And everything was going so well with his sister. He at last had begun to feel as if she was well and happy. And now an unsuitable infatuation.

Darcy looked back out the window. A farmer walked along a distant road, bowed under with a big table he carried awkwardly. A woman in a patched dress walked up to him from the other direction, and the farmer put down his burden and kissed the woman. Then they both picked the heavy table up, and walked forward easily carrying it between them.

Elizabeth would help him with his sister. Everything was better now that they could carry his burdens between them like the happy farm couple on the road.

She might disagree. Elizabeth’s beloved uncle was Mr. Peake’s partner, and his business would benefit if Mr. Peake gained a large sum of capital. Mr. Peake himself was the cousin of Elizabeth’s equally loved aunt.

Darcy paced back and forth along the wooden floor of the breakfast room. He put his coffee and saucer down on the brown window sill so he did not spill it. Elizabeth was not mercenary. She understood the importance of the distinction between a gentlewoman and a tradesman.

Also, Mr. Peake was a good man.

Darcy understood his character: he was solid and honorable. He would not abuse Georgiana’s infatuation. There needed to be separation between them, so Georgiana’s fondness could cool.

Elizabeth could give a discreet message to Mr. Peake, asking him to be more distant with Georgiana, for Georgiana’s sake. In a few days he and the Gardiners would return to London, and Georgiana would not see any of them.

A few more weeks. The banns needed to be read. Then the marriage. He would possess his Elizabeth. The right to hold her body. To press her breasts and stomach against him. To flatten her body tight against his as they embraced. To undress her slowly, undoing her dress, one pearl button at a time. And then letting it fall away leaving her chemise exposed and—

A cough behind him startled Darcy.

“Fitzwilliam. I…I have a matter…” Georgiana trailed off.

Darcy looked at his sister, caught off guard by her entrance into the breakfast room.

“That is — well, about Mr. Peake. I…I have formed…”

Anxiety blended with Darcy’s frustration with having his thoughts about Elizabeth interrupted. She must be confessing her attraction to Mr. Peake, and he needed to discourage her carefully, so that she would not be torn apart by the end of the fantasy. “What,” Darcy spoke softly, kindly, “have you formed?”

Georgiana looked at him through her long girlish eyelashes. The breakfast chairs had two carved wooden posts with the curved back between them, and Georgiana’s hand curled around the top of one of those posts.

“You…you always approved of Mr. Peake. Approved. Clever. Honest, hardworking. And happy, I mean unhappy. You were unhappy when he left.”

“Mr. Peake is an exemplary worker. Clever and indefatigable in his duty. We know his people. I was unhappy then to lose him, but always happy to see him gain the opportunity to display his talents in the way most remunerative for one in his position in life. He has furthered himself far better than he could have in my employ. Mr. Peake is remarkably capable in trade.”

“Oh.” Georgiana smiled and relaxed. “I became nervous. Elizabeth thought you disliked him.”

“Elizabeth did?” Darcy was confused. Of course he didn’t dislike Mr. Peake, and he had shown him proper condescension. Oh, Georgiana must have found it easier to ask a woman for advice first, and Elizabeth had counseled his sister against her interest in Mr. Peake. A woman in the grip of an infatuation, Georgiana had not wanted to listen to the counsel of others.

“She thought you…well, he is in trade. So you would not approve…well that is—”

“He belongs to an inferior rung of society than us. I do not judge a man poorly for the position he is born into, so long as he does not strive to rise higher than himself. But, in spite of his virtues, his station means we must always keep a distance betwixt us and him.”

“Oh.” Georgiana deflated, and her smile fell. She sat at the table for support. Her eyes resolutely studied the Chinese tracery inlaid into the porcelain surface. “Is that…important?”

“Yes.”

“I mean…so significant to you? The only matter you hold against him?”

“Hold against him? He is in his place and we, the Darcys of Pemberley, are in ours.”

“Elizabeth is beneath us in consequence.”

“Dear, dear, sweet sister.” Darcy sat next to her and placed his hand comfortingly on Georgiana’s arm. He soon would embrace her while she cried, he thought, as he had several times after her pregnancy was discovered. “Mine and Elizabeth’s case is different. She is entirely a gentlewoman, even if she has connections to trade. Her father’s family has owned this estate for generations. Her dowry, despite being less than customary for a man in my position, is sufficient. A few will think I married beneath myself, but once they meet Elizabeth… Enough equality exists betwixt us for happiness in a relationship. However…”

Georgiana shivered and pulled the fabric of her sleeves down in a self-soothing gesture. She wouldn’t meet his eyes, still studying the pattern painted onto the table.

Darcy was stuck, as he looked for the comforting words that did not come to him. He wished Elizabeth was here.

“But…my daughter. Anne. Fitzwilliam, it isn’t like before. I am not…there is no reason for me to worry about social standing and, and — I am surely worse than Mr. Peake. He is the one doing a favor to me, with Anne…”

“No! You are my sister yet! You are yet Darcy! Not less than before. Nothing less than before.”

“I want to marry him. I love him.”

“Did he speak that rot — that idea that you are now lower than him?”

“You do not doubt his character, or his good nature, or…”

“A Darcy. Not for a tradesman. My sister will not marry a man in business. She will not marry a man forced by his position in life to oversee his warehouses every day — and more, you will not marry a man who quits his business to live off the income of his wife’s fortune.”

“No! Allen would never do that! He adores his work far too much to retire from it. I love hearing him tell me about it.”

Darcy stared in worried frustration at his sister.

“He becomes bored by the end of a day of dissipation and party, like yesterday, and—”

“Allen?”

“Oh.” She worried her hands terribly, and lifted and put back down her cup of coffee three times. Georgiana started to pant. Darcy became quite anxious. He wished Elizabeth was here to comfort her. “You do not understand.”

“Dear Georgie. I spoke harshly. You like him very much to be imagining such things—”

“We agreed to marry. Last night.”

Darcy was quite sure he had misheard.

“We did. I love him and—”

“You yet seek for a man to take advantage of you for your fortune. You learned nothing.”

“No! Not like that.”

“Then what is it like? Another impoverished fortune hunter is—”

“Oh, all wrong. This is gone wrong. Allen — Mr. Peake — he didn’t. You must not think that. He is wholly different. I love him; he loves me. We—”

“Like Wickham approached you for love?”

Georgiana looked pale and stricken as though slapped.

“I…I ought not have said that.” Darcy put his hand over his face. “Your news is a surprise. I incorrectly possessed a high opinion of Mr. Peake. I had considered him to be man enough that he would refrain from taking advantage of your obvious affection. But, it surprises me not that you lacked the wisdom to see through the rake’s pretense of love, since—”

“A woman!” Georgiana stood and glared. “Since I am a woman? Do not insult my fiancé so. Mr. Peake took no advantage of me. He is principled and good.” Her voice and eyes dropped to their normal shy manner. “You misunderstand. Oh,” she wrung her hands, “if I can only make you understand.”

“Oh, Georgie, I must save you from this mistake. You will not have my permission. Not to throw yourself away on a tradesman.”

“Please, his profession cannot be all you have to say against him.”

“His position in society is enough.”

The door to the breakfast room opened. Darcy expected to see Bingley or his wife. He hated that such an important conversation would be interrupted.

Elizabeth and Mr. Peake stood in the entrance to the breakfast room being shown in by the Bingley’s housekeeper. She looked beautiful, but nervous.

Mr. Peake looked at Georgiana who cried.

Darcy said sharply to him, “I have no audience with you, Peake. No business. I answer every answer you seek: no. I am shocked by your presumption in staring so high. But like Icarus your high flight shall be burnt from the sky. I once held high opinion of you, no longer. Any faith any man put in your character was bestowed ill. You took advantage of a girl who has been secluded from society for the past years, and you manipulated her affections so that you could have an opportunity to gain thirty thousand pounds. You disgust me. You ought have known I would not allow my sister to marry my former under steward.”

The man stood tall and proud. He had a firm control of himself. Mr. Peake bowed slightly. “I see you are immovable. I believed such likely. I only wish you to know that my interest in your sister was driven solely by a deep and abiding affection for her spirit and her mind, and that the pecuniary considerations you think were so central to me had no influence.”

Darcy stared at him. He studied Mr. Peake. The righteous anger crumpled into pity.

It had been upon Darcy’s mind earlier this morning. Love could drive a man to mad acts. Darcy knew that now. Mr. Peake’s face was stiff, yet pained deep. Darcy ached with sympathy. If he lost Elizabeth, he would look much the same. It was a pity Peake was not of an appropriate station and family. Darcy said, firmly, but kindly, “I spoke in anger and my assumption was fallacious—forgive me for impugning your character. But my decision cannot be changed. You are no fit match for my sister.”

“Fitzwilliam.” Elizabeth walked towards him, a worried face. “Do not be precipitous.”

Darcy looked at her. “Nothing exists to consider. He is no gentleman.”

“Do not be hasty, you already realize you misjudged Peake’s motives.” Elizabeth’s eyes flashed, like when she was angry.

“He is no gentleman. There is nothing else to be said.”

“My uncle is as much a gentleman as Peake.”

Darcy clamped his jaw tight. No matter what her opinion, Elizabeth should not argue with him in front of others. Perhaps Georgiana, but Peake was not part of the family, and the housekeeper still stuck her head in through the open door, watching the drama curiously.

Georgiana looked between Elizabeth and Mr. Peake, Mr. Peake walked towards her. Darcy said sharply, “Peake, if you are a man of honor, I beg you have no further intercourse with my sister. Mrs. Nicholls, show him to the door.”

Mr. Peake looked at Georgiana, with some silent appeal in his eyes. Georgiana looked at him, sobbing and shook her head. He retired from the room.

Georgiana stood and rushed from the room, without ceasing to cry.

It was like a blow in Darcy’s guts. In his chest. How could he help his sister? “Elizabeth, talk to Georgiana. Explain how this is for the best. She listens to me, but if both of us—”

“No. Not for the best. The best is for you to offer your permission and blessings. Mr. Peake is a fine man, I know few better. Do you intend for us to avoid my uncle and aunt as well?”

“Your uncle is better educated and from a more respectable family. Peake is the first of his line to make anything of worth of himself. I would not allow your uncle to marry my sister either.”

Elizabeth ground her teeth together.

A gust of icy wind outside rattled the windows. The sky was turned grey. Darcy’s coffee sat on the window sill, gone cold.

“You should not argue with me on such a matter,” Darcy added.

“Not argue with you? Heavens! Not argue? What next will you demand?”

“You — not in front of others. You know I do not mean every argument. But on a serious matter, when we are married, I expect all respect to be shown in public.”

“Appearances? That.” Elizabeth spat. “Georgiana is miserable. Your sister. For no reason. Your sister made miserable by your obsession with appearances.”

“Mr. Peake and Mrs. Hood watched. And Georgiana. We should present a unified front to them all.”

“She will never achieve a splendid match.”

“Elizabeth…”

“Peake is her choice.”

“Her marriage is not her choice. I am her guardian. Her brother. It is my place to determine her happiness.”

“Why do you not wish to see Georgiana happy?”

“Elizabeth.”

“I should not have said that.” She covered her eyes and pulled out the chair she had gripped and she sat heavily on it. Elizabeth looked at him with her deep soulful eyes. “I am made so angry. But, pray, let us talk rationally.”

Darcy nodded, but then he said, “I fear we have nothing to speak of. Georgiana is my responsibility. I will not sell her to a tradesman, no matter what.”

“Sell? Where is this obsession with money? Besides, Peake does not have enough to buy her.”

“Then he is a fortune hunter.”

“They love each other. You said you saw that.”

“Beneath. Under. He is under her.”

“Breeding creates inferiority, in addition to sex? Georgiana and I cannot make our own choices because we are women, and Mr. Peake is not worthy of happiness because he wasn’t born with a giant pile.”

“A Darcy woman, a granddaughter of an Earl of Matlock, will not marry a tradesman. The shades of Pemberley would rebel at such pollution.”

Darcy took a firm pose. He stood before the breakfast table with one hand behind his back. He needed to make Elizabeth understand. He felt an uncanny anxiety. Why did she need him to explain? She should just know. His wife should feel in her guts the consequence of the Darcy family. She should feel the grandeur.

“The shades of your estate? You intend to ruin the happiness of your sister and of a decent, respectable man, to protect the tender sensibilities of your ghosts. I had joked with Georgiana about your estate having gothic tendencies. And now you tell me it ‘twas no joke. Have you other secrets I should know before we embark on matrimony?”

“This is not a-a matter of humor. Work with me to keep Georgiana from suffering—”

“I am working upon you to spare her unnecessary suffering. Permit her to marry Mr. Peake.”

“You ought to see that it speaks ill of his character that he sought to persuade Georgiana. The difference in status. You must understand. Why can’t you understand? Georgiana has been isolated, and she is brimfull of affection. If he had been a good man, he would have made no offer of marriage. It speaks ill of his character. Lizzy, just understand.”

“Georgiana made the offer. Mr. Peake demurred at first for the reason you suggested. I had the entire story from him.”

“He sought to cast himself in the best light.”

“You are not listening to me.”

“I do listen to you, but you do not speak sense.”

“Isolation? That is your excuse? You kept your sister locked alone because you hated company and parties. That is your failing.”

Darcy clenched his teeth together. Elizabeth was right. He failed his sister in that way, and he ought not resent Elizabeth for reminding him so explicitly. Yet, a little, he did resent her for it. He had told her he felt that way in confidence, and she had comforted him, and told him he had done the best he could for Georgiana.

The color drained from Elizabeth’s face. She looked down and opened her mouth several times. “Forgive me I—"

“The thought had crossed my mind,” Darcy spoke loudly, ignoring her words, “that you might be motivated by a concern for your uncle, rather than a concern for my sister. The hopes for expansion he possesses — you must have thought that Georgiana’s fortune would help him greatly.”

“You accuse me of base motives? When you judge a man solely by his position in society?” Elizabeth’s face turned red. “Do you not wonder about my own agreement to marry you? Perhaps I solely accepted for your fortune?”

“I do not expect your affection to be entirely disinterested. I know you care for me deeply — have you never thought with pleasure on my estate and what you might buy with the pin money that will be settled upon you? You like money as much as every other girl. No lies, Elizabeth. You think it would be a good thing for your uncle’s partner to marry a woman with Georgiana’s fortune.”

“You. You.” Elizabeth growled, standing up and throwing the chair she’d been seated in backwards. It tipped over to clatter against the floor. Elizabeth said icily, “To think of the presence of money as a good, is entirely different from being driven by base motives. I am insulted.”

“Then what motive for supporting the match between a man of no consequence in trade and my sister.”

“You great, vain, careless gentleman. You so choose that all connected to you shall be well connected themselves.”

“I do. My pride demands a better match for my sister. My pride ought to be your pride as well. You will be a Darcy too. What motive, base or foolish, drives you to argue for diminution of our house?”

“Her happiness — Georgiana and I talked about her fond memories of Peake several weeks ago. She has not forgotten him, despite being apart for many years.”

“I must hold an even worse opinion of Peake, if he made love to her at her most vulnerable time those years ago.”

“That is absurd. They talked.”

“He should have never spoken to my sister with such a thought in his head. He should never have permitted himself to feel anything. Especially then. A servant. I feel a creeping disgust beneath my skin at the simple thought of such a man and my sister. It is more polluting than Wickham.”

“And this is what you think of me and my family.”

“Enough. No more. My decision is made. On any other topic, I would respect and wish to hear your opinion. But Georgiana has always been in my charge, and the sacred duty was entrusted to me by our father to watch over her and ensure her happiness.”

“No more? You say no more? I am not allowed to speak anymore? You silence me.”

“You would silence yourself if you felt as you ought.”

Elizabeth stood and paced the room. She chopped her hands through the air rapidly, speaking in a clipped angry tone. “Her choice. A right to disapprove — you have that. But who. Who she marries is. Her choice. Her life. Her choice. Hers. Delay, but not deny. A substantial delay. That is wise, as they have not seen each other for years. But to prevent—”

“I have spoken. Elizabeth. Nothing further. Speak nothing further towards me upon this matter.”

She furiously turned towards him. Her eyes flashed. The fabric of her dress swooshed around her legs and hips. There was a flash of lightning in the far distance as a storm approached, the light made the red in Elizabeth’s cheeks stand out vividly. Rolling thunder sounded, pounding through the bare fields of Hertfordshire like the cannonade from a Man of War.

“You cannot end this matter. You cannot stop me. I will speak. I will be heard. You cannot end Georgiana’s hope for happiness. It is her life.”

“My choice. My right. It is my right, and it ought be my right. I will not never, ever —- I will never let her marry someone so distant below her, myself and you once you have married me. Georgiana deserves better. She deserves the best.”

“Lord! Such a fool.”

“I am not a fool.”

“I. Me. I am the fool!” Elizabeth threw her hands up in the air and paced. She refused to meet his eye. Every line of her person was tense and radiated unhappiness.

A nervous squealing feeling entered him. It was in his stomach. His chest felt like it was being squeezed, and his throat was caught by a vase. Something was dreadfully amiss. He could not read Elizabeth. She was angry. A voice in his soul said he needed to do something to mend matters. She was a proud woman, independent, and fiercely committed to her ideals.

He would not be moved in such a matter. She needed to understand that in their marriage, he would be the final maker of decision.

The storm hit the estate. It fell down, pouring rain in a heavy pattering on the roof, and the wind drove splatters against the window, making it impossible to see outside, except when lightning strikes illuminated the whole grey sky.

Elizabeth paced.

He must say something. He could not allow Elizabeth to think. She was thinking the wrong thing. “Lizzy, please, come here.”

“That is all I am? Mr. Darcy. A pretty creature at your control? You think my passions can drive me to irrationality. You think you have right to dictate to me.”

Darcy bit his tongue. “I will always respect your wishes.”

“Add not lies to thine faults. Your very manner of standing shows you do not respect me. You plan to allow me what freedom your whim gives me, so long as that whim remains your whim. But no respect.”

“The philosophies of Wollstonecraft will move me no more than Georgiana’s tears or your earlier arguments.”

“You do not desire a marriage of equals. You plan to make me your object.”

“If I desired a pretty thing to play with, I would have chosen a very different woman. Your mind is your chief attraction.”

“No. Not now! I’ll not listen to your flattery. Your low voice will not enslave me once more.”

“It is not flattery it is—”

She pulled her ring off her finger. The gift from him, to symbolize their engagement, and she threw the gold band on the breakfast table. It bounced harshly and leaped off and rolled against the wall with a clang.

“Theatrics will not lead me to relent. My position is final: Georgiana shall not be permitted to marry Mr. Peake.”

“You think this is theater? That I jest?”

Everything froze in his stomach.

“The irony is you were right: My head said I could not trust you. But my heart” — she tapped her bosom, above that organ — “demanded you. My passions overrode my reason — and my father’s advice.”

“Elizabeth, stop this.”

“Yes, my father — he was cautious in how he said it, but he believed I made a mistake. But he respected me far enough to do no more than to advise me to think carefully upon a match with you. Ha! If I’d been guided by my reason and my male relatives, I never would have even considered your offer. How does that make you feel? To be the poor lusty choice of husband.”

“That is nonsense.”

“You are so vain. I am not going to marry you. I am jilting you, abandoning you, think however ill of me as you wish. I will not marry you.”

“No…no, Elizabeth — you love me. I — no! You cannot. I love you. I adore you. After how we kissed. You feel it too. You still feel it.”

He grabbed her shoulders and tried to kiss her. She wrenched herself away. “No.”

“You are too serious of a woman to do this. To break an established engagement. Please — I…I always will keep you and protect you. Georgiana’s position has nothing to do with it. You—”

His guts were frozen. Elizabeth began sobbing.

“I do not wish to hurt you. But…Mr. Darcy, my reason tells me I cannot be happy with you. You have behaved in…in too gentlemanlike of a manner. I will not be happy with you, and in the end my unhappiness would become your unhappiness. Good bye, and…and God bless you.”

“No. Lizzy.” Darcy grabbed her arm to keep her from leaving. “You cannot — you will be happy. You will!”

“Not if I am under your control. Not with a man who does not respect me. Not with you.” She ripped her arm away, and fled through the door before he could catch it again.