Chapter Six

A Little Toast With That Despair

"Mrs. Reynolds, it is only half past the hour. There is nothing to be alarmed about," Peters reassured the head housekeeper.

"It is so unlike the master," she stressed. "What if he is ill or in need of—"

"Ah, here he comes. Now, off you go. Alert the staff of his arrival."

Relief washed over Mrs. Reynolds face.

"Very good, Mr. Peters. I'll see to it."

Mr. Darcy entered the smaller dining room, used exclusively in the mornings, and expediently partook of the abundance of food on the open buffet.

Bewilderment registered on the butler's face as he watched Mr. Darcy. Routinely, the master sat down straight away to leisurely read from the papers, and sip his coffee before rising to take in nourishment.

Remembering his station, Peters wiped his face of all expression and bowed slightly.

"Good morning, Sir."

"And how are you this morning, Peters?" Mr. Darcy answered, not looking up from the bountiful fare. "Is everything arranged for this afternoon?"

"Very well. Thank you, sir. And yes, everything is in order for the joyous occasion." Peters hesitated for a moment and then spoke further. "I wish you and the future Mrs. Darcy every happiness," he said with deep sincerity. "She lights up Pemberley like a thousand lighted wicks."

Peters wondered if perhaps he had been too forthright in his compliment to Miss Price. This thought was dispelled when he witnessed Mr. Darcy glancing up at him in appreciation.

"That she does," he replied evenly, without giving away any further emotion. "Thank you, Mr. Peters."

Straightening proudly at the sideboard, Peters was pleased with his master's accord with him in regards to the young lady. Previously, before Miss Price's arrival, such unsolicited observations, by no means, would have been conveyed.

"I do not see Miss Price's favorite dish here."

"My apologies, sir. The chef will be informed of its absence, and it shall be served directly."

"Very good. I believe Miss Price will favor it this particular morning."

Peters turned to the nearest of the two footmen standing in wait, motioning the young man to return to the kitchen to have the request fulfilled by the chef.

Turning his attention back to the serving table, the butler watched in astonishment at the amount of food the master had piled on his plate. He must be famished.

Sitting down at the table, Mr. Darcy immediately started in on his plate, motioning for his drink. The remaining footman went to obey, but Peters held up his hand to indicate he would perform the duty. Nodding, the young man resumed his station in silence.

Raising the glass to pour, Peters spoke, "The toast should be here shortly, sir."

Mr. Darcy nodded once in acknowledgment. The butler could not help notice a queer smirk formed on his master's face and far-off stare, as if he was recalling a pleasant memory. Peters knew precisely what the memory was, for it was memorable for him as well.

It was several days before, on one remarkable morning, when Miss Price had solidified the affection of the staff of Pemberley. The future mistress also uncovered a side of Mr. Darcy that Peters was sure that no one had witnessed, including him, the one person who knew him the best.

"I will take full responsibility," Miss Price assured. "I can handle Mr. Darcy."

"But miss, if he caught you in the kitchen doing our work, we will suffer severe disapproval," Mr. Peters fretted. "I must beg you to let Chef Bourdon take over. He will prepare anything you wish."

"Relax, it will be okay," she said, while vigorously whipping the mixture she had put together. "I promise."

Peters glanced worriedly over at the chef, who looked anything but relaxed. He sat stiffly at the long table, with paled-face, staring at the woman standing at his stove. It was apparent he still was in a state of shock at her performing one of the duties that were strictly taboo for an honored guest to do—cooking.

Miss Price had caught both men off guard when she suddenly appeared in the kitchen, announcing she wanted to surprise Mr. Darcy by preparing for him one of her specialty dishes; a foreign delicacy called French toast.

The miss further informed them she had a huge craving for it. Peters thought it must be so, for the woman was stubbornly insistent on being its sole creator. Pleas and groveling would not persuade her to quit this unprecedented foray.

After bravely fuddling with the intimidating black stove and battling the fire down to a suitable temperature, she cracked eggs, raided the spices, whisked, and sliced loaves. Dipping the bread in the mixture, she laid each slice into the greased, cast iron skillet. Soon a delightful aroma filled the kitchen.

"The secret is to dash some cinnamon on top right before flipping."

"Miss Price, I do not think the master—"

Turning sharply, she waved the flathead utensil at Peters.

"You sit, now!"

The stunned butler sat quickly, clamping his mouth shut.

"That's better," she said with a friendly wink, then turning back to the stove to focus on her grilling.

Then Miss Price continued cheerfully into a rush of dialogue, speaking of how grilling over flames in a skillet reminded her younger years when she braved the untamed wilderness.

Chef became appalled, yet fascinated, when this delicate and petite young lady, merrily admitted she captured, disemboweled, and roasted numerous fish over a fire pit.

Befuddlement registered on both men's faces at the mention of an unfamiliar wild marsh fowl, skewered on a stick and held over the flames, called Mallows. Apparently, these small game birds tasted better burnt, rather than being roasted a golden brown.

Peters was dumbfounded at her disclosures, which continued with her acknowledging her pleasure at dwelling in a canvas tent, sleeping in a 'bag', and getting 'sucked dry' by flying insects. Miss Price certainly was an adventuress, enduring bravely such excursions, actually professing to enjoy the barbaric existence in the backwoods.

"I think I've watched enough seasons of Survivor to be an expert," she said. "Oh, but I couldn't eat the big larvae, or deal with the prats who think they rule the camp."

Nodding her head from side-to-side, she turned with an apologetic look.

"What am I saying? You don't even know what I'm talking about," she said, rolling her eyes. "Just ignore me when I ramble on. I sometimes forget where I am."

Queer as her dialogue and recollections were, Peters became less apprehensive with her chatty vivaciousness and wit. While it was true she was not as refined as other gentlewomen that were past guests of Pemberley, she had an approachable friendliness, which made her very affable. It was as if she was from another world, and it was agreed by the majority that Miss Price outshone the Bingley sisters and Miss de Bourgh, without having much elegance.

Observing more closely the woman standing at the stove, Peters had to admit she seemed proficient at her task at hand. The first slices were tossed due to the charred results, but right after she found her way and perfectly grilled slices began to stack up. He was glad that, unlike these marsh Mallows, golden brown was preferred.

"Syrup? Tell me we have syrup."

Chef pointed to a covered container on the shelf above her. Taking it down, Miss Price lifted the lid and dipped a finger in, bringing it up to lick it. Her mouth upturned at the sweet, buttery taste.

"Perfect. Who wants the first piece?" she cheerfully asked.

Chef Bourdon's hand flew up, and Miss Price beamed at his eagerness.

Peters marveled at how unpretentiously she served them both with joyful enthusiasm. The butler could not help but feel a deep admiration for her willingness to relate on a personal level with those whose station was beneath her own. Moreover, the course she placed before them was very tasty. Even the chef was singing her praises for her culinary skills.

Word quickly traveled to other ears, and one-by-one, curious members of the Pemberley staff started to drift cautiously into the room to see for themselves this unbelievable event unfold.

Their stunned reactions paralyzed them long enough to find it was true—Miss Price, honored guest of the Darcys, was preparing food and serving. Before they could break from the shock, they were each directed to a chair to taste of her cookery.

Entrapped into her web of infectious, carefree sociability, it did not take long before the whole room filled with warm conversation and jolly laughter. Even the normally timid chef became at ease, asking questions about the ingredients of the, confirmed, most delicious, course.

Peters concluded that this morning was definitely not your typical morning in the grand kitchen; instead, it was the most astounding. He was about to verbally speak this sentiment to Miss Price when a resonant gasp sounded out from Mrs. Reynolds, stopping him quick.

"Peters!"

His loud voice echoed throughout the room, causing the quick scampering of bodies out through the back way, leaving Peters standing in petrified fright. The master was framed in the kitchen's doorway, and the fuming expression unmistakably spoke of his deep displeasure.

"Morning Darcy, have a seat. I made you breakfast," Miss Price said happily, flipping a slice. Turning around from the front of the stove, she saw the cleared room and pouted. "Look, you scared everyone away."

Not taking his eyes off Peters, Mr. Darcy spoke angrily, "What is the meaning of this?"

Before the frightened butler could answer, the miss piped in.

"Lay off him, Darcy. This was completely my doing," she said in a raised voice.

Mr. Darcy stepped further into the room, standing on the opposite side of the long table, with crossed arms.

"Miss Price, I will not have my guest doing manual labor and catering to the servants. It is not to be tolerated."

Seeing his stormy face, she rolled her eyes and put her hand on her waist.

"So, I wanted to give them a break and make you some French toast. What harm is in that?"

"Peters, leave us. I will discuss this with you later," he barked, "I want to talk to Miss Price privately."

Gladly, Peters bowed and exited the kitchen, closing the door behind him. Temptation had him cupping an ear at the crack to hear the conversation within.

"Really, Darcy, if you are going to lecture me on what is proper and what I can and can't do, we might as well just toss this whole idea of us out of the window." Flipping a slice, she turned and waved the utensil at him. "Do you really want me to become a wicked witch like your aunt?"

Bravo, Miss Price! Bravo!

Peters had to see this with his own eyes. Braving possible discovery, carefully he opened the door a sliver to peek inside the room in time to see the master grimace and stiffen at her words, recovering quickly with a rebuttal.

"It is expected that you comply with the rules of conduct and learn to take your elevated position in society seriously by being a guest at Pemberley."

"If you stuck to these rules, I would not be here. I mean, you would have never accepted me," she argued, turning back to the skillet. "As for position, we both know that is bollocks. It's only an excuse to be able to say you are better than everyone else."

Darcy eyelids lowered, and mouth curled down to speak in a more leveled tone.

"And yet, it is how it is here. As far as you are concerned, the circumstances were unique. You must understand I still have to—"

"Act a snob? And where did that almost get you," she asked calmly, flipping the last piece on a plate, turning towards him. "If it weren't for me, you would probably be married to that stuck up Caroline Bingley. Georgie would still be lying to you, and Wickham would probably be dead."

Peters did not know if the particulars of her statement were valid, but her words must have rung true to the master because his irate countenance disappeared and shoulders slumped.

Walking to the table, she placed a plateful of the toast on top and pulled out a chair.

"Now sit. Your breakfast has been served by someone who loves you and not afraid to show it, even if it is just to make you toast."

Ignoring her command, he walked around the table and came to her side, wrapping his arms around her waist.

"You will not yield," he asked with his facial features softening.

Shaking her head defiantly, Peters could see that she was struggling not to smile.

"Would you want me too?"

"No, I would not."

"I don't want to change you either, but it would do you good to be told to sod-off from time to time," she said, allowing her repressed smile to bloom. Wrapping her arms around his neck, she raised herself to give him a sweet kiss on his mouth. "But know I say it with all affection."

Sighing acceptance, he pulled her tighter to his chest.

"I have been soundly reprimanded, but coming from you, I am finding it is not unwelcome."

"I love and respect you so much, Darcy, and would never speak against you unless I thought it would improve things," she said, hugging him. "I don't know about you, but I rather have employees that do things for me because they really want to, rather than do their job out of fear. Happy employees will serve you longer, and defend their master to anyone who would dare to speak against him."

"There is truth in that statement. It is humbling to a proud man when flaws in his character are so transparent to the woman he adores."

"Darcy, I am far from flawless, as you know, but I always felt that being perfect would be dull and exhausting." Moving some strands of hair from his forehead, she smirked, "And I find you far from being boring. Now try some of my toast before it gets cold. I don't have a microwave here to nuke it."

His brows rose. "Microwave?"

"Don't ask," she smirked. "Your breakfast awaits, sir."

The master did not reply, but nodded once, turning on his passive face. Releasing her, he pulled out the chair further, sitting down then moving it closer to the table's edge so he could reach the plate.

Peters had to cover his mouth with the palm of his hand, to stifle a gasp. The magnitude of what he was seeing did not escape him. For the first time in countless years, a Master of Pemberley had sat down at the servant's table to eat.

It must be an illusion.

Closing his eyes tightly for a moment, he then opened them again to see Miss Price was pouring syrup over the master's stack.

His eyes had not deceived him. The master was sitting, indeed, at the long, rectangular table with a fork in hand. He cut into the toast and took a large bite. Nodding his approval, Mr. Darcy looked up at the miss.

"This is good," he said, taking another bite. He chewed, swallowed, and nodded. "Really good. When were you in France?"

Giggling, Miss Price bent over close to him, with elbows on the table and her chin resting in the palms of her hands, to watch him eat more closely.

"Actually, it's a recipe I got off the internet."

"Do I want to know what this internet is?"

"Let's say it is instant information on anything in seconds," she answered. "Actually you did see it when Elizabeth showed Colin Firth as…well, you know."

The master cleared his throat, looking suddenly uncomfortable, asking for more syrup.

"You really like it? You're not just trying to be nice, are you?" she asked, pouring the syrup.

"You can be assured of my sincerity, Amanda. Here, try it for yourself."

The butler's mouth dropped further as Mr. Darcy offered her a bite, and she opened her mouth to take it. He then took another bite. They both chewed; while the adoring looks they shared told the tale that there was more between them than the toasted bread.

Both done with their bites the master closed the gap, and kissed her sweetly, licking the corner of her mouth where syrup lingered. His hand reached up and spanned her cheek.

"Thank you, Chef Amanda. Perhaps, I will be inspired to cook for you one day."

"That, Mr. Darcy, I would definitely like to see. I will have to alert poison control and the fire department."

Letting out a low growl at her teasing, he grabbed her around her waist and brought her down to sit on his lap.

"Now, Miss Price, I have had my fill of your first course," he said with a sly grin, "and waiting for the next. Do you know what I am hungry for?"

"Oh, let me guess," she answered, lifting her hair away from her neck and lifting her chin.

"You anticipate me, my love," Mr. Darcy crooned.

He then proceeded to take a finger full of syrup from the plate and draw a line from her earlobe down to her shoulder and followed it with his lips and tongue.

"Darcy, that tickles!" she giggled.

"Oh, do you prefer my bite?"

"It is the second course."

Mr. Darcy's laughter echoed in the room, startling the butler to shut the door quickly. Was his hearing correctly? The master was laughing! Absolutely, astounding. Now, he had heard and seen it all.

Backing away, Peters turned at a safe distance to make his way down the corridor, while exhaling a long breath of relief. Miss Price was right, she could handle Mr. Darcy very well, and she is exactly what this big old manor needed.

Gossipmongers were already saying she was destined to become the Mistress of Pemberley. Before, he scoffed at the rumors and felt the lady was too unconventional for the important position and rank.

After these past weeks, and what he just witnessed, it seemed that the rumors might become true. Fear then did enter his heart, but not for the reasons one might expect. The fear now was that Mr. Darcy would not marry Miss Price.

Snickering, Peters shook his head. Furthermore, if she somehow got the Master of Pemberley to stoke the fire in the black devil of a stove, it would be a miracle of cosmic proportions. After what he observed this most remarkable of mornings, he did not doubt that with Miss Price, the miracle might become a possibility.

Mr. Peters was intercepted by Chef Bourdon, who reached out to grip the butler's shoulder with a worried expression.

"What happened? Are you in trouble, my friend?"

"Not at all," Peters assured, "but I need to ask you a culinary question."

A little confused, the chef nodded for him to continue.

"What is a microwave?"

Peters moved to place the serving plate and pitcher of syrup in front of the master.

"Sir, your French toast."

Mouth full, Mr. Darcy nodded his gratitude and quickly forked two slices to transfer to his own plate.

"I've noticed Miss Price's inspired dish has become a favorite of yours, as well," Peters said with a knowing smile.

Swallowing, Mr. Darcy nodded. "Quite."

"The staff cannot get enough of it," added Peters.

Mr. Darcy stopped, with the fork in mid-air, to look at the man standing beside him.

"Then it shall be a staple every morning for them as well, Peters. See to it."

"Yes, sir. It is very kind of you."

"Not at all," he said before filling his mouth again.

Stepping back, Peters found his usual monitoring place by the sideboard, and folded his hands together in front of him, waiting for further instruction or direction.

The master's late arrival, break from routine, and crude eating manners, had Peters wondering if the upcoming nuptials to Miss Price was the cause of this disorder.

It was expected Mr. Darcy's usual practices, and schedule would require a considerable adjustment with the inclusion of Mrs. Darcy. Typically, that change happened after the vows rather than before. It was all so strange.

After a moment of reflection, Peters' upper lip twitched up. However, it was clear that Mr. Darcy was in love; a condition rarely inflicting Darcy men. But it was most likely that previous masters never encountered such an extraordinary woman like Miss Price.

Single-handedly, she brought about a dramatic transformation to the Master of Pemberley. It was scarcely to be believed, but daily, Peters felt the brunt of the reformation and could attest personally to this more affable side of Mr. Darcy.

Previously, the master was always fair and stiffly polite to those who were under his authority, but his very domineering and unapproachable disposition tended to instill more fear than reverence.

The pleasant conversation that passed between master and servant a few moments before would have never occurred. Speaking out of turn would have been ignored or later reproached. The extent of conversing with Mr. Darcy was often limited to responses under six words, and everyday considerations for the staff was never a topic for discussion.

Then a revitalizing breeze entered the residence. The impact not only changed the people inside but also, the overall atmosphere. That delightful breeze was none other than Miss Amanda Dawn Price from Hammersmith. Her sudden entrance confirmed life within the walls of Pemberley would never be the same again.

The Darcy dynasty had always earned the respect of their staff, but loyalty was seldom demonstrated. After Miss Price's arrival, it was subtly noticed the respect was being returned back to the staff by the master. This not only started the winds of change in cultivating loyalty but devotion to the prominent family as well.

Moreover, it was to be questioned whether the words typical and routine would apply with Miss Price roaming the halls of the grand manor. No, he could not see how these words could. Under the definition of normal, he was certain Miss Price's name would not be written underneath, and Peters was glad for it.

There was an air of excitement vibrating throughout the many rooms, both upper and lower levels. This day, Mr. Darcy was taking a wife. His choice was a shock to those on the outside, but for those who had crossed her path these past weeks, an indisputable relief and gladness.

"Peters."

Peters jumped to attention.

"Sir."

"See to it a tray is sent up to Miss Price. Do not wake her if she is still asleep, but leave it and have someone check back often," he commanded thoughtfully. Noticing a fresh floral arrangement in the center of the dining table, he pointed his fork at it. "Take the bouquet to her as well."

"Very good, Mr. Darcy."

Peters picked up the arrangement and turned to leave.

"Oh, Peters, I was meaning to ask about your little girl. Has she recovered? Does she lack in anything?"

Turning back to face Mr. Darcy, he nodded, "Yes, sir. Thank you. She has fully recovered and very happy with Miss Georgiana and Miss Price's kind attention."

"Good, good. Carry on."

Walking away with the vase, Peters smiled warmly. It still surprised him; Mr. Darcy's thoughtful concern. He knew exactly when this consideration started, and once again, who brought about the remarkable change in the master.

Right after the thunderous storm that occurred a week before, Mr. Darcy escorted Miss Price personally to visit every tenant on the land. It was this action that had Peters convinced Miss Price was to become Pemberley's new mistress.

Having been with the family from his youth, Peters moved up the ranks, and when he married, the late Mr. Darcy presented a small cottage to his valued butler. Since that presentation, neither father nor son had returned to visit.

Then upon Miss Price's insistence, Peters welcomed the son, now master, into his quaint abode for the first time.

Miss Price was full of compassion to learn of his wife's death several months before, and to see his daughter, Annabel, was in poor health. As Miss Price and he conversed, it was apparent by Mr. Darcy's stunned expression, he had no idea his butler had a daughter.

The next day, Miss Price returned with Miss Georgiana, carrying a large basket of items, including books and the beautifully wrapped doll. Annabel was overjoyed at the attention the two, great ladies bestowed upon her.

The caretaker he hired to care for his daughter during the day was rather put out about Miss Price's unorthodox suggestions on improving the cleanliness of the cottage, including boiling water and use of vinegar, but it worked wonders on the child's overall health.

Since that visit, Miss Georgiana returned to help Annabel with her reading skills and learning. Miss Price went beyond the borders of propriety, formally inviting his daughter over for afternoon tea like a real adult lady.

However, what was most remarkable of all, Mr. Darcy took it upon him to inquire often after his little girl health and welfare, gaining assurances that she was in need of nothing.

Yes, it was to be concluded Mr. Darcy was not himself, but many would agree wholeheartedly, he was a better man and master because of it.

The butler knew it was all due to Miss Price. He had no doubt that the happiest days and years were about to descend upon the grand estate of Pemberley with her in her new role as Mrs. Darcy, Mistress of Pemberley.

Darcy moved the empty plate away, and it was immediately taken away, and the latest edition of The Times was placed before him, along with his habitual cup of coffee. Glancing at the clock, he frowned, cursing inwardly the slow passing of time.

Was she awake? Was she as excited about the day as he was?

Only hours into their separation, he longed to see and touch her again. So much so, it took every fiber of his being not to rush up the stairs to her room, kick down the door, and take her into his arms to bid her good morning no matter what stage of dress or undress he found her to be. Preferably, the latter.

Staring down at the remaining slices of French toast on the plate near him, he shook his head; this was not the time to be barbaric in his manners. Nevertheless, his impatience with the clock tested his resolution to remain civilized, wanting to grab it off the side table and throw it out the window to the cobblestones below.

"Well, well, Darcy, you seem distant this morning," chimed Wickham, who was taking his seat at the table. "You did not even notice me come in."

"My thoughts were elsewhere," he said casually while picking up the paper to read.

"Ah, yes, indeed," Wickham admonished, clearing his throat. "The highly anticipated union with Miss Price. Pass the plate, if you would."

Peters jumped in to deliver the plate of French toast across the table, over to Wickham, who speared the slices to transfer to his plate.

"Darcy, I think this would be a good time to inform you of something."

Feeling annoyed, Darcy lowered the pages so he could peer at the younger man across the table.

"What is that Wickham?"

"Well, you might need to postpone—good lord, Darcy! What happened to your neck?"

Uncomfortably, Darcy cleared his throat, as his mind worked on a satisfactory answer.

"Insect bite," he said, thinking about the moment he was bitten. Trying hard to hide his real feelings on the incident, he added, "Most unfortunate."

"I'll say! I would have a physician look at that."

Nodding, Darcy set down the paper, finding he could not focus on the contents, lifting the cup of coffee instead, speaking to change the subject.

"You wanted to tell me something?"

Stuffing his cloth in his shirt, Wickham continued.

"Oh yes, I was going to say you may have to postpone the—"

A loud shattering of dishes sounded.

"Brother!"

Darcy's cup, along with its contents went airborne, as he propelled himself backward and out of his chair, sending it crashing sideways to the ground.

"Georgiana!"

Darcy stormed by Wickham, causing the dishes on the table to rattle.

Sighing heavily, Wickham lifted his fork in one hand, knife in the other. Frowning, he lowered both utensils and looked up and down the table.

"Ah, there you are."

Standing, he reached out to grab the pitcher of syrup.

Darcy collided with his sister, who flew into his arms, sobbing uncontrollably. Embracing her protectively, he spoke as calmly as his alarmed state would allow.

"Dearest, what is it? What happened?"

"Hannah was going in and…and I helped carry the flowers," she stuttered out, "but…she was not there!" Clutching tightly to her brother's sides, she further cried, "Amanda is gone!"

"What!"

Hannah raced down the stairway, calling out as she reached the last step.

"I found this, sir."

Darcy quickly took the letter Hannah held out to him while passing the emotional child over into the maid's care. With unsteady hands, he opened it and began to read.

My Dearest Darcy –

I am here to write you that we can never meet again. Simple really, a word or two and then, a lifetime of not knowing, where, how, why or when you think of me, or speak of me, and wonder what befell that someone you once loved so long ago, so well.

And we ask ourselves, is it written in the stars, or are we paying for some crime? Is that all we are good for, just a stretch of mortal time? Or are we God's experiments, in which we have no say? Where we are given paradise, but only for these past days.

Darcy dropped the letter to his side, reluctant to continue. The intense pain and despair that his beloved was expressing into words were too hard for him to bear. Her poetic but tragic script seemed to mirror his growing emotions at her sudden departure.

Darcy shut his eyes to his own agony, while his mind cried out internally.

Oh, Mandy, my love, how happy you have made me. It was my damnable pride that sent you away. If you do not come back to me, I will be but a shadow of a man without you.

Swallowing hard, he opened his eyes and raised the letter to read the rest.

However, nothing can be altered, there is nothing to decide. No escape, no change of heart, nor any place to hide. You are all I'll ever want, but this I am denied. Sometimes in my darkest thoughts, I wish I'd never learned what it is to be in love and have that love returned.

But know, near, far, wherever you are, I believe that the heart does go on. Love can touch us one time and last for a lifetime and never let go until we are gone. Love was when I loved you, one true time I hold to. And in my life, and in yours, we will always go on.

Please let me go and love again. - Amanda

Darcy's heart sunk into a bottomless pit of darkness he never felt before; even when he thought he had to leave Amanda behind, and give in to duty to court the reluctant Miss Bennet. Nothing matched this tidal wave of desolation washing over him.

He should have locked her in his arms, tied her to the bedpost, or thrown her into a dungeon; anything was preferable to her going back to the hell from which she came.

In his own blood, he should have had Amanda write out her vow never to leave him. It crushed him she would break it, but the reason she did break it, made him love her beyond all possible imaginings.

"Dear brother, what does she say? Please tell me she is coming back to us," Georgiana pleaded with tearful eyes.

Realizing his distraught sister was patiently standing nearby, he pulled her back into his embrace and kissed the top of her head.

"Rest assure, dearest," he declared, trying to sound positive, "I will bring her back. Now go upstairs with Hannah. I will come to you after I make inquiries."

Georgiana nodded while sniffling, sadly taking the maid's hand, and climbing up the stairs. Darcy waited until they both were gone, then reread Amanda's letter again.

After finishing, his jaw clenched as determination invaded and conquered the initial feelings of misery.

"I will find you, my fairy," he spoke to himself with conviction, "and this I promise you, I will never let you go again."

After his decree, Darcy's head snapped up, knowing instantly where to start. Marching purposefully back to the dining room, he held the letter up, waving it angrily at the man still sitting at the table.

"Wickham, what do you know about this?"

Calmly, Wickham looked up from his plate.

"Well, it is like this. You may need to hold off on your union to Miss—"

"Peters!"

Wickham frowned. "Well, do you want to know—"

"Not now," Darcy snapped.

"Very well," Wickham said, picking up the paper to read, burying himself behind the pages.

"Peters!"

"Right behind you, sir."

"Inform our guests at once that the wedding has been delayed until further notice. Convey my apologies and see to it that any other matters pertaining to the event is dealt with promptly."

"Miss Price is unwell!" blurted Peters.

Hearing sincere concern in the butler's voice, Darcy leveled the tone of his voice.

"Miss Price has left Pemberley due to a misunderstanding, which I intend to resolve."

Relief wash over Peters face.

"Allow me, Mr. Darcy, for I speak for the entire staff, is there anything I can do?"

Leaning closer, Darcy shifting his gazed sideways, speaking for the butler's ears only.

"Inform the others and instruct them to use complete discretion when speaking of the matter. If an excuse must be made, Miss Price was called away suddenly by a death in her family. It is not known when she will return." Peters bowed quickly, moving to leave, but Darcy caught his arm to stop him short, to add, "Be assured, Peters, Miss Price, will return, and will be Mistress of Pemberley."

"Very good, sir."

Darcy waited until Peters was out of the room before turning to the man at the table.

"Wickham, my study!"

Lowering the paper, Wickham peer over it at his host.

"I thought you said not—"

"Wickham," Darcy growled menacingly, "if you value your life, you will get up from that chair without delay, and follow me directly."

Darcy turned and left the room without another word.

Dear Readers -

This story is COMPLETE with my original goal to 'test the waters' with my story on this site, then published it officially on Amazon as an ebook. As of February 14, 2018, it is published! However, I regret to say, as part of the requirements of making this ebook available for free through Prime Member's lending library and Unlimited Reading subscribers, I cannot publish the entire ebook anywhere else in its entirety. I did not know this!

If you enjoyed it so far, it is available on Amazon under the same title; all twenty-three chapters!

And thank you for your reviews! You convinced me that the story was good enough to finish and put it on Amazon.

- FaithBelieve