Author's Notes: Well...I'm back. Someone commented in a review that they were sad to see this story is abandoned. Don't worry, it isn't...nor will it ever be! That doesn't mean that I'm going to get much better with updating, in all honesty. I don't want to make you wonderful readers promises I can't keep. I've been working on this story for 10 years now...which I can hardly believe. Publishing date: Jan 2014. Holy hell. I was 13 when I began writing this. How time flies! Or in context of how long it's taken me to get this thing done...how it doesn't!

As ALWAYS thank you all so much for your wonderful reviews and encouraging words. This community more than anyone or anything else in my life prompts me to keep going, to never give up on the story I have to tell. I've always had a clear notion on the beginning, middle, and end of this tale...it's just getting there that's been the hard part. If it's any consolation to those of you who have been ever so patiently sticking with me for this, the story is now more than halfway complete. Also I've already begun writing chapter 14...I'm going to make a conscious effort to really try and get some writing done every week but like I said before...I'm not going to make any promises I can't keep.

One final note: I am dedicating this chapter to my love and the hopeful companion of my future life, my boyfriend R. When I first read Pride & Prejudice I imagined myself to be a Lizzy - quick witted, alluring, charming, beautiful, etc...but the truth is...how many of us are truly Lizzys or Janes? How many men are Mr. Darcy? I am much more of a Charlotte than I'll ever be a Lizzy, and that doesn't mean that I don't deserve a happy ending. Plenty of times in life we judge other people for small and superficial things: how hot is that person? what kind of job do they have? I'm not the smartest, the most beautiful, the funniest, the kindest, the most ANYTHING in this world, but I have the love of silly, smart, handsome, imperfectly perfect man who thinks the world of me...because I'm me. Who reread Pride & Prejduice (after hating it in high school) just because I had told him it was my favorite book. Part of my delving into the Charlotte/Mr. Collins relationship is because quite frankly, I thought they deserved to be happy. Just like we all do.

CHAPTER 13:

Trembling, Charlotte Collins took the proffered pen from the Vicar's hand to sign her wedding register. She was married! Her excitement, her apprehension, perhaps even her love, threatened to overwhelm her. She had always been a practical girl, sensible since she had first opened new born eyes to the world around her. She would not, could not, swoon; her mortification would be complete and utterly devastating. Swooning was not the place of a clergyman's wife, she was made of sterner stock than this! Yet she felt giddy, weak at the knees, and it was only by collecting herself with a deep steadying breath, that she finally wrote her name with a satisfying flourish. She was married. The day had finally arrived.

The childhood dreams, perhaps not fully realized in the waking light of the winter morning, had been fulfilled. Charlotte had never blossomed from the ugly duckling of her youth into a beautiful swan, and certainly rosy-cheeked Mr. Collins was no prince charming, but he was hers, and she, his. By two-and-twenty, her first several Seasons come and gone without a hint of a suitor, she had begun to doubt that she would ever find love. Before she was five-and-twenty, she had resigned herself to spinsterhood and determined to make herself as useful as possible to her family. But at seven-and-twenty she had defied all the odds. She was a married woman.

She had just avowed in the presence of the Almighty and before her entire congregation that she would obey, serve, honor, and love this man in sickness and in health, until death tore them asunder. Glancing up from the registry to the parson's beaming countenance, his pink cheeks positively crimson, his eyes full of self-satisfaction, his normally slouched shoulders set wide, his head held high with pride, Charlotte felt a wave of affection wash over her. They were undoubtedly an odd set, the plain spinster and the unpopular parson, but their unsuitability to others was what made them perfect for the each other. In William, Charlotte had found a husband who took immense pleasure and satisfaction in calling her his wife. He was proud to have her, not embarrassed, not apologetic. In fact, he was ecstatic. She had been a burden to others for so long, and now she was a treasure.

"Happiness in marriage," she warmly mused, taking in her husband's countenance, "is entirely a matter of chance. For my own part, I am determined to be the happiest bride Kent has ever beheld."

As they joined together to leave the church and make their way to the wedding breakfast at Lucas Lodge, their gazes locked on one another. Two presumably unremarkable sets of brown eyes met and found much to rejoice in within one another. "My dear, dear Charlotte," Mr. Collins murmured softly to her, clumsily patting the hand on his arm as he lead her toward the awaiting carriage, "you have made me the happiest of men. I am eternally grateful for the kind condescension you have granted me in becoming my most beloved wife."

Smiling from ear to ear as Mr. Collins handed her into the carriage, Charlotte looked out on the friends, family, and neighbors who waved merrily and gave shouts of congratulation. Despite the well wishes surrounding her, she knew that many had unkind things to say, that they all talked about her good fortune in finally finding a man who could overlook her homeliness, and him in finding a woman who could overlook his stupidity. "Let them talk," she thought with fondness as she gazed out at the throng, "let them laugh and have their jokes at my expense and his. It can not hurt us. What better entertainment is there than to laugh at our neighbors, and have them make sport of us in our turn? They do not know my heart, nor that of Mr. Collins."

Thinking of her own parents, neither of whom had been able to truly like their new son-in-law for all that they were grateful to him, Charlotte merely shrugged internally. Her mother had praised Charlotte for "doing her duty, unlike those ungrateful Bennet girls" but could not bring herself to praise Mr. Collins, for there was nothing to admire in a small, stout man with a red complexion. She herself had married a handsome knight of the realm at one-and-twenty, and now spent her middle age in idle pursuits and bitter self-recriminations of wasted youth and lost beauty. They could judge her marriage all they wished too, for Charlotte knew the truth. Most marriages were far from perfect, her own parents' least of all.

Alone with her husband for the first time, Charlotte took her cool, slender hand and enveloped his thick, clammy palms in hers. "No indeed, William." She said, her voice soft with understated emotion, "It is you who have granted me the condescension in offering for my hand, you who have rescued me from a life of solitude and meaninglessness. I will be forever thankful that you have found me."

"My Dear…" He breathed, his eyes fixated on her, finding himself momentarily speechless in the face of such unexpected emotion, an uncommon state for him.

"Before you entered Hertfordshire, William…I believed I was bound for a life of loneliness, of forever being a burden to my father and my brother. Trapped, resented, growing old and bitter before my time. You have given me…meaning, a future. A life." With a deep breath, she continued, her eyes growing suspiciously moist. "I am not handsome. I have known this since I was a child, and there can be nothing for it. No matter how becomingly I may dress, or in what style I fashioned my hair, I have always been plain. I accepted this for myself many years ago. It is a simple truth. I have often heard myself described thus, as if my own reflection in the glass was not enough of a reminder, the word has been bandied about in my company more often than I care to recollect. While I know vanity is unbecoming, the beginnings of pride, a most dreadful sin, there have been many moments where I dreamt of being beautiful, especially in my youth. However I have known that to be an impossibility, and hoped to find someone who would look for more than just a pretty face in the partner of his life. I dreamt of meeting a gentleman who would see in me all the qualities and skills I posses, who could envision a life with a wife who would be of use, rather than just ornamental and I had given up all hope-"

"No!" William exclaimed, lunging toward her so quickly that the carriage noticeably shook. "I pray you will excuse my unpardonable interruption of your most heartfelt dialogue, but I can not continue on listening to my wife speak of herself thusly! It is unpardonable! The Lord Almighty gives each of his children gifts as well as trials in this life. I had the grave misfortune to lose my mother, may she rest in everlasting peace, in the birth of what would have been my sister, had she lived. My noble father, a God-fearing man though he was, had many flaws and perhaps I lacked for a mother's nurturing touch in my youth. I often felt alone as a child, and I looked to the Lord to provide me the comfort and love that my earthly father could not. The Lord is generous, and he answers all prayers of those who believe with unyielding faith. He granted me my patroness, the Noble Lady Catherine De Bourgh, and her influence and patronage has touched every aspect of my life. Nothing is beneath that Great Lady's notice, no matter of two small an important not to receive her attention and serious considerations, and though I am merely a lowly parson she has given me her most particular time and courtesy. The benefit of her influence has been such that I may never be able to repay her kindness to me. No mother could be more attentive, though I would never dare to make such a familiar statement to a personage as great as her Ladyship. On this day of all day, I surely feel my gratitude toward her benevolence' at the height of it's strength, for without the Great Lady Catherine, I would have never met you, dearest, loveliest, Charlotte!"

This speech was pronounced with such alacrity that Mr. Collins had to take a heavy, heaving breath to catch himself before continuing on, with some degree of softened tenderness to his tone, " You must know, my wife, my darling wife, that to me, there is no comparison. You are a vision, the most beautiful creature that I have ever beheld. Certainly, there are many fair and delicate maidens who grace our shore, but none hold a candle to the lasting and enduring loveliness of you, my wife. Your humility, your grace, your godliness, these give you a lasting beauty that no amount of ribbons, curls, or painted cheeks can possibly hope to achieve. Any flower may boom in the warmth of the spring, but it is the rare bud who blooms in the depth of winter. Your candor only adds to your many other numerous qualities. Lady Catherine advised me to find just such a wife as you; gently born she has often said, but not brought up too high, an active, useful sort of person. In you I have found all of these qualities, and so many others. You are a paradigm of virtue! I have many cousins, all fair, one more than the next…yet it was obligation that lead me to offer for their hands not…" He paused then, his voice wavering slightly, "not… tender affection."

Practical Charlotte had long ago dismissed her dreams of romance and fancy, knowing them to be childish, futile wishes. Yet she could not ignore the fluttering in her heart of the strange sensations in her gut. Such appellations as dearest, loveliest, beautiful, had never been settled on her before. Blushing with self denial, Charlotte longed to dismiss all of her husband's compliments, but found herself unable to voice such thoughts aloud with his earnest, intense stare placed upon her person. Perhaps Mr. Collins had deluded himself, but there could be no denying his sincerity. He was not the sort of man to whom such speeches came naturally or easily, his nervous, timid nature and his lack of experience with the fairer sex made sure of that. Whatever compliments he paid his new wife, he most assuredly meant them.

Instead of denying him, she laughed, the sound bubbling up and escaping her lips before she could stop it, "Oh Mr. Collins!" she exclaimed, smiling widely. Grasping his sweating palms with feeling, she continued, saying, "How you do run on!" and doing the only thing she knew would cease his flowery rambling, she placed her lips upon his.

By the time the carriage arrived at Lucas Lodge for the wedding breakfast, noses had been bumped, heads knocked, lips bruised and bit, and Charlotte's bonnet and wedding veil were quite askew. Upon their death beds, neither Mr. or Mrs. Collins would remember it as the most romantic or well received kiss of their marriage. However, as they ascended from the equipage to greet their well-wishers, the couple was nothing but good spirits. Certainly, they were still amateurs, but everyone must start somewhere, and they now had the rest of their lives to get it quite right. It was a beginning. It was a promise.

It was a vow.

O0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o

Eleanor Alcott, nee Bingley, had not been brought up high. She had her dowry of course, and a proper gentlewoman's education, but no daughter of a successful tradesman ever aspired to marry into the aristocracy, no matter how low swinging a branch. A gentleman of means was the desired object to a girl of her standing, and as a pretty, wealthy, slip of a girl she had attracted very many upon her first Season in Bath. No one had prepared her for Admiral John Alcott, twice her age, twice her rank, and thrice her reputation. Though he was only the second son, the lives of the Ton were more structured and regimented than the sixteen year old bride had ever been prepared for. Her husband was cynical of the life he had been born into, and was known for flaunting propriety when it suited him and laughing at it in his turn. He was tender, kind, and doting to his new wife, but he had not been the best instrument in educating her on the societal skills needed for her new standing in society. She had gone from the frivolities of girlhood to the mistress of a home of persons of distinction very quickly indeed.

The first few years had been as much a trial for the couple as it was an unmitigated joy, just as any young couple bound together by mutual affection experienced. Her social faux pas had been few, but her embarrassment had been acute when they occurred. She often wondered what people thought of her. Did they see her marriage as the unlikely love match that it was, or was she an upstart and fortune hunter, drenched in the stink of trade and new money? The Ton was not a generous group. Bedecked in finery, they still resembled beast more than man to Eleanor at times, for their natural inclination was that of scavengers and predators, constantly seeking to eliminate the weak from the herd. They were a vicious lot with a long, begrudging memory, and she was an untried girl of sixteen. It had not been an easy time for her, no, not at all.

Though time had passed, though she had made many friends and allies, learned the necessary comportment; though she had made a swift transition from girlhood to motherhood, giving the Halston seat an heir and a spare, she had not learned to like the complexities of Town or the games people played there. It had always been her dream to settle her family in some pretty piece of countryside, the small estate that John had promised her during their betrothal…the quiet life they longed for, basking in the joys of their family and neighborly company. She had always been grateful that she had not fallen in love with the first son of such a family, for how could she bare such scrutiny?

Unfortunately, those dreams were not to be.

The letter that had arrived from Halston began similarly to many that had come before it. There were the usual pleasantries from Mrs. Emily Alcott, the inquiries of the children, their health and studies, talk of the going on's of the estate, inquiries of the Admiral and Eleanor's health and happiness, news and gossip from Lincolnshire, and so on. However, on the final page, the tone of the letter changed drastically. In it contained Eleanor's greatest fear since conceiving her first child, fully realized.

My dear sister, since writing the above, something of a most alarming nature has occurred at Halston. My husband's health, weak as you know, for the past year or more, has taken a steady decline for the worse since my last letter to you. Last night I was awoken by one of the maids…the master had not eaten from the tray sent to him for supper. When he was checked on, he was found to be asleep, but a fevered sleep, no rest for my beloved. I have summoned every physician of important that is to be had, I have prayed as long and as faithfully as I am able, but I fear that these efforts may prove to be in vain - he is not improving.

I am a fortunate woman indeed, my husband is the best of men and had promised that whenever the untimely event occurs, I shall be well taken care of. Indeed, he thinks of everyone else, before himself. His words are always of his family, his tenants, and his beloved Halston. My nephew, darling John, has been the greatest of comforts to him. His mischievous, good-hearted nature, and his curious mind have been a great delight to us both, childless as we are. I know only a very little of the events which transpired to lead him to my door, however, I am aware that it was without your consent as his mother. For that, I quite sorry to have caused you pain, unintentionally or otherwise. Know that I have poured into him all the love that I have, giving to my nephew all that would have been for the very many children I so longed to bring into this world.

You must now understand my purpose in writing to you so directly. Your son, that dear sweet boy, is the heir to the vast Halston estate. You are no longer the mother of lesser sons, but to the survival of this family's name. It was a task meant for me, and I am truly sorry to have so thoroughly failed it. It was my fondest, most treasured dream to succeed in my duty, however, I am barren. You have always encouraged me to keep trying, to keep praying, to search for alternative opinions and methodologies, but it is the simple truth. My chance for conception is over; even if Andrew recovers from this most recent fever, I doubt he will ever recuperate enough to perform his husbandly duties. The serious nature of this illness has not been exaggerated. I have always been one for practicality over insipid hope. Motherhood, a gift with which you have been so abundantly blessed, was not the Lord's intent for me. Though it is painful for me, though I have often looked on at your family with such envy, you must know how grateful I am to you for bringing the joys of children and a mother's love to this family. We were a trio so sorely lacking in these special gifts until the Admiral took you for a wife.

I know that unlike many others, you have never looked upon my position as Mistress of Halston Manor with any degree of envy. It is a great responsibility, to care for so many, and not one to be taken lightly. My maternal instincts I believe, have transcended into care for my servants and tenants with my lack of children. You have no such void to fill, and you have never managed a household of even a quarter of Halston's size. I entreat you, however, to not let this new undertaking overwhelm you. You have a sharpness of mind that has always endeared you to me, for you know mine is not the disposition of one who can suffer fools gladly. Your quickness of mind and the strength of your character will help you to see this through. Know that you will always have my support and advice in such matters, whenever you apply for it.

I have become distracted from my purpose, I fear. My intent was to inform you of Mr. Alcott's worsening conditions and to inform you that I am sending my nephew to my sister's home in Cambridge. She shall see him onto London as she has to visit her husband's family for the approaching holidays. A deathbed is not a suitable place for a child, not even the heir-apparent. Before his current incontinence, my husband made me vow that I would implore both you and your husband to stay away from Lincolnshire. He does not think it wise for a woman in your current condition to travel so far, so near your time. He wishes his brother to remain by the side of the woman he loves, those were his very words as I write them. He made me promise that I would extend to you both and to his nephew and niece his fondest wishes for your health and happiness. Nothing, he says, would make him happier than to know all his loved ones are "as far away from this sad sight as possible".

For my own part, I make no demands of you or my brother. You may come and go as you so desire, please feel free to do whatever will bring you greatest comfort during these trying times. I have done my duty in expressing his wishes, and now I entreat you to follow whatever your own are.

With all my love, your sister,

Emily Alcott

To say that the contents of her letter shocked her, Eleanor believed, would be an understatement. And yet, what other word could there be for such a total and complete disbelief? She had known from her sister's correspondence that her brother's health had not been at it's peak, but now to receive news that he was dying? It was too much to be borne.

Was this why her husband had been so adamant about sending little John to Halston? Had she unknowingly been denying her denying brother's wish by keeping her son close to her for so long? Why hadn't John confided in her, trusted her, loved her enough to have an honest dialogue with her about his fears? All the agony of November could have been avoided…she would have been reluctant to see her child go, but she would have released him willingly for this. They had come so far in the eight years of their marriage, and yet, had they learned nothing?

As for seeing her brother before his passing, for lending her sister strength and support in these agonizing final days, it was an impossibility. Her time was close at hand, and in these winter months with the roads so uncertain, and her delicate state, the journey from London to Halston simply could not occur. It was too dangerous now. Bitterly, she though of the rainy October day when the Alcott's had arrived at Netherfield. Had John known even then how poorly Andrew faired? It would have been easy to stay but a few days at Netherfield before continuing the journey north. She had been desirous of seeing her brother after a long separation, that much was true. She had no idea of how high such a price would be however.

Her own fears and trepidations were case aside in light of this revelation. Whatever worries she had for her children's future and her own as the mistress of such an estate could wait a day or more. Today was a day of sorrow in the Alcott family.

O0o0o0o0o0o0o

A wedding breakfast was always a place of merriment in any group of people; whether the joy was caused by the alliances of two great houses, the influx of newly joined wealth, the end of a scandal, or the warmth of two people bound together by ties of mutual affection and companionship, notwithstanding. Elizabeth had attended a small handful of such events throughout the course of her twenty years, but never before had she witnessed such unadulterated felicity between a newly married couple.

While she had never subscribed to the notion that her dear friend was truly plain, Charlotte Collins looked remarkably well on this day. Her entire countenance was one of liveliness and warmth; earth brown eyes twinkled merrily, thin pink lips parted in an infectious grin, elegantly arranged chestnut locks seemed to glimmer in the morning light. Her face was what it ever was, and ever would be, and yet the joy so transparent in her expression would make her Jane's rival for beauty on this warm winter morning. And the groom! Her opinion that he was an ostentatious bore, and perhaps the greatest fool she had ever met, Lizzy still held firm in her breast. But this day gave her staunchly held convictions pause, for surely her cousin must have some sense to take such an immense pride in his new bride. As an acute people-watcher who delighted in drinking in society and making them out, Lizzy could not ignore the reverent glances her cousin sent her friend every few moments, the adoration and worshipful admiration in his face. With his ruddy complexion and stout figure, Mr. Collins would never be a handsome man but the happiness of the day transformed even him. He seemed taller, more sure of himself than Elizabeth had ever known him to be, yet lacking that same self-satisfied conceit that had marked his mannerisms throughout the whole of their acquaintance.

While she engaged with the other guests and ate the wonderful fare that had been arranged by an ecstatic Lady Lucas, Lizzy couldn't help but speculate on all that she witnessed. That her friend had aligned herself with Mr. Collins had indeed grieved her when the news was originally shared. To marry with no thought toward any sensibility beyond practical comforts, was beyond Elizabeth's capabilities, no matter how lacking her dowry. If one day she was forced to sacrifice the notion of the deepest love with her partner, she very well couldn't forgo sense and a decent conversationalist for the rest of her life as well. Yet Charlotte seemed more than just well-pleased and content as Lizzy had suspected she might. She knew her friend had long wished to be mistress of her own home, to end the burden of her upkeep to her parents. No, Charlotte was not content…she was radiant, glowing, the ideal picture of any bride. It seemed that despite their vastly different beliefs in the marriage state and the ideal partner, her friend had found what Elizabeth still sought…love.

Perhaps Mr. Collins had been properly humbled by his fair cousins before making his addresses to Charlotte, or perhaps she had seen in him some qualities, some goodness that Elizabeth and her sisters had entirely overlooked. She could not say that she regretted her decision in refusing him, and though her manipulations had tormented her conscious with her lack of integrity, she could not entirely regret her subterfuge. In her own way, Lizzy had played some small part in bringing about the happiness of her dear friend, had effected the outcome of this day. She had returned from London to Hertfordshire with some feeling of uncertainties, despite Jane's words of a love match forming…she would be happy to return to her sister and confirm such speculation.

Interrupting her silent reverie, the blushing bride approached her dearest friend with a smile. "Dear Lizzy!" She said, with a laugh in her voice, "Please, take a turn about the room with me."

Acquiescing to the scheme with a ready step, Lizzy took her friend's proffered arm and allowed herself to be steered away from the general company. "Well, Mrs. Collins," she teasingly began, "this may be the last time we meet for some time. I expect you will find new friends of import with your connections to Rosings Park!"

Charlotte chuckled, but the sound did not quite meet her eyes. "Indeed Lizzy," she replied, "it may very well be some time before I come to Hertfordshire again. I expect that my husband will be quite eager to establish our household and to acquaint me with his parish."

Sensing some degree of sadness in her tone, Elizabeth changed her address to one laced with soft tenderness. "Your company shall be sorely missed in our little piece of country side, I assure you. However it is the prerogative of married woman to leave their first home and begin anew with their husband. You will have much to occupy you in these first months. I am fully confident that you will be an excellent mistress to Hunsford and well-loved member of the community there in no short order."

"It is my dearest hope to make him proud Lizzy." She responded, squeezing her friend's hand warmly. "I only pray that I am able to fully embody all of Mr. Collins hopes and expectations for me. He has made me so very happy."

Lizzy paused in her step, turning to face her childhood companion full in the face. They had known each other for as long as she could remember, and though Charlotte had been several years her senior, she was closer to no one, not even dear Jane. Inquisitive hazel eyes met rich, earth brown and sought her truth. Charlotte met her gaze unflinchingly, thin pink lips upturned at the corners ever so slightly. They held each other for a moment that could have passed for an eternity. Finding the answer she sought, Lizzy broke the gaze and impulsively embraced her friend. "I am so delighted for you, dear Charlotte." She said quietly in her ear, "You have found your happiness when you least expected to."

Charlotte held her for just a second longer than was necessary. "You will write to me, will you not? I shall depend upon hearing from you quite often."

"You may rely on me, darling friend. Who could not be a diligent correspondent when the delights of Rosings Park can be expected in each address? I will be awaiting each of your missives quite eagerly, I assure you!"

Charlotte laughed then, light and tinkling, and pulled away to continue their turn about the room. "My father and Maria are to visit Kent in March. I beg you, would you consent to join their party? Indeed you should be just as welcome to me as either of them."

"If you wish it, I can do little but consent to such a scheme! How my father shall react to such news after my winter spent in London I can not promise you, however."

"And how do you and Jane find London, Lizzy? I have heard in your letters of plays, operas, balls, and new acquaintances. Yet so very little of your principle object in traveling hither."

Elizabeth raised a brow at such comment. "My principle object?" She asked in an arch tone. "What pray tell may that be?"

"Why securing Mr. Bingley for Jane, certainly!" She shot back, unabashed.

"Mrs. Collins! Lower your voice, please!" Lizzy cried, dismayed. "You begin to sound like the current mistress of Longbourne, rather than the future one. I have had to circumvent my mother on this topic at every turn since my return home for your wedding. If she hears the name Bingley in her vicinity, the topic shall never cease until I return to Town again!"

"I beg your pardon, Lizzy." Charlotte replied with a grin, "But you will not remove me from the topic presently at hand. Has there been any success in that quarter?"

"None at all, I'm afraid." She answered with a discontented shrug. "We have seen nothing of the Bingleys except those that make up our own party. The Alcotts are delightful company, to be sure. For my own part I am quite satisfied…for Jane however, not so much. I can not make any sense of it. I was so sure of his partiality for her, Charlotte. I was quite certain that I looked before me and saw a man in love! What could have possibly happened?"

"Unfortunately, we can only speculate on that score. On an acquaintance of such short duration, we could have very well been deceived in Bingley's character…yet I do not think that to be very likely. There are some weeks remaining for the visit, perhaps they will still meet."

"At this point, I can only hope, and offer what encouragement I am able. She has written of seeing Mr. Darcy since I am gone away, but nothing of Bingley. If his closest friend has come to pay his respects to The Alcotts, but Bingley has not made a call on his own sister and brother, I can only conclude that he must be avoiding meeting with Jane. I can only fathom that he does not wish to raise her expectations any further by continuing the acquaintance in Town."

"Mr. Darcy has come to call on Admiral and Mrs. Alcott?" Charlotte inquired, unable to hide the surprise in her voice, "Have you met with him again Lizzy?"

"No, thank Heaven!" Lizzy spat, surprised by her own vehemence. She had not met with Mr. Darcy since that November day on the lane…her ridiculous stumble…she had not seen him since his arms had roughly, yet tenderly, pulled her from the dirt, since his dark eyes had bored into her own. She shivered, involuntarily, willing the memory away. She had no wish to spare a thought for that hateful man, no matter how intimately she knew his history.

Charlotte simply glanced at her friend knowingly, thinking that the wiser course would be to make no remark on the passion of her address. Evenly, she continued by saying. "Surely you must prepare yourself to meet with him on occasion. His family relationship with Admiral Alcott and his friendship with Bingley means that you are very likely to cross paths again at some point or another."

"I suppose I must reconcile myself to that eventuality," Lizzy frowned, "I can assure you such a prospect must bring him as little pleasure as it does me. I know how much he dislikes me! However, I will be as civil as I can be for the sake of Admiral and Mrs. Alcott, and for Jane should she be reacquainted with Bingley in these upcoming weeks."

"Dear Lizzy," the older woman said tenderly, "I ask this of you honestly…when has Mr. Darcy ever given any indication that he dislikes you? Can you give me any proof of such a notion?"

Open mouthed, Elizabeth stared at her companion in shock. "Whatever can you mean Charlotte? 'She is tolerable I suppose…"

"Yes indeed!" Charlotte snapped, cutting Elizabeth off with alacrity. "But not handsome enough to tempt me. I know the words well Elizabeth, we have laughed and made sport of them more times than I can recollect these past months. And yet, how often have you caught Mr. Darcy staring at you? Have I not remarked on his looking at you a great deal on several occasions?"

"That is true, but I know that he must be looking at me only to find something to censure…"

"Do you know that, my dear friend? Are you so knowledgeable to the inner workings of that gentleman's mind as to know his reasoning for gawking at you? I can claim no such great privilege, but I will most forcefully insist that your reasoning is not sound. Have you seen Mr. Darcy pay any heed to those who he can not like? Did his gaze linger on your mother, or on my husband? I think not."

Incredulous, Lizzy protested, "No but he has been unpardonably rude on several occasions!"

"And your attack of him during dinner at Netherfield? After he had asked you to dance the supper-set? Was this the behavior of a gentlewoman? My father told me of your rejection to dance with at Lucas Lodge. You did everything in your power to persuade him away from a dance at the Netherfield Ball until you were forced to accept him lest you sit out the whole of the evening! Does this not warrant some incivility on his part, especially after showing such a marked interest in you?"

"A marked interest!"

"Indeed, quite marked, I assure you! Pray tell me Lizzy, who did you ever see Mr. Darcy dance with outside of members of his own party? Certainly he never asked me. Nor Jane. Can you recall a single other young lady of the county who he condescended to compliment?"

Lizzy stared at Charlotte as if seeing her for the first time. "Surely you must be mistaken," she laughed, the sound forced and hollow, "I can not be the only one."

"Rake your mind all you will, Elizabeth. Make inquiries of the neighborhood. You are the only young woman of Hertfordshire Mr. Darcy spoke more than a few words to, let alone danced with. What a stir it caused when you took your places for your set at Netherfield! What a pair you made!"

Lizzy drank Charlotte's speech in, trying to make sense of it in her own mind. "If that is the case, then he must have paid the compliment to me for Bingley's sake of courting Jane…or merely because I was not insipid and intimidated by him. I can not fathom it." She paused collecting her thoughts. "I have seen the way which Mr. Collins looks at you Charlotte, my cousin is clearly enamored with you! I have seen no such look from Mr. Darcy, no tenderness in his eyes or regard in his address. You must be mistaken."

"Lizzy," Charlotte said warmly, squeezing her friend's hand. "you have had but a few days to observe Mr. Collins' regard for me. I have been watching Darcy for weeks. Do not let your vanity or your prejudice blind you. I would not tell you these things if I did not believe them."

Just as Elizabeth opened her mouth to respond, her mind reeling, Mrs. Long and her niece approached to give their well wishes to Charlotte and take their leave from the wedding breakfast. Mrs. Collins was called back to the present matters of this important day, and Elizabeth was left to ruminate on all she had been told. She ate and talked sparingly, just enough to pass through…longing for the moment when she could don her pelisse and escape to the woods surrounding Longbourne. She had much to think on before she returned to London on the morrow.

O0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o

Fitzwilliam Darcy, Master of Pemberly, was not in the habit of brooking disappointment. He was a sensible, educated man of means, and whatever he wanted was generally accessible to him. Typically things came easily to him, occasionally he was required to put some modicum of effort in to secure what he wanted, but never was he outright rejected. In a situation such as this, it was insupportable. Charles had been trapped in the throes of melancholia since his decision to remain in London, and Darcy had understood that disappointed affection would certainly damper his friend's spirits.

"I am very sorry, sir. Mr. Bingley is not receiving any callers today."

How was this to be borne? It could not be. Darcy had made a promise to call on Tuesday-next to Eleanor and the Admiral, but especially to Miss Bennet, the very cause of his friend's present distress. That very promise had included Bingley in it's number. Yet since he had made that promise, he had been unable to reach his friend. Bingley was not receiving callers, nor had he been at any of the clubs they attended together. His notes had gone unanswered, and Darcy was beginning to wonder if they had been unopened as well. Now it was the very day that the lady in question would expect his friend, and his friend had no notion of it. How was Darcy to right any wrong doing he may have committed if his friend was insistent on being obstinate.

Taking a calming breath, Darcy once again plead with the staunch butler. "Please, Thompson. This is a matter of some urgency. An emergency if you will. I must insist upon being admitted."

The butler hesitated, unwilling to offend so great a personage as Mr. Darcy and yet holding onto his firm conviction to obey his master's orders. He had been expressly told by Mr. Bingley that no one, not even his siblings were to be admitted. He was in no humor to give consequence to anyone, neither his friends nor his family. The exchange between the pair went back and forth for several minutes. Darcy was growing increasingly vexed, and half-heartedly began to contemplate simply over-powering the servant despite all his best instincts. It would be the least gentlemanly thing he had ever done…

"Pardon me sir, but Miss Bingley is receiving callers today if you would be inclined to sit with her in lieu of Mr. Bingley."

"Thank you Thompson, that is most helpful."

To say that Darcy was relieved by such a solution would not be correct. But it was a solution the desperately sought, entrance to Bingley's town home by any means. He was not well acquainted with Bingley's home as the pair tended to spend most of their time at Darcy House, yet Darcy knew he could waste no time in finding his friend. Surely Miss Bennet would remain several weeks yet at the Alcott residence, but he needed to free Bingley from his hermitage now, before anything more drastic occurred. If he could but slip past Thompson, he knew he would be able to find Bingley somewhere in the house.

However such a scheme, as undignified as it was, was not to be. Bingley's servants were decidedly dedicated to their master's wish for privacy, and Thompson's eyes remained glued on Darcy until they reached the morning parlor where Miss Bingley reigned over a group of ostentatiously dressed women. When his name was announced to the hostess, Darcy felt her predatory net raise before she even turned her head.

"Mr. Darcy!" Caroline, cried, her cat like eyes flashing as she turned toward him. "How very delighted I am to see you!" She rose, the gold silk embroidery of her cream morning dress making her look garish even in the becoming light of mid-morning.

She extended her hand, and he had no choice but to bow over it and bestow a gentlemanly kiss. "Miss Bingley, good morning to you."

Inwardly, he groaned, cursing Bingley's name. It was going to be an extremely long day.

Author's Notes: We're more than halfway through folks! From here on out the plot is going to pick up pretty quickly. I know this chapter didn't have exactly the interaction I promised the last, but it's all coming...I promise! I will do my best to keep my creative juices flowing and try to get the next chapter out at a reasonable time-frame, but at the same time...I wouldn't advise any breath holding. Real life has got to be priority number one.

To all those who read, thank you so much! To all those who review, thank you even more. Your input is always, always, appreciated.