Wickham and Lydia left for Newcastle, much to the relief of everyone but Mrs Bennet. However, even she was cheered by the news which almost immediately followed: Mr Bingley was returning to Netherfield.

Jane caught her breath and blushed. She had not so much as mentioned his name for months, but as soon as she and Henry were alone, she said,

"I know I appeared distressed, but don't imagine it was from any silly cause. I was only confused for the moment, because I felt that I should be looked at. I do assure you that the news does not affect me either with pleasure or pain."

He allowed this to pass with only a single incredulous glance. From what he had seen in Derbyshire, Bingley was still partial to Jane. Had he been bold enough to come of his own volition?

Bingley and his party arrived in due course, and called at Longbourn three days after their arrival.

"Look - look!" called Mrs Bennet. " 'Tis Mr Bingley and his sister! Jane, why did you not wear the green gown?"

Jane resolutely kept her place at the table, but Henry obliged his mother and went to the window - looked - saw Miss Darcy with the Bingleys - and sat down again.

"There is a lady with them, Mama," said Kitty. "Who can it be?"

Henry, feeling his pulse thundering in his head, almost laughed when Mrs Bennet replied in utter indifference,

"Some acquaintance or other, my dear, I suppose; I am sure I do not know."

"La! It looks just like that woman that used to be with them before. Miss What's-her-name. That tall, proud girl."

"Miss Darcy," said Henry tonelessly.

Jane's eyes widened. He had told her almost nothing of their meeting in Derbyshire, and therefore she believed that this meeting must be almost the first since he had received her letter, with all the awkwardness that implied. Brother and sister each felt for each other, and of course for themselves, and heard nothing their mother said, but Jane could not guess at Henry's further sources of anxiety. Miss Darcy was not merely a person whose affections he had disappointed and whose merit he had undervalued, but the woman he loved, and to whom they were all indebted.

He hardly knew what was said; Bingley looked friendly, Miss Bingley supercilious, and Catherine serious, as usual. Aside from an enquiry after the Gardiners, the latter never spoke, and all in all seemed much more akin to the Miss Darcy he had first known than the one he had met at Pemberley. When, unable to resist the impulse, he raised his eyes to her face, he found her staring at Jane as frequently as himself, and often simply at the ground.

His only comfort was that Bingley, after the first awkward minutes, gave Jane more and more of his attention, looking every bit as besotted as he had ever done.

Mrs Bennet invited them to dinner in a few days, reminding Bingley of the invitation he had missed the previous winter. He looked blank and mumbled something incoherent, but accepted gladly.

"I am very happy for Jane," said Charlotte Lucas, when he related the events of the day to her. "But Harry, you do not seem pleased. Do you disapprove of the match?"

"No, of course not." Henry fingered his cane, wondering how much he dared to say. "It is only . . . I am afraid I misjudged Miss Darcy somewhat. It is rather uncomfortable to be in company with her."

"She will undoubtedly overlook it." Charlotte smiled. "She is better-humoured than one might think."

"Yes, I know." He remembered Miss Darcy's letter - not his, but the one Charlotte had shown them months earlier. As casually as he could, he asked, "Have you been corresponding with her all this time?"

"Oh, yes. I suppose I have dozens of her letters, now."

Henry suppressed a twinge of envy.

"I have not seen her yet, however. Did she look well?"

"Very well." He rubbed his temples. "That is - a little tired, perhaps, but still lovely."

Charlotte gave him an odd look.

The dinner-party was an unmitigated success, as far as Mrs Bennet was concerned. Bingley had attended to Jane almost as devotedly as before; Mr Bennet did not insult anybody; and, to top it all off, Miss Darcy complimented her partridges.

Henry, exhausted, closed his eyes. He was pleased for Jane, truly; but for himself, he could not quite share his mother's joy. Even if he had been able to scrounge up the courage to speak to Miss Darcy, rather than simply staring at her, Miss Lucas had almost completely monopolized her attention. The two girls had been quietly overjoyed to meet again, and - well. He hardly begrudged them their friendship, but it made things that bit more awkward than they already were.

Bingley called again a few days later, without Miss Bingley or her friend.

"My sisters are indisposed, and Miss Darcy had business in London - something to do with her estate," he said, a little coolly, then laughed. "I am too idle and feckless a fellow to understand anything she said about it."

He could not dine with them, unfortunately, but he quickly accepted an invitation to do so on the following day. Mrs Bennet did her best to leave him alone with Jane, aided by an uncomprehending Kitty and reluctant Henry - to no avail, except to silence Jane's declarations of indifference.

He came to shoot with Mr Bennet the next morning, and upon accepting another invitation to dinner, was yet again subject to Mrs Bennet's machinations. Henry had wandered off to write a letter to a friend in Gloucestershire, and when he returned, he saw his sister and Bingley standing together over the hearth, as if engaged in earnest conversation. They turned sharply around, and all three flushed in sympathetic embarrassment.

Bingley whispered something to Jane and ran out of the room, and Jane flew into her brother's arms.

"I am the happiest creature in the world!" she cried, lifting tearful dark eyes to his face. " 'Tis too much! by far too much. I do not deserve it. Oh! why is not everybody as happy?"

Henry congratulated her with wholehearted delight.

"Oh! Hal, to know what I have to relate will give such pleasure to all my dear family! how shall I bear such happiness?"

And with that, she rushed upstairs to tell Mrs Bennet and Kitty.

From this time onward, Bingley visited Longbourn daily, arriving before breakfast and remaining until after supper, unless some barbarous neighbour- who could not be enough detested- had given him an invitation to dinner which he felt himself obliged to accept.

The news soon spread to all the neighbourhood; Mrs Bennet told Mrs Phillips, and Mrs Phillips told everyone. Only a few weeks earlier, they had all declared that the Bennets were the unluckiest family in the world - but now, they were proved to be marked out for fortune.

About a week later, Bingley and the ladies were all sitting together in the dining room, when they saw a chaise-and-four driving up the lawn. It was too early for visitors and none of them recognised the carriage or the livery; but since a visitor had come regardless, Bingley and Jane escaped into the shrubbery.

"Lady Catherine de Bourgh, ma'am."

Henry almost stared, his mother and sister actually did so, and Lady Catherine entered with an even more ungracious air than usual.

"What an unexpected pleasure, your ladyship," said Henry.

Lady Catherine only inclined her head in response and sat down. After several moments, she said,

"I hope you are well, Mr Bennet. That lady, I suppose, is your mother."

Henry's eyebrows rose. "She is."

"And that I suppose is one of your sisters."

Mrs Bennet, so far from being offended by this, was only too delighted to speak to a Lady Catherine. "Yes, madam. She is my youngest girl but one. My youngest of all is lately married, and my eldest is somewhere about the grounds, walking with a young man who will soon become part of the family."

Lady Catherine glanced about with a critical eye. "You have a very small park here."

The conversation continued for several minutes, Mrs Bennet's desperate civilities meeting Lady Catherine's resolute lack of them, until finally her ladyship rose and turned to Henry.

"Mr Bennet, there seemed a prettyish kind of a little wilderness on one side of your lawn. I should be glad to take a turn in it, if you would favour me with your company."

Bemused but intrigued, Henry gladly assented. They walked in silence along the gravel that led to the copse, Henry determined to make no effort at conversation in the face of such disagreeable insolence. More than once, he glanced at her face and wondered how he could ever thought her like her niece.

As soon as they were safely alone in the copse, Lady Catherine announced: "You can be at no loss, Mr Bennet, to understand the reason of my journey hither. Your own heart, your own conscience, must tell you why I am come."

"You are mistaken, madam," said Henry, in utter astonishment. "I have not at all been able to account for the honour of seeing you here."

Lady Catherine's eyes blazed. "Mr Bennet, you ought to know that I am not to be trifled with. But however insincere you may choose to be, you will not find me so. My character has ever been celebrated for its sincerity and frankness -"

"I am sure it has," said Henry.

"- and in cause of such moment as this, I shall certainly not depart from it. A report of a most alarming nature reached me two days ago. I was told that not only your sister was on the point of being most advantageously married, but that you, that Mr Henry Bennet, would, in all likelihood, be soon afterwards making proposals to my niece, my own niece, Miss Darcy. Though I know it must be a scandalous falsehood, though I would not injure her so much as to suppose the truth of it possible, I instantly resolved on setting off for this place, that I might make my sentiments known to you."

Henry flushed. "If you believed it impossible to be true," said he, "I wonder you took the trouble of coming so far. What could your ladyship propose by it?"

"At once to insist upon having such a report universally contradicted!"

"Your coming to see me will be rather a confirmation of it - if," he added coolly, "such a report is indeed in existence."

"If!" Lady Catherine cried. "Do you then pretend to be ignorant of it? Do you not know that such a report is spread abroad, likely by yourself?"

Henry lifted his chin. "I never heard that it was."

"And can you likewise declare that there is no foundation for it?"

Henry hesitated. Had he done anything to provide fodder for a rumour of this kind? It could be unpleasant for Miss Darcy - but no. He had hardly spoken to her. Charlotte, perhaps, might have guessed at his feelings - the Lord only knew what Catherine had let slip in her letters - but she would not have done this. She adored Catherine.

"I do not pretend to possess equal frankness with your ladyship," he said finally. "You may ask questions which I shall choose not to answer."

"This is not to be borne!" Lady Catherine marched a few feet ahead, the birds and fruit on her hat swaying wildly, then whirled to face him. "Mr Bennet, I insist on being satisfied. Has my niece accepted an offer of marriage from you?"

Henry smiled. "Your ladyship has declared it to be impossible."

"It ought to be so. It must be so, while she retains the use of her reason. But your charm and audacity may, in a moment of infatuation, have made her forget what she owes to herself and to all her family."

"Why, thank you," said Henry. "I am flattered that you think so highly of my abilities."

"Mr Bennet, do you know who I am? I have not been accustomed to such language as this."

"That is unfortunate."

"I am almost the nearest relation she has in the world, and am entitled to know all her dearest concerns."

He did not know if Catherine were particularly fond of her namesake; even if so, however, he felt reasonably confident that she would object to this. "You are not entitled to know mine," he pointed out.

"Let me be rightly understood. This match, to which you have the presumption to aspire, can never take place. No, never. Miss Darcy is engaged to my nephew. Now what have you to say?"

Henry almost laughed. This was about Fitzwilliam's cipher of a brother? Even at Rosings itself, Catherine had never so much as alluded to his existence. "Only this," said he. "If she is so, then you can have no reason to suppose she will accept an offer from me."

Lady Catherine looked away. "The engagement between them is of a peculiar kind. From her infancy, they have been intended for each other. It was the favourite wish of her mother, as well as our brother and myself; while in her cradle, we planned the union of the Fitzwilliam title and the Pemberley interest. She is descended, on the maternal side, from the same noble line as my nephew, and on the paternal, from a respectable, honourable, and ancient, if untitled, family. Her fortune is splendid. They are destined for each other by the voice of every member of their respective houses; and what is to divide them? The upstart pretensions of a young man without family, connections or fortune. Is this to be endured? It shall not be!"

"Whatever my connections may be, if your niece does not object to them, they can be nothing to you."

"Tell me once for all, have you proposed marriage to her?"

Henry paused. Then he said:

"I have not."

She permitted herself a sigh of relief. "And will you promise me never to make such a proposal?"

"I will make no promise of the kind," said Henry. "Forgive me, but if these considerations exert such unanswerable force, why you did not bring them to bear on your niece herself? Surely she would be more likely to accord them their due importance than a feckless, impudent specimen such as myself?"

"I would not insult her - "

"Yes, yes; your niece is plainly made of such delicate stuff that she cannot endure the slightest enquiry. Allow me to say, Lady Catherine, that the arguments with which you have supported this extraordinary application have been as frivolous as the application was ill-judged. You have widely mistaken my character if you think I can be worked upon by such persuasions as these. I can only suppose that you inexplicably believed me more susceptible to them than Miss Darcy, or -"

He caught his breath, eyes widening.

"- or you have already demanded similar assurances from her, without any more success than you have found with me."

"Catherine is too young and innocent to see your arts and allurements for what they are," Lady Catherine retorted. "I thought you might have some regard for her honour and credit. Do you not consider that a connection with you must disgrace her in the eyes of everybody? Unfeeling, selfish boy!"

Henry could have kissed her. He eyed her parasol, and thought better of it. "Lady Catherine, I have nothing further to say. You know my sentiments."

"You are then resolved to have her?"

"I have said no such thing. I am only resolved to act in that manner which will, in my own opinion, constitute my happiness, without reference to you, or to any person so wholly unconnected with me."

"Do not imagine," said Lady Catherine, her lips thinning, "that your ambition will ever be gratified. I came to try you. I hoped to find you reasonable; but, depend upon it, I will carry my point."

She lectured him all the way to the carriage, then turned sharply about. "I take no leave of you, Mr Bennet. I send no compliments to your mother. You deserve no such attention. I am most seriously displeased."

Henry said nothing. Once she was gone, he walked back to the house, his mind racing. Only one thought clearly emerged: Catherine had refused to reject him. Catherine, who had barely managed to overcome similar scruples at the height of her feelings for him, had - she had stood against her own family, had all but agreed to accept him.

She would accept him.

Henry had only one choice left: should he go to London immediately, or wait for Miss Darcy's return to Netherfield?

He decided to wait.

After two days, his impatient ebullience had almost driven his family mad. Fortunately, she arrived the following morning; Henry saw her through the window and almost collapsed upon the sopha.

"Mr Bingley, Miss Bingley, and Miss Darcy, madam," said Hill.

Henry turned pale, his hands shaking, but managed to greet them all with a semblance of composure. Catherine avoided his gaze.

"It is a lovely day," Bingley announced. "Perhaps we could all walk out."

Mrs Bennet and Miss Bingley, neither in the habit of walking, demurred, but Jane, Kitty, Catherine, and Henry agreed.

Bingley and Jane soon lagged behind, fooling nobody, while the other three were left to entertain each other. Henry glanced sideways at his sister.

"Kitty, did you not intend to call on Miss Maria?"

"Oh! yes," she said, reluctantly tearing her eyes from their companion's gown, and hurried away.

Henry offered his arm, studiously ignoring the elegant line of her neck and shoulders.

"Miss Darcy."

She turned in his direction, gazing at him with cool, quizzical eyes. Every other feature might as well have been carved in stone.

They were so close, then, that he could see everything, the charcoal-grey ring about her irises, a small fading scratch across one cheekbone - and pale shadows beneath the eyes, as if she were not stone at all, but merely a woman who had not slept very well.

Henry swallowed, feeling his pulse thunder in his temples, and gathered what courage remained to him. "Miss Darcy," said he, "I am a very selfish man, and for the sake of giving relief to my own feelings, care not how much I may be wounding yours."

Another shadow flickered across her face, and he regretted the words almost immediately. If not quite a falsehood, they were certainly not true.

"I can no longer help thanking you for your unexampled kindness to my poor sister."

Without any trace of her usual reserve, she cried, "I am sorry, exceedingly sorry, that you have ever been informed of what may, in a mistaken light, have given you uneasiness. I did not think Mrs Gardiner so little to be trusted!"

"Do not blame my aunt. Lydia first betrayed to me that you had purchased her wedding-clothes; I realised that you must have been concerned in the matter, and demanded an explanation of her. I . . . when I think of a lady, when I think of you, Miss Darcy - " she coloured - "bearing such trouble, so many mortifications, doing what you have done for the sake of my poor silly sister and the man you, above all, have every reason to detest - "

"Surely," said Catherine, "you do not think it was for him."

"I - " he paused. "No, of course not, but I do believe that you acted principally because of him. Miss Darcy, I cannot begin to express the gratitude I feel, that the rest of my family would feel, were it known to them."

She hesitated only a moment, meeting his gaze with that peculiar unflinching pride he had once detested in her, and which now had become inexplicably dear to him. "Mr Bennet," she said steadily, "I ask only that if you will thank me, let it be for yourself alone. I shall not attempt to deny that . . . that the wish of, in some way, giving happiness to you might add force to the other inducements which led me on. Your family owe me nothing."

For one long, frozen moment, they stared at one another. Then, a smile twitched Henry's lips, touched his cheeks, and turned into a shout of laughter. "Miss Darcy," he said, looking into her indignant blue eyes and taking her hands in his, "dearest Miss Darcy, you cannot begin to imagine how I have tortured myself since that day at the Lambton Inn. I have thought of you - hoped and dreamt of, perhaps, gaining some intelligence of you - "

Her face changed; he saw her lips part over the next breath, her eyes widening. "Mr Bennet, you cannot mean - you cannot feel - "

"I feel," said he, lifting her fingers to his mouth, "that I have, after all, borne the name of Bennet quite long enough. Do you think yours would suit me, Miss Darcy?"

She could not speak. Nevertheless, she must have somehow made her sentiments known to him, for five weeks later, the following announcement appeared in The Times and The Courier:

Lately, Catherine, daughter of Christopher Darcy of Pemberley, and Lady Anne Darcy, was married to Henry Darcy, Esq.