P&P and its characters were created by Jane Austen. I merely borrow them with gratitude and respect. This is an alternate version of the opening to chapter 35, taking more consideration for the background of the time period of the novel.

oOo

Elizabeth awoke the next morning to the same ruminations which had at length closed her eyes. She could not yet think of anything else. Totally indisposed for employment, she resolved, soon after breakfast, to indulge herself in air and exercise. She proceeded directly to her favorite walk when the recollection of Mr. Darcy's sometimes coming there stopped her. Instead of entering the park, she turned up the lane, which led farther from the turnpike-road. The park paling was still the boundary on one side, and she soon passed one of the gates into the ground.

After walking two or three times along that part of the lane, she was tempted, by the pleasantness of the morning, to stop at the gates and look into the park. Five weeks which she had now passed in Kent made a great difference in the country, and each day added to the verdure of the early trees.

She smiled, nearly on the point of continuing her walk, when she caught a flash of movement within the grove which edged the park. Fearful of its being Mr. Darcy, she spun on her heels to get away. But hardly did she make it half a dozen steps, when the crackling of dry leaves flooded her ears. A hard-breathing, desperate grunt and something violently seized her arm. More than this, panic gripped her. Elizabeth struggled and drew in breath for one despairing scream, but a dirty hand wrapped around her mouth, cutting it off before it began.

Eyes widening, she spun half around, catching sight of a tattered blue uniform. Confusion clouded her reason. A soldier… a French soldier here? How could that be? The sight was short-lived, however, as he pulled her to him, twisting one arm about her middle as he grappled both her hands like a vice. The grasp on her mouth released only to be replaced when he raised a dagger just under her chin. Rivulets of ice water gushed into her veins, freezing her blood.

"Quiet, petite," hissed the soldier. "I do not wish to harm a hair on your head, but make a sound and I will slit your dainty throat." And to back his words, he pressed the dagger point a little harder into her flesh. Elizabeth went rigid, heart thudding, her world narrowing to that hand and what she could see of the dagger hilt within.

"You will make a fair companion for the balance of my journey," he went on. "Now move - before we are perceived by unwelcome eyes. We will make the border into Sussex, and then, France."

Another, brooding presence suddenly made itself heard, "You shall do no such thing!"

The soldier whirled around, taking Elizabeth with him, and the sight before her nearly stopped her heart. Standing in the park gate, scarcely a stone's throw away, was Mr. Darcy.

"Keep away, English dog," spouted the Frenchman, hauling Elizabeth back a step.

"It is not yet the season when kings go to war," Darcy spat, and then realization lit his features. "You are Adelais , the escaped spy." He smirked. "You made it quite some way on your own. The King's soldiery must assume you dead by now. Yet you make such a foolish blunder on the doorstep of your own country. Why molest the girl?"

"Convenience," he replied, his grip tightening around her, "As you say - I made it this far, though redcoats, hunger, and the elements of God. But even I know I will never make it into France unchallenged. This girl shall be my 'ambassador' through the final hurtles… just as she will get me past you."

Darcy's eyes narrowed dangerously, his sword hand twitching in anticipation. "So like your breed, using a woman as your shield. It is coward's work, though one could hope for sterner stuff from a descendant of the Norman invaders. Instead I find a scared rat, hiding in shadow."

Elizabeth felt a wave of anger shudder through the soldier's body. "You insult me, pig."

"Match me steel for steel and I will do more than that!" In one sweeping motion, Darcy's rapier flew from its scabbard, glinting a mirror sheen in the early morning sun, "Face me like a man if you dare. I challenge you!"

Apparently forgetting the value of his hostage, Adelais let go of Elizabeth, tossing her aside like so much driftwood. She managed to keep her footing, and turned to face the two duelists. Her former captor, lacking a proper sword, pulled a long dirk from the confines of his uniform.

Darcy leapt forward in a feint that brought his opponent's right hand up, then arced down in a vicious swing toward the man's vitals. But Adelais was no mean swordsman, and he parried Darcy's blade with a quick flick of his dagger. Grinning malevolently, the spy thrust his dirk, but Darcy twisted to the side, avoiding the strike altogether.

Elizabeth watched in horror; she had never seen Darcy's skill with the blade, though be he ever adroit, Adelais' two weapons left her rescuer at a distinct disadvantage. Darcy swung in a series of tight, efficient slashes, forcing the Frenchman back several steps. Retaliating, Adelais lashed out with one weapon, then the other in an attempt to get his dagger past Darcy's guard. His only reward was a slash on the knuckles from the Englishman's deft blade. Adelais recoiled but kept hold of the weapon despite his obvious pain.

They traded blows for some minutes, their blades ringing like church bells. By this time Adelais was breathing hard, his movements growing sloppier. Darcy moved with the same sharp determination as before, face hard, his nerve steady as ever. In a final, desperate move, the spy thrust his dirk on using all the strength his weight could muster. Darcy sidestepped, parrying the blade down and brought his fist around to the other's jaw with bone jarring impact.

Adelais spun half around on the impetus of that blow, wobbled briefly on his trail-worn boots, and collapsed to the ground in stupefied silence. He lay unconscious, and fragile peace settled upon the field of combat.

Darcy stared down at the crumpled form, kicking the man's dirk into the brush before turning to face Elizabeth. She saw the sweat on his brow, the exhilaration of battle on his face, and mixed there, anxiety over herself. He looked an entirely different man.

"Mr. Darcy!" she cried through the dripping tear dew on her eyelashes. Elizabeth steadied herself. She hadn't fainted while a knife threatened her lifeblood. She would not swoon now! Her legs quivered with the past few minutes' strain, and her cheeks burned with a realization that the man who she reviled only the evening before had saved her life from a fate worse than death.

He saw her unsteadiness nonetheless, and ran to support her. The storm in his eyes raised the goose flesh on her skin, his expression more penetrating than at the height of the contest. Breaking the gaze, Elizabeth breathed a sigh.

"Miss Bennet!" he called, evincing more emotion than gentility. "Are you unharmed?" Not waiting for an answer, he took hold of her hand to brace her.

Elizabeth stifled a gasp. "I am quite well thanks to you, Mr. Darcy. I know not how to express my gratitude enough."

He nodded curtly. "I am glad." He glanced at the unconscious man, "This one has a belated appointment for the Tower of London. I must escort you to the Parsonage, but I dare not leave him." Leading Elizabeth by the hand, he let go of her long enough to kneel beside the fallen soldier. Taking one of his arms, he hoisted Adelais around his shoulder and stood, slinging him over his back. Then taking Elizabeth's hand again he lead her toward the cottage.

They reached it, and Darcy took it upon himself to explain the situation to explain the situation to Mr. and Mrs. Collins. The house degenerated into veritable chaos. They called a servant to tend to Elizabeth's needs, and Mr. Darcy, before taking leave of them, held out a letter, which she instinctively took, said, with poorly affected composure, "I ask that you honor me by reading that letter. You need not do so now. But when you are well, I hope it will help you... think better of me."

With a slight bow he turned again and, bearing his burden, soon vanished from sight.

oOo

Much fuss was made, and Charlotte finally persuaded her friend to go early to bed. Elizabeth lay awake several hours, trying to sort out her many conflicting emotions. How could she reconcile the valiant, audacious deliverer and the Darcy who's arrogance frequently so repelled her? It seemed impossible.

Despite all her former dislike, she could not deny what she now owed him. One morning could change so much, and he now deserved her gratitude if nothing else. Like a storybook knight, Darcy rescued a fair princess from the vile clutches of a monster. It threw all her notions of him into whirl, as her near kidnapping shook her to her very core. Finally deciding that her own thoughts to advance her no further, she decided to obey Mr. Darcy's parting injunction. It might not answer her questions, but mayhap it could further illuminate his character.

With no particular expectation of pleasure, but the strongest curiosity, Elizabeth took the letter off her nightstand and opened it, and, to her still increasing wonder, perceived an envelope containing two sheets of paper. It was dated from Rosings, at eight o'clock in the morning...