43. Chapter 43

Much love to my beta: CassandraLowery!

Chapter 42

Elizabeth awoke to the sound of Sarah opening the curtains beside her bed, bathing the room in bright, mid-morning sunshine. She groaned in protest as the light hit her face, and she buried her head under the bedsheets in a rare, uncharacteristic display of laziness. She had arrived home from Lady Worthington's ball at half-past two in the morning, and Jane had kept her awake until nearly four, eager to recount Colonel Fitzwilliam's unexpected arrival and public proposal. Jane was engaged! Just remembering her sister's glowing countenance from learning that the man she loved returned her affections was worth a night's loss of sleep. Not even the likelihood of a long engagement could damper Jane's joy and excitement. Elizabeth knew she could not be so understanding or patient if she had to wait months, perhaps years, to marry Fitzwilliam.

Elizabeth rolled over, yawning until her jaw cracked. She blindly reached out to Jane's side of the bed, her hand finding nothing but bedsheets. Surprised, she raised her head, prying open bleary eyes to confirm that Jane was no longer beside her. The sheets were cold, so her sister had left the bed some time ago. She wondered if Jane had been able to sleep at all after the previous night's excitement. Deciding that the whereabouts of her newly engaged sister could wait, Elizabeth hugged her pillow close to her chest as she relived her own memorable evening.

She had felt a growing sense of anticipation mixed with nervousness as she waited for Fitzwilliam to find her at the ball. The weight of the necklace had never seemed so heavy as she felt the eyes of the ton upon her, judging her, weighing her worthiness. But the moment she had locked eyes with Fitzwilliam standing above her, everything had faded away to nothing; all she saw was him. And as he walked towards her amidst the crowded guests, time had stopped. She had held her breath until he had taken her hand in his…where it belonged. Where it had always belonged. In that moment she knew from somewhere deep inside her that she would never doubt her worthiness again. Everything in her life had been leading to that perfect moment.

Elizabeth smiled as other indescribable memories from the ball flashed through her consciousness that she would treasure forever: the sense of rightness and the look of complete adoration on Fitzwilliam's face as they waltzed for the first time, her relief and gratitude at his timely arrival to forestall Bingley from dancing with Jane, his protective and silent presence as she faced Lady Emily's wrath. Their walk in the gardens…Elizabeth buried her head in her pillow to hide her wide smile and over-heated face.

"Lizzy, wake up."

Jane's voice, tinged with a touch of panic, interrupted her pleasant thoughts. Elizabeth mumbled an incoherent reply into her pillow before her mind drifted back to her walk with Fitzwilliam in the garden. The air had been warm, but not overly so, redolent with the smell of flowers and fresh-turned earth. The quiet darkness had heightened her awareness of the man who held her with such tenderness, the deep timbre of his voice reverberating in every fiber of her being as his lips caressed….

"Lizzy, please!" Jane grasped the bedclothes, yanking them onto the floor. "I am in desperate need of your assistance. Richard will be here in an hour, and I don't know what to wear!"

Elizabeth groaned in frustration and buried her head further into her pillow, determined to finish reliving her most pleasant memory of the night. Jane huffed, and Elizabeth cracked open an eye to see her sister flounce from the room. If she had been in a different state of mind, she would have given her sister's uncharacteristic behavior the attention it deserved, but she had spent much of the night listening to Jane and wished to spend a few moments indulging in her own pleasant memories. Jane could wait. She mentally nodded her head at that sound logic, clutching her pillow closer to her chest. Now, where was she…? Oh yes. The warmth and softness of Fitzwilliam's lips as they trailed down….

Elizabeth gasped as cold water cascaded onto her prone form. She bolted upright in bed, the frigid water streaming down her hair and face, soaking her thoroughly. She gaped at her wide-eyed sister standing beside the bed, clutching an empty water pitcher in her white-knuckled grip. Jane wore a slightly shocked expression as if she couldn't quite believe that she had just doused her dearest sister with cold, unforgiving water.

"Good, you're up." Jane's eyes danced as her lips curved into a smile that suspiciously resembled a smirk.

Elizabeth glared at her unrepentant sister as she climbed off her soaked bed with as much dignity as she could muster, brushing tendrils of wet hair away from her face as water pooled on the rug at her feet.

"I think the colonel is a bad influence on you, Jane."

Jane gave Elizabeth a sunny smile. "That is the best compliment I have ever received, sister dear." She grasped Elizabeth's hand, pulling her toward the dressing room. "Now come and help me choose what to wear."

~oOOo~

A quarter of an hour later, Elizabeth sat near the open window attempting to dry her unruly mass of hair from its unexpected soaking as she watched her fully-dressed sister fidgeting with a pillow. Those who didn't know Jane well couldn't detect the subtle nuances of her facial expressions. To most, even members of her own family, Jane was the embodiment of perfectly-controlled emotions. But Elizabeth understood the workings of her sister's mind better than anyone…which was how she knew the slight crease in her sister's brow indicated she was pondering something of a more serious nature.

"What are you thinking about?"

"Mr. Bingley."

Elizabeth's brows shot up to her hairline. He was the last person she thought would be occupying her sister's thoughts. After the initial shock wore off, she realized that she was not surprised at all. Her kind-hearted sister no doubt felt sorry for the poor, misguided gentleman. Jane never liked to see any soul, however unworthy, in pain. If Elizabeth was surprised by the object of her sister's thoughts, the next words from her sister's mouth rendered her speechless.

"I'm thinking about how grateful I am to him."

Elizabeth stared, unblinking, at her poor, deluded sister.

Jane laughed at Elizabeth's expression. "I'm serious, Lizzy. I am grateful to Mr. Bingley."

Elizabeth blinked as those five words penetrated her mind. She shook her head. "Forgive me. But it sounded like you said you were…grateful," she spat, "to that…that…." She stopped as she failed to find a sufficiently appropriate word in the English language to describe that man.

"I'm grateful to Mr. Bingley for taking Richard's letter."

Elizabeth laid a hand on Jane's forehead. The only reasonable explanation was her sister must be ill…or delusional. Even Jane's limitless compassion towards her fellowman had limits.

Jane took Elizabeth's hand from her forehead with an exasperated sigh. "I'm quite serious, Lizzy. I owe my current state of happiness to Mr. Bingley."

Elizabeth eyed her possibly brain-damaged sister. But she loved Jane and would give her an opportunity to explain her shocking declaration. With a calmness she didn't feel, she asked, "How is Mr. Bingley responsible for your happiness?"

She gave Elizabeth a triumphant smile. "If Mr. Bingley hadn't taken the letter, Richard would not have returned to London last night to attend the ball!" Jane grasped Elizabeth's hands. "Don't you see, Lizzy? Richard was waiting for my response to his letter. He knew that I would respond even if it was to reject him." Jane huffed, throwing her hands in the air. "Although I don't understand how the silly man could think that I would reject his suit!"

"Focus, Jane." Elizabeth laughed, more from relief that her sister didn't appear to be delusional than at her righteous anger towards her betrothed. Jane's reasoning, although illogical, was typical Jane. She would thank the pick pocket for stealing her money, reasoning that it was a lesson not be avaricious, that there were those whose need was greater.

"So Colonel Fitzwilliam proposed to you in that letter?"

Jane nodded, her eyes bright. "When Richard received Mr. Darcy's letter explaining how despondent I had become since his departure, he knew that I hadn't received his letter." A blush spread over Jane's features. "He couldn't bear the thought of me not knowing how he felt, so he came back." Jane was glowing, and Elizabeth idly wondered if she had been as moonstruck as her sister after Fitzwilliam proposed.

"So," Elizabeth began, "if you had received the colonel's letter as he had intended, you would have agreed to his offer of marriage. In a letter." Elizabeth made a face showing her distaste for that outcome, causing Jane to laugh.

"Yes. We would be engaged, but he would not know how I felt about him." At Elizabeth's puzzled look, Jane grasped her hands once again. "For I couldn't tell him that I loved him the first time in a letter, Lizzy. I couldn't do it." She released her hands, a serene smile on her face. "But it didn't happen that way. Richard came. He proposed, and I was able to tell that wonderful man what was in my heart."

She gave Elizabeth a brilliant smile. "So you see. It all worked out for the best." With a sly grin, she added, "And I owe it all Mr. Bingley's pilfering fingers."

Elizabeth's eyes sparkled with humor. "I'll be sure Fitzwilliam tells him when next he sees him in town."

~oOOo~

Darcy entered the small dining room to break his fast, not knowing in what state he would find his cousin. He had left Richard earlier this morning drunk as a wheelbarrow. He did not fault his cousin for such behavior as it was not every day that a confirmed bachelor got engaged. He had listened, patiently, while Richard extolled the virtues of his future wife in nauseating detail. But when his inebriated cousin began spouting poetry—badly—he decided that there were limits to familial forbearance and had retired for the evening.

So he was surprised to see Richard, sober and fully groomed, cradling a steaming teacup as he gazed out a window. Richard didn't acknowledge his presence in any way which gave him pause. His cousin was exceedingly observant, but he suspected that he hadn't even noted his arrival which was quite unlike him. Darcy poured a cup of coffee before sitting in his customary spot at the head of the table, reaching for The Times (1) left conveniently at his right elbow by his efficient staff. As he perused the headlines on the inside pages, he regarded Richard from the corner of his eye. It was obvious that something was occupying his thoughts so completely that he was not aware of his surroundings. He was much too contemplative for this early in the day.

Darcy left studying his cousin to give the paper his full attention. His countenance became increasingly grim the longer he read until he threw the paper on the table with a sound of disgust, draining his cup of lukewarm coffee. He didn't know why he bothered reading which always left him in a foul mood at the bumbling idiots who ran the country, the immoral behavior of the Prince Regent, and the tyrannical despot who was running around Europe intent on becoming another Alexander the Great. He glared at the offensive news rag until Richard's laughter caused him to look up. He hadn't even noticed that Richard had sat down.

"You are a creature of habit, my dear Cousin."

Darcy ignored Richard in favor of pouring a second cup of coffee. He had a feeling that he was going to need it today.

Not put off by Darcy's silence, Richard continued, "You enter the dining room, walking exactly fourteen steps to sit in the exact same chair. You stir your coffee three times clock-wise before tapping it once on the rim of your cup, and then proceed to peruse the paper before scowling at it as if it has mortally offended you." Richard tapped his lips. "Have I left anything out?"

"I'm not amused, Cousin." Despite his harsh tone, the corners of Darcy's lips twitched.

Richard grinned, a wicked gleam in his eye. "I only hope that when Miss Elizabeth does or says something that angers you, you won't throw her down on the table." His grin turned predatory. "Although, that may not be a bad thing—"

"Richard," Darcy growled in warning. He wished he could blame his cousin's humor on drink, but he appeared to be completely sober. Curse the man.

Deciding a change in subject was in order, Darcy asked, "What time did you finally retire?"

"I didn't." At his look of surprise, Richard shrugged. "I didn't want to risk sleeping in and miss taking leave of my fiancée." He winked.

Darcy placed his cup on the table, giving his cousin his full attention. When Richard had informed him the night before that he had only been given a forty-eight hour leave of absence, he had been astonished. But when his self-sufficient, proud cousin had admitted to using his lord father's considerable influence to obtain that leave of absence, he had been rendered speechless. When he had finally regained his power of speech and asked what had finally caused him to use his father's name to his advantage, Richard's one-worded response had been profoundly simple: Jane. That alone had convinced Darcy how deeply Richard had been affected by a lovely, blonde-haired maiden with cornflower blue eyes and a deceptively sweet disposition. He knew that nothing but the deepest love could make Richard offer up one of his most cherished fundamental values—self-sufficiency—in pursuit of the woman he wished to marry. His respect for his cousin had increased, not because he had made such a sacrifice, but that he was completely unapologetic for doing so.

Darcy had tried to convince Richard to ask for an extension of two days so he could see Georgiana. She had left for Ramsgate the day before, and she would break her journey at Rosings before continuing to Ramsgate on Saturday. He knew his sister would be devastated to know she had missed seeing him by one day.

"Are you sure you couldn't wait for Georgiana? If I send an express rider to Rosings, she could be here by tomorrow."

Richard looked horrified. "And risk our aunt coming as well? No, thank you."

"You know Aunt Catherine never comes to London."

Richard shuttered. "If anything would cause her to crawl out of her dark den of doom and end her self-imposed exile, it would be news of my engagement. Oh, wait. That's not right." Richard rubbed his chin, his eyes twinkling. "That would be news of your engagement, dear Cousin." Richard smirked as Darcy scowled.

"I would stay if I could, but I gave Commander Burroughs my word." He ran a hand down his face, and Darcy realized just how exhausted his cousin must be after riding nearly fifty miles the day before, followed by a night of no rest. And he still had to make the return journey to Brighton.

"Unfortunately, training is not going well. We were originally supposed to sail for the Iberian Peninsula next Monday. But now it will likely be another fortnight before the men are ready."

This was surprising news to Darcy. He knew of Richard's formidable reputation in the army. He asked nearly the impossible of the men in his command, but he achieved results because he was as generous with his praise as he was with his censure. He led by example, holding himself to the same high expectations he had for his men. His men respected him and would do anything for him because he helped them reach their full potential by requiring nothing but their best effort.

"What is the problem?"

Richard sighed. "Colonel Forster's wife."

Darcy blinked in genuine surprise. "I beg your pardon? What does Mrs. Forster have to with training your men?"

"Everything," Richard grumbled. "The woman is a complete menace. She distracts the men when they should be focused on the task at hand. She is a horrendous flirt. She flaunts her feathers like a bird of paradise." (2) It's positively nauseating to watch.

"Perhaps you should talk to Colonel Forster."

Richard looked at him as if he were simple-minded. "I have. The man is utterly besotted with his new bride and won't hear a negative word against her.

"It would not be so bad if it were just my men I had to worry about," Richard continued. "They know I will not tolerate such behavior, but Commander Burroughs thinks it's a capital idea for Colonel Forster's regiment to practice the drills with us."

"Whatever for?"

"To simulate the conditions of war, of course."

"How? By having Mrs. Forster impersonate Bonaparte, sweeping through the ranks, causing destruction and mayhem as she goes?"

Richard snorted into his teacup. "The nation's finest brought low by a facetious female with a feathered turban."

"I suppose your men do need you more than poor Georgiana."

Richard looked at Darcy with understanding. "I'm truly sorry I cannot stay and wait for Georgiana, Darcy."

"Don't be sorry. I'm not the one she'll never forgive."

Richard laughed. "There is that. But I'd rather brave her displeasure than Commander Burroughs."

"What time do you need to leave for Brighton?"

"No later than two o'clock."

"What time are you meeting Miss Bennet?"

"Noon."

Darcy removed his watch from his waistcoat pocket. Seeing the current time, he looked at Richard with raised brows. "It's not yet ten o'clock. If you send your card now, you could have an extra hour with your betrothed."

"As pleasant as that would be, I'm afraid I have a previous engagement this morning."

It only took him a brief moment to deduce his cousin's words. "Bingley."

Richard nodded, his mouth grim. "Yes. Bingley."

"I'm surprised that you didn't ask me to be your second." (3) Richard must have thought he would try to talk him out of it as Bingley was his friend. It was likely the same reason why Bingley hadn't asked him either. It was rather sporting of Richard to hold the duel later in the day, giving Bingley time to recover from the ball. Not that he deserved any such allowance.

"Did you choose pistols or the sword?"

"I didn't challenge him to a duel."

"What?" Of course Richard would challenge Bingley. The only reason he hadn't already done so was because Richard had the greater claim. Bingley's reprehensible behavior in taking Miss Bennet's letter was more than sufficient reason for him to be called out. Friend or not, Bingley had to face the consequences of his actions.

Richard tensed, a murderous gleam in his eyes. "I'm not going to challenge him because if I faced him with a weapon in my hands, I would not be able to refrain from killing the bastard."

"What are you going to do?"

Richard's answering grin was feral, and he almost felt sorry for Bingley. "I'm going to pay him a little visit."

~oOOo~

Because Richard wished to maximize the time spent with his betrothed before he had to leave, Darcy suggested that they travel the short distance to Bingley's townhouse in his carriage so they could travel directly to the Gardiners' after they were completed with the unpleasant business with Bingley.

"Thank you for coming, Darcy." Richard settled back against the squabs as the carriage pulled away from the Darcy townhouse.

Darcy waved away Richard's thanks. "I have certain words for Bingley as well. Besides, you always perform more admirably when you have an audience."

Richard grinned. "True. Just promise me that you won't interfere."

"I would not dream of it. At least I know you're not going to kill him."

"I make no promises."

Darcy eyed the rather large knapsack at Richard's feet with curiosity. It appeared to be empty which didn't bode well for Bingley's continued existence. Seeing the direction of his gaze, Richard grinned.

The butler led them into Bingley's study to wait, and the minute they were alone, Richard went straight for Bingley's liquor cabinet.

"Liquid courage, Richard? Didn't you drink enough this morning?"

Richard ignored him as he knelt before the cabinet. He sat back on his heels, frowning at the elaborate lock. He looked at Darcy with raised brows.

Darcy sighed, walking to Bingley's desk, he opened the upper right-hand drawer and withdrew the key to the liquor cabinet. He handed the key to Richard, his curiosity piqued. Bingley had quite a few expensive bottles in that cabinet, several of which were acquired from Bingley's late father.

Richard unlocked the cabinet, opening the elaborate, lacquered doors to gaze at the contents within. He whistled in appreciation. He looked over his shoulder at Darcy. "Bingley was not lying when he said his liquor collection was impressive. There are bottles in here that even I haven't seen, and that is saying something."

Richard removed one such bottle and held it up. Darcy recognized it as a particularly old bottle of port that Bingley had inherited from his late father. He knew Bingley was saving it, but he couldn't remember why. Richard took the corkscrew from inside the cabinet, and after removing the cork, took a healthy swig directly from the bottle. Darcy winced.

"That is good port." Richard stood with the bottle in hand, looking around the room.

Darcy's confusion grew as Richard walked towards a large potted plant in the corner of the room.

"What…?" Darcy's question died on his lips as his cousin poured the twenty-year old bottle of port into the potted plant. He walked back to the liquor cabinet, placing the now-empty bottle on top of the cabinet before removing another bottle.

Richard repeated the same process half a dozen times with each of Bingley's more expensive and rare bottles of liquor, leaving the less expensive bottles untouched. Most of them were unopened, and Richard chortled in delight as he opened each one before pouring the contents into the potted plant and placing them in a row on top of the cabinet. Darcy calculated that there was several hundred pounds' worth of liquor swimming in the almost over-flowing pot.

Richard reached into the cabinet again, moving aside several less worthy options before pulling out a familiar bottle. He turned to Darcy with an accusing glare.

"You gave Bingley a bottle this incredibly fine, extremely illegal French brandy?"

"It was his birthday. And as I recall, I gave you two bottles of that incredibly fine, extremely illegal French brandy."

"That's not the point," Richard grumbled. He glared at the bottle for a moment, his expression torn before shaking his head. He stood and placed the unopened bottle of brandy in his large knapsack. "It would be a sin to waste," he said by way of explanation.

After he poured the tenth bottle into the potted plant, he turned to Darcy with a raised brow. "You've been quiet, Darcy. Have you nothing to say?"

"I feel sorry for the plant."

Richard laughed.

The door opened and Bingley entered, hovering inside the doorway, his demeanor more like a recalcitrant child awaiting punishment rather than master of the house.

Bingley's gaze darted from Darcy to Richard, his entire body tense. "Good morning, Darcy, Colonel." His voice was barely above a murmur.

Darcy wondered if Richard had a contingency plan if Bingley bolted. He knew nothing would deter Richard from meting out his particular brand of justice. Bingley took a cautious step into his study before stopping, his nose wrinkling at the strong smell of liquor permeating the air. His eyes widened when he spied the open liquor cabinet and the empty bottles lined in row on top. He strode to the cabinet, staring at its plundered contents with bowed head. As he reached out to touch a bottle, Richard threw the empty bottle in his hand against the fireplace, the shattered glass falling onto the hearth in thousands of glittering shards. The sudden sound caused Bingley to jump, and he spun around to stare at Richard with wide, fearful eyes.

Richard walked towards him with slow, deliberate steps, his expression eerily calm except for his eyes, which bore into Bingley with lethal intensity. Bingley moved away from cabinet, holding up his hands in a silent plea for reprieve.

He swallowed, his Adam's apple jumping. "Colonel—"

That was all he managed to say before Richard struck, punching Bingley squarely in the face with such force that his body slammed into the wall behind him. Bingley cried out, his hands covering his nose as he slid down the wall in an ungraceful heap. Blood trickled beneath his hands, staining his cravat crimson.

Richard stood over Bingley with clenched fists, the back of his neck as red as the blood dripping down Bingley's chin. He reached down and Bingley flinched, his head hitting the wall in his haste to get away. Richard tore open his jacket, his hand reaching inside the left breast and pulled out a crumpled piece of paper folded in half. Richard held it up so Darcy could clearly see what was in his hand.

Seeing the letter, Bingley attempted to stand, reaching out a hand on the wall behind him to support himself.

"Colonel, wait! I can explain—"

Richard growled, grabbing Bingley by the lapels of his coat and lifting him up he slammed him against the wall. "If I wanted an explanation, Bingley," he spat. "I would have asked for one."

He released Bingley and stepped away, spitting at his feet. "If you ever come near Miss Bennet again, I will not be so lenient next time. Do you understand?" His voice dripped with venom.

Bingley nodded, unable to meet his eye. He slid down the wall to the floor, his head bowed in shame.

Richard turned, and Darcy nearly recoiled at the murderous expression on his cousin's face, grateful that Richard was not his enemy. He picked up his knapsack, and with a single nod to Darcy, left the room.

Darcy stared at his one-time friend, huddled in a heap on the floor. He walked toward him, removing his handkerchief from his inner breast pocket. Satisfied that it was not one of Elizabeth's, he threw it in Bingley's lap.

"That is the only act of mercy you will receive from me."

Bingley looked up, his eyes full of pain and guilt. Darcy was unmoved. Bingley had made his choice, and now he needed to face the consequences of his actions.

Darcy sat in his customary chair, watching in stony silence as Bingley stood, stumbling to the chair across from him and fell into it with a painful groan. He raised Darcy's handkerchief to his nose to stem the slow trickle of blood. Bingley was fortunate that Richard hadn't broken his nose. He probed his nose with cautious fingers, hissing in pain. Darcy noted with disgust that Bingley's teeth were stained red.

Bingley glanced up at Darcy, before his eyes darted away. "I'm sorry."

Darcy's gaze hardened as he stared at Bingley. "What exactly are you sorry for, Bingley?" he seethed through gritted teeth. "For stealing a letter not intended for you? Or causing Miss Bennet, my future sister, emotional distress and pain?" He leaned forward. "Or perhaps you're sorry that you failed in your intent to compromise Miss Bennet at the ball last night so that she would have no choice but to marry you?"

Bingley's eyes widened, and he shook his head frantically. "No, no! It was never my intention to compromise Miss Bennet!"

Darcy scoffed, leaning back in his chair. "Forgive me if I don't believe you. Your actions speak for you."

"It's true! I swear it! It never crossed my mind to compromise Miss Bennet. I wished to speak with her alone so that I could return the letter!"

Darcy's jaw clenched, his anger growing as he stared at the imbecile before him. "Did it not occur to you that if you had been seen, it would have effectively ruined Miss Bennet's reputation and by association Elizabeth's?"

Bingley paled and slumped in his chair, closing his eyes in defeat. "I didn't think. I just wished to return it to Miss Bennet and pretend that none of this ever happened."

Darcy rubbed his forehead; he could feel a headache forming. Any sympathy he may have felt for Bingley disappeared with his confession. Bingley felt no remorse for taking the letter; he simply regretted being caught. The fact that he wanted to return the letter to Miss Bennet showed that he possessed a conscience, albeit a small one. But he didn't believe for one moment that Bingley had thought of anyone but himself in this entire debacle. If he had, he would have thought through the consequences of his actions rather than acting on impulse. Return the letter to Miss Bennet? At a ball? There were a number of ways he could have safely returned the letter without risking her reputation. But instead he had nearly caused Miss Bennet irreparable harm, forcing her into marriage with a man she didn't love and condemning his cousin to watch the woman he loved wed another. Darcy could think of no worse fate. No, he had no sympathy for Bingley.

"You could have returned it to me or even Gardiner. Why didn't you?"

Bingley dabbed at his nose, unable to meet his eyes. "I didn't want you to think less of me."

Darcy pinched the bridge of his nose. This is what came from never noticing that Bingley had begun to see him as a father figure or an elder brother rather than an equal. "I already suspected what you had done. Did you honestly believe that you could get away with it? That no one would find out?"

"Forgive me, Darcy." Bingley's eyes focused on his hands twisting the bloodied handkerchief rather than meet his gaze. "It was wrong. I see that now. I wished to put it right, but I failed."

Darcy stared at Bingley, his emotions in turmoil, and his resolve to sever their association wavered as he considered his request for forgiveness. Despite their long history together and close friendship, he could not forget the repercussions of Bingley's thoughtless actions: Miss Bennet's despair and Elizabeth's anguish on her sister's behalf. He could only imagine the desperation that Richard must have felt from the time he received his letter until he was granted permission to ride the fifty miles to London to secure Miss Bennet's hand, praying that he was not too late. But what hardened his resolve into something unbreakable was the image of Bingley fleeing the ball like a coward instead of facing the man whom he had wronged.

"No. I do not forgive you," he said with finality. Darcy stood, staring down at his one-time friend. He walked towards the door and, without looking back, said, "Good-bye, Bingley."

The closing of the study door signaled the end of a decade-long friendship which had begun at Cambridge, born from mutual necessity, nurtured from a shared grief in the passing of their fathers, until it had become a friendship that he had treasured. The past several years, however, the nature of his relationship with Bingley had changed to one of obligation rather than shared mutual regard. He realized that he didn't recognize the man whom he had just left, bleeding on his carpet. The man he had called his friend would have confided in him instead of taking such a drastic course of action.

Darcy descended the stairs to the ground level of Bingley's townhouse, and with each step, he tucked each good memory he had with Bingley over the years in a separate corner of his mind. For better or worse, Bingley had made his choice, and so had he.

As he neared the door, a voice he never wished to hear again called his name over the railing behind him.

"Oh, Mr. Darcy!"

He did the only thing a well-bred, and honorable gentleman could do in such a situation: he fled.

Darcy jumped into his waiting carriage as if the devil were on his heels, rapping his knuckles on the roof to signal the driver. He leaned back with a relieved sigh as the carriage pulled away.

"Why such haste?" Richard narrowed his eyes. "You didn't kill Bingley, did you? Because that would negate my extraordinary self-control in not killing him myself."

Darcy shook his head. "Miss Bingley," he responded with a grimace.

Richard shuddered. "Even worse."

Darcy's lips quirked. "I didn't expect you be in such high spirits." Darcy eyed the now bulging knapsack lying Richard's feet. He shook his head. One day Richard would go too far. "Do I want to know?" he asked with a long-suffering sigh.

Richard smirked, nudging the knapsack with his boot towards Darcy with a theatrical wave of his hand.

Darcy opened the top of the knapsack, wary of what he would find. He peered at the contents before reaching in a pulling out….

"Trousers?" he said, his tone incredulous. "I didn't realize you admired Bingley's tailor. If I had known, I would have assisted you in your pursuit of men's fashion."

Richard grinned, waving for him to continue. Darcy rolled his eyes when he pulled out another pair of trousers. After the trousers came the pantaloons, then the breeches. He piled the growing pile of stolen garments on the seat next to him, eyeing Richard who was grinning like a fool. The bag was still nearly full. He let out an exasperated sigh. "You stole all of Bingley's clothes, didn't you?"

Richard laughed, lacing his hands behind his head. "Nonsense. I left the shoes and stockings."

"How generous of you."

Richard leaned back against the squabs with a self-satisfied air, resting his hands on his stomach. "Bingley will have go to an inferior tailor until he can get an appointment with his usual tailor." He pursed his lips. "Although, given his current standing in society, that may never happen." He grinned. "He'll have to content himself with inferior workmanship for the foreseeable future."

Darcy blinked. Sometimes Richard truly frightened him. He was almost diabolical in his method of punishment. He had stripped Bingley of the two things that he prided himself: his appearance and liquor collection.

"What else did you do?" Darcy was almost afraid of the answer.

Richard gazed at the roof of the carriage, a deceptively innocent expression on his fiendish face.

"Richard—"

"I may have put a few drops of green dye in his favorite hair pomade." He paused, rubbing his forefinger over his lips, his eyes twinkling. "And sprinkled some powder in his small clothes that may cause a rash in a rather sensitive area."

"Why is it always green, Richard?"

He shrugged. "I like green."

Darcy sat up as something occurred to him. "This isn't the same green dye you used on Lynton's horses, is it?"

"It may be. It seemed a shame to waste a perfectly good dye."

"Richard," Darcy said in warning. "Lynton's horses are still dyed green, and I doubt Bingley will be starting a new fashion trend with green hair."

"What a shame."

Darcy gave a long-suffering sigh. "When are you going to grow up?"

Richard smiled. "Never. My Jane likes me just the way I am.

"May you be cursed with sons just like you."

Richard's eyes glazed over, his lips curving upward in a lazy smile; his entire demeanor was relaxed and content. He almost appeared half-sprung (4) which was entirely possible as he had indulged in a few sips from Bingley's expensive liquor stash. A minute passed, and Richard remained oblivious to everything but what was playing out in his head. Darcy cleared his throat to gain his cousin's attention. When that failed to rouse him, he kicked Richard's boot, causing him to bolt upright with a curse. He glared at Darcy.

"What was that for?"

Darcy raised his brows at his cousin's tone. "Save your fantasies for when you're alone, Richard. I have no desire to watch you drool."

Richard heaved a deep sigh and relaxed against the squabs, stretching his legs on the seat across from him; Darcy scowled at his cousin's booted feet.

"At least you will be able to marry your lovely fiancée soon," he grumbled. He regarded Darcy with raised brows. "I'm astounded that you didn't drag her to the nearest church as soon as you returned from gaining Mr. Bennet's permission. Why are you waiting?"

Darcy turned to gaze out the window as a familiar anger simmered in his stomach. He would be married to Elizabeth by now if not for her apathetic father. His anger abated as his eyes rested on his cousin who in a few short hours would have to leave his betrothed for the Peninsula for an unspecified length of time. In light of his cousin's sacrifice, waiting another week or two to marry Elizabeth was nothing. The carriage jerked to a sudden stop, and he could hear his driver yelling at some unseen obstruction before the carriage began moving again more slowly than before.

"Darcy?"

Richard must have sensed his anger for his expression immediately changed to one of concern. "What is it?" He sat up, his boots hitting the floor of the carriage with a dull thud.

Darcy rubbed his forehead. "The reason I have not yet married Elizabeth is because…." He paused, closing his eyes. "I did not obtain Mr. Bennet's permission."

Silence descended in the carriage for several heartbeats until it was broken by Richard chuckling.

"I believe I would like to shake the hand of the man who had the audacity to tell Fitzwilliam Darcy 'no.'"

Darcy felt his face flush in embarrassment. "This is not a joking matter, Richard," he growled. "This is my life!"

Richard raised his hands in a placating gesture. "You're right. Forgive me, Darcy."

Richard traced his lips with a forefinger, deep in thought. He dropped his hand into his lap with a sigh. "This doesn't bode well for me. If you couldn't obtain Mr. Bennet's consent, what hope do I have?"

Darcy snorted. "You're not marrying his favorite daughter. You just have to win over the mother."

"My officer's uniform will speak for itself. A woman cannot resist a man in a red coat." Richard winked.

Then Richard sobered, his smile dropping from his face. "What are you going to do?"

"Return Elizabeth to the bosom of her family as planned on Saturday. Mr. Bennet will consent to our marriage a week from Saturday as he promised. Until then, I will remain at Longbourn. Elizabeth and I will marry the following day if she wishes to be given away by her father. If not, she will return to the Gardiners' and be married from there."

Richard leaned forward, his gaze piercing. "I know how adamant you were that your engagement to Miss Elizabeth be kept a secret from Mrs. Bennet until the marriage papers were signed. What is your excuse for staying as a guest at Longbourn for a week?"

Darcy regarded his cousin, trying to gauge his reaction when he learned that he would have to pretend to be engaged to Miss Bennet. He feared Richard would be less than pleased.

He looked his closest friend directly in the eye, the man he trusted more than any other, and said, "I will act as if I am there on approval to marry…Miss Bennet."

Richard stared at Darcy with narrowed eyes. His jaw worked back and forth as he mulled over his words. "If it were anyone else, I'd punch first and ask questions later."

A smile quirked at the corner of his mouth. "I understand. I wish it didn't have to be this way. But under the circumstances…." He dragged a hand down his face. "We have no other choice."

"I hate that woman," Richard growled. "And I haven't even met her yet."

"She doesn't improve on closer acquaintance. Even when she assumed I was there to ask for Miss Bennet's hand instead of Elizabeth's, she was a vile woman."

Richard leaned forward, running his hands through his hair. "What a mess." He shot Darcy a sympathetic look. "I'm sorry you have to do this, Darcy." He grinned. "I'm just glad I won't have to see it. I think I would punch you in the bone box (5) if I saw you make love to my Jane."

Darcy smiled. "If it makes you feel better, it was Miss Bennet's idea to act as my fiancée."

Richard swelled with pride. "I love that woman." He winked, leaning back and placing his hands behind his head.

Darcy looked out the carriage window as a very familiar townhouse came into view. "We're here."

No sooner were the words out of his mouth than Richard had opened the doors and jumped from the carriage before it came to a complete stop. Darcy grinned as his cousin practically bounded up the steps to the front door. He collected his hat and Richard's, which had fallen on the floor, before stepping from his carriage with practiced ease. As he climbed the stairs at a more sedate pace, he could practically see Richard vibrating with impatience. As soon as his feet hit the top step, Richard rung the bell.

Darcy watched in amusement as Richard bounced on the balls of his feet as if he were preparing to bolt inside the minute the door opened. He shook his head at his cousin's impatience, but he could not fault him for it. He would be acting the same way if he knew he had a limited amount of time to spend with Elizabeth before bidding her farewell for an unspecified length of time. His heart went out to Richard and Miss Bennet, and he vowed to do everything in his power to ensure that Richard spent some time alone with Miss Bennet before he left.

The door opened, and Darcy had to grab the back of Richard's coat to keep him from bowling over poor Simmons in his haste to get in the door.

Richard shot him a disgruntled look as he handed the butler his walking stick.

"Welcome, Mr. Darcy. May I say how good it is to see you again so soon, Colonel."

"Thank you, Simmons. Is Miss Bennet at home?"

"She is, sir, and is expecting your arrival. She is currently in the garden." Simmons paused. "Alone."

Richard looked like he wanted to kiss the man. "I thank you," he said with feeling. He turned to Darcy with a smile. "If you'll excuse me, my lady awaits." And with a wink, he spun on his heel and practically ran to the garden.

Darcy watched Richard disappear from sight with a small smile on his face. At least he didn't need to contrive a reason for Richard to be alone with Miss Bennet.

"I forgot to inform the colonel that my master wishes a word," Simmons said. Darcy could have sworn he saw a ghost of a smile on the old butler's lips. The old schemer. He forgot just how effective Simmons was at running interference. He had performed the same office for him and Elizabeth many times. The man most assuredly deserved a raise. Darcy wished there was something he could do that would not offend the butler's sensibilities. An idea formed in his head, and as it grew, a slow grin spread across his face. It was brilliant. And he was positive that Richard would agree with him.

"Simmons," he began, eyeing the butler speculatively. "How tall are you? About six feet?

"Yes, sir."

"How much do you weigh?"

If Simmons was surprised by the unusual questions, it didn't show in his expression. "Thirteen stone, sir."

Perfect. It was positively providential. He couldn't have planned it better himself. "In my carriage there is a large knapsack full of men's garments of the finest fabric made by the best tailor in London." He paused. "And a fine bottle of illegal French brandy." He sent a silent apology to his cousin. "My cousin and I would like you to have it."

Simmons blinked. "I don't know if I can accept it, sir. It would not be proper."

"The garments and brandy belonged to Bingley."

A momentary pause, then, "I believe I would be delighted to accept your generous gift. Thank you, sir."

A/N: Did Richard deliver? I hope you weren't too disappointed that he didn't challenge Bingley to a duel. It just didn't fit with how I wrote Richard's character; besides, I think my method was much more fun! Also, I debated with myself for a long time about the fate of Darcy's friendship with Bingley. But in the end, a complete severing of their friendship made the most sense. I just couldn't imagine my Darcy remaining friends with a man who had deliberately (and cruelly) hurt someone he cared about.

Just a side note: Yes, the Colonel Forster that Richard mentioned is the same Colonel Forster in P&P, and that is deliberate on my part. You'll see why in a few chapters….

As always, I'd love to hear your thoughts. I thank each and every one of you for your reviews, favorites, and follows. You're awesome!

Much love,

MAH

Next chapter: Longbourn! (I mean it this time—the first scene is the journey to Hertfordshire. And if you recall, Jane has a habit of always falling asleep on long journeys, so ODC will have some "alone time." Whee!)

(1) The Times was established in 1785 and is the most famous of English newspapers. It was a broadsheet paper without pictures but with narrow parallel columns of printed articles and advertisements running lengthwise down the page. The front page was generally dedicated to a wide range of personal and commercial advertisements while the inside pages contained domestic and foreign news, reports from the war in Europe, obituaries, society news, and information about the royal court.

(2) Bird of paradise: showy prostitute.

(3) Duels were still fought during the Regency. Although some duels were fought with swords, pistols were growing more popular. There were three main reasons for challenging a man to a duel: taking liberties with a female relative; accusations of cheating, defamation, or dishonorable behavior; and attacking someone physically. There were a strict set of rules that governed the behavior of any man involved in a duel called the Code of Honor. It was the injured party's right to call out the offender and to choose the type of weapon to be used. Each party would name their seconds, usually a close and trusted friend, to act on their behalf. One of the duties of the second was to try and prevent the duel taking place while maintaining the honor of each party. Oftentimes a simple apology or admitting an error would be offered in place of a duel. A duel had to be fought (or resolved) within 48 hours at a mutually agreed upon time and place which was usually early morning and at a location outside town.

(4) half-sprung: tipsy, mellow with drink

(5) bone box: mouth

The comment about Bingley's "pilfering fingers" I took shamelessly from a comment by the reader, juliana alicia miller—thanks!