I know that we have canvassed the topic before- Subsequent Connections isn't complete and most likely won't be anytime soon, correct? (I keep hoping I will be surprised and will be told it is finished)

It is one of my favorites though and I have read several versions of it, I re-read what is here in the Epilogue Alley yesterday!

Does anyone know where else it is posted and if there are versions that go further?

I know that some forms of restoratives were used in the time of Jane Austen, but were they called smelling salts? Was it the same thing as lavender water--that is to say, would a lady have in her home both lavender water and smelling salts, and would she want them both for different purposes if feeling faint?

I am loving this story and wonder when we might see an update. Any chance of a chapter or two before Christmas?

When it came to the holidays, William Darcy and Elizabeth Bennet never quite fit into festive family traditions. Then they met each other and figured out how to fit the holidays around themselves.

Elizabeth seemed to want to tell her side of the story, and writing it helped put me in the holiday spirit. So, here’s the second part of “Menorahs & Mistletoe.”


Frosting & Festivus



The plastic Santa Claus stayed on the Bennet family roof all year long. Once Elizabeth’s father had secured it there, sometime back in the early 1990s, he’d sworn he’d never again climb a ladder with more than three rungs. Santa’s red suit had faded to a murky shade of pink, but he continued to glow. The lightbulb’s 30-year warranty appeared to be a trustworthy one.

When she was a girl, Elizabeth wondered why her mother always yelled if her second-oldest daughter refused to use green frosting and preferred creating blue and yellow frosted star, reindeer and bell cookies. She liked a little blue, a dash of yellow or white, perhaps some red, and those crunchy little silver sugar balls, the kind that weren’t sold anymore at the supermarket. Something about the toxic ingredients, she and Jane had surmised. Her mother had stocked up, though, with a lifetime supply which she feared Elizabeth would waste on her less than merry creations. The silver balls didn’t taste all that good and she had a nagging fear that they might crack her teeth, but Elizabeth was just grateful to have relief from raisins, cinnamon candies and boring candy sprinkles. Anything to make the holiday less generic, more distinctive, more meaningful.

The family only went to church twice a year—on Easter and Advent Sunday—but all the decorative accoutrements of the holidays were stored in the attic. Her mother had embraced Christmas and created her own brand of distinctive, with the white plastic tree in the living room, ceramic or crocheted Santas atop every horizontal surface, and the radio playing Christmas carols beginning the day after Thanksgiving. The pine-scented candles, the bowls of candy canes, and the empty beribboned boxes wrapped in colorful foil paper and stacked on the stairs and tables added that extra “touch.” Touched was right. Her mother was touched in the head, immersed in her love for commercial holiday themes.

When Elizabeth was six and her parents had found her watching the “Peanuts’ Christmas special for the seventh time, memorizing the speech about the real meaning of Christmas, her father had laughed and insisted on calling her Linus for the rest of the month. Her stocking had included a Snoopy ornament that year rather than the snow globe she’d hoped for.

Every year was the same, even now that she was 23 and fending off her mother’s offers to deck the halls in her daughter’s new apartment.

Elizabeth sighed and looked at the cheery holiday revelers surrounding her. Charles’ party was nothing like the ones her mother had hosted. There were no wienies in ketchup/chili sauce, no pickles with frilly toothpicks, no sputtering chocolate fountain. Everything was elegant and trendy, fun and culturally smart. Just like the people who crammed inside the apartment, comparing their phones and their skiing vacations and their investment portfolios.

Except for him—the tall, good-looking guy who seemed to prefer holding up the wall instead of mixing merrily. Maybe he knew something about the structural integrity of Charles’ building and was doing a good Christmas deed. Or maybe he wasn’t having much fun either, alone at an overly festive party on a beautifully starry night. Maybe, Elizabeth thought, he’s like me. He needs rescuing too. He didn’t look like he had much experience with Christmas revelry. Or egg nog. Or, she smirked, mistletoe.

She’d had enough of Mannheim Steamroller’s electronic carols. She really wanted to get out this place, but if she was stuck, she might as well find some company that looked equally miserable. Besides, in the next room, there seemed to be a huge argument over ugly Christmas sweaters, and that looked entertaining. She grabbed an extra cup of punch and headed for the doorway.

“Excuse me,” she said to Mr. Tall, Dark and Looming. “Can I squeeze by?”

An hour later, bundled up and wandering the glistening sidewalks, Elizabeth and her fellow refugee, William Darcy, had covered a gamut of subjects. They’d debated best and worst holiday songs. She liked “Oh! Holy Night.” He volunteered that he hated Adam Sandler movies but really appreciated his Hanukkah Song. Elizabeth promptly broke into her favorite verse,

“Paul Newman’s half-Jewish, Goldie Hawn’s half too. Put them together—What a fine looking Jew!
“Put on your yalmulka, it's time for Hanukkah…”

Will burst into laughter. “You know the lyrics? I thought you only celebrated—.” He quieted and looked at her curiously.

She shrugged. “Even my mother liked that one.” But she also likes Adam Sandler movies, Elizabeth thought, shuddering.

After they dissected their favorite holiday specials and discovered both loved old stop-action animation—especially “Rudolph”—they discussed the best gifts they’d ever gotten. At eight, she’d ripped off wrapping paper to find a much-longed-for pottery wheel. At nine, on the final night of Hanukkah, he’d been thrilled to get a baseball autographed by Sandy Koufax.

They’d discovered a mutual desire to attend a Festivus party and participate in the “Airing of Grievances.” And what, she wondered aloud, would her wall-hugging friend need to whine about?

“I don’t know,” he said, frowning.

Elizabeth tilted her head and considered. “Okay. I’ll show you mine if you show me yours?”

He gave her a small grin. It looked more like a grimace, she thought.

Taking a deep breath, she simply said, “People who forget what this is all about. It’s not gifts, or huge discounts, or the perfect tree skirt, or the best cookies. Christmas is not about showcasing your inner Martha Stewart. It’s a time of year to just realize what you love and who you love and recognize how lucky we are and be thankful for it.”

He didn’t say anything.

“And um,” Elizabeth added quickly, “I would like to register a grievance against thematic foods, like sculpted butter lambs and fruitcake and mulled wine.”

She felt like an idiot but when she looked up at Will, he was nodding, his eyebrows knitted in thought.

“As long as we’re going for deep thoughts here,” he said, “and you promise not to challenge me in the Festivus Day Feats of Strength, I guess I’d have to say I’m tired of thoughtlessness,” he said. “The little things, like people who don’t hold open the door for the person behind them. Or don’t give up their seat for a pregnant woman or an old man. Or who say `No problem,’ instead of `You’re welcome.’ I really, really hate that.”

He cleared his throat and placed his hand on his heart. “And thus I air my grievances.”

Will Darcy was, Elizabeth decided, a serious man with good manners and a hilariously wry sense of humor. She was more than pleased with him as her partner in party avoidance.

But being out in the cold, literally and figuratively, was getting uncomfortable. As they’d walked along, snow flurries flying and the cold settling in their bones, they’d discovered everything in Charles’ neighborhood was shuttered, closing, or completely unappealing. A tapas restaurant had locked its doors for the night, a dark bar was packed with drunken office party refugees, and a small diner glowed with harsh fluorescent lighting and lonely pie eaters.

“This is not pie season,” she said, gesturing toward them in mock indignance. “It’s cookie season.”

“Did you make Christmas cookies?”

“Yes. Three dozen snowballs. And frosted sleds, stars and snowflakes.”

Elizabeth looked down at their hands. She’d caught his finger trying to wipe a snowflake from her nose about 45 minutes earlier, and he still hadn’t let go. He’d held onto her hand as they kept walking, up one block and then another, until they’d circled back to Charles’ building. The snow had started coming down more heavily, so they headed inside to the lobby.

Elizabeth’s phone buzzed. Oh. Jane. She’d forgotten she’d come to this party with her sister.

“My sister will be wondering what happened to me. Do you want to go back up?” she asked him.

Will bit his lip and shook his head. “I didn’t see any cookies there,” he said. “You didn’t bring any of yours?”

“Oh, mine aren’t frou-frou enough for that crowd. Just old family recipes,” she murmured. Glancing up, she saw he looked disappointed.

“How about your culinary skills?” Elizabeth teased. “Your mother passing on her kitchen secrets, or is she saving them for the future mother of her grandchildren?”

She didn’t expect him to wince. Or his hand to tense.

“Um, no. I have her recipe box and her cookbooks,” he said quietly.

Oh god. Elizabeth closed her eyes. Well, aren’t I the holiday cheer champ. She squeezed his hand, waiting.

“She baked a lot when I was little. But she’d only let me have the chocolate macaroons if I ate her Tu b’Shevat bars.” He glanced at the woman standing beside him. “That’s, um, fruit bars to celebrate the New Year for Trees. She liked nature.”

“Yummy,” Elizabeth said, her eyes glowing but her insides roiling. Cripes. I insulted thematic foods. “You have her recipe?”

He nodded.

“Have you ever made them?”

He shook his head.

“Not a baker, huh. Can you boil water?”

Her heart swelled when he smiled.

“I cook a mean grilled cheese,” Will replied. “And steamed vegetables and rice. And soup from a can like you can’t imagine.”

He met her eyes. Like his, they were sparkling, reflected in the twinkly lights strung around the marble lobby. Elizabeth let go of his hand and pulled off her gloves. She felt him watching her and when she glanced up, he looked disappointed. She shrugged. “Your fingers aren’t cold?”

Will nodded and tugged off his gloves. Elizabeth reached out and took his hands. She examined them carefully, and traced his palms with her fingers.

“These are not the hands of a seasoned cook.” She looked up. “Need some lessons?”

Will let out the breath he’d been holding. “Yes. Absolutely. Lots of them.”

He lifted her hand to his lips.

Elizabeth gently drew her hand away. She traced his lips and cheekbone with her thumb, and slid her fingers into the curls behind his ears. She looked up at him, and laughed. “Uh-oh.”

Will stiffened. “What is it?”

“Caught under the mistletoe. Again.”

He glanced up at the green sprig dangling from the lobby chandelier, and bent down and pulled her closer.

“Oh, I did it on purpose this time,” he said softly.

“I’ll show you how to make a gingerbread house,” she murmured. “You hold up the walls, and I’ll frost the roof.”

“We’ll light the candles every night, and deck the halls,” he whispered, just before his lips met hers.


~~~~~~~~~~~~~*~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~*~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~



Notes:

The Hanukkah Song: FYI, I’m with Will. I really hate Adam Sandler movies except for the two he made with Drew Barrymore.

Sandy Koufax: A Hall of Fame pitcher for the Brooklyn Dodgers, known as The Left Hand of God. And yes, Jewish.

Festivus: The Costanza family’s holiday celebration on Seinfeld. The Festival for the rest of us. (Aluminum pole required.)

AN: Thank you for all the support! It will be at least 2 weeks (and probably 3) before I post again. I always seem to forget what a crazy time of year this can be.

Fitzwilliam Darcy Elopes

Chapter 6

Although the express rider made it to the office of the Times on Saturday morning, it was too late for the Darcy elopement to be included in that day’s edition. In the midst of the war, the editor felt it would be in poor taste to place an article concerning an elopement on the front page of the newspaper, but he did place it on the first page of the society section. As there were many ladies who turned directly to the society section of the newspaper, this did not hamper the spread of the news in any way.

So it was that Sunday morning saw a much greater attendance for Church Services than was typical. As it was the Sabbath, neighbor visits would be frowned upon. Although decisions were made to visit with family as much as possible in order to discuss the news, the only way to solicit an opinion of anyone outside of their family circle would be to attend Church. Many a Vicar were pleased, though perplexed, with the sudden enthusiasm displayed by members of the parish.

The only notable absentees at church that day were Lord and Lady Matlock, as well as their daughter-in-law, Lady Hastings.

---

When Elizabeth Darcy awoke on Sunday morning, she was slightly disoriented. Something was vastly different. As her husband pulled her closer into his chest, she remembered what that difference was. As she cuddled closer to Mr. Darcy she sighed in contentment. She was now very convinced she had made a most advantageous match.

Her mind drifted to the previous evening. Almost as soon as Fitzwilliam had locked the door they were interrupted by his cousin. After Darcy refused to open the door to admit him, Lord Hastings started asking through the door whether or not they were planning on attending Church services in the morning. Darcy had replied that Hastings and Mr. Bennet could do as they pleased, but that he did not anticipate seeing them until later in the afternoon. They had been on the road for close to a week and needed time to rest before completing the journey to London on Monday.

When another knock came to their door a half an hour later, they were much too occupied to even discover the identity of the person on the other side of the door.

---

Lady Hastings was furious as she scanned the article concerning the elopement of Fitzwilliam Darcy. According to the article, her own husband knew of the elopement, and had even saved a room for them at an Inn. Although her marriage was not a particularly happy one, when she had entered into it she understood that neither of them would behave in a way that could be viewed as scandalous. What was her dimwitted husband thinking?

---

Lady Matlock’s feelings on perusing the article were much different. She had long worried about her nephew, and was relieved he had finally found a woman that would make him happy. If his choice would upset Lady Catherine in anyway, then so much the better. She was a trifle concerned that they had married against the wishes of the young lady’s family, for why else would her father have chased them to Scotland? She could not imagine any family that would not be ecstatic to have their daughter marry Fitzwilliam Darcy of Pemberley.

Lady Matlock pondered this question for most of her morning, even asking her husband his opinion while they broke their fast. His response was a non-committal grunt, accompanied by a mutter along the lines of how much better a match he could have arranged if Lady Catherine had realized that Darcy would never marry Anne.

Although the comment was expected, it did remind her of something that was stated in the article. Looking over it again, she realized that it appeared as if the new Mrs. Darcy had already met Lady Catherine, and was not expecting a warm welcome. If the article was to be believed, she had also met both her sons as well as Georgiana. Those three had not been together with Darcy in well over a year. Whether she had been introduced to them all together, or had been in company with Darcy long enough to be introduced to them separately, their relationship must have been of a long duration.

With a start, Lady Matlock remembered a comment made in passing by her younger son after his return from the annual trip to Rosings Park. When she had asked him about the visit, he admitted that he had found it vastly more amusing than usual. When she had inquired as to the reason, he had replied, “Observing Darcy as he simultaneously attempts to spend as much time as possible engaged in one activity, without giving the appearance that he cares about the activity, can be quite amusing.”

At the time she had brushed off the reply, determining to try to riddle out his meaning another day if it proved to be important. It was now important. With a quick flourish, she sent off a note to her son, requesting his presence as soon as possible.

---

Although the women in most households stopped reading after the article concerning Fitzwilliam Darcy, in the Gardiner household the entire paper was examined. In the Saturday paper there had been a small line mentioning Colonel Fitzwilliam escorting an unknown young lady and her relations to the theatre on Friday evening. Although they had hoped the gossips would be able to connect the dots, there was no speculation in the paper that the young lady he had escorted was in any way related to Mr. Darcy’s bride. They were relieved that they had made it to the theatre before word was spread concerning the Darcy elopement, and wondered what more they could do to ensure people were aware the Lydia was staying with her relations in London.

When a tray was sent to Lydia’s room with breakfast, Mrs. Gardiner included the article concerning the elopement. As Lydia had locked herself in her room, and was refusing to speak to anyone, they had not yet had an opportunity to discuss Elizabeth’s plan.

The screech that was heard within the Gardiner household a few moments later would be eerily similar to the screech heard within Netherfield Park the following day when both the Bingleys and the Sunday paper made it to Hertfordshire.

---

Darcy had never been more content. For the first time in his life, he felt like he could lie in bed all day long. It was late in the afternoon before he and Elizabeth stirred from their room. They agreed that they should at least eat with their relations, even if they did not plan on spending any more time than was absolutely necessary.

Leaving Elizabeth in the room to the ministrations of her maid, Darcy went in search of Hastings and Mr. Bennet. He was surprised to not find them in their rooms, but quickly followed the noise to the common room where they were engaged in a game of chess, a large crowd gathered to watch. From the conversation of the crowd, it quickly became apparent that the interest was not in the game, but in any information they were willing to provide concerning the newlyweds. Mr. Bennet was largely ignoring the audience, but Hastings was another matter. Darcy did not know how his cousin could have gathered enough information to entertain the crowd for such an extended period of time. They had travelled together one day, most of which time was spent either sleeping or feigning such. It appeared as if Hastings and Mr. Bennet had discussed them extensively when they were not present.

As soon as Darcy was noticed, the attention shifted.

“When will we have the pleasure of meeting your lovely wife?” was the first question volleyed from the crowd after the obligatory greetings.

“Why has your lovely wife no joined you downstairs?” came the first question volleyed from the crowd.

“She is merely refreshing herself,” came the reply. “We thought to dine with our relations.”

“Yes, she must require quite an exorbitant amount of time to refresh herself,” answered one of the gentlemen. “So much so, that her father was able to reach the border before you did. One does wonder just how you engaged your time during the journey.”

“I thought I explained that already,” Hastings cut in. “It was merely a tactic to avoid being caught. By letting Mr. Bennet precede them to Scotland there was no trail for him to follow. They were able to slip in after he had made his inquiries, and marry before he discovered they had followed him, instead of the other way around. Now, I think I’ve just lost this game. Perhaps we should retire to dine with Mrs. Darcy?”

Mr. Bennet nodded his agreement and the three men left the room and the gossiping gentlemen behind.

---

“I have never seen anyone able to carry on such inane conversation while playing a decent game of chess,” Mr. Bennet remarked after making himself comfortable in the private parlor adjoining the bedchamber that Darcy’s valet had secured for them. “Most believe it to be a quiet game.”

“Yes, well, not all of us can be as serious as my young cousin here,” Hastings replied. “I believe there should be some levity in every situation.”

Although Hastings was ten years Darcy’s senior, he still did not enjoy being referred to as young.

“Well, if Mr. Darcy is young, then you must consider me an infant,” Elizabeth replied. She had settled on the settee hoping that her new husband would join her. She was not disappointed.

“Oh, no!” Hastings exclaimed. “I learned my lesson years ago. A gentleman should never comment on a lady’s age, whether she be old or young. There are a few ways to guarantee offending a lady. Commenting on her age is one of them. If you say she is young, it is inevitable that she wishes to be known for her maturity. If you say she is mature, she will be worried and examine every mirror she passes, searching for wrinkles. You will get no comment from me.”

“Very well, but you must know that there are few that would describe Mr. Darcy as young,” Elizabeth replied.

“That is due to the fact that most do not remember seeing him in his short pants. It does not seem possible that the little scamp I remember has matured enough to marry.”

“That is enough, Hastings,” Darcy replied. “I am eight and twenty. I believe that is a full four years older than you were when you married.”

“Yes, but you have met my wife. A poorer decision was never made. Perhaps if I had waited until I matured a few more years I could have made a better decision.”

“You still cannot fault me,” Darcy replied, hoping to disrupt his cousin’s sudden melancholy. “I have not only matured several extra years, I have the experience of running an estate, as well as being guardian of my younger sister.”

“And how would you feel if you discovered Georgiana had run off to Gretna Green?” Hastings asked. “No matter her reasoning, I am sure you would be disappointed.”

Darcy suddenly went white, causing Elizabeth to take his hand in hers and squeeze it reassuringly. Hastings noticed his discomfort, then laughingly continued.

“You need not worry. Your little sister would never actually follow through with such a scheme. She may find your sudden elopement romantic, but she is much too meek to consider an elopement for herself. Even if the idea was presented, I have no doubt she would avail herself of the first opportunity to reveal her intentions so you would be able to stop the plans.”

“I, for one, would enjoy meeting such a paragon,” Mr. Bennet interjected. “I commend you for raising such a sensible young woman. The evidence is before us that I failed in instilling the importance of a proper wedding.”

“Do not be too hard on yourself,” Hastings replied. “You may have raised a slightly reckless daughter, but I have never seen my young cousin affected so. She has succeeded in ways that none of the young ladies of our circle could have ever hoped. She has seen him smile.”

The conversation moved on to much more neutral topics. After another half an hour, Darcy started hinting that his wife would like to retire. Hastings encouraged Elizabeth to rest peacefully in the adjoining bedchamber, but made no move to leave the parlor. After another half an hour, Elizabeth opened the door connecting the parlor and the bedchamber.

“I am sorry to inconvenience you, Lord Hastings, but would you mind retiring to your own rooms. I am in need of my husband.”

“I am not yet ready to retire,” Hastings replied, smiling.

“It does not concern me if you choose not to immediately retire to your rooms, but I would be extremely grateful if you were to leave ours.”

“There now, it was not such a difficult request to make, now was it?” Hastings asked, cuffing Darcy’s shoulder as he winked at Elizabeth.

“Oh, and Lord Hastings?”

“Yes, Mrs. Darcy?”

“Please take my father with you.”

“I do believe I need to redeem myself, in any case,” Hastings replied. “I need to make up for the game of chess I threw in order to leave the common room earlier.”

“It would have been impossible for you to win that game,” Mr. Bennet replied. “You had already lost twice.”

“But third time’s the charm.”

“There really is only one way to conclude this argument,” Darcy interjected, ushering them out into the hall. Saying a quick good evening, Darcy closed and locked the door while they were still standing in the corridor.

---

Colonel Richard Fitzwilliam was not surprised when he received the note from his mother, demanding his presence. He was not certain what kind of mood she would be in.

When he arrived at Matlock house, he was shown into his mother’s favorite parlor. He hoped that was a good sign.

“I have been trying to puzzle it out all day,” Lady Matlock said by way of greeting to her son. “Just how long has Darcy been in a relationship with his new wife?”

“Good afternoon to you, as well,” Richard replied, giving his mother a kiss on the cheek. “It is always pleasant to receive a summons to your home.”

“Oh, do be serious,” Lady Matlock replied with a smile. “You know that all our neighbors are dying to know more. My home is to be invaded in the morning, and I would like as many answers as possible before they arrive.”

“Very well. I first met Miss Elizabeth Bennet on our latest trip to visit Aunt Catherine and Cousin Anne. We had scarcely arrived before Aunt Catherine’s obnoxious parson came to greet us. I had quickly tuned him out, but he must have said something that sparked Darcy’s interest because before I knew what was happening, Darcy had indicated we would follow him to the parsonage to greet his wife and guests. When we arrived, I was introduced to Mrs. Collins, her sister Miss Lucas, and her friend, Miss Elizabeth Bennet. I have never seen Darcy so tongue tied. We were in company often, but he rarely exerted himself to a discussion with Miss Elizabeth.

“One day while I was walking the grounds I happened to see them walking together. I may or may not have overheard a bit of their conversation wherein Darcy implied that on future visits to Kent Miss Elizabeth would be a guest at Rosings Park instead of the parsonage. This intrigued me to such an extent that I attempted to intercept them again the next day. Unfortunately, I found Elizabeth on her own, but I did try talking to her about Darcy, trying to gauge her reaction.

“I had fully expected Darcy to declare himself before we left, but no such announcement was made. He was incredibly agitated when we returned to town, but refused to speak of it. I did not hear him mention Miss Elizabeth again until he sent me a letter explaining his plan to elope to Scotland in order to secure her as his wife.”

“You mean to tell me you were forewarned that Darcy had eloped, and neglected to inform your family?”

“Yes, I suppose I was. He didn’t send you a letter?”

After eyeing her son for a few minutes, Lady Matlock replied that it was unbecoming to pretend ignorance.

---

As in most households, it was nearly impossible to stem the tide of gossip below stairs. So, when the maids that had been tasked with providing refreshments for Lady Matlock returned below stairs, it was not unexpected that they would discuss the elopement. It was generally understood that all such talk was to stay in the house, and normally it would. It being Sunday, there were one or two servants that were visiting with siblings employed in other houses.

As gossip is want to do, the story was added upon until it barely resembled the original. Within two hours of Colonel Fitzwilliam’s visit to his mother, there was a generally accepted rumor spread about the kitchens in town that Darcy and Elizabeth had been secretly engaged since Easter. It was not until retiring for the evening that many ladies were to learn of the rumor from their maids while preparing to retire for the evening.

I've gone back to lurking here for various reasons, but needed to de-lurk to say congratulations! I just found my copy of Unequal Affections waiting on my porch when I got home from work. Can't wait to read it again, and admire the physical book too!

Best Wishes -- Carol P

I'm sure this is in the book somewhere, but I'm sick right now and don't feel like hunting. If anybody knows, off the top of your head, the distance from Longbourn to Lucas Lodge (in minutes or miles, either one) that would be awesome.

Thanks to Carol below, I now know that copies of Unequal Affections are available from Amazon and presumably the Skyhorse Publishing website, a couple of weeks in advance of the promised January 2 publication date. The audible version has been available for a few weeks, and if you click below the picture you can listen to a sample of it being read in a lovely British accent (very exciting to me, as I am American).

Those of who you have read it and like to leave review on Amazon, I would be so grateful for any review you would like to leave me.

I would like to point out that the dedication in the front contains a thanks to all of you at the DWG who did so much for me as I was writing and posting it, and without whom it would never have come into existence. Also, those of you who remember Devleena (though she hasn't been commenting in some time), she wrote the foreword for me. She's actually a doctor of literature in a university in Sydney. She was one of my betas and graciously offered to write some words in praise of it.

http://www.amazon.com/Unequal-Affections-Pride-Prejudice-Retelling/dp/1626361002/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1387593479&sr=8-1&keywords=unequal+affections

Chapter Nine

After the incredible conversation on the balcony the day before, Anne could only hasten to Poseidon directly after breakfast. She had not agreed on a meeting with the captain, but hopefully he had more to share and he would stick to the same place and time they had used the previous time. It took half an hour during which she went over everything he had told her again numerous times, but then he casually strolled by.

"Madam," he said, bowing most politely, and he made as if to walk on.

"Wait!" Anne said desperately. "I thought you had come to talk to me."

He looked reluctant to admit it. "It must not appear that way. Let me walk another round to see if the coast is clear."

And how would that look? She clutched her book and looked at the pages unseeingly, impatient for the captain to check the surroundings. But then he squeezed himself through the hedge behind her, frightening her out of her wits.

She turned. "You need to tell me more about Mr Ingleby."

"Or about Mr Shepherd?" he asked with a significant grin. "Because I went to see him yesterday and he too had some interesting information."

Anne was intrigued. "What could he know? And why did you not tell me? Is it more important than Mr Ingleby's information?" Mr Shepherd had made it his business to know all about Sir Walter. Perhaps he knew more of this supposed marriage too.

"One thing at a time. I had to tell you about Mr Ingleby and you were not taking it as well as I had hoped, so I left the rest for later. First the simple things. Mr Shepherd pointed something out that we had overlooked. Her coat. Where was her coat? Would you really go out in only a nightgown?"

She considered that point. He was right. Anyone would wear a coat. It was rather cold in the morning and a nightgown was far too thin to be walking around in comfortably. Yesterday morning she had worn a coat and in spite of that it had been chilly.

"She might have left her coat in the house, but that points to a hurried exit, very hurried, but there was no fire and surely if someone had been chasing her she would have screamed for help. It is more likely that someone outside took her coat and hid it."

"The maid said she often left the house in the morning, because her shoes were often wet. Of course her coat would have been in the cloakroom and the maid would not know if she took that."

"Her effects were taken back to Mr Shepherd's house and the coat was not among them. Neither is it in our cloakroom," said Captain Wentworth. "It was not on the body and there were no stains on the nightgown. I asked." He paused. "It may sound callous and unfeeling of me to have asked all these questions, but while Mr Shepherd is grieving, he is also convinced that something is not quite in order. He is not a stupid man. He also said his daughter was not stupid; she would not have gone out unthinkingly without a coat."

"Did he accept the possibility that she went out at all?" It was of course possible for a loving parent to deny that his child would ever do such a thing. Anne would not think it odd.

"Er, yes. He did not quite approve, but he knew. He knew -- he did not know she went out, but he knew it was the sort of thing she was up to lately. She was carrying someone's child, he said, and he had urged her to get the responsible party to marry her before it was too late. But he did not know who it was, because she had not wanted to say."

Anne did not know what to think, much less what to reply. Carrying someone's child. Such things happened, she knew, but she was always a little shocked when she heard of them.

Whether Captain Wentworth had been shocked when he heard the news was impossible to tell now. He seemed unaffected. "But it is also possible that she had got with child by accident and she was trying to get someone else to marry her."

"By accident," she repeated. "I did not know it could happen by accident."

"Not usually, no, as far as I know," Wentworth agreed. He crossed his arms. "So, we have two new little mysteries here. First, who had got Mrs Clay with child and when? Second, is there any truth in Mr Ingleby's supposition that Sir Walter got married on the sly? It is easy to suggest the two are related."

"No!" Anne exclaimed. Mrs Clay had not been carrying her father's child. Not. Never. And neither had he married her.

"You think he would not."

"I know he would not. And where is the woman? She cannot be Mrs Clay."

"Mr Ingleby said she was not, but I do not think it either, because she would not keep it a secret and this other woman does."

"Marrying a baronet?" Anne felt strong enough to be sarcastic again. "But it is every girl's dream!" Baronets, at least, seemed to think so.

"What will you do if Sir William turns out to be a dangerous man?"

"It is not and has never been my dream to marry a baronet. But I do not see how anyone could want to keep it a secret! The woman has debts to pay!" If only for that reason she ought to make herself known if she had any decency at all.

"Yes, there is that. I can imagine the creditors have been giving Mr Shepherd some rest because he has just lost a daughter. I have not seen as many strange men at the Hall as a few days ago."

"Have they not been to the Hall any more?" Anne did not think that creditors who had mouths to feed at home would give the debtor any rest. They could not. It was more likely that someone paid them than that they had suddenly become considerate. She had understood that some had been waiting for a long time already.

"Not in the last few days."

"Perhaps your sister scared them away. She frightened me too."

"Sophia?" Captain Wentworth was genuinely amazed.

"She wanted to know what I was up to and she seemed to be rather angry when I said she might have hired you to get rid of Mrs Clay because she had appeared before the admiral in her shift."

"Really? And you thought I would comply? I would laugh! In her shift! Pull yourself together! Seriously! We see a lot worse in ports than women in shifts!" He appeared to find that rather funny.

Anne wondered if she could ask what those worse things were, but it was probably not something a woman should ask. Perhaps he would tell her if she waited long enough. Then she was not to blame.

---

Suddenly a small child came into view and Captain Wentworth ducked behind the statue, although that was not very effective in Anne's opinion. The child was followed by Mrs Croft holding an even smaller child by the hand. "Good morning, Anne," she said. "Meet Isabella and Christopher. They will be staying with me for a fortnight."

The captain emerged from behind the statue. "Where did you get them from, Sophia?"

She raised her eyebrows at him. "May I know why you were behind that thing?"

"It is Poseidon."

His sister did not seem to care. "It is a thing."

"Children like hiding games, do they not?"

"Do not be silly with me." Mrs Croft seemed perfectly pleased with her new little friends as she wiped a little nose.

"Where did you get them from?" her brother inquired. "Even I know these things do not happen overnight."

"They were brought here after breakfast. Can you not guess who they are?"

Anne could. "It is very good of you," she said quietly.

"But what are you two doing here?" asked Mrs Croft, looking from one to the other.

"I was reading," said Anne, as if she had no idea what Captain Wentworth had been doing. She patted her book.

"I was just passing by," said he. "I am on my way to Mr Ingleby."

"You, to a rector?" Mrs Croft nearly laughed. "Bettering your life, are you?"

He chose not to answer, but bowed and departed. Anne hoped he was really gone and not hiding behind the hedge again.

Mrs Croft sat down beside Anne, the youngest child in her lap. Anne thought it was the boy, but it was difficult to tell. She could only guess it was about two years old from the way it had walked.

"Mrs Shepherd had been struggling for a few days. I offered to take the children for a while. The admiral agreed."

"They like you already," Anne observed.

"They only want somebody to play with them," Mrs Croft said modestly. "It is the very least I could do. I feel so sorry for the little ones. They are orphans now."

She was glad Mrs Croft did not ask her anything about the investigation. She was not yet ready to call it a real one, nor to speak about her cooperation with Frederick -- Captain Wentworth, she corrected herself. While currently distracted by the children and inquiries about suitable nursery maids, Mrs Croft was sharp.

The children soon started to fuss because they wanted to walk and Anne was alone again.

It did not last long. Sir William came to disturb her just when she was about to walk off herself. "I often find you here," he said as if he was happy to see her. "Is this a favourite place of yours?"

"I often come here because there is a bench, but I also like the other benches. It depends on the time of the day and where the sun is and that sort of thing," she said vaguely. She needed to walk to think about everything -- Mrs Clay, the mysterious woman, the little Clay children. It was difficult to keep her mind on the conversation and on giving sensible answers.

He did not seem to think he was interrupting her reading, because he installed himself rather comfortably beside her. "I shall go away pretty soon," he announced, pausing to give her the chance to voice a reaction.

Anne thought she was very likely not responding as he desired, but she could really not come up with anything better. "Has everything been sorted out?"

"Nearly everything," said he, looking quite expressively into her eyes. "There is more I would like to sort, but alas, that is not up to me."

Anne felt funny. She had the distinct impression that he was trying to say something to her. She could not reply anything.

"Do you not know of what I speak, Cousin?"

"No." Her voice trembled a little.

"It cannot have escaped your notice that I value and enjoy your company and I shall miss our conversations tremendously."

What was one to say to that? Anne could not bring herself to agree. Perhaps when she remained uncomprehending and not encouraging, he would give up. She had not conversed with him very much recently. Not since Mrs Clay's murder. "Well, those things happen," she said soothingly. "But being family I am sure we shall meet regularly."

He looked a little disappointed.

---

Anne wondered what Captain Wentworth was doing. He had said he was going to see Mr Ingleby. She was interested in the outcome of that conversation. Given that he had said any marriage would have taken place elsewhere, looking at the parish register would be useless, or she would have advised that. Or were those marriages also registered? She could not think of anyone ever looking at the records, so it might well remain a secret.

If no one wanted to reveal it, it must be purely a business contract. Money would have to be involved. Sir Walter had needed -- or felt he had needed -- a titled wife or one with money, if he married at all. Preferably a wife had both a title and a fortune, but Anne knew that beauties with a title and money had never yet been interested in marrying an older baronet. She did not imagine that had suddenly changed when her father was even worse off.

Which wealthy woman would sacrifice herself for Sir Walter's sake, however? No stranger would do it. It would have to be someone who knew Sir Walter and who was desirous of helping him in secret. Anne could think of only person and that was one who had always had the opportunity and never taken it: Lady Russell.

She stopped walking.

Anne could not imagine Lady Russell not telling her about something as important as this. It could not be. Lady Russell had been anxious about her father's debts and particularly anxious about the effects on his daughters, but she had never to Anne's knowledge even considered helping out financially, let alone marrying him.

Mr Ingleby had probably thought that Lady Russell ought and then assumed that she had, without being certain. Half the village had at some point in time thought that she would, after all. The rector would be no exception. There, it was nothing but supposition. She was relieved to have found the answer so soon.

And none of this could have anything to do with the death of Mrs Clay.

What would she do with a coat if she was the killer, she asked herself. It was an old coat of Elizabeth's and thus not easily given away to a local woman. People would ask questions if they saw someone with such a expensive thing. Elizabeth was not known to be generous with her discarded clothing, even if she had plenty. She would certainly not have given it to a farmer's wife. Mary took a lot of it.

If she had been in this position herself, she would likely burn or bury the coat. Anne roamed through the park for a while, as if she would suddenly come upon the hidden coat. There were plenty of places to hide a coat for a few days, although the gardeners would eventually find it.

And there were plenty of places where people could meet unobserved. In Poseidon's corner, naturally, but also in Athena's. Both had stone benches. She went to Athena for a change and sat down. Captain Wentworth's finding a footprint by the pond had made her attentive to the soil and she looked down. There were footprints here too. Not from running or walking people, for the ground to Athena's left did not lead anywhere except into the hedge.

Anne took care not to disturb the prints and peered around Athena's statue to see if by any chance the coat was hidden behind it. But then she realised what she was standing on -- a row of rocks the size of a fist that lined the empty flowerbed.

She stared at them for a few minutes.

Rocks. They had been looking for rocks by the pond, but here were some. Perhaps the episode with the rock -- Anne could not bring herself to describe it more clearly than that -- had not taken place by the pond at all. Was it necessary? Or could it have been here?

She sat back down on the bench and imagined Mrs Clay here with someone, who had then picked up a rock out of anger. Then he would have had the choice between leaving her there and having it clearly be a murder, or taking her to the pond and making it look like an accident. Evidently he had chosen the latter.

The rock might still be there, but she had little desire to look for it herself. She would leave that to Captain Wentworth. She was sure she would draw too much attention to herself if she found a rock with blood on it. It was best to tell him about it and let him check discreetly. She had no idea what the perpetrator might do if he feared that someone was on his trail.

All right, so I have an express being sent on a Saturday to a destination that ought to take it about 24 hours' travel time. Here's my question: did the mail travel on Sunday? I know that stage coaches etc. would not have done so, and that private persons were not supposed to do so. But what about mail, and particularly an express? Should it arrive on the Sunday before church if it was sent on Saturday morning? Or Sunday night after nightfall? In the early hours of Monday morning? Or on Monday after sunrise?
Thoughts would be appreciated!

Saw this delightful P&P trailer on facebook. Love the sequencing of clips. Charming.

[insidemovies.ew.com]

I follow the blog of Mike Rendell who has written, as well as his 'Journal of a Georgian Gentleman' [based on the diaries of his ancestor Richard Hall], a couple of small books that have arisen from ephemera pertaining to the said Richard Hall.
His latest book is about Philip Astley, founder of Astley's Amphitheatre, an excellent venue for Regency lovers... here's the blog post, which gives links to Amazon and Amazon UK Mike Rendell's blog

I wrote this in response to Maria V's question from a few weeks ago, but am re-posting it here as well in case anyone else wanted an update on this story.

"Hey ladies!

Firstly: Maria, so sorry for the delay. I haven't been on this site in ages. I see that this question is a few weeks old, hope you see my answer!

I've been pondering what to do on this, actually, and have come to what I think is the most logical conclusion. As you all know, I was in the process of rewriting Beautiful Friendship into An Even Path--with the aim of making alterations. I'm happy you all liked Beautiful Friendship, but there are loads of parts in there that didn't satisfy me. My idea was to split the original into three separate pieces, altering some portions (some dramatically altered) and retaining others.

But honestly, I've come to the point in my life where I just don't have time to write Austen fanfic. The revisions were not happening the way I wanted, the time isn't there, and I knew I could either keep you all hanging, or just post the original ending of Beautiful Friendship for everyone to read, and be done with it. At this point, it seems kinder to do the latter.

Also, if anyone asks, a few months ago I toyed with the goal of archiving the revised version on another site. I ended up not doing it. I'm not posting Beautiful Friendship or An Even Path anywhere else--it's not on a blog anywhere, it's not being self published. I don't have further plans for it. As I said, I just don't have the time/drive for Austen fanfiction right now. People have asked me to let them read the ending to the original piece, and I'm happy to let you all read it. It has 8 chapters left, and I'm planning to start posting the final chapters Saturday (December 28--I know I don't always make my deadlines, but honestly I am looking at the chapter right now. I will post it)."

"At Christmas every body invites their friends about them, and people think little of even the worst weather." ~ Jane Austen, Emma

Whatever weather you may be experiencing this Christmas, we wish you and your families a warm and joyous holiday season!

A/N: And here, on Boxing Day, is part three of the Menorahs & Mistletoe/Frosting & Festivus trilogy. (I couldn't resist taking them all the way to their HEA.) When it came to the holidays, William Darcy and Elizabeth Bennet never quite fit into festive family traditions. That is, until they met each other and figured out how to fit the holidays around themselves.


Starlight & Candlelight



From a young age, William Darcy had thought some things would never change. New Year’s Eve was one of them. When the inevitable annual festivities rolled around, he’d cringe, show up where he was expected, and find a wall to hug. Expectations, inclinations, hopes and outcome invariably collided and missed hitting the target that the holiday’s songs, movies and stories promised: a nice girl to kiss at midnight. Not that the garish traditions of New Year’s Eve even celebrated the real New Year. Oh no. His grandmother had always reminded him that the real new year was the one they celebrated on the Jewish calendar, Rosh Hoshanah. Hearing her words as a boy, he’d roll his eyes and go back to watching Dick Clark on TV in Times Square; when he grew older, he’d remember her words as he watched the mating rituals performed by fellow partygoers as midnight neared.

Tonight’s party could have played out like the parties of previous years. Charles would be starry-eyed, fairly drunk, and happily kissing some true love; Caroline would be in hot pursuit of any man who arrived alone, dressed expensively and still had a full head of hair; and their mutual friends still would be comparing portfolios and best post-Christmas shopping bargains while sizing up potential mates for that seal-the-deal midnight kiss. And Will Darcy would find a reason to go play bartender or wander off to the bathroom as the countdown closed in.

Yes, except for the fact that Charles was engaged to Jane, the true love of his life, things appeared no different for Will. Here he was, hoping to escape the countdown cacophony, and determinedly inching his way toward the bathroom in the Hursts’ townhouse. But there was one major difference this year: There was a woman he planned to kiss, and she was in that bathroom. Poor Elizabeth. Was she hiding? Would Bill Collins never get the message that she was taken?

Inviting William Darcy to go for a Christmas Eve walk a year ago had been the most brilliant impulse of Elizabeth Bennet’s nearly 25 years on Earth. They’d looked at the stars, gazed at the lights and, dazzled, they’d found each other. Somehow the shabby, faded year-round Christmas decorations hanging on her parents’ house had seemed less drab. That Christmas Day had sparkled because she knew that day would fade to night, and that by late afternoon, she would be heading across town to share leftovers and a bottle of wine with the man wearing a wry smile and a distinctly non-holiday sweater. The man who’d kissed her back, again and again, in Charles’ building lobby. The man who she knew, deep-down in an unsettling but exciting way, would be kissing her forever. Will.

The past year, and this holiday season, had not followed the traditional paths for either of them. Will hadn’t spent Passover at the movies or Yom Kippur debating whether or not he should have gotten himself a seat in temple. Elizabeth hadn’t rolled her eyes at her mother’s marshmallow lamb cake for Easter dessert. Over the months, separate calendars and lives and beliefs had converged and by November, they had celebrated Thanksgivukkah at the Bennet dinner table.

The doorway had been festooned with blue and white lights; little plastic stars and dreidels dangled from the chandelier. A few rules had been put in place: Mr. Bennet had been adamant that brisket would not replace his beloved turkey and stuffing; the Bennet girls had demanded that eight days of little gifts would not supplant their giant expectations for December 25; and Mrs. Bennet, while taking control over the latke making, had made it clear that Elizabeth and William had to bring some traditional dishes from the Darcy family cookbook. Despite burned latkes and singed egos, it had been a wonderful day and prompted a request for the young couple to host a Seder dinner during Passover in the spring.

Over the past year, they’d also shared birthdays, Valentine’s Day, Easter, Halloween, the Fourth of July, and just days ago, their second Festivus-tinged Christmas. And in about five minutes, Will planned to ask Elizabeth to share all of those holidays for the rest of their lives together. If only she’d come out of the bathroom. He knocked softly and called her name.

The door opened and there she was. His green-eyed girl. Elizabeth.

“Hey you,” she whispered. “Come here.” She reached for his hand and gently pulled him into the bathroom.

It was dark; only flickering holiday candles lit his way in.

“It’s the best view in the whole place,” Elizabeth said softly, reaching behind Will to lock the door.

He smiled and looked out the window. She’d pulled up the shade and opened the sash. He pushed open the window and they leaned out, staring at the moon and stars above and the lights below, twinkling merrily; across the river lay Manhattan, glittering and beautiful. Silver and gold in the sky, red and green and blue and white below.

“Squint a bit,” she said. And he did and the lights fused into a hazy kaleidoscope of colors.

“You’re brilliant, my love.” He kissed the top of her head.

“I know it’s a bathroom in Brooklyn, but it doesn’t matter to me where I get kissed at midnight.” She blushed—he could see that much in a room lit only by candles and stars and holiday lights—and it melted his heart.

“Where? As long as it’s your lips, right?” Will whispered.

“As long as it’s just us.” Elizabeth squeezed his hand, leaned her head against his chest, and gazed up at him. The happiest year of his life, all bound up in this woman. It scared him sometimes, how perfectly they fit together and merged their lives. It scared her as well. Both were just a little grateful to know that they could disagree, and that they could solve their arguments—all two of them so far— in the best way possible.

Elizabeth had moved in with him last summer, on a hot day without a breeze when his building’s air conditioning was less than optimal. She’d made the mistake of listening to her sister’s feng shui ideas and had begun rearranging all of the furniture in their newly merged household. Beds pointing east, chairs facing north… None of it made sense and he’d had a difficult time explaining his frustration. Just getting her furniture through the door and figuring out how to make her beloved blue-flowered armchair clash less with his brown leather sofa was work enough on a hot, humid day. A few badly stubbed toes, bruised shins and heated words later, a happy compromise was reached on their newly re-settled bed. Both had agreed they already had enough spiritual traditions between them, and they’d promised to finish every disagreement in just the same way—in bed.

Their pact held as their only other “argument” began, and ended, in bed. After Thanksgivukkah, they’d celebrated the remaining seven nights of lights with friends or alone together. On the final evening, Elizabeth had called Will and asked him to pick up Chinese food on the way home from work. She said she’d burned dinner. After they ate their mu shu and lit the final candle, Elizabeth had claimed a headache and asked Will to tuck her in. A bit worried about her behavior, he’d followed her to their bedroom. There, on the bed, paws flapping and ears twitching, slept his now best-ever Hanukkah gift. It had taken two days of silly back-and-forth discussions to come to a mutual decision on the dog’s name: Sandy, in honor of the player whose autographed baseball sat on his desk.

Now, through the bathroom door, they could hear the countdown. “Five, four, three, two, one…”

There was no right place, no right time. There was only this. Here and now. Her. Elizabeth.

They reached for each other and greeted another new year together. “Happy anniversary,” she whispered. “Another year of holidays.”

The ring stayed in Will’s pocket. That was for tomorrow. Everything else was sparkling tonight. Elizabeth and her diamond would light up tomorrow, and shine on all their days to come.

~~%~~%~~

Happy New Year to everyone!

The first of the three parts was shown on BBC last night. I wondered whether anyone else here from the UK watched it, and if so what did you think?

I'm still not sure what to think of Anna Maxwell Martin as Elizabeth, but I loved the way Matthew Rhys played Darcy. Some of the plot elements had me scratching my head, but I've never read the book so I'll have to keep watching to find out what they were there for.

I was trying to reply to Bernadette and once I hit "post", I got the message"

"Possible hack attempt detected. The posted form data was rejected."

Well, ok, I was not logged in. And maybe I forgot to put a name or so... And if there were any captchas, I didn't notice! But but but my post got deleted (hitting "back" obviously doesn't work). Couldn't we get a warning if a field is empty? Or together with the hack warning get our original post also copied below so that we can copy paste it?

Bernadette, I blame the grumpy internet for the loss of my post. It had many thank yous, good wishes, and couch-psychology :)

When he got home that evening, Will Darcy decided to take a tip from the heroes of classic literature and wrote a letter to Eliza Bennett. Since he had failed to explain himself with his mouth, he decided to try using his pen-or rather his laptop. He wrote one draft of the letter by hand, but then realized that his penmanship was so terrible that it would never win him any points with Eliza but only make her dislike him more.

So sitting on his couch, he began to write.

Eliza,
I’m not really sure where to start this, but I suppose that I ought to start by apologizing to you for offending you both three years ago and last summer. I’m not always the most tactful person on earth (although that is no excuse) and you are not the first person to be offended by something I have said or done. I am very sorry for offending you and for any role that I may have had in the end our relationship with my cousin.

My cousin is a difficult subject for me. We’ve never been close, and I rarely understand what he does. However, during a difficult time in what was already a complicated relationship, I was jealous of people who were single. Natalie and I had an increasingly difficult relationship over the last year or year and a half of our relationship. In retrospect, that time impacted me in far more ways that I realized. It led to me saying and doing things that weren’t normal for me.

The night of your engagement party was a particularly bad night for me. I was angry with my girlfriend, and I really wasn’t sure why I was with her anymore. Then I saw you with my cousin. I don’t know if anyone has ever told you this, but you have a certain number of physical characteristics (including size) in common with Natalie. You are both petite brunettes. I was bitter when I saw you that night. I carelessly said something that I shouldn’t have. I didn’t think that Jack would think anything of what I said because if I had been in his place, I wouldn’t have taken his words seriously.

I had no clue that he would take my words seriously or use them against you in the later months. I apologize for all of the pain that I have caused you.
I hope that you can forgive me. I also hope that in time we will be able to meet amicably when necessary. I assure you that I will leave you alone from here on out. I will no longer try to pursue you. I wish you nothing but the best in the future, and I hope that someday soon you will meet someone who can give you the love and respect you deserve.

Sincerely yours,
Will Darcy

---

Will gave the letter to Eric to give to Eliza, and Eric did as he was asked. He also did his best to, per Will’s wishes, keep Will and Eliza away from one another over the next several months. In the meantime, Eliza started seeing a therapist to help her move forward with her life.

Eliza found the therapist far more helpful than she had ever imagined. Here was a person who was willing to and able to help her sort out her confusion about her family. Her therapist, Marjory, helped her to realize that between her mother and her relationship with Jack, she had internalized many negative beliefs about herself. She had come to see herself the way that her mother saw her. It wasn’t that there really was anything wrong with Will; she just didn’t think that she was worthy of him.

“It’s like I’ve spent my whole life refusing to let myself have things that are really good because I don’t deserve them. I let myself believe that Gen or you or Emma could have good things, but I can’t,” Eliza told Anne one afternoon.

“Eliza, that’s ridiculous. Why wouldn’t you be as good as the rest of us?”

“Because that’s what Mom said,” Eliza replied flatly.

Anne shook her head. “My parents were disinterested most of the time, but they were never cruel to me. I still can’t believe that your mother said those sorts of things to you.”

Eliza shrugged. “Marjory says that it stems from something in Mom’s past. She says that Mom could probably use some therapy herself.”

“I could have told you that years ago,” Anne replied. “And my only psychological training is four college psych classes almost ten years ago.”

“But I can’t make my mom do anything she doesn’t want to do.”

“No, but you can learn how to protect yourself from her.”

Eliza nodded. “I don’t think that ever really occurred to me until recently. I always thought that I just had to take it. In fact, I think that I thought that I deserved it. I mean, I screwed up her plans so many times. But now, I don’t know. Now I can actually realize that I don’t deserve it. I’m better than she says I am. I can try to stand up for myself.”

“You’re going stand up to your mom?” Anne asked. “You, Elizabeth Marie Bennett, are going to stand up to Susan Bennett. Ha, I’d love to see that.”

Eliza sighed. “Fine, I might not actually stand up to her verbally, but I won’t take her personally anymore. Or at least, I’m going to try not to.”

---

Will Darcy found himself with a very busy summer. He was never in Detroit for more than ten days at a time. He didn’t have time for any dating despite Emma Woodhouse-Knightley’s best efforts. Every time the team was in Detroit, Emma tried to find women who she thought would be Will’s perfect match. Will, on the other hand, would have preferred if she kept her nose out of his business and let him find a girlfriend on his own time.

“You need someone,” she told him one night in early June at a small party at Eric and Anne’s house.

“I actually don’t need someone, Emma” Will quickly replied. “I’m fine on my own.”

“But you’re sad and lonely,” she insisted. “You think you’re fine, but you’re not.”

He just sighed and glared at her. “Emma, I’m completely fine.”

“That’s what everyone says,” Emma said. “All single people think they’re fine, but they aren’t. Humans aren’t made to be alone. We need companionship. It’s like Eliza. She thinks she’s fine alone, but she’s not. She needs a man to take care of her.”

Will snorted. “If there is one woman on this earth who does not need a man to take care of her, it’s Eliza Bennett.”

Emma sighed dramatically. “You just do not understand. I need George. You need a woman. You were so much easier to deal with when you had a girlfriend. Natalie made you so much more bearable.”

“Are you saying that I’m unbearable now?” Will asked. His face was firm, and his jaw was firmly clenched.

Emma trembled slightly. She hadn’t meant to upset Will; she hadn’t really thought about what she was saying at all. She just wanted Will to be happy, and she thought that he’d be happier if he had a girlfriend. But Will was angry. He was very angry. She wasn’t sure what to say, so she just started to backtrack. “Okay, maybe that’s not what I meant to say. Maybe that didn’t come out right. I mean, you need to get married. You really should get married.”

“Are you calling me unbearable?” he said. “Just be honest, Emma. Do you have a problem with me?”

Before Emma could respond, Anne joined them. “Is everything all right over here?”

Will looked at her and smiled faintly. “Yeah, fine, I think.”

“Fine,” Emma said without attempting to make eye contact with either Will or Anne.

“Will, Eric was looking for you earlier,” Anne replied.

---

Will made his way over to Eric who was with Ed Benoit and Ed Ferrars in the living room. “Emma is trying to convince me that I need to get married to be happy. She says that I was easier to get along with when I had a girlfriend.”

Eric snorted. “You were a human nightmare when you were dating Amanda. She turned you into the dumbest possible version of yourself.”

“And the last year or maybe even more of your relationship with Natalie, you two were both bringing out the worst in each other,” Benoit added.

“Quite frankly, you’ve been a better person than I’d ever known you to be just in the past year,” Eric said. “I mean, you’ve always been a nice guy, but you’re just being a better person. I’m pretty sure that you don’t need a girlfriend or a wife to be happy. You’re doing great on your own.”

Will laughed. “Could you go and tell Emma that?”

“Please,” the catcher said. “I never try to tell her anything. She has her Principles and her Convictions. And those things are Very Important to her. She’s like a dog that doesn’t let go of a bone once it tastes it.”

“That’s such a bizarre analogy,” Ferrars said. “And anyway, she can’t be that bad if George married her.”

Eric looked at Ed Ferrars, the newest member of the Tigers’ starting pitching staff. He was long and lanky, even longer and lankier than Eric himself. He ran marathons for fun. “You don’t really know Emma yet. And you’re safe from her at some level because you have a girlfriend. But if you were single, oh good lord, she’d be on your back constantly. She’s like a little busybody matchmaker. She’s sweet, and she means well. But she’s a busybody.”

Ferrars looked at Eric Wentworth. “So she wants Will to get a girlfriend so he’ll be happy?”

“That’s her current scheme,” Eric said. “She also wants Annie’s best friend, Eliza, to find a boyfriend too. She really needs something to distract her.”

“Well,” Ed Benoit said slowly. “Marisa and I might have something to help distract her.”

“Yeah, in like October when the season is almost over,” Will quipped. “We need something to distract her sooner than that.”

“She needs a project,” Eric said.

“Doesn’t she have a job already?” Ferrars asked.

Benoit nodded. “She does, but there’s a big problem with it from our perspective.”

“What’s that?”

“She works remotely,” Eric began. “So she can work from wherever she is as long as she has her laptop and wifi. So she’s always around the team. She never HAS to leave us.”

“Anne, on the other hand, has a job that keeps her occupied most of the time. She can only travel with the team during the summer. And she doesn’t always do that even if she can,” Will explained.

“Plus, even if Anne is around, she always has something to keep her busy. She’s knitting or reading a book or getting ready for school the following year,” Benoit added.

“And then there’s Marisa,” Will continued. “She doesn’t have a full-time job, but she’s super involved with the Tigers Community Foundation. She has projects there, and she doesn’t always come on the road with us. She’s found ways to keep herself out of the trouble.”

“Whereas Emma is just good at finding ways to get herself into trouble,” Eric quipped.

Ferrars shrugged. “I guess I’ve never seen that side of her. She’s always been really sweet to me and to Elinor.”

“Lucky dog,” Will sighed.

“Someday, you’ll find Ms. Right, and Emma will finally get off your back,” Eric told Will, patting him on the back.

“I’d really prefer it if she’d just get off my back and leave me to sort out my own life.”

---

Gina Darcy, Will’s younger sister, arrived in Detroit on June 13 for a four-day visit to her brother. Gina was about to start her senior year at Mary Washington College in Virginia where she was studying international business. “Sometimes, I’m not sure that we’re actually related,” Will had once told Eric when discussing Gina’s academic pursuits. “My sister wants to work in banks or major corporations in other countries. She’s had a summer internship in Berlin and one in London. She’s brilliant. And I’m just a professional baseball player.”

But professional goals weren’t the only differences between the Darcy siblings. Where Will was outgoing and gregarious, Gina was quiet and mild. She could be a true force of nature when she needed to be, but by nature she was far milder than her older brother.

Gina adored her older brother; in the eighth grade, she had written an essay about why her brother, then a minor league baseball player, was her hero. He never entirely understood why, but he knew that his little sister loved him. He understood that she loved him, but he didn’t understand why she looked up to him and admired him so much. He supposed that the nine years between them might have had something to do with it. She had grown up under his protective wing.

---

Gina was spending four days with her brother before leaving for a six-week internship in Brussels. “My little genius,” Will said as he greeted the lanky brunette in at domestic arrivals at Detroit Metropolitan Airport. “How’s my Gina-Bean?”

“I’m well,” she replied, hugging him. “How’s my hero?”

“I’m fine.”

“How’s the arm?” Will had lost his two most recent starts.

“It’s been better,” he replied. “But don’t worry about me. Let’s get your stuff and get going. I’ve got a game tonight.”

“Do I get to hang out with Anne Wentworth during the game?”

“Of course.”

“Then I’ll come.”

Will grinned. “I love it when you come to my games.”

“And you know that I’m going to bring a book with me.”

“How are you my sister? How do I, Will Darcy, have a sister who doesn’t like baseball? Mom and Dad like baseball. I play baseball professionally. You hate it.”

Gina sighed. “I don’t HATE baseball. I just think it’s boring.”

“You sound like a girl I got to know last summer.”

“Eliza Bennett?”

Will sighed. “Hey now! How do you know about her?”

“Mom, she met her last fall, remember? She told me about her. She said that Eliza was really pretty and nice. She really likes her. I think she wants Eliza to be her daughter-in-law.”

“Good lord, I can’t believe that you and Mom talk about that kind of stuff.”

The pair had reached the car. Gina shrugged as she climbed into the car. “Will, Mom wants you to get married. She wants grandchildren. She wants to see you happy.”

“And she thinks that Eliza is the answer to that?”

Gina nodded and grinned. “Bingo.”

Will sighed. “And you, what interest do you have in this? Why do you want me to get married?”

“Well, I want to see you happy, like Mom. And I can’t wait to be Auntie Gina. I can’t wait for you to have little kids that I can spoil rotten.”

“Gina, you’re twenty-two years old; you’re going to graduate from college next spring. If you want to get married and have a family of your own, that’s allowed.”

Gina sighed and curled up in her seat. “I’m not ready for that, Will. I’m not really ready to settle down and have a family. “

“Is this about last summer?” he asked.

“Sort of,” she replied.

“Care to elaborate?”

Gina shrugged again. “It’s complicated, Will. After what happened last summer, I’m not sure that I want to get married.”

Will sighed. “Gina, I just don’t want to see you isolate yourself from the world just because of one stupid jerk. I want to see you live a happy and healthy life, a whole life. I want to see you move forward from what Reid did.”

“I will someday, but Will, you don’t understand.”

“Gina, this past year, I’ve gotten to see firsthand what someone like Reid did to someone who isn’t that different from you. I saw what this guy did to her. I saw how badly he hurt her.”

“Will, I’ll be fine. I just need time to process what happened and refocus my love life. But I’m busy right now. School has taken over my life. I need to focus on school. After I graduate and get a job, I’ll deal with my love life. But right now, I have to focus on school.”

Will shook his head. “Gina, this girl-my friend, she fell in love with a guy, and they got engaged, and then he left her for another girl. It’s the same story.”

“Was her fiancé named Reid Crawford too?”

“No.”

“Then it’s not the same story. Will, I’m not this girl. I’ll be fine.”

Will sighed. “Gina, do it your way if you like. But please know that I’m just trying to help you.”

---

Author's Note: Thank you all for your kind comments in the Tea Room regarding posting the last few chapters of this story. I read each one, and I appreciated all of them. :) You all might remember my tendency for massive chapters, and so I've had to split this into two parts. The first section (the fishing trip in its entirety) is today's post. The next post will be Wednesday--Georgie's audition with Tye, and more Elizabeth and Darcy. I hope you all enjoy this :)





Chapter 38 Part 1




The stormy night ceded to a foggy day ashore. If you could call this fog, Will thought, squinting to see through the thick clouds obscuring their path. Pemberley had fog, a pale, hazy mist that gathered in the low valleys, burning up by mid day.

This was a wall of white. Stubborn, adaptable, swallowing everything in its path, even the light casting forth from the headlights. When Seamus's truck reached the harbor's edge, the only sight there to greet them was a dozen mastheads bobbing in an ocean clouds.

“Here we are,” announced Seamus, cutting the engine.

“And with your brother's car taking up the rear,” Will confirmed, finally allowing his muscles to relax. He'd kept half his brain on the treacherous road ahead, and the other half on the headlights of the car that trailed them.

He glanced in the rear view mirror to catch sight of their backseat passenger. Elizabeth's questioning eyes, bright in her worried face, sought his gaze in return.

“Loads of boats make port in this harbor,” Seamus remarked, pushing open his door. “Everything from small crabbers and skiffs, to larger trollers. We're getting a late start, though. Most commercial vessels are gone by sunrise.”

“The fog won't slow them?” Will questioned as he climbed from the truck. The fog revealed nothing. Not even the sea, stretching before them.

“A bit,” Seamus conceded.

“Not much choice, though,” Killian called out, emerging from the fog. Liam trailed behind him, carting a pile of life vets. “Half the island depends on the sea trade to put bread on their table.”

Meanwhile, Elizabeth was struggling to open the rusted backseat door. Will reached for the door handle. It opened with a rusty groan.

“Thank you,” she said, taking his outstretched hand as he helped her down. Her feet touched the slippery harbor planks. Rather than letting go, she kept her fingers entwined in his, holding tight. Killian, Seamus and Liam walked ahead, boarding the boat.

"Will." There were a dozen questions in her eyes, and more than a hint of worry. “You don't have to do this. You don't have to go.”

"Have you ever known me to participate in something I didn't want to do?"

“Once, actually," she mused as they walked down the dock. The fog was thinning as they neared the water, pushed about by the wind from the sea. A line of bobbing boats was coming in to view. "The night we met, you weren't too keen on going to that party.”

"True," he acknowledged, "but that turned out well enough in the end."

"Only after a dozen false starts," she laughed.

"Most activities improve after a few practice runs." he said mildly, squeezing her fingers. He was relaxing her, Elizabeth realized. She'd wanted to be the one calming him, and yet now that they were here, all she could do was worry. This had seemed like a decent enough idea last night. But what if her brothers were too hard on him? What if he hated fishing? What if he grew seasick?

"Tell me about your brother's ship," he said quietly. "Which one is it?"

"The white one," she said, leaning against him, "With the red and green flag atop it. Green Grainne, she's called."

Magnus, their ship's captain, had yet to board. Catching sight of the couple, he cast a curious glance to Will, and one to Elizabeth, too.

“Afraid you left your sea legs in London, little sister?” Magnus signed as he passed them.

Elizabeth shook her head, her fingers tightening in Will's grip.

Interesting, thought Magnus. She was unwilling to release Will's hand, even to talk to her own brother. That was more of an answer to his unspoken question than even Elizabeth realized.

“Eilis,” the deaf man spoke aloud. “I'll trust you to show Will how we undock the ship. Let him board, then I want you to cast the spring lines off and jump aboard yourself. After that, I'll need you in the wheelhouse.”

Magnus walked onward towards his ship, jogging up the ramp. His boat welcomed him with a slow list from side to side. The instructions he'd given Elizabeth and Will would keep the couple busy for the next few minutes, and offer Elizabeth something concrete to do so she could shake off her nerves. Meanwhile, Magnus could offer fair warning to his brothers.

The lads had assembled in the galley. Liam was looking longingly at the tea maker, too sleepy to go without, too lazy to make it himself. Killian was sorting fish hooks. Seamus was counting angling rods.

“How rough of a ride should we take him on?” questioned Killian. “Tide's still high enough south of here, and the edge of last night's storm front is probably still lingering there."

“We won't go south. We're headed west,” Magnus announced in a series of signs. “Calm waters and blue skies.”

“Ah, you're no fun,” remarked Liam. The youth leaned back in his chair, dragged his baseball cap from his head and balanced it over his eyes. "Wake me when we get there."

“If it counts for anything," Seamus added, "my money's on the Englishman, whether we head south or not. The man's got a steel spine, and no mistaking it. We met some poor road this morning, and he was steady as they come. He didn't flinch once.”

“I won't be able to judge is character until I've watched him do a hard day's work,” Killian admitted.

“Give him a fair chance,” Magnus warned. Seamus might be the eldest brother, but here aboard the ship, Magnus claimed captaincy. “If not just for himself, than for Eilis."

As far as Magnus was concerned, he'd seen the writing on the wall, and there was no mistaking it. Their sister, the Unsinkable Elizabeth Bennet, was completely and wholeheartedly in love.



***


Once they set sail, Will was due for a proper tour of the ship. And it was Magnus himself who would give it to him.

"Magnus, Will is waiting for you above deck,” Seamus said as he squeezed himself into the small wheelhouse. The brawny veterinarian could barely maneuver in this tiny room without bumping into something. “He seems keen on learning the workings of the ship. I was teaching him the difference between a clove hitch knot and a bow line. He caught on right away.”

When Elizabeth offered to tag along, Magnus laughed and pointed her towards the captain's chair.

"But I'd like to come," she said.

“Why?” Killian questioned plainly, glancing up from his seat at a nearby table. He'd taken up one of the small chairs clustered around it, intent on studying a tide table. Liam occupied the other chair.

“Because—because...” All four of her brothers were now staring at her. She both spoke and signed her answer. “Will doesn't know sign language.”

“Then Magnus won't use sign,” Seamus spoke up. He offered Elizabeth odd look. “And Will can manage for himself, lass.”

“But--”

“Eilis,” Magnus signed his answer to his sister. “I'll not throw your sweetheart overboard. You have my word on it. Radio the marina with our callsign in the meantime, will you?”

“But-” she signed. But he'd already departed. Arguing with a deaf man could be remarkably straightforward. Once he'd left your sightline, the conversation was well and truly over.

“I've never seen you so anxious on a boat before, Elizabeth,” Seamus observed plainly. “You capsized that kingfisher of yours in a squall, two leagues from shore, and handled it more calmly. Remember that?”

“I know, but--” she drummed her fingers nervously on the edge of the pilot's wheel. She'd forgotten how exasperating the presence of four level-headed brothers could be. “This is different.”

“Clearly,” Killian said dryly.

“Come along, Love,” Liam said, rousing himself to alertness for his sister's sake. “Magnus is a good sort, he'd like to get to know your fellow. And he asked you to use that beautiful voice of yours to radio our call-sign to the marina. Do that in the meantime.”



**

As for Will, unaware of the negotiations going on between below deck, he was finding his feet above. Literally.

He was a strong swimmer. He'd gone fishing in streams, he'd been sailing in rivers. He'd swum in the ocean and relaxed on the beach.

But he hadn't met the water headlong like this before. The greater the body of water, the larger his aversion to it. That fear grated on him.

Which was partly why he'd wanted to do this. Why he'd needed to. Elizabeth wasn't the only one who'd felt a jolt of fear this morning. She was just the only one to admit to it.

It wasn't the water that had caused the death of his family. It was the impact, the crush of the guardrail before the car teetered off the bridge.

But the water had damn well nearly done him in, and his sister with him. He had the scars to show for it. If his fear wasn't rational, nothing was.

Still, he reminded himself, he'd never let fear beat him yet. And today wasn't his day to start.

“Will,” Magnus touched his arm. “Ready to meet the ship?”

Will pushed from the rail. “More than ready.”

They began with the engine room, the heart of the ship. A new engine, Magnus explained. New on a relative scale, anyway. They're replaced it three years back. It was a large investment, Magnus confessed, one that was still cutting in to his quarterly profits.

"Is your interest rate fixed," Will asked. "Or variable?"

"Variable," Magnus admitted. "I'm not one for numbers either. I've been making monthly payments to the bank, but it doesn't seem to make much of a dent."

"Do you have the paperwork aboard?"

"Sure," Magnus said.

"If we have some free time, maybe I could look at it?"

Next came the holding room. It was a frigid space, currently absent of fish, but packed with ice nonetheless.

“Stability is key,” Magnus explained. "Three weeks at sea can yield a hundred pounds of fish, but we have to make sure we keep the cargo packed properly. The steel mast connects to the boom chain, and that keeps our balance, but the foundation keeps us steady. An uneven distribution of weight, and we could capsize.”

Just what he wanted to hear.

Next came the cramped galley, with a kitchenette on one end and a pair of bunkbeds on the other. The cots were bolted to the wall. They would rock and sway with every shift in the changing currents.

It was a dimly lit room, with only two portholes. Perhaps to compensate for the cramped atmosphere, they'd adorned the walls with pictures. Faded Polaroids, old snapshots, color prints, all taped up with sturdy fishing tape. One figure stood out for him. Elizabeth.

He saw her as she'd been at age six, a tiny creature hoisting a salmon nearly as big as she was. He saw her at twelve, sporting snorkeling goggles, her damp hair caught up in braids. He saw her at seventeen, with shorter hair and longer legs. She was standing on a beach, surrounded by a gaggle of boys, all of whom outflanked her by inches. None of those boys were her brothers, and quite a few had more interest in looking at her than at the camera. She wasn't aware of any of their gazes. She was too busy looking forward, towards the camera. Towards her future.

“Will?” Magnus spoke up.

“Yeah?”

“There's one last room to show you.” Magnus gestured towards the door. “The wheelhouse.”

The doorway to the wheelhouse was a cramped stainless steel. The space itself seemed equally small, barely large enough to fit all the Bennet children at once, let alone a visitor. Which was perhaps why two of the Bennets had vacated. Only Liam and Elizabeth remained. Elizabeth was curled up in the pilot's chair, her face meditative, her legs drawn up. A log book was balanced in her lap. A pencil was in her hand. While Elizabeth worked, Liam had his feet stretched out on a nearby chair. He seemed to be doing nothing more taxing than watching the brass compass on the wall slowly drift westward. Neither of them noticed his entrance.

“Elizabeth,” Liam was goading his sister, “make me a cuppa or two of tea, out of the kindness of your heart, will you lass?”

“It's just like our teapot at home. Go to the kitchen and make it yourself, you lazy goose,” Elizabeth mumbled, dutifully logging both their longitude and latitude.

"Aaah, but I don't know how," Liam answered.

“We've a latitude of fifty-one degrees, thirty-two minutes, fifty five seconds," she continued. "Longitude is eight degrees, thirty-five minutes, thirty-two point sixty-eight seconds.” She tapped the radar screen with her pencil point. “I wonder if Magnus wants to round Old Head and head northward into muir cheilteach?”

“He does not,” Magnus spoke up. “We'll make anchor here.”

“And I can handle the tea,” Will volunteered.

She looked up, her concerns for longitude, latitude, muirs, and directions instantly forgotten. Her big green eyes, bright in the midmorning sunlight, focused squarely on Will. “Hello.”

“Safe and sound, just like I promised,” Magnus signed to his sister.

“And he's making us tea. A generous soul.” Liam beamed.

Elizabeth set the log book aside. “Honestly, Will, you don't have to make Liam tea.” She pushed from the chair just as the ship listed to one side. Which sent her, conveniently enough, sliding right towards him.

He caught her with both arms. In that moment, she forgot the presence of her brothers, the worries clouding her mind, his past, their present. Everything but the calm strength of his hands and the steady warmth of his arms. Though his dark eyes remained steady, his mouth hinted at a playful grin. “Who said anything about making it for him?”

“Hmm?” she said stupidly.

“The teamaker.” He didn't seem any more eager to release her than she was to step away from his arms. She felt his fingers through her sweater, slowly kneading the tension from her shoulders. “You said it's the same one in your mother's kitchen. Is that the one we used last night?”

“Yes, it's just the same. But--”

"Then it's fresh in my mind. I'll teach him how to do it himself.” Will cast a glance towards young Liam. “Get up.”

Liam started from his seat. “Huh?”

Will gently squeezed Elizabeth's arms one last time, then carefully released her. “You mind if we take leave of you for a bit?”

“Oh---" she blinked. It was a good idea, she thought, teaching Liam something he should have learned ages ago. "Sure.”

“Thank you, Magnus, for the tour.” Will dipped his head to him. “I'd like to take a look at your profit and loss reports, if you don't mind. There should be a way for you to pay down that new engine more quickly, even if it means refinancing through another bank.”

“Absolutely,” Magnus agreed.

With that, Will was off again, with Liam tagging along. Affection welled within her, mixed with a breathless, dizzy longing. That he could make her feel that with the simplest interactions--she raked back her hair, as if that would help her sort out her thoughts.

He needed this time with her brothers, she knew that. Selfishly, she wanted him to herself. She would have preferred a party of two, herself and Will, and her small kingfisher sailboat. They could have gone sailing in the safety of a nearby bay and picnicked on the beach.

Magnus met her gaze with a smile of his own. She expected to see good-natured teasing in his eyes. What she saw instead was deep affection, a touch of sympathy, and more than a little approval. “He's a good man,” he signed, before sliding his arm around her.

“The best,” she agreed with a sign, before silently resting her head on his shoulder.




**


Will had been bracing for a rough ride on 'Green Grainne'. What he found instead was a smooth easy drift into the Celtic Sea.

Which made it easy for him to relax that morning as he worked with Magnus, pouring over numbers, studying profit margins, debating the benefits of the variable interest rate and payoff strategies for his loan.

“Ready for some deep sea angling?” Killian said, popping into the wheelhouse. "Seamus says the fish are growing restless."

“I'll help you set up,” Magnus signed his offer to Killian, pushing from his chair. "Will," he spoke aloud, "you might want to get some lunch first. These are big fish we're searching for. It's back breaking labor."

“You'll be fine," Liam assured him. Surprisingly, of all the Bennet brothers it was Liam who had the quickest knack with numbers. He'd been keen to sit in on the discussion regarding Magnus's loan. "If you can teach me to cook. We can teach you to fish.”

“Tea's a start,” Will agreed.

“A small one,” Elizabeth remarked from the pilot's chair, “but now my brother can answer affirmatively when asked if he can boil water. You've done us all a favor.”

Will's attention drifted, as it had most of the morning, back to Elizabeth. She offered him a soft, lingering smile in return. Enough to wake him up, he thought. And to warm his blood. A buzz of the VHF radio was enough to drag her attention away from him and back to the task at hand.

She was the youngest of all the Bennet children, and yet she knew as much about the fishing industry as any of her brothers. And twice as much about the equipment. All morning, she'd organized and prioritized the tasks involved in piloting the ship. She worked with steady focus, with efficiency and with sharp intelligence.

He admired her for all of it. Her mind. Her will. Her focus. Her intellect. And her body, he admitted. Will caught his breath, thoughts of budgeting abandoned as she arched her back, shifting in her chair to pick up the radio headset. He watched her brush her hair back, pushing away dark tendrils that tickled her throat. It was a fascinating study for him---watching her soft, quiet movements. Studying the line of her neck. Seeing the curve of her body as she stretched.

“Will?” Liam prompted him.

“Yes?” Caught ogling the very sister of the man sitting next to him, he tried to hide his distraction with a cough. “Sorry. We, ah, were talking about--”

“Taking a break,” Liam finished for him. “Lunchtime. You should get some.”

“I'll make it.” Elizabeth stood from her seat. She studied the pair with a fond smile. “And not because I'm the only lass aboard, and too helpless to fish for my own meal."

“For the record,” Will threw down his pencil. "I'd say you're a far cry from helpless."

“Would you now?” she said with a sparkle in her eyes.

"A far cry from it," he repeated with an appreciative grin.

"What word would you use?"

“Right.” Liam said, standing abruptly. Liam thought his sister was lucky he was the one catching this flirtation, and not Seamus or Killian. Mild though their words were, the underlying charge between this pair could power the boat from here to Alaska. “Eilis, go on and feed your lad. I'll be topside with the boys.”

“You don't want anything to eat?” she asked.

“No, Love.” Liam chose to sign this part. “I'd better get out of the way. A minute longer and your lad would have started drooling.”

“Because he's hungry?” she asked her brother with a quick sign.

“Because of you,” Liam signed back. “And the looks you're tossing him in return aren't exactly fit for a chapel.”

The assessment turned her ears pink. Mostly because it was true.

“The truth is, it's probably best to get this out of your system now, and while the others aren't in view. I'll get out of the way. Send him above deck when you're through snogging,” Liam continued in sign language, “and then the lads and I will teach him how to fish.”

"But-" she sputtered aloud.

"You know I'm right," he said with a grin.

The air felt heavy once he'd left. And the room felt very, very crowded, though Will was her only company.

"What was that about," Will asked.

Barely two days here in Ireland, and he was already developing a fisherman's tan. He certainly had the build of a fisherman, too, capable and strong. The Irish sweater accentuated the lean strength of his shoulders, the cobalt blue shade complimented the depth of his dark eyes. He looked like he carried the warmth of the sun on his skin. Aware of her examination, he lifted his brows, both amused and curious.

Okay, Elizabeth, she thought with a nervous exhale. Maybe Liam was right after all.

"Lunch. Come with me," she said, taking Will by the hand.

"It would be harder to make it in here," he agreed as she tugged him to his feet. He didn't mind the rush, though once they neared the stainless steel doorframe, he barely ducked in time. "Easy now. Some of us exceed the height requirements, remember?"

"Oh no," she winced as she pulled him down the corridor. "Are you okay?"

“I'm fine. But Elizabeth-” Will laughed as she pushed him into the small kitchenette.

“Hmm?” she asked, shutting the door.

Maybe it was ridiculous to take love advice from her brother. Or maybe Liam was right. Goodness knows he knew more about sneaking away to steal a kiss or two than anyone else in the family. And their time back at the house would be filled with aunts and uncles, and nieces and cousins and questions and curiosity, and absolutely everything but solitude.

This was her boyfriend, she had permission to want him. It was hard for her to be confident acting on her impulses, though. She might make stage kisses part of her profession, but he had more experience with the real thing. She'd never met a man who kissed as well as he did. Part of her was still afraid of making a fool of herself.

“Elizabeth.” There was laughter in his eyes as he leaned his back against the kitchen counter. She was grateful for the posture, and for the slight leveling of their heights. It would make this maneuver easier for her. “Where's the fire?”

“Oh.” There was a flicker of uncertainty in her eyes as she approached him. Don't overthink this, she told herself. Just...trust.. She rested a hand on his chest, bravely choosing to meet his gaze steadily. “It's here, I think.”

And then she touched her lips to his.

This wasn't a demure kiss she offered him. It was inviting. Exploratory. More than a little shy, but full of all the sweet, simple desire she held for him in her heart. She wanted him, and she wanted him to know it.

He had quick reflexes, she had to give him that. The jolt of surprise he offered was quickly pushed aside. He wouldn't make her strain to kiss him. It took him less than a heartbeat to meet her halfway.

He wanted her. She could feel it in his body. She could taste it on his lips. But there was something else building in him; the more she kissed him, the more she felt it. Restraint. A willingness in him to go where she led. He didn't want to control this moment. He wanted to enjoy it, and her, and whatever she offered him.

She wasn't used to taking the lead, physically. It made her feel vulnerable and powerful at the same time.

She drew back, looking him in the eyes. “Fitzwilliam, is this---am I--” Elizabeth whispered, licking her lips. She wasn't even sure what she was asking him. “Is this okay?”

“Yes,” he whispered, before capturing her lips again.

His mouth was coaxing her onward, but once again he encouraged Elizabeth set the tone this time. As her confidence grew, it felt more like an equal exchange. Passion for passion; heat for heat. Long kisses built, spark after spark. Instinct took over as she clung to him, gripping the knit of his fisherman's sweater between her fingers. As if she was right on the cusp of tearing it apart. Or tugging it off.

It was then, right at that moment, that Will drew back. “Elizabeth--” he whispered.

“Yes?”

He needed a minute to gain control of his impulses. She stared up at him, breathless, vulnerable. Waiting. She was so beautiful, she kicked the air right out of his lungs. If he pushed her away, she'd feel rejected. If he let her continue, he'd lose his mind. And his self control.

Gently, slowly, he slid his hands down her arms. Even now, he was aware of the medication still filtering out of her blood. The risk.

She had accepted his kisses, but this was the first time she'd had the confidence to kiss him first. He was proud of her. He wanted--he needed--Elizabeth to have confidence in her own desires. As for how he was going to encourage that, and keep hold of his own restraint in the process? They'd figure that out as they went along.

“You're beautiful,” he spoke at last.

The remark wasn't a ploy. It was the simple truth as he saw it, as well as the best answer he could think to give. But it did make her pull gently away, laughing as she did so. “Will...”

“I don't think I say it enough,” he admitted honestly.

“I just—I don't know how to answer you.” While she walked to the fridge, pulling a carton of freshly stocked soup out.

“You could just agree with me,” he said mildly. He wouldn't tell her he was grateful for the distance. He needed a minute to calm down. More than a minute. He wandered over to their wall of photos.

“Wait till you see my cousin Jane," she called out. "She's the real beauty of the family. There should be a picture of her up there somewhere.”

“I hadn't noticed,” he admitted.

“Really? She's the only cousin I have. Blond. Willowy. Blue eyes.”

At Elizabeth's instance, he studied the photos again. Ah, here was one. A blond with long hair, hugging Elizabeth. He squinted, examining the photo. Yes, Jane Bennet was pretty enough, he decided. Mostly he thought this because he saw hints of Elizabeth in her features. A blonder, less vibrant version of Elizabeth. And much, much less beautiful.

“Isn't my cousin lovely?” Elizabeth prompted. Behind him, he heard her put a soup pot on the burner, clicking the pilot light on.

“She's not you,” was his diplomatic response. “You should know I'm not partial to blonds.”

“Good. Then I won't worry about her stealing your heart when you meet her at Killian's wedding.”

“No chance of that,” he murmured. “There's a different picture of you here...you're holding a trophy. When was this?”

“Oh...um...” She sounded self-conscious. “It's the Three Villages Regalia.”

“It's a contest?”

“Yes, for sailing. Ballydeirc hosts it every summer. The kids from the neighboring villages take part as well.”

“And you won it,” he finished. “Out of everyone, including your own brothers, you won the trophy.”

Three times, she thought as she stirred the soup. She'd won it three times between the ages of twelve and seventeen. She could speak freely enough about her dancing. It was the rest of her life she hesitated boasting about. She didn't know why.

“Could you tell me about some of these other pictures?” Will asked.

The clam chowder was pre-made. It needed little attention. She moved over to the cutting board. She began cutting a loaf of fresh bread she'd brought aboard. Then she moved to apples. “There's not much to tell.”

“I disagree,” he said. “When was the last time you went snorkeling?"

“Oh, I don't know...” she said as her knife sliced through a shining red apple. "I'd have to think about it."

"It's that recent, huh?"

“Five years, I guess. Not since I earned my contract to dance in Dublin...” Not since the world of the ballet took over her life, she realized suddenly. “After that, well...there was never time. There was always something else to train for. Some new show to work on.”

He was noticing a trend. Before Ballet, and After. The more the art took over her life, the less of a life she seemed to have. He was strolling back towards her. “But what if you did have the time?”

“It's not a very practical thought,” she said, looking up at him. “The ballet season runs until late summer. Even if I'm not with the British Opera Ballet, once I'm feeling stronger I'll have to start training again. And then, after the new year, I'll start auditioning for smaller companies.”

“I thought you were coming to terms with not dancing for the British Opera.”

“Yes,” she agreed cautiously, surprised by the serious turn in the conversation. “But ballet's still a huge part of my life, Will.”

“But not the only part. You told me that yourself.”

“I know, but--” She began chopping again, more forcefully now. “It's complicated. You know that. You just went to Paris to try to argue my cause to Bertram.”

“Yes,” he agreed. “I regret my failure to persuade him. But I did it because I thought it was what you wanted.”

“Of course it was what I wanted,” she said, a touch snappishly.

"So my question is, what else do you want?"

“I--” Trapped between a concession on one hand, an argument on the other, and that deep, dark gaze of his, she said the only thing her pride would allow. “This conversation was more fun when words weren't involved.”

“For both of us,” he said evenly. “But the question stands. When was the last time you did something you wanted to do? Just for yourself?”

“Five minutes ago," she said primly. "You were my test subject.”

Gentleman though he was, he could conceal his wolfish grin. “Well, that's a cause I'm willing to offer myself to.”

“Good,” she laughed, setting her knife down. “Are you hungry? We should eat...”

“In a minute. When was the last time you went on a holiday?”

“Well, my time here is a holiday, isn't it?” Elizabeth shrugged. “Sort of. I mean, you know, it's...family. As for a real vacation...well, who doesn't dream of a weekend trip to--"

"To where?" he pressed.

"I don't know—Vienna or something. But it's just not possible.”

“It is for me.” That declaration, and the frankness with which he spoke it, prompted her to offer an arched look. “I have an apartment in Vienna. We could go there.”

“But—but—” An apartment in Vienna. She vaguely recalled mention of a properties in France and Italy as well. She knew he was rich, but honestly. Did the man hopscotch around Europe collecting real estate the way other people collected postcards?

"I go there sometimes for business,” he continued. "Next time a meeting comes up, I could take you along. If you were interested, that is..."

Well, who wouldn't be interested in going to Vienna? She studied his face; she saw no apologies and no hesitation. For him, this was a simple, straightforward proposition. Like he was offering her a mini-break in Manchester.

Like a mini-break in Manchester, only...not.

“I can't just jet off to Austria,” she said.

“It seems to me that for the first time in quite a few years, you could. One weekend away when we have the time, Elizabeth. I'm not asking for a lifetime.”

There was a light in his eyes as he said that, as if he were on the cusp of adding something else. Still, the moment passed. Neither spoke further. And the chowder was bubbling. She reached to turn off the burner.

“I'll tell you what, Will Darcy,” she said, “survive the week with my family at the famously exotic 'hotel Bennet' first. Then we'll see what other propositions we can cook up together. Deal?”

“Elizabeth,” he conceded this with a nod of his head. “I couldn't have said that better myself.”


**

Once their lunch concluded, Will and Elizabeth parted ways again. Elizabeth headed back to the wheelhouse, Will headed topside.

Deep sea fishing, he thought with more than a little caution. How hard could this be?

The Bennet brothers had set sea rods along the portside rail. Five fishing rods, all in alignment, with chairs beside each one. Will would use Magnus's rod, a sturdy, fifty-pound pole made of carbon fiber.

“You'll need one that strong,” Killian informed him flatly. Killian's eyes, shielded by a pair of sunglasses, offered nothing but a reflection of sea.Will eased into a seat beside the policeman. The middle Bennet seemed to think the least of him, which made him all the more willing to plant himself right in Killian's path. “The fish we're searching for today can weigh upwards of sixty, seventy, even eighty pounds.”

Seamus stretched out in the chair to Will's left. Liam was dozing in the furthest seat on the end. Magnus served as their overseer.

“Deep sea fish are strong. Stronger than what you'll find in a harbor or a bay,” Magnus said aloud, “because they fight against the weight of the sea, and the shifting currents.”

“We're fishing for monsters, we are,” Liam informed him with a grin, spreading his hands wide. “Halibut this wide.”

“It can take hours to hook one,” Seamus added, “and just as long to reel one in.”

It took three long hours. The men spent the time discussing politics, debating football teams, and dissecting Will's background.
For Will it was an exercise in tactical evasion, delving into some topics and deliberately avoiding others. He chose not to mention his fortune, his family name. The Gardiners knew, of course, but he could trust their silence. The rest of Elizabeth's family would know soon enough. In the meantime, he'd rather be Will, just Will, judged on the merits of how well he fished and how much he loved their sister.

Much of the conversation revolved around his knowledge of Elizabeth: when they'd met, how long they'd dated.

"She's living in the dredges of London," Killian remarked. "In some rundown flat that the dumbest thief in London could break into on his off day. Do you approve of that?"

"Elizabeth's wellbeing is always at the forefront of my mind," Will answered. Seeing a tug on his fishing line, he sat up. "As for her living arrangements, I trust in her ability to take care of herself. I've never met anyone so self-sufficient."

"Hooked yourself a fish, have you Will?" Magnus observed.

"Looks that way," Will muttered. The tip of the fishing rod wavered, and then bent low. The stronger the pull, the bigger the fish. This looked large enough nearly to snap the line. He pulled the rod up and wound it tight.

"It's not like Elizabeth's living alone, either, Killian," Liam pointed out.

"Although there was some change up with her roommates-" Seamus mused. "It's been awhile, since I've checked. Does she have one roommate now, or two?"

"One," Will answered coolly "A good friend. Someone who will look out for her if the need arises."

"He's right," Elizabeth spoke from behind him. "Not that the four of you need to worry over me."

“We can't help it, lass,” Seamus spoke up, lighting a cigarette as he did so. “You'd best take care of yourself.”

“Says the man currently filling his lungs with smoke. Your lovely wife would have lovely words for you about that,” she said, before turning her attention to Will. “And Will's hoisting a fifty pound fish from the ocean. That might interest you, given we came out here to fish.”

Liam sprung up. “Ah. It's a fine catch you've got. See how the line's tightening?”

"Have you got it?" Seamus said. "It's a fighter. Don't let it go now."

“I'm fine,” Will muttered, ignoring the fire in his shoulder that screamed otherwise.

“Liam, he's nearly reeled it in," Elizabeth spoke quickly, "Grab the harpoon for me, will you? ”

The wind was picking up, spraying a sea mist against his cheeks.

“You've a feisty one on your hook,” Seamus spoke up. “There's a trick in reeling it in though. You don't want it fighting you the whole way.”

“They're clever creatures, and no mistake,” Liam agreed from the other side. “And heavy. Seventy pounds, do you think, Killian?”

“Feels like it,” admitted Will, gritting his teeth as the rod bowed and bent again.

“We need a buoy to balance it out,” Killian moved quickly to hook a red buoy on his line. “You're tiring her out, Will, but you can't give it too much fight all at once. The creature might grow angry and pull the line taut. If it breaks the line, you've lost the fight and the catch. You have to loosen the line a bit, let it relax a bit, then swoop in for the catch.”

“A wee bit more--” Liam added.

“Easy does it-” warned Seamus.

“That's it,” Killian agreed. He was barely aware of the surrounding conversation, or any of their movements. At least until Elizabeth climbed the rails, leaning her hips over the edge of the boat with a harpoon in one hand.

“Elizabeth--” Will said, nearly losing his focus completely.

“Ah, she's fine, lad. She won't fall,” Seamus spoke with a grin. “Lizzie might not be strong enough to reel this in, but she's a steady shot with a harpoon. She'll stake it for you. It's the last step before you pull the halibut aboard. Wouldn't want an eighty-pound fish slapping you in the face.”

Seamus was right. He watched her do it. Looking more like a modern Amazon warrior than a dainty dancer, she pierced the halibut clear through. In one last burst of energy, Will hoisted his fishing rod up, tugging the fish to the boat.

“Brilliant,” Seamus clapped him on the back once he'd dropped the fish down to the deck floor. “Let's clean him up.”

Killian knelt to examine the catch. “You've a knife on you?

Magnus did. He snapped it open, handing it to his brother.

“Here's the trick, Will...you want to cut here...right by the gill,” Killian advised, sliding the knife beneath the gaping gill. “And another cut here in the back--careful not to cut too deep. Nice and even.”

His hands were sore. His back was sore. His shoulder was—Will rotated it with a wince. His shoulder was a problem. It would be a bloody nightmare tomorrow. But he didn't regret any of it. The Bennet siblings worked around him, talking and laughing and betting each other and counter betting. Prodding him to place a bet.

“What do you think, Will? Eighty pounds at least,” said Liam. “I'll bet a euro on it.”

“It's a fine catch, Will,” Killian admitted. “A very fine catch.”

“Eighty pounds is conservative. I say this fish weighs eighty-five pounds, and we'll make the bet two euros.” Seamus offered a grin to Will. “And your first try, too.”

“Eilis,” Magnus signed to his sister, “bring us a case and some ice to pack this in. Our lone catch of the day. When we get home, we might as well make a feast of it.”

After she left, it was Liam who spoke up.

“You know, Will..” he said thoughtfully. “There's an old Irish tradition related to a man's first catch.”

Will stretched his neck, hiding a wince as the muscles in his back complained right along with them. “Oh?”

“Ah, yes,” Liam continued. “The tail, you see, it guides the halibut along. And so if the man who catches his first halibut consumes that tail, well, he'll have the luck of the sea for all his fishing trips ever after.”

“Is that right?" Will tugged off his fisherman's gloves.

“Oh, it's a fact, lad," Seamus agreed. "But you'll have to eat it."

“Raw,” Killian finished, cleaving the tail completely in one clean slice. “Here.”

Magnus folded his arms, observing this, saying nothing. They all studied him, waiting. Watching. Will used his good arm to pick the fish tail up, balancing it in his hand. He lifted it, motioning as if he were bringing it to his mouth.

“To be honest...” he paused, holding up the tail with a grin, “I'm not the superstitious type. And with your sister in my life, I think I've got all the Irish luck I need.” And, with a throw worthy of the pitches he'd played on, he tossed the sliced tail back to the watery horizon.

For a moment, the Bennet boys did nothing. Said nothing. And then, just as suddenly, they all spoke at once.

“We almost had you!” laughed Liam.

"No," Will laughed. "You didn't."

“Ah, he's too clever by half!” roared Seamus.

“Liam, you're lucky he didn't shove the fish tail in your face,” Magnus warned his brother with a grin. “Eating the tail, indeed. We'll have a story to tell at dinner tonight...”

"He did a fine job." Seamus clapped Will on the back in two hardy thumps. It nearly felled him completely. It was worth it, he thought. He'd earned his seat at the Bennet table. "A fine job."

“I'm buying him a pint when we get inland,” Liam magnanimously.

“No, I'm buying him a pint when we get inland,” Elizabeth announced her return, a grin on her face. “The rest of you can get in line.”

Chapter Ten

She had to find Frederick -- Captain Wentworth -- and tell him about the rock, but he had gone to see Mr Ingleby again and she could not think of any excuse to call on the man. There might be something she could speak to Mrs Ingleby about, however, and if she was lucky the captain was still there. She started to walk in that direction.

But then again, Mrs Croft had spoken to her in the meantime and so had Sir William, and then she had walked through the park. She had not checked the time, but at least fifteen minutes must have passed, probably closer to thirty. Captain Wentworth might no longer be with Mr Ingleby, assuming they were still not the best of friends. Any conversation of theirs would have been short. She would be too late.

Also, Ingleby might have been out. He did occasionally visit people or run errands, Anne supposed. She stopped while she was wondering what to do. Eventually she walked on.

Arriving at the rectory, she could not come up with a single excuse to call on Mrs Ingleby. She did not really like Mrs Ingleby, she decided, who was quite dull, and not longer being connected to the Hall, she could not go and make simple inquiries about villagers. Well, she could, but she could not think of anyone to make inquiries about today. Her mind was completely taken up by other things. She failed to direct her thoughts in other directions.

She walked on. Waiting outside would be useless if he was probably already gone.

It was a good decision, for after having walked for ten minutes, ahead in the distance she saw a figure she recognised.

---

"I need you to look at something," Anne said breathlessly as soon as he was within hearing. After she had spoken she wondered if she ought to have asked him, perhaps. She sounded so demanding now.

He did not immediately ask what, but greeted her stiffly. It puzzled her. Perhaps she had indeed sounded too demanding. But then he spoke. "Someone might be watching," he explained. "They might wonder why you stopped hurrying when you found me, as if you were looking for me, which you could not be."

"Oh. Yes. I really should go that way," she pointed for the benefit of a hidden onlooker, "but it is so impolite, is it not? You do not know the area well and might be lost."

"Indeed. I have never before been here and walked here. What is that way, other than the village?"

"Farms, more villages."

"Rabbit holes?"

"Those too."

"I already half sprained my ankle stepping into a rabbit hole, so I had best not go that way. I think I might head back to Kellynch Hall. Perhaps, if it does not keep you from your errand, you could show me the shortest way."

"Well, you could climb over this gate here," Anne gestured at a wooden gate in the hedge to her left.

"This gate? What would Sir William think of that?" Wentworth said in a low voice. "You had best not come with me, but I wonder which one of us he would follow if you did not. This is quite a lonely lane. I am not sure what is best."

Anne was a little surprised at the captain not knowing what was best. Heretofore he had never had any trouble on that score. "I was not really going anywhere, but why do you mention Sir William?"

"He was some distance behind you."

"He spoke to me earlier. Perhaps he means to ask me again whether I am not terribly sad about his imminent departure." She frowned when she considered the possibility that he had been following her ever since their conversation. It was good that she had not called at the rectory after all and that she had stopped only briefly to look at the house.

"Oh, yes," said Captain Wentworth. "He told me. I did not mention this to you before, but I hope you would know better than to believe any sweet-talking he does."

Anne was silent for a few moments. "Does he speak about that, or about me, to you?"

He gave a little shrug. "He marks his territory. Drops a few hints here and there about the particular understanding he and you have. I did not perceive one, so I was not particularly concerned, but if he is following you, he must be sensing that the heavier cannons are required."

"But that is horrible!" She had coloured as she spoke and the mention of cannons really clinched it. "I do not like to be spoken of."

He shrugged as if he did not feel he was to blame and wisely changed the subject. "I spoke to Mr Ingleby. He does not like showing his whole hand any more than Sir William does."

"Because it is all supposition on his part," said Anne, who could not bring herself to think otherwise. She leant against the gate and looked into the meadow. She had to tell him what she had concluded and dismissed. Yes, anything was better than speaking about herself.

Captain Wentworth climbed over it. He had glanced back to where he had last seen Sir William, but he had seen nothing. It did not mean the man was not spying on them. Still, it would take him another minute or two to get here. "That shed. Climb over and run to it."

"Run?" Anne was uncertain of his intentions, but she obeyed nevertheless. She guessed she should probably hide on its other side.

"Good," said the captain, joining her there. "Although this might make me look suspicious in his eyes, I doubt he will follow us hither."

"Does it not make me look suspicious?"

"No, for any disappearance of yours could only be at my instigation. In his opinion."

"Does he think we are on his trail?"

"Probably something else," he said vaguely, peering around the wooden shed. "He might think we crossed the meadow to that wood over there. It should be possible in a minute."

She did not care to think about what that something else was that she could be doing here with Captain Wentworth. She had an inkling it would make her blush. "What of Mr Ingleby?"

"Peculiar man. Suppose it is Sir William and it might well be, because he has also been to see Mr Ingleby, or the reverse. They have spoken. Mr Ingleby, I suspect, likes to stir up a little trouble here and there. Sir William also needs to find out who the woman is who allegedly married Sir Walter, because he was not told either."

"The woman needs to have money, otherwise there is no point." Anne briefly considered again the possibility of her father marrying a titled lady, but quickly dismissed it. He would not have kept silent about it if he had.

"Why?"

"He...well, I concluded that he would have married two kinds of women: titled or rich ones. I cannot see a titled lady going along with such a scheme, because she would not have benefited."

"Could there not have been a titled woman who loved him?"

"Stranger things have happened, of course, but it does not sound likely to me. Therefore, if there is a wife, she needs to have money, because she does not have a title."

Captain Wentworth pondered this reasoning. "Would Sir William draw that conclusion too if he knew your father well?"

"I cannot say when he would. But he did so after getting rid of Mrs Clay? He did not see Mr Ingleby before then, I mean?" she asked. "Why get rid of Mrs Clay?"

"Well, I do not like defending anyone in this case, but I must say she was the most likely candidate for a wife at a first glance, having been so much in the company of your sister and father. Perhaps he was not yet thinking along the lines of money then. He did not know Sir Walter well and perhaps he knew very little of his debts? Neither of your sisters seemed to have known about them."

"That type of ignorance defies all logic."

"But if I am not mistaken there was hardly any contact between your family and his until Sir Walter died. Sir William did probably not know about the debts. The first thing he would have seen was Mrs Clay's dubious position in the family."

"But one does not kill until one is certain of there being a purpose to the killing."

"Yes, that is puzzling," the captain admitted. "However, we are looking at this from too rational a viewpoint. We may need to take a more irrational, impulsive, passionate approach. She may have lied to tease him. And we should not forget that Mr Shepherd said she was expecting. If Sir William also knew, he might not have inquired further."

"How could he know?" Anne wondered. "Unless she told him or he saw it. And he could still not be certain he would be replaced as baronet by that child."

"No, but he could fear he was."

"He seems too -- well, not impulsive or reckless enough for that," she said with a look of doubt. Sir William had always struck her as calculating and somewhat reserved, not in manners but in openness.

"Perhaps she was asking for money. You pay me and I will not tell anyone you are not really the new baronet yet?" he tried.

"Would he take the risk?"

"Would he take the risk of her having a boy and then producing a marriage certificate? It could have been a girl, but it would have been a large risk."

"It is also a large risk to murder someone for nothing."

"Yes, that is the rational viewpoint," said Captain Wentworth. "Can you think of any wealthy women who were acquainted with your father?"

"Yes, Lady Russell," Anne said immediately, knowing he would come up with this name by himself before long. She had best mention it straight away and have him agree to dismiss it. "But I have already considered this and it cannot be her. It is absolutely out of the question."

"By all accounts they were good friends," Wentworth said in a thoughtful tone.

"But she is my godmother. I cannot believe she would do such a thing."

"She would refuse to help your father? And, indirectly, her goddaughter?"

"She would help, but not the other things you have suggested!" Anne's face showed a mortified blush. "She and I drew up plans for retrenchment. That was her sort of help. She would not involve me in that, ask my opinion, and then behind my back marry my father so he could pay his debts with her money. Let alone all the other things."

Captain Wentworth was perceptive. "The possible child?"

She was aghast. "She is like a mother to me. Would you believe it of your mother?"

"Do you think I am related to my sister and brother?"

"Yes."

"Well, then I must believe it of my mother. Who has, by the way, been dead for too long for me to remember anything at all about her principles regarding penniless baronets. The only thing Lady Russell has against her is her age, perhaps. How old is she? Is she past forty-six?"

"I do not exactly know. Why forty-six?"

"My mother gave birth to me when she was forty-six. It was not very good for her health, but that is another matter. I am in perfect health, so a future little baronet could also be in perfect health. My mother proved that it was possible."

"I still do not know," Anne said doubtfully. "One does not ask a lady's age. My mother would have been..." She thought for a second. "Forty-eight. I assume that as her friend, Lady Russell would be around the same age, although I had a friend at school who was three years older."

"Ask her how old she is," he advised her. "It is very important to our inquiries."

Anne watched Captain Wentworth peer around the shed again. "I cannot ask her! What if she asks me why? I could hardly tell her that you suspect her of...of...unspeakable things."

He looked back briefly. "They are in fact good and advantageous things if they are true. There he goes," he said. "What a coincidence that he is taking exactly the same route, which is not a well-travelled way, is it? That gate is rather an obstruction. I cannot imagine people climbing over it often."

Anne could only shake her head and move when he gestured for her to do so. They were moving out of sight, she supposed. After a minute she remember that she had something to tell him. "I have something to show you at Athena's bench. There are rocks there."

"Rocks?" His interest was piqued immediately.

"I have not examined them yet. One might be the weapon."

"So then we would know how and where. We need to know who."

Anne agreed, but she did not see how they could progress any faster except by asking someone and having him admit he did it. And that was hardly going to happen.

"But we cannot go to Aphrodite's bench now."

"Athena's," she corrected. "But they are near each other."

"It would look suspicious if you came across me and we went straight to that rock. He is following you for a reason, I suppose, or is he thinking of proposing?"

She started. "Proposing?"

"Yes, does he suspect you of being on his trail or are you simply difficult to capture?"

"I am tempted to say the first," she said with a blush. "Although I do not know how or why he could think so. I have not spoken to him about the case at all. Have you?"

"No. He has only spoken of it as an accident and I did not change his mind. It is only our prowling around the park that could have made him curious."

Anne had sat down on a log and wondered what they could do. "Curiosity is a natural reaction. Very understandable. It does not prove his guilt."

"Unfortunately. And unfortunately we do not know where Sir William is now. He disappeared into the wood, but we need to wait a while before we can leave this place. He may yet come out."