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26th December 1812, Thursday

Dear Sir,

I am aware that by writing to you this letter, I am skirting the lines of propriety.

I shall not dance around the subject.

We are in need of your help.

Lord knows, it should not be your responsibility to care for us, and yet, I know that if I were to go to papa with this, he would be just as powerless as we are.

You are to be our brother, and you love Lizzy and as much as I hate for this to be my first correspondence with you, I can think of no other person who could come to our aid.

This morning, my little sister Lydia told me she was with child.

The man she claims to be the father is no other than Goerge Wickham.

From his very first entrance into our society, Mr Wickham had been nothing but charming and gentlemanly.

Indeed, it was not many days before he gained the favour of all in Meryton.

All of us had been mistaken in his character and it was not until Lizzy herself told us of your dealings with the man and his reprehensible actions did we start avoiding his company.

I am regretful to say that by then, it was too late.

My sister is silly and irresponsible and ignorant but she is a gentlewoman, sir, and though her actions were inexcusable, I am certain Lydia would not have let the situation get so far out of hand had she not been assured of his affections and his constancy.

I do not write this to justify or to even defend her actions but to attempt to persuade you to not think the very worst of her.

Lydia is but fifteen and a very stupid, stupid girl, but she is not immoral.

She has been spoiled by my mother and largely ignored by my father for almost all her life but she is not promiscuous.

Nobody knows about her condition but me.

I dare not tell anyone.

I know by writing this letter I ask too much of you considering we are not yet family.

And I know that I further overstep by asking you to not forsake my dear sister Lizzy at this time, for she is all that is good and kind and has tried her best to discipline us younger sisters more than anyone else.

I know you will not, for I have seen, perhaps more than anyone else but Lizzy herself, how much you love her.

And yet, neither I nor anyone else would blame you if you could not forgive our family this transgression, nor will we bear you any ill will.

Even if it is to be for a short duration, your kindness towards me has made you in my heart, the best brother.

Sincerely,

Mary Bennet.

Darcy paled as he read the letter and was sure he would have staggered had he not already been sitting in one of the armchairs in the library.

He must have made some sort of sound because Richard, sitting across from him with a copy of Robinson Crusoe, looked up and exclaimed at the sight of his white face,

“Good God, man! What has happened?”

The Bennet’s seal had initially made Darcy think the letter had been from his intended, the formal salutations when he had opened the missive had made him wonder if he had managed to somehow vex her even while being a hundred or so miles away from her, but then he had read the rest of the correspondence, and it was as if somebody had doused him with ice cold water.

Darcy was numb .

“Darce?” Richard called to him again.

The urgency in his tone was enough to bring Darcy out of his stupor, and he immediately stood up, raking a trembling hand through his hair,

“I must for Longbourn this instant.” He announced agitatedly.

“Is it Miss Elizabeth? Has something happened to her?”

“No. No, Elizabeth is fine.” At least as far as he knew.

The letter seemed to suggest nobody but Mary Bennet and Lydia herself were aware of the latter’s condition.

But the letter was also written at least three days ago, and God only knows what has happened in that time, “It is Wickham.” He continued almost absent-mindedly.

“Wickham?” Richard straightened in his chair.

Darcy, feeling unequal to sharing the letter’s content himself, handed his cousin the missive.

Richard’s eyes read through it with impressive speed, and at the end of it, he rubbed his ashen face with his good hand, “By Jove.” He muttered.

Each moment that passed, Darcy’s shock was giving way to fury.

He paced along the the carpet across from Richard even as thoughts and solutions raced through his mind, being processed and discarded at an alarming speed,

“What do you mean to do?” Richard asked him hesitantly, “They are ruined.”

“Not yet, they are not.” Darcy responded hotly, “And they will not be if I have anything to say about it.”

Richard was quiet for a minute longer, then asked again, “What do you mean to do? ”

“I mean to leave for Longbourn this instant. As for after, I cannot know the situation until I have reached.” Darcy stopped, turned to his cousin with a beseeching gaze, “I would beg you to make excuses for me to your parents and Georgiana. I have no time to take my leave.”

Richard stood up, “Nonsense. I will come with you.”

“You can’t.” Darcy shook his head, “Your hand is not well enough for you to ride horseback, and taking a carriage will be too slow. I must make haste. I have not another moment to lose.”

Darcy could see Richard struggle with his reasoning, for it was both sound and inconvenient.

Whenever Wickham was involved, Darcy himself would prefer his cousin by his side, but this time circumstances made it impossible.

“You get a head start.” Richard nodded at the end, “I will make your excuses and then follow after you in a carriage. This problem will take more than a couple of days to solve. I will have your trunks packed and your valet informed.”

Darcy nodded back, “I do not have to tell you that you can not tell-”

“Anybody, I know. But especially Georgiana. Do not fret. Just go.”

Darcy did not dally another moment, and as soon as he was changed and had his horse saddled, he was gone.

25th December 1812, Wednesday

Mary has been living in a constant state of anxiety ever since Lydia told her about her condition.

Lydia herself was now always pale and quiet.

Mama had attributed her unusual behaviour and what could only be morning sickness to a rather unfortunate and ill-timed flu and had confined her youngest daughter to her rooms lest the bride-to-be get infected and ruin the wedding.

All around her, people were merry with excitement and exuberance.

Not only was Lizzy to be the first of them to marry, but it was also Christmas, and to celebrate like they do every year, the Gardiners had come with their four little children, intending to stay till Elizabeth’s wedding.

Elizabeth herself had just that morning gotten a package from her betrothed which included a letter that stated his tentative intention of returning for Hertfordshire right after New Years and a gift box, which when opened, held a tome, with a beautifully designed cover, on the meaning of flowers, written completely in French and with such intricate illustrations of plants and flora inside that the two eldest Bennet sisters, Kitty and their aunt spent almost an hour just gasping and marvelling over the sketches.

It was a thoughtful gift, for over all things, Lizzy loved nature, and so was the inscription on the front page- something about beauty being for the eyes but charm being for the soul, for it was a truth universally acknowledged that out of all the Bennet sisters, Elizabeth was the one that possessed the most charm and arch sweetness.

It was a quality of her that was just as attractive to people as Jane's beauty was hers.

And though Mrs Bennet had scoffed at her daughter for getting so happy over parchment and ink (for in her opinion, Mr Darcy should’ve at least had the good sense to send perhaps a ring or a hair comb as a betrothal gift) it was clear to all, that to Elizabeth herself, Le langage des fleurs was more dear than a tiara embedded with diamonds.

With each day that passed, Elizabeth’s joy grew and her face glowed with anticipation. She worked on her wedding dress and trousseau, she exchanged letters and gifts with her Fitzwilliam with regularity and she was not at all daunted by the idea of leaving home, or starting over in an unfamiliar place, surrounded by unfamiliar people .

Mary would’ve envied her sister for her confidence if circumstances were different. As it was, all she felt was pity.

Elizabeth did not know that with each day that passed her and her family’s ruin only grew more eminent. Soon, Lydia would not be able to hide her bump under flowy dresses, and if her sickness continued, even Mrs Bennet, who had given birth to five children in a fairly short duration of time, would start recognizing the signs. Mary hoped fervently that writing to Mr Darcy had been the right thing to do, but even in this matter, doubts quickly festered her mind.

What if her letter got awry and reached the wrong hands? In her haste, she hadn’t taken the precaution of shortening names to initials and was now kicking herself over the oversight.

But what if he did get the letter and decided he wanted nothing to do with their family? Mr Darcy was an honourable man, Mary knew, and he had been one of the very few who had preferred her company over her sisters (Lizzy excluded, of course) but how could any sane man want to attach himself to a family he knows is inevitably going to be ruined? How could she expect him to do so?

And yet, he was her only hope.

28th December 1812, Saturday

Darcy could hear children shrieking as he rode across the border fence and into Longbourn's grounds.

Laughter and happy squeals coming from the direction of the woods made him pause and dismount just as a boy, perhaps a little younger than eight, ran out of a grove of trees, a little girl of similar years following behind him,

"Come, Lucy! We need to hide before cousin Lizzy finishes counting! "

It was Yuletide and it seemed as if the Bennets celebrated the holiday with their extended family just like the Darcys did.

Darcy presumed the children belonged to the Gardiners, Elizabeth's London relations in trade. Other than them and the Phillips who did not have any offsprings, Darcy hadn't heard his intended speak of any other relatives.

The two children ran across the open field towards an outershed used to hold tools and extra firewood.

Darcy grinned and then changed his direction from towards the house and instead walked to the woods where the children had come from.

It did not take him much time to find Elizabeth, standing in front of a large oak tree with her back to him counting down from a hundred.

She was wearing a woollen hunter green dress and was wrapped in a velvet cherry red capelet.

Her bonnet was tossed aside (Darcy did not think Elizabeth was very fond of those things) under the tree and her hair was fighting valiantly trying to free itself from the simple updo she had wrestled it in.

She made a charming picture and despite the unfortunate circumstances that had led him to more or less race to Longbourn, Darcy decided to take a moment and just watch her silently.

Observing Elizabeth Bennet was one of his favourite pastimes after all.

Lizzy finished counting, then whirled around ready to search through the woods for her cousins when her gaze instead landed on Mr Darcy.

Her eyes widened,

“Fitzwilliam!” She exclaimed, elated at the sight of his beautiful face,

Darcy grinned, all boyish eagerness and dimples, and in the next moment Elizabeth was in his arms, being lifted off her toes and twirled around as she laughed gaily at his antics.

He placed her back on her feet only to capture her face in between his two large, warm hands and Lizzy sighed like a dolt at the tenderness shining in his eyes ,

“You are a vision, my Elizabeth.” He murmured, and placed a kiss on her forehead, “I have missed you fiercely.”

“So have I.” She responded, placing both her hands over his, “Desperately.”

This flagrant honesty earned her another kiss, this one on the nose.

Thrilled at his affections and yet dissatisfied, Elizabeth took it upon herself to stretch up onto her tiptoes and catch his lips with hers.

Their first kiss made Darcy feel weightlessly untethered, his mind blank but for everything that was Elizabeth.

He sighed against her sweet mouth, and went almost boneless when she moaned softly in response.

Elizabeth was an eager participant, if not exactly experienced, and Darcy smiled when she stretched up even higher in an attempt to further close the miniscule distance between them.

He shifted his hold on her to wrap his arms around her waist instead and in tandem, hers went around his shoulders, every part of them in contact.

They broke away when breathing became more important than kissing, and then too, they only parted till there were but a few scant inches between them.

Elizabeth felt dazed, struck dumb by all that she was feeling and Darcy did not seem to be faring any better.

He blinked slowly, then gave his intended a look so very heated, Elizabeth blushed.

“Hello.” He whispered, his voice so very, very warm.

Elizabeth smiled beguilingly, “Hello, my darling.”

Darcy pressed his lips together tightly, for it would not do to beam like an idiot at her every term of endearment for him.

Any more smiling and he was in danger of becoming Jane Bennet’s protegé.

He could not control his flush as easily though, and saw it the moment Elizabeth’s eyes brightened in glee that she had noticed his blush.

She said nothing, but hopped a little to hug him .

Darcy laughed, but hugged her back tightly, and for a long moment, the two stayed still in that fashion, basking in the other’s presence.

“I am so happy you have come early. I was not expecting you till after New Years.”

Darcy stiffened, her words were as efficient in cooling his ardour as someone dousing him over the head with a bucket of cold water.

He pulled away from her, nudging her arms gently to loosen their grip.

Elizabeth looked at him confusedly but obediently took a step back.

Now that Mr Darcy was not smiling so radiantly, Elizabeth could more readily see the signs of unrest and perturbation on his countenance.

She cupped his haggard face in her hand,

“Fitzwilliam, what is wrong?”

Darcy sighed, tucked a stray curl behind Elizabeth’s ear, “Your sister Mary summoned me.” He confessed, “Elizabeth, we need to talk to your father. ”