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All the Pleasures Prove By | Â Chapter I "Come live with me and be my love, and we will all the pleasures prove." - Christopher Marlowe (1564-1593) Miss Elizabeth Bennet had never fully imagined that Pemberley was such a grand estate, yet when she had first laid eyes upon it, its vast size and impressive majesty had quite instantly taken away the breath within her ever-inquisitive breast. The determined young woman had been of a mind to think unkindly of the place. Its Master's ill manners when she had known him in Hertfordshire had left no hint of affections or good thoughts upon her heart, whether he was of means or not, but Elizabeth found at first seeing such a happily situated plot of earth that her spirit could uphold few ill feelings to either splendid manor or single man. When he spoke to the friends traveling through the North Country with Miss Bennet, Mr. Darcy spoke obligingly. It was for him to prove pleasure and assurances of welcome to the woman of his admiration, and to her friends, and he did so by the demonstration of his easiness, contrary to the character of the man that Elizabeth had stowed away in her brain. When the gentleman inquired of Miss Bennet herself as to whether she approved of his dear Pemberley, her eager and agreeable reply gratified his wounded heart, and for once in some time Mr. Darcy truly did feel some ease. From almost that day on, the connection of Fitzwilliam Darcy and Elizabeth Bennet was bent on admiration and esteem, although they, each one in turn did not always know it. In one manner or another each did their utmost to prove pleasures to the other for the sake of amends to their earlier ill conduct. They practiced such particulars in courtship, and then in marriage, and they made great endeavors to live by them, for it was not to be said that a union between two people who differed so often in their opinions, was ever easy. Pleasures proven to each other they did accomplish, as truthful friends, and as gentle lovers, until that is, the day that they were blessed as devoted parents, for gradually and inadvertently they put aside their own desires for the sake of the tender needs of their children. In the very next grand manor in that region of Derbyshire lived the former Miss Georgiana Darcy who had recently been wed to a very agreeable man. The entire neighborhood thought her privileged; and although she had always been a very fortunate young woman with a noble family to her name and the copious sum of thirty thousand pounds in dowry, folks thought her far luckier for having captured the fancy of the humble, yet dashing Mr. Ethan Bristoe-Hart. He adored her, there was no denying--and it did not matter to Brit Hart that his new wife was of a contrary character than his. Georgiana was often inhibited in spirit, and he was not. She was inclined to be quite serious in nature, and he was not. In truth they resembled another couple dear to their hearts, that of their relations Mr. and Mrs. Darcy, though quite the opposite husband and wife, to be sure. Together the young couple were not however, as versed in the skills of proving pleasures to one another, as were their relatives, for they had not had as tottery a liaison as the Darcys. They had pleased each other from the very beginning, in mind, person, and manner, and all that remained of such a whirl of fancy for Ethan Bristoe-Hart and Georgiana Darcy was to live happily ever after as a contented and dutiful husband and wife. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Darcy looked about the grounds of his home for a quiet place to take refuge for a time. For the past few days he had felt vexed and put upon each instance that someone had demanded a moment of his time. It was the appointed occasion of year when farm tenants were obliged to settle their accounts to the estate that sustained them. Mr. Rawlings, Pemberley's steward always tended to most of this business for he was a very trustworthy man, but he made no resolute decisions on the providence of those who were dependent upon the great estate without the consultation of the Master, oftentimes to Darcy's great annoyance. The Darcy children also commanded their father's time, for it was late summer and their spirits ran high. They knew that the winter months in Derbyshire would be long, and they would be made to remain indoors well into the springtime. Their interruptions came in applications to accompany him if they knew their father was to set foot out on the grounds, and it also seemed to Darcy that they quarreled and sparred with each other quite often, in their pursuits for the desired attentions. Through all of this Darcy had found that a minute usually became an hour, and an hour became three, and he had accomplished nothing that he had originally intended the whole of each day. His fair mood declined, and it had come to this--a want of seclusion and a peaceful opportunity to ponder his own slighted pleasures. The fine gravel that lined the promenade crunched under the weight of Darcy's boots as he strode by the orangery, and he glanced through the windows to see if his wife was to be found within. The orangery was one place that Elizabeth did like to go in her own quests for peace, for it was removed from the house itself, and the chance for solitude within its bright and cheerful walls was afforded quite easily. One could hide themselves away, tucked back in the corner on a wooden bench behind the foliage of the tender plants growing within the structure, however Elizabeth was not to be found there. A little farther lay a formal garden of roses, equally as secluded, hidden by the orangery itself. It was not easily overseen from the house, and it was surrounded on three of its four square sides by formidable Gothic walls. The roses received full light, however there was an alcove shaded by old trees, grown extraordinary in shape and size over time. This is where Elizabeth sat, her hands carefully clasped atop the cloth of her skirts, as she pondered the last remaining petals of a pale and withering bloom. "I have been found out," she sighed upon Darcy's approach. Her husband stopped before her, hearing what he perceived to be her displeasure in catching sight of him. "I am sorry," he spoke, as if his honor had been injured, "I will not impose, if that is what you wish." "Oh husband," Elizabeth exhaled uneasily at her own ill temper, "that is not what I meant. I would happily see you--that is if your intentions are to sit with me and be a heartening companion." "But?" Darcy arched a guarded brow. "But," Elizabeth smiled patiently, "if you are here to enlighten me of some insurrection among the household or our children, I shall surely wish you gone." Darcy nearly cringed at his wife's lack of temperance. "Well," he replied as he sat down next to her, impertinence forming on his lips in an attempt to tease her, "I have not heard of any insurgence as yet--but the day is very young." Elizabeth's smile dulled to a look of bewilderment, realizing as she did that Darcy had oftentimes had a talent for making her feel poorer in spirit with his blunt candor when she longed to feel better. Even so, at most times she did admire him for his frankness, and she reached out her hand and laid the palm of it on top of his. "I was feeling very cross," Darcy continued, "so I came out here, in what now is apparently the very like notion as you." "I am at the end of my sensibilities, Fitzwilliam. Prudence did fret this whole morning because she was made to take a bath, and Christian," she heaved a sigh, "Christian did..." "I do not want to hear it," Darcy cut his wife short of her tale with an outstretched palm before her astonished eyes. "Perhaps later on, when I am of a more peremptory mind, but not now. Neither of us is of a humor to ponder it at present. Let us find some suitable conversation or simply sit here in silence." "Suitable conversation?" Elizabeth laughed just a little at his choice of words, for the idea of what was right and properly discussed between the parents of four young and mischievous children did make her wonder. "Yes," Darcy replied. "Like those things which were said between us when we had very few cares." "'Tis difficult to remember such a time," Elizabeth was grimly honest and a little suspicious of Darcy's want for ignorance. "I know--but not impossible, I am sure. There were moments," Darcy leaned back against the rampart wall, "when all that was exchanged between us were whispers of passions. Can you not remember those?" "I remember the kindness of a man," Elizabeth sighed, her spirits so low at the moment that she had forgotten the mutual connection of love and esteem between them. "Is that all?" Darcy was forlorn. "Kindness? I had thought that there had always been much more between us." "There has been," she admitted humbly. "Yes." Darcy thoughts turned inward. He was shocked by Elizabeth's terse words, yet more so by her unfeeling manner in seemingly referring to their union as a 'has been'. "What did we talk of then?" his face grimaced as if the strain of recalling such distance memories pained him exceedingly. A rebellious smile appeared on Elizabeth's face, and she nuzzled up against her husband's tense shoulder. He did not move or return her embrace, for he found himself more annoyed than before. "Do you remember the debate we once had on fashion?" By the anxious blush, which overtook Darcy's features, Elizabeth knew that he did. "Georgiana had chosen a very beautiful gown for a dinner party, and you disapproved of it." "I disapproved," he rejoined, "for the cut of it, if I recall, left very little to a girl's respectability and not much to a man's imagination." Elizabeth cast her eyes sideways at him. "But the cut of it, my dear, was very similar to a gown of mine, and you had no objections at all to seeing me wearing it." "Ah, yes," Darcy acknowledged with a compensated sigh, "the recollection of that row is swiftly coming back to me. What was good for a wife was not good for a sister. What was the conclusion--my shallow display of principles was not to be born? All this I came to know, whether or not I was the Master of this house." Darcy relaxed his composure and chuckled, and then laid his arm over Elizabeth's shoulders. He whispered near to her ear, leaning in to place a kiss on her cheek, "Oh yes, my love--those were the good days." Elizabeth's laughter rang off of the walls surrounding the rose garden, with Darcy's in accompaniment and for a few moments at least, both husband and wife had forgotten about their present predicaments. Darcy slid his body down on the bench, so that he and his wife came face to face. "Now I remember why I cannot recall our conversations," he whispered truthfully, "for you did most of the talking and I was perfectly content to take pleasure from hearing your lovely laugh and to silently marvel at your beauty." "And I, sir," Elizabeth replied in a breathy elegy, "was ever content to have it so." Longed for silence overtook the pair, and they took all the pleasure they could derive from an ever so brief gaze into the loving eyes of the other. Darcy kissed Elizabeth, and then his conscience waned, for he had hoped that what Elizabeth had said was true. He had always longed to know precisely of her contentment--with her situation, and with himself as a companion, and there were times in their lives together that he had doubted the facts before him. "I hope ladies fashions never change," Darcy muttered after a time, and although Elizabeth was amused by his words, she had to wonder why he had chosen that moment to part from their embrace in such a show of melancholy. "Mama!" an informant's small voice shrilled, nettling the nerves of two diffident lovers. "Mrs. White needs you!" Hannah wailed. "Prudence is crying most severely for wanting you, and Christian and Andrew are playing tower of London and shouting 'off with her head!'" Elizabeth glanced at Darcy once again. He said nothing of comfort, nor did he prove his part in their union by an offer of assistance as he simply looked down at his hands clasped before him. A disappointed wife left her ambivalent husband for the trouble that ensued within their house. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ That evening Fitzwilliam Darcy settled himself into a comfortable chair in the Stag Parlour of Smythdon Manor. This was Brit Hart's haven, for he had come to Derbyshire in search of a plot of land, perhaps with a herd of deer or two residing within its preserve. If it was fine game he sought, Brit Hart certainly found it in the form of the Red and Fallow Deer and wild sheep and cattle that freely roamed the South Pennine fells. The room was masculine in every detail, from its dark and sturdy mahogany furnishings to its walls dressed with the prizes of game stalked and snared. It was far different from the rest of the aristocratic house, which in such a short time, Georgiana had outfitted to suit her own feminine tastes. In this one room however a chap could sit and smoke his meerschaum pipe, partake of a good glass of port, and be left to the business of a man. It was a fine room for a fine gent, and its earthy colors and multihued pennants from contests past mingled well with Brit Hart's jaunty sea-green eyes and his tousled locks of auburn hair. It was in this room that many an excellent hunt was planned, and many a gentlemanly bargain struck with only a handshake to settle the arrangement. It was in just this room that a man could ponder the differences between himself and the gentler sex. "I am very glad, Darcy," Brit Hart said as he sat across from his friend and brother-in-law, "that Georgiana and I have the pleasure of having you all in our home. It is only right that we reciprocate your fine hospitality now and then." "Right," Darcy chuckled, finding humor in the situation. "I would say that it is blasted brave of you, Brit. One does not often receive invitations to dine in good company--with their young brood in tow." "Brood or no, Darcy--I am pleased to be a part of your family." A glimmer of pride flashed in Darcy's eyes upon hearing of the satisfaction of his friend. Darcy had to admit that the gentleman had fit very well into their family, and Georgiana appeared as contented as Darcy had ever hoped for. "And how do you and my sister get on, now that you are married--what, barely a month?" Darcy grinned. "Amazingly well!" Brit Hart was eager to reply, and easy to smile his pleasure. "I have never been so happy," he blushed, "and I am well pleased that your sister is so attentive a wife. She is not all that shy, you know." Darcy swirled the claret within his glass and leaned forward to taunt his friend. "I take it by such an exhibition of felicity, that you have not had occasion to have engaged in your first quarrel?" Now it was Brit Hart's turn to chuckle. "We have not," he replied in good authority, "nor are we likely to engage in one soon, for we are perfectly matched--perfectly." "Oh come now," Darcy was incredulous, yet still in a fine, amiable humor. "Not even a small disagreement can escape even those so perfectly matched." His friend shook his head in reply, and Darcy admittedly was in awe. "Elizabeth and I did not have to be married to have a good row--we were very good at it from an early acquaintance." After a moment of silence Darcy nurtured a sigh, a distant look upon his features, "I do remember what it was like--to be so happy and contented--and so pleased with one another." "You are not happy at present?" Brit Hart inquired, his lips pursed together with some concern on hearing such a sober confession from his friend. "No, no," Darcy swiftly interrupted any ill speculation, "it is not that at all. It is only that somewhere along the way..." Darcy's voice trailed off to nothingness as his mind thought back over the course of a decade of marriage. Brit Hart was loath to interrupt his friend, although one could plainly see the anxiousness inscribed upon his face to know of what his brother spoke. After a moment of soundless stammering to find the words to encourage Darcy to divulge such mystery, he finally whispered, "What is it then?" Darcy glanced up and he grinned when he met the gentleman's concern. "You know, Brit--all that newly wed passion and romance does not last forever, however much we would wish it. Your life does take a turn, and when you take on children to the mix--there does not seem to be opportunity for those pleasures once enjoyed." Brit Hart sat back in his chair, somewhat mortified on hearing the truth. "Do not tell me that," he exhaled incredulously. "All that I have ever been as a husband has been a newly wed one. I should say I do not truly want to know what comes next." Darcy smiled, "Elizabeth and I can barely find the opportunity for a conversation in private these days. Even when we send the children to bed each night there is the constant disruption of one being frightened of the dark or another in dire need of a glass of water. By the time all is settled within the house, it seems a pity not to take advantage of the peace and go to sleep directly. Elizabeth is oftentimes worried because one child is feeling ill, and I am most times aggravated by the unruly behavior of another. No, if my wife and I do speak at all it generally involves one of the things I have just mentioned. Discourse of parents--not lovers--and that is the fact of it." "I shan't believe it--you are making quite a joke, Darcy." Darcy laughed plainly, "Then believe as you will Brit, and remain blissfully ignorant--for as long as you can--and I shall see the day come to say I told you so." Brit Hart extended his hand to his friend, in gentlemanly wager. "That you shall not, Darcy." ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Supper that evening was splendid, the fish fresh and pure, caught that day from a fast running trout stream, and the venison the finest to come from the land that anyone had ever tasted. The dining table had been laid out perfectly and the children had wondered at the placement of three glasses of varying height at the tops of their plates, and more flatware of various shapes than they were accustomed to seeing at their own daily table. Young Christian had usually done his best to emulate the good manners that his father possessed, but he did not always get it right. He waited as patiently as a hungry boy thought fit until he saw which set of silver his father was to pick up to eat his fish. Darcy however was far too engaged in conversation with his brother-in-law to delve directly into his meal, and Christian's concentration tottered on the edge of doing what was expected by his venerable father, and whimpering to be fed. Brit Hart's eye caught sight of the lad; the boy's determined face intent on staring at every move Darcy made, as if to will his father into the desired activity, and quickly. The gentleman chuckled at the sight, and obligingly for Christian's sake he waggled a finger in the direction of the correct place setting before him, showing the boy what was proper, yet never disrupting his conversation. Brit Hart was satisfied with the evening, and with the accomplishment of his wife as Mistress of the house. "A very big hart he was," the gentleman proclaimed when Andrew complimented the meal. "Did you know that is what our red deer are called--the male is not a buck, but a hart?" "Just like you!" Andrew giggled to encourage his garrulous uncle. "Just like me," Brit Hart laughed favorably at the fanciful analogy. "It is this time of year that you can hear the roar of the red deer through the hills in the still of the evening. So proud and noble, heads held high, the points of antlers seeming to touch the tops of the trees." The children were enchanted by their uncle's discourse, for Brit Hart could tell a very good tale, far better than their father could. He in turn enjoyed their youthful attention and enthusiasm and always favored them with his good imagination and fanciful flare. "Do they really roar?" Hannah asked with wide-eyed curiosity and awe. "Like lions and tigers do?" Christian and Andrew looked to one another in ominous speculation, and Prudence, seeing the anxious faces of her siblings, scrambled into Elizabeth's lap and drew her little body closer to her mother. "They do," Brit Hart replied in a quick clip, "when they have won their battles and they call out to their mates, 'come live with me' and the ladies of the party cannot resist such might." Elizabeth found her brother-in-law's conversation diverting, and she giggled her own enthusiasm for such tales as she snuggled to her young daughter. The children urged their uncle on with eager whispers to continue. "Good god," Darcy groaned, then chuckled at such whimsy, "leave it to you to romanticize a forest beast. Brit you have quite gone over the top with this sentimental drivel. My sister may swoon over it, but I really must insist that you cease." Brit Hart never gave much heed to his friend's inclination for reality, and in turn laughed heartily at Darcy. "Oh Darcy--you quite take the amusement out of it!" "Is that so?" Darcy regaled. "I am all for the amusement of it, Brit--but you do not put them in their beds." This he said and nodded his head in the direction of his children. "It is I who must suffer the consequences when they proclaim that they cannot sleep for hearing the roars of phantom red deer all through the night." Upon hearing such fatherly reason, Brit Hart shrugged in overthrow and let the matter go. The children were disappointed at not having heard more, but no one was as displeased as Elizabeth was. Her eyes looked up at Darcy as she studied him in his success, and she thought to herself how often it was of late that she disapproved of his staunch reasoning. He had never been exceedingly playful in conversation or deed, to his children or to her, yet there had been times when he had surprised Elizabeth with his merriment, though admittedly those instances could be few and far between. That night, in the carriage, on the ride back to Pemberley house, Elizabeth recalled her annoyance with Darcy's manners. She was loath to approach the subject with him, for it was not becoming for a wife to censure her husband. Her feelings however oftentimes commanded her nerve. With Prudence sound asleep in Elizabeth's arms, Hannah and Andrew slumbering next to her on the seat, and Christian laying across Darcy's shoulder and gently murmuring, she felt she could speak her peace. "Was it truly necessary to disrupt Mr. Hart's conversation at supper, Fitzwilliam?" Darcy was startled from his drowsy gaze out of the carriage glass. He stared at the shadow of his wife's figure in the darkness, and his cheeks became warm with the fervor of reproof. "Do you mean Brit's absurd allusion to those red deer?" he asked. "Yes," Elizabeth replied abruptly. "Then, yes--I felt that it was necessary," he replied. "I should not always have to agree with him--though we are brothers. I take it that you do not approve?" "If I may be so bold to do so--then yes, I do not approve." Darcy bit down on his upper lip, being somewhat unaccustomed to Elizabeth's blatant censure of him. She had been known to disagree with him on occasion, and that was something that he had thought strengthened their feelings for each other and therefore their marriage. He had always taken some pleasure in knowing that she was not a meek wife, avoiding confrontation at all costs therefore compromising her own character, and for just that reason Elizabeth had become the object of Darcy's desire. Of late however, Darcy felt that Elizabeth had something in deeper design on her mind, and his own patience was thin already from his dealings concerning money and the give and take of it. "Elizabeth," he sighed, "whatever is on your mind, have liberty to speak it. Do not leave me to wonder why you are angry." "I am not angry," she replied incredulously. "I simply think that things could be different now and then." "Things?" Darcy inquired somewhat bitterly, and Christian stirred upon his shoulder. He lowered his voice and soothed the boy back into slumber by a few pats on the back, asking, "By things, do you mean me?" Elizabeth glared at him intently before letting her ill spirits come out into the open. "Why can you not be easy--why can you not be more like Brit Hart?" The coach came to a halt in the courtyard of Pemberley house, and the footman approached the door with a torch in hand. The light it gave off illuminated the interior of the carriage; at least enough for Elizabeth to glimpse the taut yet disciplined features of her husband's face looking at her, reckoning a reticent yet astonished riposte. Â Chapter II Brit Hart sat in his study that night, leaning back in repose on a fine leather chair, his polished boots propped up on the footstool before him, and the London Gazette he had received in the post that day deftly held open in his hands. He was quite at ease, reading all the news to be had from society before retiring to his chambers; yet now and then he lowered the paper to consider the connections of that evening. Darcy's comments had somewhat unsettled him, not so much in the fact that Darcy had teased him about his newly wedded bliss or the marriage spat that even common sense told him would one day be inevitable; but that to Brit Hart, his new brother and sister had looked rather woeful together. Georgiana tapped softly upon the door of the study, and her husband's green eyes peered over the top of the leaflets of paper as he pronounced in his own Cornish-bred lilt the words, "Come in." Georgiana did just that, and after she smiled sweetly at her beloved mate, she glanced about his precious room, her brows having cause to arch, quite on the sly, at such virile ostentation. Mr. Hart's study, though a matter of opinion, was not at all his wife's idea of good breeding, yet he had let her have her say over his house since their marriage, therefore she could not deny him this one particular whimsy. The new husband grinned and he patted his hand upon his knee and Georgiana settled herself upon his lap in a private moment of affection. Brit Hart tossed down the newspaper to the floor and with a banded rollick consistent with the state of newly wedded joy they smiled at each other and giggled, their noses pressing together, their lips touching for a lingering lover's kiss. "I am so very happy," Georgiana sighed, once liberated from such an intimate embrace. Brit Hart sighed as well, although it was not the sound of a contented man, and the frown that overcame his sculpted features, gave Georgiana cause for concern. "Your brother and sister," he whispered, "have they ever been unhappy?" "What do you mean, Ethan?" "Unhappy," he continued with a peculiar grimace. "Unhappy in marriage?" "I do not know," Georgiana replied, now quite uneasy. "I do not want to know of such things. I have always thought the two of them very much in love--though I do know of one instance, upon the loss of a child, that they were both very low." "Dear me," Brit Hart was dismayed, "I had not known." Georgiana nodded her head sadly. "You will not say anything of it to my brother, Ethan--will you?" she inquired in earnest upon the realization of what she had done. "He should surely not understand my meddling. He will think me an idle gossip." "Is it gossip when you tell such things to your own spouse?" Brit Hart now grinned in wonder of the assumption. "I never thought to keep secrets from one another--you know that. I have told you nearly everything of my family. Besides my dear, who shall hear you? Surely not these proud beasts--for even if they did, they shall never be persuaded to repeat the tale." Georgiana's glance drifted up to examine the head of the poor, extinct red deer, which hung on the wall above them. She gave a shudder, and then buried her face against her husband's undaunted shoulder. "Oh Ethan--those creatures frighten me at times! They follow me with their eyes, they do." Brit Hart snorted a chuckle. "Nonsense, my lovely Georgiana," he paused to kiss her fears away tenderly, "'Tis not possible--and besides, not a thing shall ever harm you, as long as I live and breathe." Georgiana was satisfied in knowing that what he said was the truth, and she did believe most wholeheartedly that he would always take good care of her. She was curious however as to why her husband took such a great interest in the liaison of her brother and his wife. "What gives you reason to think that Elizabeth and my brother are unhappy?" she pouted, as if still a young girl, and one who had not gotten her own way. Ethan Bristoe-Hart shifted his eyes away from his wife's gaze, ashamed of himself at having been caught at gossiping. "Forgive me, my dear. I did not say that they were unhappy--I simply asked if they had ever been. Your brother does claim that things between a husband and a wife change over time. I had the impression that it was their own marriage to which he referred, for he was somewhat melancholy when he said it." "Perhaps things do change, Ethan." Georgiana sat up taller, resembling more of the woman she now was. "As much as I love my nephews and nieces, they are all very quick in wit and exceedingly precocious, and therefore very trying to one's patience," she proclaimed in good authority. "In that respect they do remind me very much of my brother, though I do adore him without a doubt, but it would not surprise me if Elizabeth did grow weary of being surrounded by such attitudes by five fold." Brit Hart was amused at such an observation by Georgiana, and he was somewhat astonished at her prejudiced verdict. Although their union was up to now very brief, he had never known his wife to take such a stand on anything, let alone declare, so staunchly and wordily in fact, the troubles of a woman. He was indeed quite smitten by it. "Perhaps," Georgiana then grinned prettily, hoping to entice her husband's good opinion and attempt to lure his mind from their family relations, "if they were to be left to themselves for a time, I am sure Mr. and Mrs. Darcy would be as utterly content as we are." "That is the answer!" Brit Hart exclaimed, almost tossing poor Georgiana off of his lap in his enthusiastic revelation. "The answer?" Georgiana queried, wrapping her arms swiftly around his neck as to not be flung to the ground, "Pray, what was the question, Ethan?" Brit Hart placed his hands upon his wife's innocent cheeks. "The answer to their woes," he admitted, "your brother and your sister. We shall take their children for a time--just enough time to give them back that which they have most assuredly lost." Georgiana's eyes widened in distress, though she took great care not to let her husband know her precise thoughts to his plan. She was sure that her brother would never go along with the idea, and even if he did so, Georgiana was certain that Elizabeth would not, so there really was no cause for any sort of alarm. "The six of us," Brit Hart grinned like a child, himself, "we will not spend a trifling moment, with walks in the woods and stories to be told--just think of how we shall laugh. It shall be the same as being with my family again, like being with my own brothers. We shall all have a grand time together, Georgiana, and you my dear will know the bliss it is to come from a very large family!" ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Darcy lay his drowsy son down i...
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