Throwing Apples

Title: Throwing Apples
Author: ExcentrykeMuse
Pairing(s): Bella/Darcy, Elizabeth/Collins, Jane/Bingley, (one sided) Anne de Bourg/Darcy
Fandoms: Pride and Prejudice / Twilight Saga / (Bridgerton)

Rating: R (MA)
Word Count: 15k

Warning(s): wormhole travel, perversion of Pride and Prejudice, mentions of suicide, 19^th century divorce, kidnapping, loveless marriage, mentions of elopement
Summary: Wickham pushed her over into the dirt.  Darcy picked her back up again.

Throwing Apples

Bella felt herself shoved to the ground and her hands scraped the small stones of the dirt road.  At first silence met her ears and she was uncertain what happened.  Dazed, she stayed in the road, until strong arms reached for her and picked her up.

It was then that sound rushed back toward her and she took in the town of Meryton around her.

“Catherine Isabella!” her older sister Mary whined in her ear.  “Are you well?”

She looked over at Mary and then at the tall gentleman who had lifted her to her feet.  “What happened?” she asked, confused, taking in her shredded gloves.  “I—”  She turned to look at the milliners where she and Elizabeth had been standing.  She then looked back at the gentleman who appeared to be a stranger to her.

The man tipped his hat to her.  “Miss Catherine,” he greeted.  “Forgive me for my forthrightness, but when that man knocked you from your feet—”  He seemed a little lost.

Bella looked over to the left where there were indeed a group of officers, looking on in worry.  She licked her lips in confusion.  “Not at all, sir,” she murmured, turning to the gentleman.  He was rather tall with verdant eyes.  “I am grateful for your—timely interference.”  Bella glanced at the officers once again, a man out of uniform standing with them.  “May I know the name of my rescuer?”

“Mr. Darcy of Pemberley.”  He seemed almost shy as he said his name.

“You know my elder sisters,” Bella murmured.  “The Misses Bennet.”  She curtseyed.  “I am afraid Mary and I are not yet out.”  She glanced down at her gloves as she smelled blood.  It seemed she had ripped her skin.  Grimacing, she pressed the heels of her hands together to stem the bleeding.

She looked up at Darcy again and saw that he was looking straight back at her.  Uncertain what to say, she stood there a little stupidly in the street.

“Are—you much hurt, Miss Catherine?” Mr. Darcy asked after a long pause.

She looked back down at her hands.  “I’m afraid I’ve ripped my gloves,” Bella apologized, showing him her hands. 

Darcy took her left hand in his delicately, as if he were a father or a brother, and surveyed the damage.  “Men should behave better,” he told her plainly.  “I shall be speaking with Colonel Forster.  Officers and their friends should not be accosting young ladies in the street.” 

“No,” Bella agreed carefully, taking back her hand.  She glanced over at Mary who was standing quietly beside her.  Then she looked over Darcy’s tall shoulder at Jane who was speaking to another gentleman, Mr. Bingley, perhaps.  He was holding two horses.  “Do you often ride to Meryton?” Bella asked, trying to find a subject.

Darcy looked over at his shoulder at her two elder sisters, the gentleman, Mr. Collins—and the few officers that were lurking.  “Not often,” he disagreed.  “We were on our way to Longbourn to inquire after Miss Bennet’s health.”

A smile lit up Bella’s face at the thought of her adopted sister.  “As you can see Jane is much recovered.  The day was so fine we thought to walk into town.”  She glanced over at Mary who, per usual, was silent.  Mary only spoke when she had a book in her hand.  She had refused to go into society even though she was eighteen years of age, citing the fact that both Jane and Elizabeth were still unmarried.  When neither Mary nor Mr. Darcy were forthcoming, she added, “It is a favorite pastime.”

“Perhaps you will allow me to walk you home, Miss Catherine?”

Bella stood dumb, staring at him.  Mary had to knock her foot.  “Oh, I’m certain Mr. Collins—”

“—is escorting Elizabeth.” Mary had finally found her voice.  “He is so keen for our sister’s company.”

Bella looked over at her sister and then back at Mr. Darcy.  Seeing no other alternative, she stepped up to him and fell into step beside him as they approached Bingley, their two eldest sisters, and a confused looking Collins.  Mary trailed behind.

“Oh, Catherine Isabella!” Jane exclaimed, all sweetness, taking her and hugging her close.  “Are you quite all right?”

“Just a few scrapes,” she promised, “though I’m afraid my gloves are ruined.”

“You poor lamb,” she sympathized.

“I got the name of the man,” the gentleman who must be Bingley put in.  “He’s not even in uniform yet.  Wickham.—I’ll be seeing Colonel Forster as soon as we’ve seen you back to Longbourn, Miss Catherine Isabella.”

Elizabeth was staring at Darcy.  It seemed she still didn’t like him.

“Thank you, sir,” Bella murmured quietly.  “But really, I’m not worth all the fuss.”

“Nonsense!” Bingley demanded.  “Shall we go?”  He handed off to Darcy his horse, and the party fell off into pairs: Jane and Bingley in front, Elizabeth and Collins following, poor Mary on her own, and Bella and Darcy in the rear.

Bella thought it was oddly fitting.  The Bennets all had honey blonde hair, like Mrs. Bennet.  Her sisters were golden where she had the raven hair of the Quileute people through her dad Charlie’s grandmother.  Bingley had flaming hair that was bright in the sun and Collins, bright and excitable beside Elizabeth, had the same Bennet golden hair.  She and Darcy with his dark curls were the odd two out, and it showed.

Bella often wondered why more people didn’t question her placement with the Bennets.  When the real Catherine—Kitty—was a toddler, she had been killed in a carriage accident.  As far as Bella knew, she had been as golden as her three elder sisters.  Bella woke up in her bed at Longbourn, when she was eleven years old, after having just finished reading Pride and Prejudice the night before, with no one questioning her place in her family.

At first Bella was confused.  She had the book.  She knew the story of Darcy and Elizabeth, a girl now fourteen and living an uncomplicated life in Regency England.  At first Bella thought she was dreaming.  Eventually, she accepted the dream, putting away the book, and only brought it out again when her mother had told them all that a Mr. Bingley had let Netherfield Hall.

Now she had reread the book before putting it away again, and this latest twist of meeting Mr. Darcy in Meryton was merely a side plot that she hadn’t expected.  Elizabeth still hated him, and he would soon be falling in love with her, no matter how solicitous he was toward a young seventeen-year-old Bella.

They walked in silence, but it was companionable.  When they reached the halfway mark, Darcy spoke: “I was unaware Miss Bennet and Miss Elizabeth had younger sisters.  Are there any more of you?”

“No,” Bella answered, remembering the character of Lydia in the novel.  She had never been born in this world after the death of Kitty.  “I am the youngest child.”

“I noticed that your sisters call you ‘Catherine Isabella.’”

“I much prefer to be called ‘Isabella’,” she confided, “but Papa won’t have it.  It is the compromise between us.  I find that there are too many young ladies in the neighborhood named ‘Catherine’ and absolutely none named ‘Isabella.’”

“Indeed,” he murmured, looking over at her with his piercing eyes.  “You do own the name ‘Isabella’ quite well.”

“I am pleased to hear it,” she told him, smiling a little to herself, thinking of her nickname ‘Bella’ as a child before she had awakened here in Regency England.  Bella caught a glance of him.  “This really is unnecessary.  Mama will still be out of sorts when we return home, with or without an escort.”

“He should not have toppled you over,” Darcy said darkly.  “I know of Wickham.  He is not a gentleman.”

“He is certainly new to the neighborhood,” Bella told him, remembering his elopement with Lydia in the novel.  “I have never heard his name before.”

“You should not have been importuned.”

“I am not importuned,” she promised.  “I am merely inconvenienced.  I shall have to throw these gloves away.  I believe they are unsalvageable.”  She looked down at her hands and did not notice Darcy taking a long look at her, almost as if he had seen her somewhere before. 

They arrived at Longbourn and Mama was initially pleased at their visitors until the story of Bella’s excitement was related and her hands were brought forward as proof.  Immediately a bowl of water was sent for and her hands were bathed in lavender water by a caring Jane who was attended by Bingley.  Darcy stood in a corner with his dish of tea, but she felt his gaze on her.  He should have been looking at Elizabeth, but Bella supposed that Elizabeth was not injured.  Bella did have rather a nasty scrape on her left hand. 

Papa was even called for and he inspected Bella’s hands before they were wrapped in linens.  Bella could tell he was angry.

“Who is the man?” he demanded of Bingley and Darcy.

“Wickham,” Darcy answered.  “A gambler and a reprobate.  He is unfortunately from Lambton and I have known him all my life.”  He placed his teacup to the side.  “I intend to have him thrown out of the Militia.”

Bella looked up and shared a look with Jane.  She knew Wickham’s reputation, she knew that Wickham had tried to elope with Georgiana, but she was surprised by Darcy’s fervor considering she was no one to him. 

Papa left with Darcy and Bingley, and Bella was left sitting in the window.

“So gentlemanly!” Mama effused as she fluttered about the room.  “Perhaps his earlier slight toward our Lizzy was a misunderstanding.  He was all approbation to our Catherine Isabella!”

Bella flushed slightly, which she knew tinted her pale neck and chest red.

Her mother ruffled her handkerchief in happiness.

Elizabeth was sitting with an attentive Mr. Collins, but her eyes were on Bella, calculating.

Bella was afraid to meet her blue eyes and chose to look out the window instead.

She wasn’t expecting a package with the morning post.  They were sitting around the table, Papa looking at his letters, when he looked at a package and called, “Catherine Isabella, this is for you.”

Bella looked up from her eggs and glanced at him in confusion.  “For me, Papa?”

“It has your name on it.”  He looked curious.  He passed it down to Mr. Collins, who gave it to Elizabeth who was beside him, and then it was handed to Bella.  She looked at the direction and set it down next to her plate.  She could feel everyone’s gaze on her but she didn’t open it.

After breakfast, she went up to the room she shared with Mary, and sat on her bed and carefully opened the package at the seams and found a letter and a pair of delicate white gloves.  They were finer than anything Bella had ever owned.  She picked them up and carefully put on the left hand.  It fit almost perfectly.

“Well?” Mama asked from the door.  “Is it from Mr. Darcy?”

“I—” Bella tried to answer as she took off the glove and picked up the small note that was addressed to “C.I.B.”—Catherine Isabella Bennet.  Opening it, she cleared her throat and read, “It pleases me to return to you what was destroyed.  F. Darcy.”

Her mother stepped forward and held out her hand and Bella dutifully handed over the note.

“I may keep the gloves?” she asked.

“Of course you may,” Mama promised.  “Your father may ask to see them, but they are yours.”  She looked over them.  “They are fine.  They must be from London.  Perhaps he has a sister, unless he sent for them directly.”  She opened the letter and read it herself before closing it again.  “Thank you, Catherine Isabella.”

The letter was returned to her vanity when she went to bed that night.

Bella had no occasion to see Mr. Darcy again. She was not in society.  It was painfully obvious.  There was the Netherfield Ball with no set date, but she could not be invited.  She was also aware of what had happened to Wickham.  He had been stripped of his rank for ungentlemanly conduct and thrown out of the Militia before he had even received his uniform, on the word of Darcy and her father. 

Everyone was aware of what a good turn Darcy had done for her, and there was speculation that they would see each other again.

Collins continued to woo her sister Elizabeth, and Elizabeth continued to be unimpressed. 

One day they were sitting in the garden together, and Bella looked at her elder sister and really took her in.  Her honey blonde hair was a riot of curls that were barely pinned on her head.  Her sky blue eyes were the same as their mother’s (and Mary’s) while Jane had the hazel eyes of Mr. Bennet.  She was not as beautiful as Jane, but she had a loveliness all her own.

“What are you going to do?” Bella carefully asked.  “You know he’s going to ask.”

“Yes,” Elizabeth agreed.  “He’s not a bad man.”

“No,” Bella agreed.  “I don’t think so.  A little excitable.”  She thought of their cousin.  He was handsome in a strange, gangly sort of way with his golden hair and hazel eyes.  He did resemble a younger looking Mr. Bennet.  “Do you wish to leave Longbourn?  I never thought to ask.”

Elizabeth huffed out her breath.  “For Rosings Park?  I would always be second in my husband’s affections.”

“Some might prefer it that way.”  Bella leaned down and picked a daisy.  “He might not bother you.”

“Except when he wants a son.”

“But he would be excited so quickly and then be on his way,” Bella suggested, not really understanding the mysteries of the marriage bed, just knowing that it was uncomfortable. 

Elizabeth seemed thoughtful.  “I could not marry without love.”

“Does he not love you?” Bella asked.  “How do you know he does not love you?”

“He loves me because Mama suggested that Jane will be soon engaged.”

“If his love is guidable, that is only an advantage on your part,” Bella murmured, wondering when she had become so pragmatic and wondering if she would ever act thus.  “I think Meryton is too small for you.”

“I am not biddable,” Elizabeth whined.  “Surely a parson’s wife should be biddable.”

Bella leaned in, her dark hair falling out of its bindings.  “I heard Mr. Collins speaking to Papa.  The library door wasn’t exactly closed.  He said that Lady Catherine had him marked for a bishopric.  You would be a bishop’s lady.  Surely a bishop’s lady would need a personality, and she would have position.  Your daughters would marry lords and knights of the realm—”

Elizabeth looked shocked.  “I would never consider rank—”

“We all consider rank,” Bella argued.  “You are considering Collins’ rank as our father’s heir.  Otherwise you would not consider him at all.—If it were a matter of choice, Mr. Collins would not be under consideration in the least.”  She gave her elder sister a look.  “You know I speak the truth.”  She paused and lifted the daisy to her nose.  “You and Collins could live in the bishop’s palace, and Mama and any unwed sisters could live here.  Your sons would enter the church and Longbourn—well—Longbourn could—I’m not entirely certain.  I have not fully considered.”

And she hadn’t.  She’d read Pride and Prejudice over the last two days when she wasn’t caught out by Mary or Jane, trying to figure out what was happening with the gloves, and she decided that Jane Austen had written the wrong novel.  Or she was living in the wrong novel.  Bella wasn’t entirely certain.  It had all gone wrong, probably because of Lydia’s absence, or the fact that Elizabeth had never actually met Wickham, so he could not denigrate Mr. Darcy’s character to him, so the road to true love had never actually been forged.

Elizabeth looked deep in thought.

The sound of riders meant that Elizabeth could not answer.

Bella looked away and was surprised to see Bingley and Darcy on their horses and she stood, waiting for Elizabeth.

“No, I shall stay here.  I know you like Mr. Darcy, but I cannot stand the sight of him.”

“I know he would not dance with you,” Bella stated carefully.

“But he gave you gloves,” Elizabeth finished for her.  “We have different experiences with a very changeable man.  Go.”

Bella hesitated for a moment before she made her way to the house.  She was the last to enter the drawing room.  Both of her other sisters were there with Mama and Mr. Collins.  Mr. Bingley was in the center of the room, smiling happily.  Mr. Darcy was in a corner, looking out the window toward the garden where she had been just a moment ago.

“Ah, Catherine Isabella,” her mother greeted.  “Where is Elizabeth?”

“Contemplating God’s Creation,” she said for the benefit of Mr. Collins.  “She begs your pardon.”

“Ah,” Bingley declared carefully.  “Well, you can carry the invitation to her, Miss Catherine Isabella.  With careful consideration, I should like to invite the entire Longbourn household, including all four of its daughters, and of course Mr. Collins, to the Netherfield Ball a fortnight from tomorrow on the full moon.  Surely Misses Mary and Catherine know how to dance?”

Bella’s eyes immediately met Darcy’s and she saw his verdant gaze searching out hers.  The invitation was from him.  She immediately blushed and she was glad she was wearing a high collar.

“Oh,” Mama began, glancing at her and Mary.  “I cannot answer for my younger two daughters, for they are not yet out and Mr. Bennet shall have to be consulted, but Mr. Bennet and I, along with Miss Bennet and Miss Elizabeth, gladly accept.—Mr. Collins?”

Collins bowed formally.  “I shall gladly accept such a proffered invitation.  For my patroness, Lady Catherine—”

Mary, for once, spoke, breaking him off.  “I’m afraid I do not dance.”

Sweet natured Jane looked between her and Bella.  “Oh, but Mary, if you do not consider going, Catherine Isabella cannot go.”

Mary unfortunately was as white as a sheet.  “Mama—” she begged. 

Mama was fortunately there to aid her third daughter.  Walking to her, she took her hand.  “All of this can be discussed.  We have a fortnight, after all.—Thank you, Mr. Bingley, for kindly including the entire household.  It is a very generous invitation.—Mr. Collins?  Shall you perhaps like to go find Elizabeth in the garden?  Mr. Bingley?  Mr. Darcy?  Should you like to see the garden?”  She asked boldly.  “Mary is feeling a bit unwell and will stay here but my other daughters can show you while I send for tea.”

Bella looked over at her mother in shock, but she caught her meaning. 

Bingley seemed to like the plan and was ushering Jane out of the room. 

Standing rooted to her place, Bella had to be persuaded from the room and barely looked at Mr. Darcy as she led him to the garden.  “It’s a garden,” she apologized as they stepped out into it, and she watched as Mr. Collins approached Elizabeth.

“We have some fine ones at Pemberley,” he told her and she glanced at him, only to see him staring avidly back at her. 

She couldn’t help but blush, glad again for her high necked dress.  She was, after all, not yet out and was dressed much like a child.  “You should not have done it.”

“Should not have done what?”

“You should not have convinced Mr. Bingley to invite me and Mary to the ball.  Mary is not ready to be out.  She is not ready to have her hems lengthened and her bodice lowered.  She would not know what to say in society.  She is very shy and likes her sermons.  She hardly knows what to say to me and we share a bedchamber.”

“You suppose I have influence.”

She looked up at him.  He was still staring at her.  “I know you have influence,” she told him boldly, flushing again.  They walked further into the garden. 

“I know you are not a child,” he stated after several minutes of silence.

She looked up at him, confused.

“You say Miss Mary is not ready for society, but you are younger, and you are full ready, I would imagine.”

“But I cannot go where my sister does not go,” she reminded him.  “I must thank you for the gloves.”

He ignored her thanks.  “I would wager you are older than my sister Georgiana and she is in society, limited though it is.”

Bella smiled at him.  “I cannot speak to your sister.”

He looked at her for a long moment and then approached an apple tree in the corner of their garden.  “I would posit,” he suggested, picking her an apple, “that your sister Miss Elizabeth will soon be married.”

“I would think something similar,” she agreed.  “What of it?”

“Miss Mary would have to enter society then.”

“But I would not.”  She glanced away toward Elizabeth and Mr. Collins. 

“It is singular,” Mr. Darcy murmured carefully, just above her ear despite his great height, “how unlike your family you resemble.  Where they are all fair, you are quite dark.”

Bella closed her eyes in sudden aggravation at the suggestion, and tried to calm her sudden temper.  The truth of the matter hit her.  She was not a Bennet.  She was a Swan.  She would never belong here, but was an interloper.  Catherine was a girl who had died in a carriage accident.  Tears formed in her eyes and she flicked them away with her free hand.  Squeezing the apple in her other hand, she felt her fingernails pierce through the skin and had to resist the urge to throw it at Mr. Darcy.  She dropped it on his foot instead, although she was aiming for the ground.  If she threw it at his foot, only she and the apple—and perhaps Mr. Darcy—were aware of it.

Moving away from him, she reminded herself to breathe evenly.

“Miss Isabella—” he called, but she didn’t look back.

As she was passing, Mr. Collins took Elizabeth’s hand and Bella paused, not wanting to disturb them.  She heard Mr. Darcy come up behind her, and she lifted her hand to stop him, hearing the words, “Lady Catherine,” “position in life,” “happiest of men.”  It wasn’t the most romantic of proposals but it was certainly functional. 

Elizabeth’s face was mostly blank, but by the end of it, she seemed slightly pleased, agreeing with a simple, “Yes, I will be your wife, Mr. Collins.”

“Oh, Lizzy!” Bella cried, rushing up to her sister and hugging her.  “Do say I can come to Hunsford this Easter unless you must have Jane!”

Elizabeth’s arms came around her and she turned in her arms, burying her face in her sister’s hair so she wouldn’t have to look at Mr. Darcy. 

Tea in the drawing room turned into champagne from the cellars.  Papa refused to come from his study, but everyone else was merry.  If Bella wouldn’t look in Darcy’s direction it was his own fault.  Bingley and Darcy left after several toasts to the happy couple.  Mary seemed dubious as if she knew that now that Elizabeth was to be married, she would soon have to be out in society.

The next morning, Bella received another letter by post.  Her father looked at the direction, handed it to Collins, who passed it to Elizabeth, who gave it to Bella.  She recognized the hand.  It was from Darcy.  She wasn’t entirely certain it was proper he was writing to her.

She took it to her room again, and carefully opened it.

To Miss Catherine Isabella—I apologize that I offended you.  I meant to compliment you on your beauty as compared to your three sisters.  F. Darcy.

“What is the ‘F’ for?”  Mary asked, when she read it. 

“I have no idea,” Bella confessed.  “Frederick?  Francis?  Something else entirely?”

Mama came for the letter and wanted a full explanation in front of her father. 

“What does this mean?” Mr. Bennet asked after he had taken the letter and read it over carefully.

“He said—”  Bella bit her lip.  Taking a breath, she admitted what was never admitted, “He said that all of my sisters were fair, while I was dark.”  She looked down at her fingernails.

“My mother was dark,” Mama declared.  “It is clear you got your looks from her.”

Bella looked at her in confusion. 

“It is true that your Uncle Gardiner and Aunt Philips are fair, like me, but Mama had darker features.  You tend toward her.”

Bella had seen a miniature of Grandmother Gardiner.  Her hair had been a dirty blonde and her eyes were as sky blue as Mrs. Bennet’s.  Mama was deluding herself. 

“Indeed,” Papa agreed darkly.  “While Mr. Darcy might favor a dark beauty, this is unacceptable that he should be writing to you.  The gloves were an impropriety although I allowed it.  This is an insult.”  He crumpled the letter in his hand.  “You may go, Catherine Isabella.”

“I am not going to the ball, then?” Bella checked.

“That has yet to be decided,” Mama told her gently.  “You could go as a young lady, not yet out, but as a friend of the Bingley family.”

Papa looked upset.  “You may go, Catherine Isabella.”

The next letter did not come in the post. 

Papa had ridden out to Netherfield and come back not three hours later, not saying anything.  Bella had, thus, not expected another letter.

Planning for Elizabeth’s wedding the last Sunday in November had commenced.  Oliver Hatfield approached Bella at the milliner and slipped it to her.  Bella almost refused to take it until she saw the direction and recognized the hand.  She breathed out when she opened it that night by candlelight and read, Isabella—Please come to the Netherfield Ball.  I long to dance with you.  F. Darcy.  As far as Bella knew, Darcy didn’t long to dance with anyone.  He certainly didn’t give attention to women who had been slighted by other men, including her own elder sister. 

Bella wasn’t even certain she wished to dance.  She, after all, had two left feet.

She wasn’t even certain she wanted to see Mr. Darcy again.

The date of the Netherfield Ball approach and neither of her parents indicated if either she or Mary was attending. 

“I do not wish to attend,” Mary confessed a week before the Ball.  “I do not wish to be out.”

“Elizabeth is to be married,” Bella reminded her.

“Yes,” Mary moaned, completely distraught.  “I’m afraid Mama will launch me at the Netherfield Ball.”

Unfortunately, it was the next day that Mama decided to do just that.  Mary was taken to the milliners and fitted for her first white dress with a dropped hem but a modest bodice.  The next day, Bella was taken and fitted for a white dress with a pattern of blue flowers with a high neck and high hemline.

“Am I going?” Bella asked Mama.

“Yes,” Mama told her, “but only to attend me and your sisters.  We do not wish to offend Mr. Bingley with an engagement imminent with your eldest sister.”  Yes, Jane.  She was far too serene.  Bella was afraid that Darcy would get the idea, as he had in the novel, that Jane was not in love with Bingley, and go to London directly after the Ball, which Bella must do everything to prevent.

When she was at her final fitting, Anne Hatfield, Oliver’s older sister, slipped her a note.  Bella wondered how Darcy convinced them to act as agents for him.  She opened it when she was changing back into her green pinafore and saw a location and time: The apple orchard.  Tomorrow after breakfast.  F. Darcy.

She slipped the note into her pelisse.

Agonizing over the note for over half the night, Bella finally slipped into sleep a couple of hours before dawn. 

During breakfast she was still undecided what to do, but then Elizabeth decided to walk toward Meryton, possibly to get away from her fiancé, so Bella agreed to walk with her other sisters, breaking off part of the way toward Netherfield where there was an apple orchard that belonged to the Hatfields. 

Darcy was waiting for her when she got there.

Picking an apple, Bella tossed it in the air in warning before catching it as she approached Darcy.

“Miss Isabella,” he greeted as he came toward her.

“Darcy,” she replied.  “I’m here against my better judgment.”

“Are you coming to the Ball?” he asked, his voice holding a tinge of desperation.

Bella found it odd that she seemed to hold power over this man—a man who should be in love with her sister Elizabeth.  “Yes,” she told him carefully, “but only to attend Mama and Jane.  I am not yet out.”

His shoulders seemed to relax.  “Then I have hope—”

“I cannot dance with you,” she reminded him.  “I’m not yet out—”

“No, I meant that Mr. Bennet is allowing me to see you.”

Bella looked down at the apple.  The green was lighter than Mr. Darcy’s eyes.  “Was he that angry?”

“I took certain liberties—”

“And you insulted me,” Bella reminded him, glancing up into his eyes.  “Why did you say it?”

“You are a dark beauty.  You remind me so much of my mother, the Lady Anne Darcy.  You have more spirit; I don’t think Mother ever would have thrown an apple at a gentleman—”

Bella blushed at the reminder.  “You were being ungentlemanly.”

“That was not my intention, Miss Isabella.”  He looked at her so genuinely that a shiver ran down Bella’s spine. 

“I must go,” Bella decided.  “My sisters must be wanting me.”  She glanced at the apple in her hand and then tossed it over her shoulder.  Turning to leave, Bella wasn’t expecting Mr. Darcy to approach her, take her hand, and lift it to just below his lips.  “Mr. Darcy?” she asked.

As if realizing how close he was to her, he released her.  “I apologize, Miss Isabella.”

She looked at him searchingly, before moving away and walking away toward Meryton, her heart beating fast in her chest.  She found her sisters easily and joined conversations about ribbons for the Ball although her heart wasn’t in it.

That night she dreamed of Mr. Darcy.  Instead of holding her hand, he had drawn her closer, and she woke up gasping for breath.

The night of the ball, she dressed carefully before helping Mary with her own toilette.  She could feel Mary’s anxiousness.  It helped hold her own at bay.

Netherfield was beautifully lit up with lights.  She stayed close to her mother, remaining in attendance.  Watching as Jane and Elizabeth danced, she saw when one of the Lucas boys went and spoke to Mary.

“Miss Isabella.”  The voice of Mr. Darcy shocked her from her watchfulness.  She looked up to see him standing before her.  “It is so wonderful to see you out in society.”

“As you can see I am only attending Mama,” she reminded, referencing her mother who was a few steps away speaking to Lady Lucas and Mrs. Goulding.

Darcy glanced over at the three ladies, who weren’t paying either of them any attention.  “Can I fetch you a glass of lemonade?”

She hesitated.

“Or a glass of punch?”

Looking over at her mother and seeing her well occupied, she decided, “Lemonade.  Thank you, Mr. Darcy.”

She watched him as he walked through the other guests, her eyes alighting on Elizabeth as she spoke with Charlotte Lucas.  Somehow she doubted that Darcy was going to ask Elizabeth to dance.  It was a moot point anyway.  Darcy was never going to marry Elizabeth now unless something drastic happened.

Darcy was soon before her with a glass of lemonade.

She gave him a small smile.

“You must be very happy for your sister,” Darcy opened with as if he had noticed where her attention had been. 

“We were speaking about marriage before you and Mr. Bingley came with your invitation to the Ball,” she confessed.  “I don’t think Elizabeth had ever seriously considered it before.”

“It must have been a candid conversation.”

“What makes a clergyman’s wife?” Bella asked him with a small smile.  “So much to consider.”

“I do not believe you will have that particular dilemma.”

Bella caught his meaning.  “But perhaps Mary will.  Or perhaps not—”  She looked over at Mary who was still speaking to the Lucas boy. 

Darcy followed her gaze.  “You do not consider your sister Jane—”

Their eyes both turned to where Jane was dancing with Bingley.  Darcy seemed to pause as if considering.  Then he looked back at Bella.  “Have expectations been raised?”

“Surely you can see for yourself,” she began delicately, not wishing to be the one to tell him. 

He turned so he was standing beside her, the couple watching Bingley and Jane.  Bella glanced up at Darcy and saw that he was much engrossed in his friend and her sister. 

“He’s done this before,” she suggested. 

“You should not know of such—”

“I may not be out, but I am not stupid,” she told him a little harshly.  “He’s done this before, otherwise you would not have been blind to the neighborhood’s expectations.”  Looking up at Darcy, she caught his eye.  “I’m right, aren’t I?”

“I would never lie to you, Isabella.”

She breathed out from between her teeth carefully.  “Well, Mr. Bingley is now in a position to hurt Jane.”

“Miss Bennet has always been serene, yes, but she has never seemed to return his preference—”

“You think her merely polite?” Bella asked, astonished.  “She is polite to a fault, but you are less discerning than I gave you credit for—a woman guards her heart.”

“You’ve never guarded yours—”

She felt as if she had been slapped.  “I—” She swallowed.  “I did not realize I needed to guard it.”

Darcy’s face softened.  “You never have to guard it from me, Isabella.  I swear it.”

Their eyes held for several long moments, but was broken by Mrs. Bennet calling for Bella.

“Yes, Mama,” she answered.

“Jane needs her shawl.”

She looked.  Jane did not need her shawl.  She was in a crush. 

“I shall go ask if she needs anything,” she decided, glancing at Darcy before she left him.  Bella didn’t even go to Jane.  She circled around the dancers three times until she noticed Darcy had left the vicinity and then returned to her mother.

“There, Catherine Isabella,” Mama said.  “I let you talk to Mr. Darcy for nigh half an hour.  That is more than your father would have allowed.  You shall sit with me and Mary at Supper.”

Bella only escaped her mother near the end of the night when Elizabeth had need of a distraction from Mr. Collins and said she needed Bella to mend her hem in a back room.

“What do you think he wants?” Elizabeth asked as they looked out toward the dancers and saw Mr. Darcy gazing out a window.

“Who?”

“Darcy!”

“I think he wants what everyone wants at a Ball—a desirable dance partner.”

“Well, he hasn’t danced once as far as I can tell, not even with Miss Bingley.”  Elizabeth huffed.  “If only all of us were so lucky!”

“Mr. Collins is not so bad.  He seemed light on his feet.  Lady Catherine seemed to be correct in her assessment in that, at least.”

“Yes, he’s light on his feet,” Elizabeth agreed, “but he wanted more than two sets!  It is not proper even if we are engaged to be married and shall be wed in a fortnight.”  She adjusted her dress.  “I think we have hidden for as long as we can.  I am sorry, but I shall have to give you back to Mama.”

Darcy, though, had the last say. 

Papa and Mr. Collins helped all the family into the carriage, but Mr. Darcy appeared just as Bella was to enter the carriage and helped her in.  She looked at him in shock, but took his hand as he lifted her in, placing a note in her hand.

She didn’t look at it until Mary was abed.  Isabella.  The orchard after breakfast.  F. Darcy.

Bella wasn’t even entirely certain she would be awake for breakfast. 

She did manage to wake up for the tailend of the morning meal.  Eating a bit of porridge, she put on her walking shoes and told her mother she wanted the air before she headed toward Netherfield and the orchard. 

“It is too early,” she told Darcy when she found him waiting.  “The ball ended less than four hours ago.  Serves you right—”

“The Bingleys have left for London.”

She paused and blinked.  That seemed to be following the novel at least.

“You want to get him away from Jane.”  She contemplated some low hanging apples. 

“I want him to think,” he clarified, “to see if this is different.”  He approached her cautiously.  “This in no way reflects my devotion to you.”

Bella blinked at him.  “What devotion can you have to me?  I’m a child not yet out in society?  I’m the fourth daughter from an entailed estate?  Mr. Darcy, you—” 

But he wasn’t listening to her anymore.  Instead, he had approached her and slid a hand around her waist and kissed her.  Bella didn’t think about how this was her first kiss.  Instead, she rounded her fist and hit him in the shoulder, causing him to release her. 

“That is not how it’s supposed to happen!” she chided.

“I apologize, Isabella.”

“It’s ‘Bella,’” she corrected.  “If you’re going to be kissing me, it’s ‘Bella,’ that’s what—that’s what I was called—once—”  She bit her lip to silence herself.

“Once?” he asked, as if he wanted to lead her in a thought he had already concluded for her.

“Never mind,” she whispered, looking away from him.  She blocked out her parents’ faces from her mind.  It was too painful.

“Bella, I don’t understand,” he murmured softly as he approached her cautiously, moving to take her in his arms once more.

“No,” she agreed.  “Neither do I.”  She rested her head on the shoulder she had bombarded earlier. 

Darcy rested his hand on top of her head, gently running his fingers along her braids.  “I’m going to return for your sister Elizabeth’s wedding.  I hope to see you then.”

“Will Bingley return then?” she asked, not moving or even caring if they were seen.

“I do not know,” he answered honestly.  “Miss Bennet will receive a letter from Miss Bingley about our removal to London.  You will receive a letter from my sister, Georgiana.  Your father cannot object to that.”

Bella wondered what Charles Swan would have objected to or not in this rather peculiar situation.  He, however, was not here.  Claude Bennet was.  He would certainly object to this embrace.  It was far too compromising.  Thinking on that, Bella drew away and looked up into Darcy’s verdant gaze.  “I do not know what to say to you.  You’ve muddled it all up.  Jane and Elizabeth are supposed to be married, Mary is supposed to slowly come out, and Mama is supposed to discuss hems with me.”

“Perhaps you can write to Georgiana about hems.  I know little of such things.”

She gave him a watery smile.  “Surely you’ve noticed my hems are much shorter than Elizabeth’s or Jane’s.”

“Yes,” he agreed, smiling himself.  “Much shorter.  I can see the ruffles of your pantaloons.”

“That’s because I’m a doll, Mr. Darcy.”  She lifted her chin in defiance.  That’s all she ever was to the Bennets.

“You are more than just a doll to me, Bella.”  He smoothed a hair away from her forehead, looking pensive.  “Surely you must call me ‘Fitzwilliam.’”

“Is that what ‘F. Darcy’ stands for?” she asked—remembering something from Pride and Prejudice.  “I had wondered.  I had thought ‘Frederick’.”

“Do I look like a ‘Frederick,’ my darling?” he asked her quite seriously.

“You could look like a ‘Frederick’ if I needed you to.  Do I look like a ‘Catherine’?”

“Point well taken.”  He reached out and took her hand between both of his own.  “You’re wearing my gloves.”

“Are they from London?” Bella asked.  “Mama thought they might be.”

“Indeed,” he agreed.  “Only the finest for the future Mrs. Darcy.”

She looked up sharply at him.  “Don’t tease.”

“I do not tease, Isabella.”  His gaze was so earnest that she swallowed. 

“You will go back to London—”

“—and I will return.”

“—and you will remember how fine the ladies are there,” she concluded.

“How little faith you have in men.  Is there such a poor sampling here in Hertfordshire?”

“You have seen them.  All I know are what I have seen before me, and the fickleness of Mr. Bingley.”

“You forgot the constancy of Mr. Collins,” Darcy all but teased.

“He came here deciding he would marry one of my father’s daughters.  He only decided upon Elizabeth because Jane was already spoken for.”  She looked at him harshly.  “But you promised you would be back for the wedding.”

“Yes, Bella,” he swore.  “I will return for the wedding breakfast—perhaps with Lady Catherine.”  The last part he said almost to himself.

Thinking back to the first night she heard of the illustrious Mr. Darcy, Bella confessed, “Elizabeth hates you, you know.  She heard you refusing to dance with her.  To think, you would think her youngest sister was finer than she, when I am only a dark copy of my elder sisters.”

Darcy looked at her for a long moment and then drew her to an apple tree.  He picked an apple and gave it to her.  “In case you need to drop it on my foot,” he told her before he sat down in the shade of the tree, drawing her beside him.  “Why does it bother you so, when you are so much lovelier than even Miss Bennet?”

Bella looked at him for a long second before taking a bite of her apple.  Chewing it thoughtfully, she murmured after swallowing: “Tell me a secret.”

“A secret, my darling?”

“If you want a secret, you must give a secret.”

He sat pensive for a moment.  “My sister intended to elope with a reprobate last July, but I disrupted their plans.”  Wickham, then.  Darcy didn’t name names, but he was trusting her with his family honor.  She would hold that honor close to her heart.

Bella looked into his verdant eyes and nodded, tossing the apple to the side.

“Kitty—Catherine—died in a carriage accident when she was three years old.”  Darcy stared at her as if he had almost expected her to say something of the sort.  “They took me when I was eleven.  We do not speak on it.”

“Your name is Isabella,” Darcy guessed.  “Bella.”

“I don’t think they know it is what they have done,” she admitted to herself for the first time.  “They look at me and they see Catherine.  They make up the most peculiar explanations.”

Darcy took this in.  “As Mr. Bennet’s ward, you are a gentleman’s daughter,” he stated after a long moment.  “No, you are a gentleman’s daughter.”

She picked up an apple from beside her and threw it at him.  “I am a gentleman’s daughter,” she asserted, thinking of Charlie.  If being police chief wasn’t being a gentleman in Washington State in 1998, she didn’t know what was.  Her mother might have been flighty, but they had never wanted for anything.  “How could you think otherwise?”

“You just informed me you were kidnapped but didn’t specify from where, Isabella,” he reasoned.  “Forgive me for planning for our future.”  He looked at her and kicked the apple that had landed on his shin away from him.  “I should keep you away from apple trees.”

“You chose this orchard,” she reminded him, looking up at the branches above them.  “I am curious how you enlisted the Hatfields.”

“A story for another day,” he promised, reaching out and taking her gloved hand.  “Who are you, my darling?”  He looked at her as if he should know.

“Catherine Isabella Bennet,” she told him carefully.  “I no longer exist elsewhere.”

“Isabella Darcy,” he amended.  He kissed the back of her hand and helped her stand.  “You must go before they are missing you.”

“They know I won’t run away,” she told him solemnly.  “I haven’t gone anywhere these past six years.  Where would I go now?”

“Gretna Green?” he suggested, leaning down to kiss her hand again.  “No, Bella.  We will have a proper wedding.”

“I have not agreed,” she answered wryly, as he slipped her hand into his arm and began to walk her back toward Longbourn. 

“You shall,” he stated confidently.  “You enjoy throwing apples at me too much.”

When Bella returned home, Jane had indeed received a letter from Caroline Bingley.  It seemed the Bingleys had packed up Netherfield and returned to London for a short stay, Mr. Darcy to follow as he was anxious to see his sister.

“A union between their families?” Elizabeth asked.  “I doubt Mr. Darcy shall marry Miss Bingley.”  She looked pointedly at Bella.  “I think everyone knows his attentions lie elsewhere.”

Bella imagined throwing an apple at her.

“Perhaps they will return,” Bella suggested as she folded a ribbon into a bow for Jane’s hair.  “It could be a brief return to London.  Even if they are gone for a week, they would have to shut up the house.  Surely they do not mean to miss Elizabeth’s wedding.  They are not bad neighbors.”

“No,” Elizabeth agreed.  “Bingley would not give up an opportunity to see you, Jane,” she agreed, looking out the window.  Collins had left not an hour before for a fortnight stay at Hunsford before returning for the wedding.  “Nor Darcy to see Catherine Isabella.”

When the letter arrived from Georgiana Darcy, Elizabeth’s conjectures seemed to be proved.  Papa asked to see the letter and after checking the direction and the signature, he returned it to Bella.

Dear Miss Catherine Isabella, My brother has instructed me to write to you as he believes we have much in common and he believes I am much too withdrawn from society.  I am now sitting in the music room, having just finished practicing the pianoforte.  My favorite is Mozart, but I understand that you much prefer Bach…

With the letter came a pair of rose colored gloves.  Elizabeth cooed over them and asked if she could borrow them for her wedding even though her hands were larger than Bella’s, but Mama fortunately told Elizabeth that she had to wear white gloves as planned.

November turned cool and Bella found herself writing back to Miss Darcy just as Jane was writing to Miss Bingley, until the day of the wedding dawned cold and crisp.  She put on her new rose gloves and a red pinafore and bonnet with red ribbons.  She even borrowed a red pelisse from Jane that was only a little tight. 

In the church, Elizabeth looked lovely as she took her vows, Mr. Collins a little excitable as ever, and even Lady Catherine deigned to show her face with her daughter, Miss Anne de Bourgh. 

Bella almost had to blink.  She almost looked the exact copy of Miss de Bourgh.  Tall, pale, dark, with violet eyes.  Miss de Bourgh just didn’t possess the Quileute cheekbones.

“Catherine,” Mary breathed in her ear when she, too, noticed.

“I see.”

Darcy was dutiful to his aunt, but when it came time to walk to Longbourn for the wedding breakfast, he offered his arm to Bella.  She looked into his verdant gaze, searching for answers, but saw only devotion.

“Bingley did not return with you,” she said when they were nearly halfway there.

“No,” he agreed. “I did tell him I was coming.”

“Hmm,” she hummed.  “Elizabeth was wrong then.  She said you would both come.”  She took a couple more steps.  Then, looking up at Darcy, she wondered, “Was your aunt born Lady Catherine Swan?”

“No.”  He hesitated.  “Lady Catherine Fitzwilliam.”

She hummed again.  “It’s curious.”

“Curious?”

“That you’re not in love with your cousin, Miss de Bourg.”

“Love is not for the eyes alone, Bella,” he chided.  “I did not think your heart wanted me only for the turn of my face or for my estate.”

“I know nothing about your estate, Fitzwilliam, except something Mariah Lucas might have mentioned comparing you to Bingley.  Isn’t it in the Lake Country?”

“Derbyshire,” he agreed.

“Derbyshire,” she repeated.  “Yes, you said ‘Lambton.’  I remember now.”  She glanced up at him.  “What do I care for it except that it is not in Hertfordshire?”  Her eyes glistened black.

“I forget sometimes that you do not have material concerns, as much as you appreciate the gloves I send you.”

“Your sister sent me these gloves.”  She looked down at her hands.

“I sent you those gloves.  My sister merely put her name to them.”  He smiled at her.  “But you are a Swan.”

“What of it?  It matters not.”

“It matters to me.”

The wedding breakfast was one of joy.  Elizabeth was laughing and happy and Mr. Collins was all deference to Lady Catherine.  Darcy was in attendance to Bella except when she was with her sisters—but then Anne de Bourg found her.

“Do I know you?”

“No, ma’am.”

“But you know Darcy.”

“He is my neighbor.”  Bella smiled at her.  “I hope you are enjoying the wedding.  I believe I will be visiting Elizabeth this Easter at Hunsford unless she must have Jane.”

“You are sister to the bride,” Anne realized.  “I did not know.”  She took a sip of her tea.  “You look nothing like her.”

“No,” Bella agreed.  “Jane and Mary more resemble the bride.”

Anne regarded her.  “You look just like Aunt Anne.”

“Aunt Anne?”

“Lady Anne Darcy.  She died so many years ago, but we have her portrait at Rosings.  I sometimes go and look at it.  You are just like it.  I did not believe it when Darcy wrote that he wished to be married, but now that I see you, young though you are, I cannot fault him his choice.”  She looked over Bella.  “It’s astounding.”  Bella felt stripped bare.  “You’ll only ever be second best.  No one can ever replace Lady Anne.”

Blinking, Bella looked at Darcy’s cousin, who was almost an exact mirror of her.  “You certainly cannot,” she murmured, causing Anne to go white.  “You even have her name.”  She didn’t even bother to curtsey before she turned and walked away.  It was not like her to be cruel, but she felt the smallest bit of Quileute pride come out in her at Anne’s nasty words.

Collins was the one to find her.  “Little sister,” he greeted and she smiled.  Collins leaned toward her.  “May I ask you a favor?”

“What is it, Mr. Collins?”

“First, I am ‘Matthew’.”  He smiled at her widely, looking like a much younger version of her father.

“Matthew,” she agreed.  “I should so like to see your parsonage.”

“And I should so like you to see it.  You see,” he pulled her a little further away from the other guests, “Jane was supposed to be married, but that seems a little less likely and I should not like my initial choice to be unmarried and under my roof, even though Elizabeth and Miss Bennet are so close.  It just seems so unfeeling to Elizabeth—and such an insult to Miss Bennet given that Hunsford might have been hers.  It is, as you can guess, quite delicate.”

“I quite see the problem,” Bella told him carefully.  “Jane should be engaged by now.”

“Exactly!” Collins agreed.  “It is so awkward that she is not.”

“Hopefully she will be within the next month.”

“Yes, we all hope for that,” he agreed.  “But if she is not—”

“I shall write to Elizabeth regularly,” she promised.  “Mr. Darcy is, after all, Lady Catherine’s nephew.  We are such great friends, after all.”

“He is so fond of you,” Collins admitted carefully, “despite his aunt’s wishes that he should marry Miss de Bourg.”

“Miss de Bourg and I have an understanding,” she promised her cousin.  “She won’t be expecting a proposal.”

Sighing in relief, he took her hand and squeezed it.  “Thank you, Cousin Catherine Isabella.”

She smiled at him, though she had no idea why.  “Think nothing of it, Matthew.”  She looked over at Elizabeth who was happily speaking with Charlotte Lucas.  It was strange how life turned out so differently from the novel.  Matthew Collins hadn’t even looked in the direction of Charlotte Lucas because he never had to.  She was also quite a bit older than he was.

She was squirrelled away in a corner with Darcy, eating apple pie and laughing, when the guests started leaving.  The happy couple had left several hours earlier.  It was then that they were approached by Lady Catherine.

“Darcy, I require that you escort me back to Netherfield.”

“I shall certainly escort you to your carriage,” he told her as he put aside his pie and stood.  “I hope you have enjoyed yourself, Aunt.”

“Mrs. Collins certainly has decided opinions for one so young, but she is not unsatisfactory.”  She sniffed.  “You haven’t introduced me, Darcy.”

“Lady Catherine, this is Mrs. Collins’ youngest sister, Miss Catherine Isabella.”

“Another Catherine, I see.  The name suits you.”  She took Bella in.  “Quite the beauty, I see, though not yet out.  How old are you, Miss Catherine?”

Standing, Bella curtseyed.  “Seventeen.”

“Your eldest sister, Miss Bennet, she is one and twenty?”

“Two and twenty, Lady Catherine.”

“And the next one—the shy one—”

“Mary.  She is just lately out this month.”

“On account of Mrs. Collins’ engagement,” Lady Catherine realized.  “Very sensible.  It seems you must wait, Miss Catherine, though Miss Bennet might very well be on the shelf.  It is peculiar that Collins did not choose her, though I am sure he had the right of it.”

Bella glanced at Darcy.  “—I am sure Mr. Collins had the right of it,” she agreed.  “My sister Elizabeth is most suitable for a clergyman’s wife.”  How true that was, was yet to be seen.  “They also look so well together.”

“Yes, I agree.  They look most well together, Miss Catherine.”  Her eyes turned to look back over at Jane.  “Miss Bennet might be the lovelier of the two, however.”

“Beauty is earthly and fades, Lady Catherine,” Bella asserted, “and Elizabeth is also lovely.”

“As are you,” Lady Catherine agreed, turning a discerning eye on Bella.  “You are so unlike your sisters.”

Bella’s eyes widened.  She could feel Darcy’s soothing presence beside her.  “Mama asserts I look like my grandmother.  She was also dark.”

“I could have sworn you were a Fitzwilliam.”  She reached out and took Bella’s chin between her fingers.  “Right down to the violet eyes.  I’m sure Darcy has noticed it.”  Releasing her chin, she seemed to decide, “You must come to tea tomorrow.  Surely your mother cannot disagree.  Bring Miss Bennet with you.  I’ll send a note tomorrow.—Darcy.”  She looked over at her nephew.  “Do see me out.”  She then turned and walked out, not waiting for Darcy.

Bella and Darcy shared a look and he followed his aunt out to her carriage.

That night, Mama sent Mary to go sleep in Elizabeth’s bed while she sat down and combed out Bella’s hair.  “Do you expect Mr. Darcy to propose?”

“I think he’s waiting for me to grow up.”  She didn’t mention that he had stated his intentions.  She didn’t want to raise any more expectations in the household.  “Lady Catherine said she would send for me tomorrow—and that she would ask Jane as chaperone.”

“You do look a great deal like Miss Anne de Bourg,” Mama agreed, “and to a lesser degree like a younger Lady Catherine.  Perhaps she sees herself in you.”  She ran her fingers through the ends of Bella’s hair.  “Do you think you should come out into society to encourage Mr. Darcy?”

“Not until after Christmas,” Bella begged, turning to look at her mother.  “Mary is already so frightened.”

“The Gardiners are coming for Christmas,” Mama reminded her.  “I thought if Mr. Bingley stays in London, we can send Jane back with them.  Then I can focus on you and Mary.  Hopefully Mr. Darcy will have returned, otherwise I will send you to Hunsford no matter what Elizabeth says.  Mr. Darcy himself told me he is going to Rosings for Easter, and I do not think it was by chance!  He wants you there.”

Bella knew he did—and she wanted to go.  She was not ready to be married.  She was not prepared to be separated from Darcy, however.

She slept fitfully that night.  She slept late into breakfast and was awakened by Mary who shook her into wakefulness so that she could prepare for tea with Lady Catherine. 

Thoughtfully, Lady Catherine had sent her carriage.  Jane was in a pink muslin while Bella was in her blue pinafore.  It was a slightly rainier day, but the footmen had umbrellas.

Darcy had seen to it that there were apple tarts, which had become a slight joke between them, and Lady Catherine was waiting for them.  Anne de Bourg was nowhere to be seen.

“Well, Miss Bennet, Miss Catherine, I understand you have been here before.”

“Mr. Bingley threw a beautiful ball here earlier this month,” Jane supplied as she accepted a dish of tea.  “I have been in this drawing room before, though I believe Catherine Isabella has not.”

“Miss Bennet is the second person to call you ‘Catherine Isabella.’  Is that what you are always called, Miss Catherine?”

“Sometimes Mama calls me ‘Isabella,’” Bella answered honestly—as did Darcy.

“Well, I stand corrected.—Darcy wrote to me of you last September, Miss Catherine Isabella.  He was wondering if the Bennets could in any way have been a lost offshoot of the Matlock family, that is, my brother’s title, and now I can see why.  The likeness to myself and my sister is uncanny.”

“Two women can look alike,” Jane explained away. 

“Yes, but Miss Catherine Isabella is almost an exact copy of my daughter Anne.”

“There are differences—” Jane argued, calm as before, glancing over at Bella as if she had all her answers ready.  “I see several just looking at Catherine Isabella, though it is a face I know as well as my own.”

“Most don’t know this, but my second husband was a man named Charles Swan—”

Bella nearly dropped her dish of tea.

“I see the name means something to you.”  Lady Catherine looked pleased with herself.

Of course, the name meant something to her.  But her father Charlie lived in twentieth century Washington.  Her mother was a woman named Renée Dwyer, wasn’t she?

“Charles was a wanderer,” Lady Catherine continued.  “He left with our daughter Isabella when she was no more than a small child.  It was not my choice.—but I had Anne.  I received a letter from him when Isabella was eleven that she had been kidnapped—My heart broke, but what could I do?  Charlie committed suicide before I could confront him.  He could not live with himself.  He was a weak man.”

Bella’s cup smashed to the floor, tea getting all over her slippers.

Was the book eating her up and spitting her out the other end?

“I have, of course, written my barrister,” Lady Catherine continued, “with the particulars of this case.  The name Bennet was sent by express.  Darcy knows it.  Even if you run, Miss Bennet, I doubt you can hide.  I will find Miss Catherine Isabella again.  I found her once, granted it took six years, but I will find her again.”

Bella stared at Lady Catherine.  “I don’t believe you.”

“I know you know the name ‘Swan.’  You confessed as much to Darcy.  He told me yesterday, although he was unaware of Charles’s name as I chose to keep the name ‘de Bourg,’ as unusual as that is.”

“But I lived with Renée.”

“Was that his second wife?  Divorce gets so ugly.”  Lady Catherine sounded unamused.  “Charles always was, as I said, a weak man.”

“But it was so different from here—”  Bella turned to her sister.  “Jane!”

Jane, however, seemed as serene as always.  It was as if Lady Catherine never made her accusations.  “Catherine Isabella is my sister—”

“Who looks like a Fitzwilliam,” Lady Catherine stated imperiously.  “I suggest you leave.  My carriage will take you home.”  She glared at Jane calmly, if that was even possible.

Bella just looked between the two of them in shock.  She didn’t even realize a footman had come in with a broom and was tidying up the broken china at her feet.

Jane calmly finished her tea and then stood.  She turned to Bella, squeezed her shoulder and whispered, “Papa will come and sort this out.”

“Papa doesn’t want me,” Bella answered a little petulantly.

“Don’t say that,” Jane answered, a little surprised.  “Of course, Papa wants you.”

“No,” Bella replied.  “Mama wants me.  Papa doesn’t.  Mama does.  Tell Mary ‘I’m sorry.’”  She looked up with haunted eyes and then away again.  Jane didn’t say another word before she left as if she knew arguing was fruitless.

The footman left shortly afterward.

Lady Catherine poured her another dish of tea.  “We have a new room for you with some of Anne’s things, Isabella,” she began carefully, “next to Anne.  It’s best you’re not alone with Darcy because he’s your suitor, at least not above stairs.  I asked Darcy about your likes and dislikes, and he says you favor apples.”

“It was supposed to be a bad dream,” Bella told her with tears in her eyes.  “Charlie and Renée were supposed to be a bad dream I couldn’t wake up from.”

Lady Catherine reached out and took her hand.  “I do apologize, my dear, but I had to get you back and it was best I did not take you from the wedding.  I did not think you would thank Darcy if I asked him to carry you off.”

“No,” she agreed.  “I would not have thanked him for that.”

“This is quieter,” Lady Catherine told her.  “Miss Bennet was presented with a formal letter upon leaving, explaining my position to Mr. Bennet.  It is all being done properly.—I see you have Charlie’s Quileute cheekbones.”

Bella looked at her in complete surprise.

“Yes, I do know about Charlie’s heritage,” she answered.  “He did so love his time on the frontier.  He was always speaking about it.  He was so proud.—You were his little Indian princess, though best not to repeat that here in England.”

Honestly, Bella wondered how much stranger this would get.

“Matthew will be angry I won’t be the sister to visit Elizabeth,” she realized suddenly.

“Mr. Collins?” Lady Catherine asked, startled.  “Whyever would you say that?”

“It’s a family matter,” she answered, not wishing to betray a confidence.  “Needless to say, Matthew wanted me to visit and not Jane.  Elizabeth would never ask Mary.”

“Well, you will be at Rosings so Mr. Collins will have occasion to see you, although you will no longer be his cousin.  That will have to suffice.”

It would not suffice, but Bella was not prepared to explain why. 

“I wish to see Fitzwilliam,” she finally said after looking out the window to watch the carriage roll away, taking Jane back to Longbourn.

Lady Catherine smiled at her kindly, which Bella honestly hadn’t been sure was possible.  “Of course you do, Isabella.  It is only natural.  He is your only friend here.”  She turned to a footman.  “Please fetch Mr. Darcy.  Tell him Miss Isabella wishes to see him, and it is my express pleasure that he come.”  The footman bowed and left.  “There, now.  He will be here momentarily.”

She nodded.  “He told me the Fitzwilliams weren’t related to the Swans.”

“He did not know.” Lady Catherine promised.  “I retained the name de Bourg for the sake of society and he never met Charles.  He only saw you once or twice as a baby—and I think I only ever called you, ‘Isabella.’   Anne certainly never called you anything else, and she was a young child herself.”

Bella had nothing to say to that.  She was still horribly confused.

The drawing room doors opened and Darcy walked through them, looking anxious.  “Well?” he asked.

“Isabella wished to see a friendly face,” Lady Catherine explained.  “I shall chaperone.”

Bella stared at her.

“I am your mother,” she responded to the unasked demand.

Darcy didn’t seem to need any more information.  He quickly rushed to Bella’s side and took her hand and kissed it.  “I could not tell you yesterday until Lady Catherine confirmed it.  I did not even know until I mentioned the name ‘Swan’ to her.  I did not know the name of my uncle.  He left almost immediately for the frontier after you were born.”

“California,” Bella remembered, thinking of Renée and her grandparents who weren’t her grandparents, “and Arizona.  Charlie lived in Washington State.  He was so happy there.”

“How did you come to be in Hertfordshire?” Lady Catherine asked from where she was sitting.

“I don’t know,” Bella answered truthfully, remembering reading Pride and Prejudice and falling asleep.  “It’s all rather a blur.”

“I know he killed himself in Hampshire.  You could have been taken from there,” Lady Catherine mused. “So much of your history is lost.”

Bella, however, wasn’t looking at her.  She was staring at Darcy.  “How long have you known?”

“Not since you told me before the wedding that Kitty had been killed in a carriage accident.  I thought your beauty was a strange coincidence before that.”  He squeezed her hand and looked at her so imploringly. 

“If only I had remained silent,” she whispered.  “I would have gone to Hunsford at Easter and all would have been well.”

“All would not have been well, Isabella,” Lady Catherine told her sternly, drawing both Bella and Darcy’s attention.  She sat on the couch imperiously, a dark beauty of refinement.  “You are my child.  You belong at Rosings with your family.”

Except that Anne hated her.  She was jealous of her relationship with Darcy, and the Bennets were all the family Bella had known for six years.  This woman sitting across from her was a stranger from her, and Darcy was—“Oh no.  You’re my cousin,” Bella breathed in shock.  She stood and let her hand slip from Darcy’s.  “I cannot marry you.”

Darcy immediately stood and quickly took her by the shoulders.  “I do not understand your meaning.”

“Our mothers are sisters!”

Lady Catherine looked quickly between them before standing.  “While I have not countenanced an engagement, happy as I am at its existence, Isabella, I do not grasp your meaning.  This is not an impediment—”

Bella looked over at Lady Catherine and then back at Darcy.  “It’s not?” she asked a little desperately.  “Elizabeth and Matthew are only third cousins.”

“No, child,” Lady Catherine assured her, as Darcy gently guided her back to the sofa.  “It is not an impediment in the slightest, I can assure you.  The Bennets certainly put some odd ideas in your head.”

Bella breathed out as Darcy quickly fetched her a fresh dish of tea, which in England solved all ills—“It was Charlie.  He always said it should be illegal that Billy Black married his cousin Mary Black.”

“I have no idea who the Blacks are,” Darcy soothed her, “and I’m certain Mr. Swan had more information that he could not impart to you as you were only a child, but it is not an impediment.”

“Who were the Blacks, dear?”

“Billy Black was the local Quileute chief.”

“There was certainly more information he did not give you,” Lady Catherine promised her, looking at her sternly as if to tell her not to say anymore on the subject.  “But let us not speak on it.—Darcy, you did not write to me of an engagement.”

Darcy did not look at all startled.  “It was not formalized and I had not asked Mr. Bennet’s permission.  I had hoped that Isabella would be out in society by Easter when she would be at Hunsford.”

“Isabella turned eighteen two months past,” Lady Catherine agreed.

Bella nearly dropped her dish of tea again.  “My birthday is in February!”

“It is not,” Lady Catherine assured her.  “You must remember from when you were a child, an Autumn birthday with apple tarts, perhaps.  It is full well that you should drop your hems.  You are no longer a child.”

Thinking, Bella remembered birthday cakes and candles, but honestly could not recall. 

“We should not overwhelm Isabella,” Darcy told his aunt, accepting his own dish of tea.  “She just learned you are her mother and that she is a Fitzwilliam.  She has none of her things.  This is quite a change for her.”

“Of course,” Lady Catherine agreed begrudgingly.  “She is all loveliness itself, however.  She looks quite like I did at her age.”

“Quite,” Darcy agreed, smiling contentedly. 

After tea, Bella was given a tour of Netherfield.  It was quite grand and Lady Catherine left her in the library as Bella thought the best way to spend the afternoon was in a Mrs. Radcliffe novel.  Darcy promised to give her time to think to herself and left her to her reading.

Her trunk arrived just before dinner on the back of a wagon.

Bella wasn’t at first aware of it until a footman fetched her and Lady Catherine met her in her new bedchamber and Bella saw it at the end of her bed.  At first she just stared at it before rushing to it and opening it and looking and seeing all her dresses carefully packed, her worn copy of Pride and Prejudice tucked into the side.  Mary must have done this for her.  “Papa really doesn’t want me,” she whispered.

“Darcy told me that he has written to Bingley.  He said you would know what that meant.”  Yes.  It meant that Bingley wasn’t coming back.  Darcy wouldn’t want his friend associated with kidnappers.  Lady Catherine would certainly prosecute them.

Closing the trunk, she stood and turned to Lady Catherine.  “What happens next?”

“Next we go to London.  We must get you suitable clothing.  Your clothing is practically rags.  I will have you in the latest fashions.  It will also do you good to see your cousin Georgiana, who I understand is your correspondent.”  She entered the room more fully.  “We will perhaps spend Christmas there before returning to Rosings.  I will decide more fully in the coming weeks.”

“Where is Anne?” Bella asked carefully.

“The strain from yesterday was too much for her.  She is abed with a cold.  She has a delicate constitution.”  Lady Catherine crossed to the window and looked out briefly, as if collecting her thoughts.  “I am pleased you are graced with both health and beauty.”

“I am sorry for Anne,” Bella responded carefully, remembering the Anne de Bourg from the book.  “We do not care for each other much.”

“Anne thought she was losing Darcy to a rival, not a sister.  She will see this is for the good of the family.” 

Bella felt slightly skeptical.  She wouldn’t give up Darcy so easily.  She couldn’t imagine Anne would.

She didn’t need to dress for dinner, not being out.  Anne didn’t join them.

Lady Catherine carried much of the conversation.  The evening was spent with her demanding answers from Bella about her favorite books, pastimes, and foods.  She even asked Bella’s favorite question one time.

“Brown.”

“Brown?” Lady Catherine demanded.

“Everything here is so green,” Bella explained.  “In Arizona it was brown—like the desert.  I miss the desert.  The heat of it.  There was never any rain.”  She looked out of the window where it was, in fact raining.  “I wish it wouldn’t rain.”

“The climate of the New World is certainly singular,” Lady Catherine agreed with pursed lips.  “I will never understand what Charles was thinking bringing you back there as a young child.”  She paused, also looking out at the rain.  “If you haven’t become acclimatized to the rain yet, I doubt it will ever happen.”

“Our English weather is famous throughout Europe,” Darcy agreed.  “I’m afraid Derbyshire has much rain as well.”

Bella gave him a small smile.  “I expected as much.”

“At least the girl is informed,” Lady Catherine decided.  “She is not walking into any of this blindly.”

However, that is exactly what Bella felt she was doing.

That night she couldn’t sleep as she lay in her new comfortable bed.  For the first night in years, Mary was not a short few steps away.  Her sisters were not down the hall.  Anne was in the next wall and every hour or so Bella could hear her cough, but that was not comforting.  She wondered how anyone slept in such conditions. 

She finally slipped off into sleep in the small hours of the morning. 

Bella hadn’t been expecting a maid to wake her with a dish of tea and drawing back her curtains.  Being propped up on pillows, three dresses were taken from her trunk and paraded out of the room before they came back, one having been ostensibly chosen by Lady Catherine de Bourg as acceptable for the day.

Great.  Bella didn’t even get to choose her own clothing.

Her hair was brushed out and pinned on her head in a fashion she was not accustomed to and she was dressed for the day as she really were no more than a doll.  Her trunk was then packed up and removed from the room.

“Are we going to London this morning?” she asked the maid.

“Yes, ‘m,” she replied, putting the last touches on Bella.  “You and the ladies will travel in the carriage and Mr. Darcy will accompany you on horseback.”

Bella would have to spend a day in a carriage with Lady Catherine and a sickly Anne then.

Anne was at least down for breakfast.  Bella was mostly silent.  As if sensing the tension between the two sisters, Lady Catherine remained quiet, offering a small comment here and there, and Darcy stood by a window and stared out of it while only drinking a dish of tea.  Bella did not think this made for much family felicity.

“I can’t just leave!” Bella told Darcy quietly after Anne had left the room, Lady Catherine sitting at the breakfast table to serve as chaperone, never leaving them alone.  “I—I’ve lived here for years.”

“You can, and you will leave, Isabella Marie,” Lady Catherine told her from where she was sitting.  “Don’t look to Darcy for help.  He is no help here.”

“Fitzwilliam!” Bella pleaded.

Darcy set down his cup and handed it off to a servant.  Taking her hand, he looked down into her violet eyes.  “Bella,” he pleaded.  “You have admitted that your father is not Claude Bennet but Charles Swan.”

“Yes,” she agreed.

“Then you are indeed Isabella Marie Swan like Lady Catherine claims,” he checked.

“Once,” she agreed, “as if it were a dream.”  She looked down at their hands anxiously.  “But it is all so strange.”

“And I will not leave you,” he promised.  “You are coming to Darcy House.  I have discussed it all with Lady Catherine.  You will not be going to Rose House as is Lady Catherine’s custom when she is traveling from Kent.  You will not be friendless.  How should you like to share a bedchamber with Georgiana?  You will be quite cozy.  You shall not be left alone with a mother you do not recognize and a sister you dislike.  You shall even see Bingley and his sister again.”

“I never met Miss Bingley nor the Hursts,” Bella admitted carefully.

“Well, there are new friends to be had,” he promised. 

Lady Catherine stood from her seat and took in the couple.  “We shall even have Christmas in Town before retiring to the country.  You shall like that, Isabella.  Then perhaps we shall have a wedding to plan.”

“Think on it, Bella,” Darcy coaxed.  “A wedding at Easter when we were meant to have met again.”

Bella took him in carefully.  “I think I could wrap my mind around a wedding then,” she admitted.  “A new life of my choosing.”

“I promised you that you would one day be Mrs. Isabella Darcy,” Darcy breathed, looking down at her adoringly.  “It shall be as we planned.  You shall just be a bride of more consequence when the time occurs.”

“A bride of much consequence,” Lady Catherine agreed.  “You may not be a de Bourg, but you are a Fitzwilliam and a Swan.”

Bella looked at her sideways, remembering her father in his plaids and his jeans, and saw that Lady Catherine completely agreed with her assessment of Charlie.

It was only a matter of wrapping up before Bella was in a carriage with Lady Catherine and Anne.  Darcy handed each lady in, lingering on Bella, their eyes connecting, and she smiled. 

Bella had never traveled any great length by carriage, but she had a small pile of books from the Netherfield library.  Lady Catherine asked her to read aloud.  Anne was soon asleep.  She really did look pale as if she was sickly and Bella wondered at her health.  How could they look so alike and yet Anne look so ill and thin and bony? 

They stopped at an inn to refresh themselves and have some lunch, but Anne barely touched her food.  Darcy was solicitous to all of them, and Lady Catherine took it as her due.  They were soon back on the road and they reached the outskirts of London just before dinner.  It took them over an hour to reach Darcy House, but there was a warm fire and warm soup on the other end.

Georgiana was a pretty young woman who looked a great deal like Bella and Anne, though slightly taller.  Her dark hair curled like Darcy’s and her eyes were the same verdant green.  Bella could certainly see the family resemblance. 

After greeting Darcy and her aunt, she took in Bella and then threw herself in Bella’s arms.

“Oh, Isabella!” she cried.  “I am so pleased to meet you!  Fitzwilliam sent word of you by express.—We are to share a room.  I hope I am not too bothersome.  Richard says I speak too much for a lady, but I hope you do not think so—”

Bella’s head was in a whirl.  This was not the frightened young lady with whom she had exchanged letters.  Glancing at Darcy, she asked, “Who’s Richard?”

“Colonel Richard Fitzwilliam,” Lady Catherine answered for her.  “My nephew and your cousin.  He is the second son of the Earl of Matlock.  You shall like him.—Come, Darcy.  Let us refresh ourselves before we sit down for our evening meal.  Georgiana can show Isabella her room.”

She swept away in her silks up the stairs, not waiting for anyone to show her the way, Anne following in her wake. 

When they were bundled up for the night, tucked into bed, Georgiana turned to Bella and whispered, “Is it true what Fitzwilliam says?  That you are to be my new sister?”

“Yes,” Bella agreed.  “I hope you are not angry.”

“No, not angry,” Georgiana promised, squeezing her hand.  “I am just so glad it is not Anne.  She is always coughing and sniffing.  I know it is not kind to be cross, but I cannot help but get cross with Anne.  She has always acted like being mistress of Pemberley is her right, but ‘tis not so.”

“She acted the same way with me when we met,” Bella confessed.  “I had not even learnt her name and it was my sister Elizabeth’s—it was Mrs. Collins’ wedding.”

“It is so horrible to have sisters and then not to have sisters,” Georgiana commiserated.  “But I shall be your sister now.”

“You—”  Bella hesitated.  “You are so different than you were in your letters.”

“Well,” Georgiana bit her lip.  “You were not a Fitzwilliam then.  You were not family.”

Bella supposed that made a certain sort of sense.  Mary was always a mouse, whether at home at Longbourn or in company, but some people might be different at home than without.  Georgiana might be just such a person.

And she indeed was just such a person. 

When Lady Catherine took Bella to the modiste the next day with Georgiana in attendance, Georgiana was practically silent.  Madame de la Croix was the finest in London and Bella was in awe of all the fabrics on display.

“Lady Cat’erin de Bourg,” Madame de la Croix greeted.  “I am so pleased to see you.  Is Mademoiselle Anne well?  And Mademoiselle D’arcy!  Bienvenue!  And whoo eez thees?”  She blinked her pretty brown eyes.

“Madame de la Croix,” Lady Catherine began, beckoning Bella forward, “this is my younger daughter, Miss Swan.  She has recently returned to my care and is coming out now that she is of age.  As you can see her wardrobe is clearly lacking.  We need a complete overhaul including nightgowns and slips.”

Bella turned and stared at Lady Catherine.

“Don’t look at me like that, young lady!  I had the maids look through your underthings!  They are not fit for good society especially as you are now to be married.—Madame.  I am placing Isabella in your capable hands.”

“Mais oui, Lady Cat’erin!  Mademoiselle, please step forward!”  She indicated that Bella should step onto a pedestal in front of several mirrors a little further into the shoppe.  Bella glanced at Georgiana who shooed her forward, as if she was well aware of the protocol.  “Now, what couleurs do we weesh for Mademoiselle Swan?  She eez a dark beauty like Mademoiselle de Bourg and Mademoiselle D’arcy.”

“The white muslins, some pink silks,” Lady Catherine ordered, but Bella hated whites and pinks.

“No,” she inserted.  “I like dark blues.”

“Dark blues, dear?” Lady Catherine asked, looking at her green pinafore.  “Surely you jest.  Georgiana, tell your cousin what is in fashion.”

Georgiana remained mute.  It seemed she would be no help.  Bella glared at her.

“No,” Bella asserted.  “I’ve always worn dark blues and greens and reds.  I don’t wear whites.  I’m already so pale.  It would wash me out.”  She looked over her shoulder at Lady Catherine.  “Please don’t completely change me.”

Lady Catherine regarded her.  “The Darcy colors are green,” she admitted after a moment.  “One or two white muslins,” she ordered Madame de la Croix.  “I can forgo the pinks, but if we must have greens and blues, we must have some lighter shades as well.  We are ordering a complete wardrobe, after all.  We must not say that Miss Swan has an unvarying wardrobe.”

Georgiana reached out and squeezed Bella’s hand.

Bella squared her shoulders and resigned herself to being a doll for the next several hours.  She left in gold muslin with a deep brown pelisse and gold lined bonnet and brown gloves.  Bella had never worn such sumptuous clothing and she felt her heart flutter when Darcy’s breath caught when he saw her when they returned to Darcy House. 

In the Saturday Times, the story of her abduction broke.  Bella had been warned but she had not expected the influx of goodwill from society.  Although London was deserted, within hours she had so many callers that even though she was ‘not at home,’ Perkins had turned away more than twelve young ladies who had come to call on her.  Bella had no idea how they knew to look for her at Darcy House and not at Rose House in Grosvenor Square. 

The letters came but a few days later.  Lady Catherine catalogued them all.  Bella was shown a sampling, but she was not required to write back to anyone.  Lady Catherine took care of all of that.

The one person she did see was Bingley.  Lady Catherine was uncertain as Mr. Bingley’s father’s money initially came from Trade, but Darcy convinced her that it would be prudent as Bingley’s face was a familiar one.  “We do not wish for our Bella to be completely cut off and among strangers,” he reminded his aunt. 

Bingley was ever as he was, bright blue eyes and smiles.  “Miss Swan,” he greeted, taking her hand and kissing it.  “You look ever so well.  Elevation suits you.”

“I do not view my change of circumstances as elevation,” she informed him.  “I view it as a bewilderment.”  Bella smiled at him kindly.  “How are you?”

“Charmed,” he told her, looking a little anxious.  “I am sorry I could not come to Mrs. Collins’ wedding.”

Bella was aware of Lady Catherine being on the other side of the room.  “Mother was there,” she answered.  “Everyone who needed to be there was present.  Mrs. Collins made a lovely bride.”

“I understand Mr. Collins is Lady Catherine’s cleric.”

“He is and I understand he is most worthy of that position,” Bella answered as she took a seat.  “I understand that you mean to give up the lease on Netherfield.”

“Yes,” he answered carefully, sitting himself.  “I meant to try my hand at estate management, but it proved a failure.”

“I hope I am not part of that failure,” Bella told him gently.  “I could be seen as a success.”

“A success, Miss Swan?”

“You could be credited for finding me, Mr. Bingley,” she suggested, glancing at Lady Catherine.  “It was your leasing Netherfield that led to me being discovered.  If you never had, I’d still be living with the Bennets as Miss Catherine Isabella.”  And how different her life would have been.  She wouldn’t be out.  Elizabeth perhaps wouldn’t be married to Collins.  Perhaps Jane would be instead, strange as that was to think, and Bella would be living in blissful ignorance believing she was living in a storybook.

“I had not thought of it like that,” Bingley mused somewhat hopefully.  “Still, I shall give up the lease.  I do not wish to return to Hertfordshire.”

“Yes,” Bella agreed.  “I will never go back there again.”  And Bella was certain she never would.

Christmas was fast approaching.  Bella felt cramped in Darcy House, large as it was, with Anne forever staring at her at the breakfast table.  She supposed it might only be worse if she were at Rosings Park with only Lady Catherine and Anne as company. 

“I feel,” Bella tried to explain to Lady Catherine, “that my life is in stasis.  I’m no longer Catherine Bennet but I am not yet Mrs. Darcy.”

“You are Isabella Swan, my dear.”

“Isabella Swan died six years ago,” Bella tried to explain.  “I’m not sure I want to go to Rosings and see Elizabeth.”

“You will have to go sometime.”

“But I was always supposed to be Mrs. Darcy—I was never supposed to be—”

“Isabella Swan, yes.  What are you saying, my dear?  Are you saying you wish to marry Darcy now, before the New Year?”

“Yes?”

“You cannot hate Anne so much.”

“Perhaps I love Fitzwilliam—”

Lady Catherine gave her a look.  Bella knew it was her distress, but she had to try it. 

“You are full young.”

“No younger than you were when you married Sir Lewis de Bourg.”  Bella’s violet eyes looked into Lady Catherine’s gaze, equally as violet. 

“If you can convince him.”

However, that was no problem.  Bella just had to promise not to throw an apple at him on their wedding day.  Of course, she did not promise never to throw an apple at him any other day of their lives.

The End.