Excentryke's Musings

Title: Sweet Nothings
Author: ExcentrykeMuse
Fandoms: Pride & Prejudice / Twilight Saga
Pairing(s): Bella/Owestry, (one sided) Darcy/Elizabeth, Elizabeth/Fitzwilliam
Word Count: 8k
Rating: PG
Warnings: time travel, vampires, death (pre-story), illegitimate children, affairs
Summary: Owestry brings his new and very pregnant bride, Bella Swan, to Kent that Easter.  Now she must disrupt Elizabeth Bennet’s plans to trap her cousin-by-marriage, Darcy of Pemberley.

Sweet Nothings

Bella rather detested carriage rides.  They had been rather difficult when she had simply been Miss Swan, riding about London, but now that she was four months with child and traveling to Kent, they were even more detestable.

“All will be well, m’dear,” Owestry assured her as there was another bump in the road.

Bella tried to smile but feared she rather failed at it.  “Remind me why we have to visit Lady Catherine.”

“It is Anne’s thirtieth birthday.”

Ah, yes.  Anne.  Anne De Bourg was Owestry’s spinster of a cousin whom Lady Catherine wished to marry off to Darcy, another cousin.  The problem was that Anne was sickly and Darcy knew she wouldn’t make a good mistress of Pemberley.  There also was little love lost between the cousins, she understood.

“Why does not Lady Catherine buy Anne a husband?” Bella asked.  “It would ensure the estate.”

“She wants Darcy.”

Bella grimaced.  “Why did she not want you?”

“I need a male heir,” he reminded her with a hint of a smile.  He always got slightly sappy when he mentioned the baby.  Owestry never thought he would marry again after his first wife’s death and it had been assumed that the title would go to the eldest son of his younger brother, Colonel Richard Fitzwilliam.  It had been so widely assumed in the family that Owestry’s father, the Earl of Matlock, had even ordered Fitzwilliam to find a wife the previous season.  Then Owestry had surprised everyone by marrying Bella in a private ceremony at the end of last season and presenting her at Matlock for Christmas.

Everyone had been surprised.

Everyone had been shocked.

The Earl of Matlock had been thrilled.

Bella understood that Colonel Fitzwilliam had drunk himself into a stupor in London when he received the Express, in his disappointment.  Women of ill repute had been involved.

“Does not Darcy need a male heir?”

Owestry gave her a look. 

He did then. 

“Darcy wrote to me and asked me where I had found you,” Owestry then confessed, looking out the carriage window.  “I wrote that you were not to be found in the drawing rooms of polite society.”

“What did you tell him?” Bella asked in curiosity.

“I told him Annabelle picked you out.”  His watery eyes flashed in amusement.

Bella smiled to herself.

“Ah.  We are entering the park,” he announced.  “Not long yet.  Then we can get Carrie to massage your feet.”

“I need her to massage my shoulders,” Bella told him.

“I get to massage your shoulders,” Owestry flirted.

Bella smiled at him.

When they arrived, Owestry stepped out and handed Bella down.  Bella looked up at the house and saw that it was fine and in good repair.  “She could definitely buy Anne a husband,” she whispered to Owestry.  “Many a man would want this house.”

“Wait until you see the inside,” he replied, leading her up the outside stairs.

She had been prepared that Colonel Fitzwilliam did not look like the Matlocks.  She was unprepared by what a shock it would be to see him standing next to Darcy, one in a cravat and the other in a red coat.  They were both tall with broad shoulders, distinct cheekbones, shocking eyes, curly brown hair and wide foreheads.  They were both undeniably handsome.

She looked between them, blinked, and then offered her cheek to Fitzwilliam as he was her brother by marriage.  “I am sorry you could not be present for the wedding,” she apologized, “but Owestry was terrified I would change my mind.  He seemed to question my constancy.”

“I could well see why he would,” Lady Catherine commented.  She had the Matlock looks.  She was slim with weak shoulders, thinning blonde hair, and watery blue eyes.  Her daughter Anne had an even weaker frame and was lost in her shawls and handkerchiefs.  “You are simply beautiful, Viscountess.  Motherhood becomes you.”

“Thank you, Aunt,” she murmured, offering her cheek.  “We are so pleased to be expanding our family.”

Removing back to stand next to Owestry, Bella took in the room.  There were the Darcy looks and the Matlock.  They were in stark contrast.  It was obvious that the Countess of Matlock had had an affair thirty years previously and Colonel Fitzwilliam was the product of that affair.  If anyone in the family didn’t realize it, they were either blind or a simpleton.

Lady Catherine offered them a seat and Bella graciously took it, Owestry going to stand with the other men.

“Tell us of the wedding, Viscountess,” Lady Catherine was now commanding.  She seemed to have rather a stringent character.  A footman was coming in with tea and it was laid out in front of them.  The tea service was certainly elegant with inlaid goldleaf, if Bella wasn’t mistaken.

“Well,” Bella said.  “Annabelle was there, of course.  I would have it no other way.”

“Ah yes,” Lady Catherine agreed.  “Dear Annabelle.  She is with her governess, I presume.”

“Indeed,” Owestry agreed.  “I did not want to interrupt her schooling.  She will be back with us in London for the Season.”

“Quite right,” Lady Catherine agreed.  “Who else was there?” She was addressing Bella again. 

“Lord Septimus insisted,” Bella informed her with a light laugh.  “He was always one of my champions.  He is such a charming young man.  And then Viscount Bridgerton.”

“Bridgerton?” Colonel Fitzwilliam asked from his place.  “Really?  I did not even know you knew him, Owestry.”

“I do not,” he confessed.  “Bella knows him quite well.”

“Does she?” Fitzwilliam mused, turning his dusky green eyes on her.  “I had no idea.”

“I am acquainted with the three eldest Bridgerton brothers,” Bella told him.  She had gambled with all three and won quite a bit of money off of them.  There were no hard feelings.  “Gregory is too young to enter society.”

“I suppose the Misses Bridgerton are too young for you to know.”

“Fine prospect for you, Fitzwilliam,” Lady Catherine commented as she handed Bella her dish of tea.

“I understand the eldest Miss Bridgerton is quite accomplished,” Bella commented to no one in particular.  “I quite look forward to her debut this season.”  She sat back and rested her feet, secretly wishing to take off her shoes.

Lady Catherine did not give Anne a dish of tea.  Interesting.

“I notice you are in half mourning,” Darcy pointed out.  “You are wearing grays.”

“My father passed,” Bella shared.  He had been drained of blood by the Volturi when they had come to Forks to abduct her and bring her to trial.  “I have been in mourning for several years, but agreed to come out into half mourning upon our marriage.”

“Your mother, then, is still with us,” Darcy surmised.

“In the Americas,” Bella agreed.

Darcy lifted an eyebrow in surprise.

That took most men by surprise.  Bella dressed English.  She now sounded English.  She looked English.  Everyone assumed she was English.  She allowed them to assume.  Most men assumed Renee had emigrated.  Bella would allow them to assume that as well.

“Most women come out of mourning for their parents.”  This was now Fitzwilliam.

“I am not most women,” she flipped back, her violet eyes piercing his gaze.

“It must have been a terrible shock,” he concluded, taking a sip of his tea.  Owestry was now watching him carefully.

“Terrible,” she agreed.

“I daresay violent.”

Bella put her teacup back in its saucer decidedly.  “What do you know of death, Colonel?”

“I did not mean to offend,” he apologized.  It didn’t sound like he meant it.

She quieted.  “You did not offend.”  Bella did not wish to pick a fight.  She lifted her teacup again so that she would have something to do.

Darcy was now regarding her.  “Owestry told me in a letter that Annabelle chose you for his wife.”

Bella smiled to herself at the memory.  “She did that.  She is a precocious seven-year-old.”

“How did that happen?” Lady Catherine inquired, inserting herself into the conversation.

“Well,” Owestry put in, setting his tea on a side table.  “I rewarded Annabelle by taking her to a production of A Midsummer Night’s Dream.  We naturally were in the Matlock box.  Annabelle had my opera glasses and was picking out women in the audience and she picked out my Bella.”

Anne gasped from beneath her shawls.

“She insisted on sending for me during intermission,” Bella continued, blushing down her neck.  “A footman came up to me and informed me that ‘Miss Annabelle Fitzwilliam’ was offering me ‘use of her box.’  I was in the gallery, you see, having decided just before showtime to buy a ticket, and so I accepted the invitation.”

“Annabelle,” Owestry said, picking up the story, “then proceeded to interview Bella during the Third Act.  What she was not expecting was for half of London to send their cards to Bella before the Fourth Act and for Lord Septimus Wimsey to appear at the end of the play and escort her home in his carriage.”

“I had my own carriage,” Bella assured the room.  “Septi was merely being gallant.”

“I daresay the Duke of Denver was fully expecting a marriage announcement from his son by the end of the season,” Owestry teased.

“I never would have accepted,” Bella assured him with a loving smile. 

He reached for her hand and she took it, squeezing it before letting it go and taking in the room, which was watching them raptly.

Colonel Fitzwilliam was barely hiding his thunderous expression.

Anne was covered in shawls, but seemed to be sniffling underneath them.

Lady Catherine seemed pleased with herself, as if she had brought about the match.

Mrs. Jenkinson, Anne’s companion, looked teary eyed at the romanticism of it all.

Darcy looked thoughtful as if an idea had just occurred to him.  He was the first to speak.  “You found your wife in a playhouse.”

“Annabelle found my wife in a playhouse,” Owestry corrected.  “She insisted on inviting Bella to the glacier the next day.  I would have been too fearful to approach such a wondrous woman.”

“I am hardly wondrous,” Bella refuted, smiling up at him. 

“You are wondrous to me,” Owestry told her.

Colonel Fitzwilliam turned away, unable to look at the happy picture.

When Bella retired upstairs to change, she was finally able to take off her shoes, and she lay down on the bed on her left side, remembering Renee having chattered away about that being the ideal position when a woman was pregnant. 

“Richard is angry,” Owestry informed her as he came in, untying his cravat.

“He lost the title,” Bella reasoned, flipping through a book of poetry.  “He had expectations.  It was ridiculous given you are only five and thirty, but he still had them.  Just because your father had given up on you, did not mean Annabelle had.”

“She certainly had not,” Owestry agreed, leaning down and offering her a gentle kiss.

“How old is he, anyway?”  Bella turned the page to an illustration. 

“One and thirty.”

“Julia is so much younger.”

“She was unexpected.”

“Hmm.”  She picked the book up and regarded the illustration closer.  It showed a man walking along a stream.  “All you cousins are around the same age, except Julia.  How old is Darcy?”

“Seven and twenty.  Eight and twenty.”  Owestry shrugged.  “I cannot quite remember.”

“It does not exactly signify.  You are the eldest.”  She leaned up for another kiss, which he laughingly gave her.

Owestry sat down on the edge of the bed and leaned over her to look at the book.  “Darcy needs to marry for the estate.  I had fathered Annabelle when I was his age.”

“Do we need to take him to the playhouse?” she teased.

“We very well might,” he told her quite seriously.  He paused.  “Lady Catherine said the vicar is to come to dinner.  The vicar’s wife has a very pretty friend.”

Bella’s eyes furrowed.  She looked over her shoulder.  “What of it?”

“Richard mentioned it as well.”

“Your brother cannot be thinking of marrying the pretty friend of the vicar’s wife.”  She huffed.  “That is preposterous.  He needs a fortune.  He should marry the daughter of a baronet.  He should marry Anne.”

“I did suggest that to him several years ago,” Owestry confessed.  “However, he outright refuses.”

“She is lost in those shawls,” Bella agreed.  “Poor Anne.  She cannot even purchase your brother.”

“He is not my brother.”

Bella looked back over her shoulder.  “What did he say?”

Owestry’s back was tense.

She reached over and ran a hand over his shoulder.  When he did not respond, she shifted and sat up, tucking her chin over his shoulder.  “Owestry,” she murmured.  “What did your—what did the Colonel say?”

“He commented nastily that you were in the gallery,” he admitted.  Owestry turned and looked into her violet eyes.  Sitting down they were almost of equal height and Bella loved that about them.  She reached up and rested her hand on the side of his face.

“Hush now,” she soothed.  “We both know I am not of a great English family, so I do not have a box.  I could have sat in Septimus’s box if I had had a mind, but I did not want to listen to a sonnet on my violet gaze.”  She rolled her eyes at him and they shared a small laugh. 

“I do not wish for Richard to find fault with you.”  Owestry reached up and placed his hand over hers.

“He will always find fault with me because I am your young wife who ruined all his plans.  I am ensuring your future.  This baby is ensuring your future.”  She gave him a small smile.

“Our future,” he corrected.

“Our future,” she agreed.  “Besides, I have Lady Catherine’s approval, and that is all that matters.”

He laughed to himself.  “That is a battle won,” he agreed.  Owestry looked into her eyes and leaned in, hesitant.

Bella smiled to herself at his shyness and leaned into him, accepting the kiss.  It turned less hesitant and he pulled her to him, and she sighed into the kiss, not objecting when they fell to the side and he reached for the hem of her gown. 

She spread her legs obliging and shivered as his hand skated up her outer knee—

There was a knock at the door.  She sighed.  “Go away!” she shouted.

“Mum,” her maid called back.  “You made me promise to give you enough time to get ready.  You said you wanted to make an impression.”

Bella ground her teeth and looked at Owestry who cocked his head.

He sat up and pulled her up with him.

“Come in, Carrie!” he called as he pulled down Bella’s dress for her.

The door opened and Charlotte came in, casting her eyes down, well aware of the passion between her mistress and her husband.  “I am sorry, mum.”

“Nothing to be sorry for,” Bella assured her, picking up the book she had kicked to the side and throwing it on the bedside table.  “We must make Colonel Fitzwilliam regret he ever saw me.”

“Colonel Fitzwilliam, mum?” Charlotte asked, coming around the bed.

“We must make Bella every inch the Viscountess,” Owestry instructed.  “I suppose Everett is coming through?”

“I believe he is, m’lord,” Charlotte agreed.

Bella pulled herself off the bed.  “Feathers,” she instructed.  “We must have feathers.”

Charlotte nodded and went about setting aside fresh stockings and heeled shoes.

Bella and Owestry shared a look and with one last kiss to her hands, Owestry withdrew. 

“Mum,” Charlotte pleaded coming up to her.  “You must think of the baby.”

Bella sighed.  She knew what Charlotte thought.  There was some notion in the nineteenth century that pregnant women should withdraw from intimate relations with their husbands.  Bella thought it was absolute hogwash.  She was positively vibrating for Owestry’s touch.  “Never you mind,” she told her maid.  “Nothing happened.”

“Nothing—”

“Carrie—” Bella warned.  “Let me see what dress we have picked out for tonight.”

A dress of dove grey was produced for her with matching feathers.  She would certainly be eye catching.

Bella dressed carefully and allowed Charlotte to put her hair up in curls kept close to the skull, not hanging about her face like the latest styles.  She detested the latest styles.  She thought they made young girls look childish.  She had had a word with Annabelle’s maid about how her new stepdaughter did her hair.  Bella didn’t want Annabelle looking like a doll.  She certainly didn’t want to look like a doll herself.

Walking in on Owestry’s arm, she could tell that Darcy was impressed and the Colonel—he was in a sour mood and had clearly taken to the decanter instead of freshening up his uniform.

He just got drunker the longer the meal went on.

Bella abstained from drinking wine as she knew how it affected an unborn child.  Owestry indulged her in her “old wives’ tale.”  Lady Catherine certainly noticed she was only drinking water. 

Anne was huddled in her shawls and was unfortunately Darcy’s conversation partner.

There was clearly no conversation between them.

Colonel Fitzwilliam drank his fourth glass of wine.  He was clearly in his cups.

“Is he always like this?” Bella whispered to Owestry behind her hand.

Owestry glanced at his legal brother in contempt.  Shaking his head, he turned to Lady Catherine who was making a pronouncement on how to tell if the baby was male.

Bella knew they wouldn’t be able to have any indication until at least the eighth month, and then only if the baby was resting low.  It wasn’t even a fool proof sign.

Darcy was watching Bella and Owestry carefully.

It was Darcy who escorted Bella to the pianoforte when they repaired to the Drawing Room.

“Lady Catherine has not inquired if you have any sisters.  She only asked after an heir for your father’s estate.”

Bella glanced up at Darcy with her wide violet eyes.  Was he really asking her what she thought he was?  “I am afraid my mother disliked giving birth to me so much, she determined never to undergo the experience ever again.”  She paused.  “Renee is the most singular of women, I am afraid to report.  My father quite despaired.”  She smiled to herself and began to remove her gloves.

Most ladies performed while still wearing their evening gloves, but Bella found it much easier to play without them.

“I am certain your clear perfection as the Viscountess of Owestry could not be duplicated,” Darcy complimented.

She looked up at him, clearly surprised.

He was staring back at her with a strong, verdant gaze.  It was clear this was not mere flattery.  This was a sincere compliment.

Placing her hands on the keys, she began to play Beethoven.  She realized that the Austrian composer was just now beginning his career, but she had rather devoted herself to his music when she was taking lessons in Arizona, and it’s all she could play from memory.

“Are you of a similar mind to Owestry?” she inquired carefully, allowing her fingers to travel over the keys.  “Are you looking to enter the happy estate of matrimony?”

“It is a vague notion,” Darcy admitted.

Bella nodded.  She continued playing and then played a little flourish.  “Owestry told me you prefer Derbyshire to society.  We could always ask Annabelle to choose you a bride, but I doubt she knows you as well as her father.”

Darcy considered.  “There is a lady—”

“Marvelous!” Bella enthused, but then she caught a look on Darcy’s face.  “What is wrong with her?”

“Her family is barely respectable.”

Bella was barely respectable.  However, half of White’s vouched for her character and the other half was happy to be introduced to her in a ballroom.  Gambling with a certain set of lords and gentleman and having a reputation for fairplay and honesty, as well as being considered one of the handsomest women in London, certainly had its advantages.

“She also has connections in trade.”

She grimaced but was sure to keep playing.  Bella understood what he was telling her.

“Well, this lady is not here.”

Another look passed over Darcy’s face.

“She’s here,” Bella corrected herself.  “Is she admitted to Lady Catherine’s table?”

Darcy’s lip twitched.

She was, then.  This was certainly a problem.

Bella switched to another melody.  It was also Beethoven.

“I take it you are in danger.”  Bella glanced up at Darcy.  She saw that he was.  She thought for a long moment.  Then she decided.  “I shall be your defender now that I know of the situation,” she decided.  “Richard is of no help.” 

Darcy looked over to where Colonel Fitzwilliam was drinking from the sideboard.  “He has noticed Miss Bennet’s charms himself.”

“He has?” Bella checked, finding this interesting.  “We are going to London for the birth,” she told Darcy now.  “You must come to London for the Season.”

Darcy made to object, but she gave him a look. 

“Julia will be there,” she informed him.  “Miss Bennet hopefully will not.”  She leaned into the music and then flicked a glance at him.  “I will not make you go to balls.  I certainly shall not be dancing in my condition.  However, there shall be plays.  There will be promenades.  I am on first name basis with half of White’s and they have sisters and daughters.  I am also, for reasons I will not relay, in a very particular position to judge these sisters and daughters and find you whatever you happen to be looking for.”  She ended the piece on a strong chord.  Looking up at him, she flashed him a mischievous smile.  “What are you looking for, Cousin?”

“I am afraid,” he told her plainly while the rest of the room applauded, “Owestry found it before I did.”

Bella forced herself not to blush.  She instead looked Darcy in the eye.

She was afraid there was probably not another time traveler, but she might be able to find a woman who did not fit into the mold of sycophantic society miss. 

“Challenge accepted,” she told him, lifting her hand so that he would escort her from the pianoforte.

After she had retired for the night, Charlotte taking the feathers down from her head and braiding her hair, Owestry looked at her speculatively.  “What were you and Darcy speaking about so intently?”

“He wishes to marry my younger sister, should I have one,” she told him bluntly.  “He has decided it is time to marry and he quite envies your choice.”

Owestry paused from where he was reclining on the bed.  “Darcy?  Envy me?”

Bella looked at him, taking him in.  He really was so wonderfully lovable.  She simply adored him. 

Standing up from her vanity, she approached the other side of the bed and looked over at him.  “Get used to it,” she told him.  “Fitzwilliam is so jealous he has taken to drink.”

“He is jealous over the title.”

“The title is yours,” Bella reminded him, drawing back the covers and settling next to him.  “Now I am yours and this baby is yours.  Half of London envies you.  You got what no one could get.  You caught the uncatchable me.”  She leaned forward and nudged his nose with her own.  He leaned forward and nipped her lips with a soft kiss, which she chased into a real kiss.

Pushing the sheets off of him, Bella swung her leg over him, keeping her lips seared to his.  Owestry’s hands settled on her hips, though he helped rake up her nightdress.

When the candles were much lower and Bella was lying in his arms, she whispered, “Darcy’s in danger from some lady in the area.  Lady Catherine invites her to dinner.  He says she is most unsuitable.  I promised to protect him.”

“Darcy,” Owestry laughed.  “In danger.  I thought he was half in love with you.”

“A crush from one dinner cannot wipe out a former attachment,” Bella reasoned, looking up at him.  “I told him he should come to London after Rosings.  I would try to find him—someone.  One of Septimus’s sisters would not do.  They’re all society ladies.”

“All of them?” Owestry asked.

“There are four,” Bella wondered.  “Perhaps one is acceptable.”

Owestry kissed the top of her head.  “If worse comes to worst, we can always give Annabelle opera glasses.”

Bella giggled.  “True.”  She buried her head further into Owestry’s chest, delighting in the feel of his hairy skin against her cheek.  “I don’t think Darcy handsome,” she whispered.  “Fitzwilliam even less so.”

Owestry didn’t answer at first.  Then finally: “Every woman finds Darcy handsome.”

“Not I,” Bella promised.  “He’s so—tall.”

“Tall?” Owestry inquired, looking down at her.

“Yes,” Bella agreed.  “Tall.  It is most unattractive.  I have to crane my neck to look at him, even when we are both seated.  My feet already ache.  Do I really need my neck to ache, as well?”

Owestry chuckled and reached down to kiss her.  “My Bella.”

“Your Bella,” she agreed.

Then she drifted into sleep, the sound of Owestry’s breathing her lullaby.

The next day, Colonel Fitzwilliam went to the parsonage to visit Mrs. Collins’ pretty friend.  Bella learned from Darcy that this was to—what she would call—boost his ego.  The pretty friend was none other than Miss Bennet.

“Miss Bennet is expecting a proposal from you, though,” Bella checked as she turned the page in her book of poetry. 

Owestry was out riding.

Darcy had declined to go with him although now he was sitting with Bella, Anne, and Mrs. Jenkinson.  Anne was sitting as far away from the windows as she could possibly get.  Mrs. Jenkinson said the light hurt Anne’s eyes.  As such, Anne was eclipsed in shadows along with her shawls.

Bella was sitting directly in a window seat.  Darcy had come to join her and so they had relative privacy.

“She teases you,” she then checked.  “You like this?”

Darcy just sat tall, unresponsive.

Bella had to refrain from sighing.  She did not understand men at times.

“Do you like all women who tease you?”  She looked at him carefully.

“Miss Bennet does not want Pemberley,” he explained.  “Women—chase me for it.”

Bella did sigh now and set aside her book.  “I can assure you Miss Bennet wants a comfortable home and an adequate income at the very least.  All women want this.  I cannot speak to Pemberley.  Owestry showed me a rendering of it and it indeed looks very fine.”

Darcy sat a little straighter at the compliment, clearly proud of his home.  Bella regarded him and determined he should marry a woman who would appreciate all that Pemberley could offer and all that Darcy could offer as her husband. 

“Miss Bennet wants this,” Bella continued carefully.  “If she has employed teasing you into a proposal, she is after if not Pemberley, then perhaps your income, or it could even be your fine countenance.  Miss Bennet may be turned by a pretty face.”  She smiled to herself.  “Owestry quite turned my head.”

Darcy seemed genuinely surprised at this.

She tapped his arm with her book.  “Do not look at me like that, Cousin.”  Her smile widened.  “Do not think I married him to be Viscountess.  That was a disadvantage as far as I was concerned.”

Now Darcy was clearly intrigued, but Bella did not make further comment.

“When do the vicar and his wife next come to dinner?”

“Lady Catherine has not indicated.”  Darcy tried to sound unaffected, but Bella could tell otherwise.

She hummed.

Colonel Fitzwilliam came back pleased with himself, but Bella completely ignored him.  His mood, however, soured as soon as Owestry returned from his ride.  He returned to the sideboard and Bella suspected when he retired to the Billiards Room, that there was whiskey there as well.

She sighed.

He might drink himself into speaking words everyone regretted.

They were here for five weeks after all.

Anne still sat in her shawls, sniffling.

Darcy stayed indoors, though assiduously avoiding Anne’s company.

“What a strange family you do have,” Bella commented after a week when she was sitting after dinner, drinking a cup of tea.  Owestry was massaging her shoulders and Bella was rather enjoying the treatment.

“They are all acting out of character—except for Anne,” Owestry told her outright.  He leaned forward and kissed her on the cheek.  “Richard keeps on calling on the parsonage.”

“If I didn’t know better, I would think he is having an affair with the vicar’s pretty little friend—if she is actually pretty.”

Owestry paused in his ministrations.

Bella turned in her seat.  “You do not think?”

“I will ask Darcy.”

“Surely she is chaperoned!”

“Less than you might think,” Owestry admitted.  “The vicar will be out in the parish and so might the vicar’s wife.”  He thought.  “If the vicar’s wife thinks this friend might catch Richard—”

“Ah, yes.  I see.”  And Bella did see.  She was well aware of how Regency England worked.  Bella herself had been approached quite often in her first year in 1809 Switzerland.  With nothing but the clothes on her back and her pretty looks, Bella had been a target of wealthier men who could have protected her.  Bella had chosen to live by her wits instead.  She knew she could have lived a comfortable life as some man’s mistress if she had chosen.  She had chosen a more difficult life, which had eventually led to respectability—though it could have led to broken jaws and life from hand to mouth.  “We shall hope in the Colonel’s good judgment.”

Owestry huffed.  “What good judgment?  He is displaying none.”

That was unfortunately the truth.  He was displaying absolutely no good judgment.  He was sinking into petty jealousy.

“Well,” Bella decided.  “When does the vicar come?”

“Two days.”

“Then we will see them together in two days.”  She rolled her head back as Owestry continued his ministrations. 

It seemed that Darcy and Owestry were in conference on the matter of Elizabeth Bennet.  Darcy was of the opinion that Elizabeth still would wish to catch him, but an Earl’s second son was well worth catching as well.  Fitzwilliam was also handsome and charming when he wanted to be.  He had a commission, a small allowance, and whatever he won at the gambling tables.

Bella found it interesting that her path had never crossed Colonel Fitzwilliam’s before Rosings.

She discreetly wrote a note to Lord Septimus Wimsey and sent it by care of his sister, Lady Rose, who had just had her first season in London Society.  Owestry knew of her friendship with Lord Septimus, although he did not know its origins.  Septi had given her away at her wedding, and the Duke of Denver and the Viscount St. George had both been present.  Lady Rose had been one of her bridesmaids.  Still, she didn’t want a servant informing Lady Catherine that she was in contact with a single gentleman who had a reputation for gambling.

When she got Darcy alone she inquired of him: “The Colonel gambles?”  Perhaps she could gain intelligence from him, as well as Septimus.

“All military men gamble.”

“True,” she agreed, turning the page of her Grey.  “Did you know that Lord Septimus Wimsey gave me away at my wedding?”

Darcy looked up from his own volume.  “I heard that the duke gave him two thousand pounds and he turned it into over forty in less than a year.”

“He did,” Bella confirmed.  “However, I do not believe that Colonel Fitzwilliam is part of his social circle.”  She flicked her violet eyes up.  “Why would this be so?  Is Fitzwilliam a member of White’s?”

“He was thrown out for cheating.”

Bella stilled.  “When?”

“Eighteen-oh-eight.”  Darcy said this with absolutely no inflection in his voice, as if he didn’t mind one way or another.

That was a full year before Bella climbed out of the tunnel in the Volturi cellars into Il Cipresso.  Bella hadn’t even come to England yet, let alone Switzerland.  She had still been living a blissfully ignorant life in Arizona.

“No wonder he wants the title and the money.”  Bella had to keep herself from spitting it out.

“You see how you ruined all his plans.”

“If it hadn’t been me—”

“You know that is not true,” Darcy countered.  “If it had not been you, it would not have been any other woman.  You are unique, Isabella Owestry, completely singular.  You are irreplaceable.”

Bella forced herself not to react and only turned the page.

She knew Darcy only spoke the truth.  Owestry was not looking to remarry.  His first marriage had been such a failure, he was content to never remarry and remain a widower for the rest of his days, watching as Annabelle grew up and allowing the title to pass to his illegitimate brother.  Even the Matlock name was not enough for him to enter into the perilous straights of matrimony again, given the horror Sophie, the first Viscountess of Owestry, had been—or so Bella understood.  Sophie had made Owestry’s life a complete and utter misery.  Only his deep and abiding love for Bella, which had been coaxed out of him despite his deepest reservations, had induced him to try again.

“I wouldn’t mind a daughter,” she admitted quietly, “although we need a son.”

“There will always be others,” Darcy comforted.

“True,” Bella agreed with a small smile.  “We also have Annabelle.”

They lapsed into silence.  All that was heard for the next two hours was the turning of pages.  If Darcy caught glances of Bella, she did not acknowledge it.

When the vicar and his wife came, Bella wore mauve.  She thought it was a rather peculiar color.  She much preferred violet.  Mauve rather hung between two shades, but it was an acceptable color for mourning, and she had been wearing various shades of greys and silvers the past several days.

Charlotte placed diamonds in her hair and at her throat.  When she was finished, Bella looked quite the Viscountess.

“The skinny,” Owestry told her, when he came into their shared bedchamber, his cravat well in place, “is that Mr. Collins, the vicar, is a Bennet cousin.”

“Is he?  Then Mrs. Collins must be a Bennet, if I understand your meaning.”

“She is not.”

Bella blinked.

“Mr. Collins went to Hertfordshire specifically to marry a Bennet, or so Darcy tells me.  He settled on Elizabeth—the Miss Bennet who is here on a visit—but ended up marrying her closest companion instead.”  He gave her a pointed look.

“Did she have a fortune?”

“I know not,” Owestry admitted.  “Richard said Mrs. Collins is most plain.”

“And Miss Bennet is the vicar’s wife’s ‘pretty friend.’”  Bella hummed.  “Interesting.”

“Very interesting,” Owestry agreed.  “Are you ready, m’dear?”  He looked her over in obvious approval.  He loved showing her off.  From what Bella understood, although Sophie had been quite lovely herself, Owestry hated to be in her company and took no pleasure in her looks.

They entered the Drawing Room.

Darcy was in his usual place, staring out the windows.  Fitzwilliam was at the sideboard though not in his cups, fortunately.  Perhaps he preferred to remain sober for Miss Bennet.  Lady Catherine was sitting imperiously on the couches.  Anne had foregone her shawls but looked swallowed up by her lace.

Taking a seat by Lady Catherine, Bella chatted about nothing in particular until their guests arrived.

Mrs. Collins was indeed plain.  She was also approaching thirty if she had not already passed that birthday mark.  She was certainly of an age with Anne.  Bella wondered what would have induced the vicar to marry her other than love or a fortune.

The vicar was a handsome young man with golden curls and bright blue eyes.  He was rather excitable and ready to please.

The pretty friend was clearly a cousin with the same curls, though a shade or two lighter, and very similar eyes.  She was badly dressed and clearly pleased with herself.  She was pretty in a common sort of way, and she kept on casting glances between Darcy and the Colonel as if daring them to look at her.

Bella took an instant dislike to her.  She wondered what Darcy possibly saw in her.  She knew what the Colonel saw in her.  She was just the sort of woman to spend a pleasant afternoon with and then leave behind in Kent.  Bella checked to see if she had child-bearing hips.  She did not.  That did not bode well for her chances in Regency England.  How strange Bella’s world had become.

When they had all gone into dinner, Lady Catherine unfortunately had Mr. Collins switch places with Elizabeth Bennet so she was sitting next to Darcy.  Bella looked upon this disfavorably, but she could hardly switch without causing speculation.

She noticed Darcy speaking to Elizabeth, but then Lady Catherine interrupted.

“Do you play the pianoforte, Miss Bennet?”

Elizabeth Bennet paused.  “Yes, ma’am, a little.”

“Hmm.”  Lady Catherine looked over at Bella.  “The Viscountess plays most beautifully.  I am certain, if she should grant us a performance, she would allow you the use of the instrument after her.”  She returned her attention to Elizabeth.  “Do you draw?”

“No.”

Lady Catherine looked perturbed.

“Do any of your sisters draw?”

“Not a one.”

“Oh.  How peculiar.  Your governess should have taken more care with your education.”

Bella smiled.  She had been rather hopeless in Art Class.  She was much better at abstract art than anything resembling a portrait.

“Has she left you?”  This was Lady Catherine again.

“We never had a governess.”  Elizabeth looked pleased with her answer.

“Your mother must have been a slave to your education.”

“I assure you, not at all.”

Bella shared a glance with Owestry.  Lady Catherine was eviscerating Elizabeth Bennet before two of her suitors without even trying.

“She should have taken you to Town for the benefit of the masters.”

“I assure you while my mother would have liked nothing better than that, my father quite detests Town.”

Bella had to hide a smile.  She had been living in London year-round for two years.  She had only now left London.  She had never even been to Derbyshire where she would now be residing with Owestry outside of the Season and Little Season.  If Matlock was anything like Rosings, she was sure she wouldn’t mind it.

“Your sisters, are they out?”

“Yes, ma’am, all.”

“What? All out?  All five out at once?  The younger out before the eldest are married?”

“Indeed.  I find it would be hard on younger sisters not to have their share of amusements just because the elder do not have the means or inclination to marry.  It would hardly encourage sisterly affection.”

Lady Catherine clearly looked affronted.  “Your younger sisters must be very young.”

“Yes, ma’am.  My youngest is not sixteen.”

Darcy and Colonel Fitzwilliam shared a look.  Bella caught it.  She looked pointedly at Darcy and he made a signal.  Owestry caught it and raised his eyebrows.  It was clear he understood the meaning.  Bella looked at him.  “Georgiana,” he whispered in her ear.  Bella did not quite understand.  “Later,” he promised.

“Pray tell,” Lady Catherine asked, looking between her nephews quickly, “you must be very young.  Pray, what is your age?”

“With three younger sisters grown up you can hardly expect me to own it.”

“You can hardly be more than—twenty.  There is no reason to conceal your age.”

Elizabeth Bennet calmly looked at Lady Catherine and then glanced at Darcy.  “I am not one and twenty.”

Bella had to stop herself from rolling her eyes.  This was hardly an edifying conversation.

Next was after dinner coffee in the parlor.  Bella was not looking forward to it.

In answer to something Darcy said, Colonel Fitzwilliam declared, “The Viscountess is perfect,” as the men came through.  There was a certain nastiness in his voice.  Bella noted it.  And it seemed like the gentlemen had decided not to separate from the ladies.  “Is that not correct, Owestry?”

Ignoring him, Owestry offered Bella his hand and led her to the piano. 

“Darcy?” Fitzwilliam tried.

“You know I share the opinion that the Viscountess is as close to perfection as a human woman can come,” Darcy countered, his tone unwavering.  “I know Lady Catherine and I are certain Anne agrees with us.  Your brother is most fortunate in his choice of wife.”

Bella nodded graciously in his direction.

Colonel Fitzwilliam was now laughing at something Miss Bennet had said.

Darcy stood looking out of the window even though it was dark outside.  He often stood at the window and stared out.  Bella hadn’t seen him do it at night, though, before.  She wondered if he could see anything.  Perhaps he was looking at his reflection.

Bella took off her gloves and set them aside. 

There was a collection of music tied with a ribbon on the side, and Bella began to flip through it.  She was certain Owestry was getting tired of Beethoven, although he would never say so.  She needed to expand her repertoire.  Perhaps she would find a sheet of music she recognized.

Setting her fingers to the keys, she began a soft piece by Tallis.

Darcy glanced at her over his shoulder.

Bella exchanged a glance with Owestry.

Colonel Fitzwilliam laughed heartily again.  Bella didn’t think Elizabeth Bennet was particularly witty, but she was not a man after his own nefarious plans—if that was indeed what the Colonel was about.  Miss Bennet was certainly not marriage material.  She had a barely respectable family, her mother’s family was in trade, and if her dress was anything to go by she wouldn’t have much of a dowry.

Bella only played the one piece before relinquishing the pianoforte. 

She was eager to hear Elizabeth Bennet play.

Fitzwilliam naturally was in attendance.

After the first few measures, Bella grimaced.  Miss Bennet had played a false note and it was glaringly obvious.  Lady Catherine looked most perturbed.  When the second false note was played not one minute later, Bella knew they were in for a long evening.

“Do you not play, Mrs. Collins?” she asked politely of the vicar’s wife.

Mrs. Collins set down her teacup and smiled.  “I am afraid I have no talent.” 

Wondering if Mrs. Collins had any talents at all, Bella smiled politely.  “I should have so liked to have heard you.”

Miss Bennet played another false note. 

Bella grimaced despite herself.

Mrs. Collins did not react at all.  It seemed that she was accustomed to Miss Bennet’s bad playing since they were the greatest of friends.  Bella wondered why Mr. Collins had chosen his wife.  She certainly had no conversation.  She was just as plain as Anne, though without the unfortunate nose.  She seemed hale and healthy, but she was getting on in her childbearing years, especially given early nineteenth century doctoring.  Many women died in childbirth or shortly afterward during this time period.  Doctors didn’t know to wash their hands.  That development in medicine hadn’t been discovered yet.

Perhaps Miss Bennet had refused Mr. Collins.  She certainly seemed pleased enough with herself as she laughed at something the Colonel said, skipping a note and fumbling the next.  She would be the type of woman to reject perfectly reasonable offers of marriage.

Then again, Bella couldn’t talk.  She had lost count how many times she had refused Septi.

Darcy stayed at the window the entire evening, never leaving it except to accept a dish of tea from a footman.  Bella wondered what reflection he was looking at.  She couldn’t quite tell from where she was sitting on the couches.

“Well,” Bella decided when the vicar and their party were finally gone, “that’s over.”  Charlotte had draped her in a shawl to combat the chilly March weather.  England was nothing if not cold and damp.  Not as cold as Forks—but that was a memory long past and best left forgotten. 

“I wonder at Darcy falling prey to Miss Bennet,” Owestry remarked from where he was sitting up in bed, just regarding Bella at her vanity.  “It seems so unlike him.”

“Did she tease him?” Bella asked carefully, coming around to her side of the bed.

Owestry looked surprised.  “She teased Richard.”

“Is that what he was laughing over?” Bella wondered, snuggling under the covers, trying to get comfortable. 

“He gave as good as he got,” Owestry told her wryly.  “He was always one for the ladies.”

“But never one to marry,” Bella noted, reaching over and brushing Owestry’s fringe away from his watery gaze.  “He is quite of an age with Darcy and he never settled down, fortune or no, even to secure his line for your title.”

“Father did urge him to marry not a year ago,” Owestry recounted.  He had told her as much before.

“You said he hardly seemed serious in his pursuit of anyone.”

Owestry considered.  “It is true I did not attend the local balls so I could not observe him, but I never heard a rumbling of marriage.  Father would have certainly pressed him at Christmastide, if I hadn’t appeared with you as my new Viscountess.”  That dopey smile tugged at the side of his mouth.  His eyes glittered in happiness.  “I think he likes his bachelor lifestyle.”

“There are certainly no encumbrances to his pursuit of women such as Miss Bennet,” Bella noted, settling down into her pillow.  Owestry looked over at her and blew out the candle on his bedside table, before turning to her and settling onto his own side of the bed.

“No, there is no one to notice but us.”

“Lady Catherine certainly noticed.”  Bella tried to give him a look, but they had only the flames of the Springtime fire to light the room.  Owestry might not have seen in the gloom.

“She was too busy eviscerating Miss Bennet’s character to notice any attention Richard was paying to the lady.”

Bella hesitated.  “I was worried Darcy was watching her reflection in the glass.  I did promise to protect him from her.”

Owestry made a sound in the back of his throat.  She felt him shrug.  “He was insulating himself from her.  At least he was not always at your side as he is so often of late.”

Bella reached out and found her husband’s hand, entwining their fingers.  “Colonel Fitzwilliam is acting the drunkard.  Anne has no conversation.  Lady Catherine has too much conversation—and you are clearly not the best of friends.  I am the only person he can talk to other than Mrs. Jenkinson.”

“I would rather he speak to no one,” Owestry growled, a little playfully.

“We shall find him a wife,” Bella soothed, “and then he can talk to her.”

Owestry sighed.  “It does not signify.  I rarely see him except at the odd dinner in Town.  Although he comes to Rosings every Easter, I have not been here for six years.  This interlude in Kent is unusual.”  He lifted her hand and kissed the back of it, his lips dry.

“We need to go to Matlock,” Bella reminded him.  “I have yet to see your home in Derbyshire.”

“Our home,” Owestry reminded her, pulling her toward him.  “It is our home in Derbyshire.”

“You know I think of Matlock House as home.”  She pressed her ear against his heart, feeling soothed by the steady beating.  “And I was there but a few short months.”

“I hope you do not miss Bloomsbury.”  Owestry was now running his fingers through her hair, his fingers lingering on her ear comfortingly. 

Bella thought of the house she had rented when living in London.  It certainly was not in a fashionable area of town and was suitable only for a lady and a kitchen’s maid.  Poor Charlotte’s room was barely large enough to hold her bed, it was so cramped.  Still, it had been where Bella had rested her head at the end of a long night in gambling.  She had many memories of passing lonely mornings drinking tea and reading a book.  Those days were gone now.

“No, I do not miss it,” Bella promised him.  “I was so alone there with only Carrie for company.”

She felt Owestry settle a kiss in her hair.  “There is no reason to be alone any longer, m’dear.”

“No,” Bella agreed, drifting off to sleep.  “No reason to be alone at all.”

The next day, Bella had a quiet word with Lady Catherine.

“I do so dislike Miss Bennet,” she mentioned, “and the vicar’s wife is dull as dirt.”

“Then we need not see them again, while you are here, Viscountess,” Lady Catherine declared, clearly willing to please.  “Her upbringing, after all, was atrocious.”

“Very atrocious indeed,” Bella commented, looking up from her cup of tea to where Darcy was standing at the window. 

Now, Colonel Fitzwilliam need only make a fool of himself at the parsonage, and Miss Bennet’s character would be forever ruined in Darcy’s eyes.

It was a job well done, if Bella did say so herself.

The End.