Mr. Darcy shook his head and looked up at the lovely vision besides him, remembering the incredible love making that had occurred between them just minutes before. His mind no longer seemed to be dulled by the alcohol so much. But the accusing expressions of the onlookers made him felt guilty. “I am sorry, Father. I was drunk.”

Old Mr. Darcy breathed deeply and asked Mr. Wickham and Miss Bingley to leave the room.

As Elizabeth began to remember what had happened, through the haze of cloud that still filled her head, she burst into tears, and murmured, “How could this have happened? One minute, I was drinking tea with Miss Bingley, and the next minute I felt giddy and so very drowsy. I was sleeping here, all by myself. Why did you come in? What have you done?”

“Do not cry, child,” Old Mr. Darcy said kindly. “I shall step out for just a minute. The two of you must rise and dress. I know that it is highly improper to question you here and now, but I want to get to the bottom of this, without delay.”

As soon as the old gentleman went out into the hallway, Elizabeth and Fitzwilliam dressed quickly, in complete silence, without looking at each other. When Elizabeth sat down again upon the bed, he opened the door for his father.

Old Mr. Darcy began the questioning. “My name is George Darcy, and this is my son, Fitzwilliam Darcy. What is your name?”

“Elizabeth Bennet, Sir.”

“Of the Bennets of Longbourn? Amazing. I met your father this very day, while my carriage was being repaired at Meryton. Your father’s estate is quite nearby.”

Elizabeth nodded.

“You are a guest here?”

“Yes, sir. My sister Jane became ill while she was visiting Miss Bingley, two days ago. I came, yesterday, to take care of her. Mr. Bingley invited me to stay on until Jane was better.”

“And you mentioned feeling giddy and sleepy after drinking some tea?”

“Yes, actually. Jane was quite sick, this morning, so I told Miss Bingley that I would not go down for breakfast. She brought me some refreshments and tea personally around noontime. It was very kind of her, but after I drank it, I felt quite strange, and so I went to my...” She looked around uncertainly. “I did not know how I got here. This is not the guest room where I stayed, last night.”

“That is strange.” Young Darcy frowned. “Miss Bingley is not…”

“…known for her kindness,” Old Mr. Darcy completed the sentence, and shared a candid glance with his son.

“I was rather surprised, too, sir,” Elizabeth added. “Ever since Miss Bingley learned that we have little dowry, with our estate entailed away to a male cousin, and our uncle in trade and living in Cheapside, she has been… Well, in truth, sir, she has of late been rather rude to Jane and me.”

Old Mr. Darcy stepped outside again, and called for his valet to check with a maid and have the cups and cutlery used for refreshments from Miss Bennet’s room brought to him discreetly. He then returned to the silent room and turned to his son with a stern expression. “And you, son. How do you come to be here.”

“George, Charles, Hurst and I were drinking in the study while we waited for you. George had this special Scottish whisky that he insisted that we sample. I knew that I should not, but…I did. And I fear that I got drunk quite quickly, just like the last time.”

“Like the last time?” The senior frowned.

“Umh, yes. When I was around three-and-twenty. Wickham and I sampled that same brand of whisky in a tavern when we were at Cambridge.” Fitzwilliam’s face turned bright red. He had later heard that he started singing love songs and dancing on the table, wanted to kiss every one and take off his clothes. Luckily, a friend prevented him.

“Ah that incident.” Old Mr. Darcy nodded. “But how did you come to this bedchamber?”

“I cannot remember clearly. George accompanied me here. He said that…that…” Fitzwilliam stammered to a halt.

“What did he say?” his father demanded.

“He said that he had procured…” He turned to glance at the distraught young lady. “…a sensual widow for my…enjoyment.” He lowered his head, not daring to look at his father or the lovely lady.

“I am no widow!” Elizabeth gasped. “I am still a maiden.” Tears rolled down her pale cheeks again. “At least, I was, until…”

“I am sorry, Miss Bennet,” Mr. Darcy said wretchedly. “Sir, I am sorry. I should have stopped as soon as I realized that she was …untouched. But I did not.” He drew in a deep breath, expecting the harshest censure from his father…but his father appeared to be deep in thought. So he walked, instead, to kneel before Elizabeth, his eyes begging for forgiveness. “Miss Bennet, I am deeply sorry for my drunken behaviour. I have compromised you. We must marry.”

“But I do not even know you!” she replied in alarm. “What if you are…witless?”

He shook his head. “I completed Cambridge with honours.”

“Unkind?”

“I have never raised my hand or voice against a defenceless servant. Our housekeeper, Mrs. Reynolds, can confirm that. She has known me since I was four.”

“A gambler?”

“My fortune is still quite intact, at six thousand so far. You may rest assured that I am not a gambler.”

She gasped at his wealth, but pressed on, for it was of no true consequence in the present burning matter. Instead, she continued. “A drunkard?”

“I shall have to prove myself to you on that score. I do not usually get drunk. But this one special Scottish whisky does appear to have a most peculiar effect upon me. I vow hereafter to stay away from it entirely.”

“But…I want to marry for love.” She wanted desperately to look away from the handsome man in front of her, but her eyes betrayed her, for they would not leave his face.

Mr. Darcy sucked in a deep breath and was about to respond when his father waved him to silence and addressed Elizabeth himself.

“That, my dear young woman, is a rather novel notion. To marry for love. As my son said, he is very rich and you do not have a dowry. Will that not change your mind about the marriage?”

She sighed deeply. “If I cannot respect the man by my side, all the money in the world will not make me happy.”

Old Mr. Darcy nodded with approval, and waved his permission for Fitzwilliam to continue to argue his case.

“Well then, Miss Bennet, you have only to tell me how to win your respect and I shall try my hardest to do so. Indeed, I have already begun to respect you quite sincerely. You did not hesitate to tell us of your ‘less fortunate’ family situation, and you pronounce yourself unwilling to marry me, even though I am quite wealthy. I find that admirable indeed.”

Elizabeth blinked in surprise. “You have no objection to my relations? I must confess, my mother and younger sisters are rather silly.”

“My aunt, Lady Catherine, is not the most reasonable of relations, either.”

“Fitzwilliam!” Old Mr. Darcy chastised his son.

“You seem determined to challenge me, Fitzwilliam,” Elizabeth said, then turned crimson, for her accidental use of his Christian name caused her to recall crying out the word in the very throes of passion. She had to admit that this fine young man had a hidden sense of humour, a strong code of honour and the most handsome of physical forms. Perhaps…perhaps she could trust him with her future.

Mr. Darcy rubbed the insides of her palms. He loved the way she spoke his name, and the twinkle in her eyes. He shivered with pleasure as he remembered hearing her endearingly cry out his name at the height of their ecstasy…

Now, kneeling before her, he felt hot and pleasantly flustered, anticipating a lifelong enjoyment of this responsive, intelligent and no-nonsense beauty. He had only known her for a very short interlude but he felt a surprising connection with her.

Old Mr. Darcy was happily satisfied with their conversation so far. His son knew that he had done wrong, and was taking responsibility for his actions, upholding his duty and honour. And this young woman, though without connections or wealth, seemed an exceptional find, nothing at all like the regrettable Miss Bingley. He felt confident that Miss Elizabeth Bennet would stand up to – and stand by – her husband, for better or worse.

He left the young couple to talk and stepped out of the room again, where he found his valet waiting. As he had suspected, the cup smelt of laudanum and liquor, solving the mystery of Elizabeth’s presence in the room.

As for Fitzwilliam’s side of the tale, old Mr. Darcy had a good idea that it was indeed his rakish godson’s doing. It was evident from the way Wickham had insisted on showing him where Fitzwilliam was, immediately after he finally arrived at Netherfield. Then Mrs. Hurst had appeared by way of the servant’s entrant, most improperly attired. And he had not missed the angry glare that was then shared between Wickham and the married woman.

They planned to compromise my son. But what for? To obtain money from me to shut them up, most likely. But were there two separate plans, or did all three of them, Wickham, Mrs. Hurst and Miss Bingley, work together?

He found, abruptly, that he did not care. He was altogether sick of providing Wickham with a second, a third, nay, countless chances. It seemed that the young man’s dissolute ways were fixed. Very well, then. Old Mr. Darcy would wash his hands of Wickham. He would buy his godson a commission to India, and have him shipped off immediately. Nor could they stay longer at Netherfield, either.

With a vigorous torrent of plans in his head, old Mr. Darcy returned to the room, where he found that he had interrupted Fitzwilliam and Elizabeth in a sweet embrace. They broke apart, and he told them of his thoughts.