Worth touched her cheek lightly with his fingertip. “You have beautiful eyes, Miss de Bourgh.They haunted my dreams last evening.”

Anne blushed immediately. “Mr. Worth, although your words give me pleasure, I cannot encourage you to speak so forwardly.” She tried to look away, but Worth’s intensity held her gaze.

“Miss de Bourgh, I am in my late thirties. If I am to finally choose a woman who holds my interest, I do not intend that my wooing game be an extended one. It is inappropriate to declare my desires so soon after your loss, but when the arrangements for dear Mrs. Jenkinson are complete, I will press my suit.”

Anne flushed once more, but she gathered her nerve to catch Worth’s hand with hers and turned to kiss his palm. “I would be pleased to accept your regard. Mildred would love the possibilities; I believe it to be one of her last wishes.”

Worth brought Anne’s hand to his lips and kissed her fingertips. “I am your servant, Miss de Bourgh.”

Anne smiled brightly. “We have a play to find, Mr.Worth.”

“That we do, Miss Anne.” His laughter filled the room. He turned toward the shelf holding the many volumes of Shakespeare. “I believe what we seek can be found over here,” he said loudly for the benefit of any servants lurking in the hallway.

“You are correct, Mr. Worth,” she announce just as loudly. Anne watched as he stretched and retrieved the tome. The man possessed an interesting face and a solidly built body, and Anne knew him to be a man of compassion—a man who could care for her and her alone.


“And what do you wish me to do?” Elizabeth had cornered Darcy in one of the servant entrances to the below-stairs area.

“I expect you to enjoy your exploits in the performing arts.” He leaned close, so that only she might hear. “And, more importantly, use your intuition. Please watch and listen and be my eyes and my ears. I need to know more about our guests, and I am depending on you to supply me with that information.” Darcy nestled her in the curve of his body, touching Elizabeth’s back—his right hand splayed over her hips.

She smiled up at him mischievously. “Your hand tells me you wish something else, my Husband.

Darcy’s left hand caressed the side of her face, while his right nudged her forward. “All you must do, Elizabeth, is smile at me or walk into a room or speak my name, and I am lost to you and you alone. I am even more besotted with you now that you carry our child.” His warm breath teased her ear.“In you, I know both affection and passion.”

Elizabeth laughed softly, reaching up to brush away the lock of hair falling over his forehead. “As for me, I have no notion of loving people in halves. My attachments are always excessively strong. I believe my feelings are stronger than anybody’s,” she said. “I am sure they are too strong for my own peace of mind.”

“Well, I suppose my obsession is perfectly appropriate then.” Darcy brushed her lips with his. “You have placed me under your spell.” The fragrance of lavender, which always clung to her skin, swept over him.

They had come from different worlds, but knew the same desires—possessed the same perspectives. Their need for each other ran deep—a profound connection. Elizabeth ached for him—could not deny her need for his approval, even when she had foolishly thought that Darcy disapproved of her. Then one day, he had opened himself to her—let her see his vulnerability—see his fears and his hopes—see the part of him that Darcy secreted away from the world. From that moment forward, she had begun to comprehend that he was exactly the man, who in disposition and talents, would most suit her. “I will join the others now,” she rasped, hearing the approach of one of the servants at the end of the passageway. Darcy reluctantly released her. “Until later, Mr. Darcy.” Elizabeth dropped a curtsy and disappeared through the side door.

Darcy watched her go, his eyes tracing her form. “It is a truth universally acknowledged, that a single man in possession of a good fortune, must be in want of a wife,” he whispered to the empty hallway. He chuckled. When I was single, I feared that notion; only now do I understand its wisdom—for the man of wealth and the man of modest means.


James observed the group gathered in the ballroom. He rested against the backside of an Athenian column supporting the main wall. Hidden by a balcony-like façade, he observed closely the dynamics of the group as they planned a theatrical performance. He knew most of the players, but no one had told him of Nigel Worth’s presence at Pemberley. He would have a little talk with Peter about not keeping him informed. He did not like surprises, and Peter Whittington knew him better than anyone else—knew his likes and dislikes intimately.Although James had not seen Worth in nearly five years, he remembered his distaste for Worth’s arrogance and his envy of Worth’s knowledge of the law. James had once considered the study of the law, but his talents had taken him elsewhere—to the underbelly of society.

Now, he wondered if he might not include Worth in his plan for revenge.“Two birds and one stone,” he muttered.Worth seemed quite taken with Miss Anne de Bourgh. Darcy’s cousin, he thought, as he closed and locked the opening through which he had peered. The lady might serve as a means to exact revenge on both Darcy and Worth. He would use the information about Worth and Anne’s flirtation to his own advantage. As he was well aware, the de Bourghs were very wealthy, and he always needed money.“Something good this way comes,” he added as he made his way to his makeshift bed. “Pemberley is a house of infinite possibilities.”


“Then we are agreed.” Anne led the group’s discussion. “We will select poignant scenes to recreate the main plot of the play. Some of us will enact more than one part, especially as we have only two males, and they must be Benedick and Claudio.”

Elizabeth caught Georgiana around the waist. “Well, I, for one, am looking forward to playing a man’s role, and I am sure my sister, Miss Darcy, feels the same.” She squeezed the girl to her teasingly. “After all, Shakespeare had men playing the female roles.”

“I think it quite generous of you to offer to perform many of the minor parts, Mrs. Darcy,” Miss Donnel remarked. “It will take some creative staging to tell the story with so few performers.”

“It will be great sport,” Anne asserted, before organizing the papers strewn on the floor.“We will stage the masque, the plot against Benedick and Beatrice by the Prince, Borachio’s seduction of Margaret, the first wedding scene, Beatrice’s demand that Benedick kill Claudio, Dogberry’s questioning of Don John’s men, the second wedding, and the lovers’ declaration. Is that the extent of our scenes?” Anne quickly surveyed their faces for approval. When no one offered objections, she settled back into her role as the group’s leader. Only eight and forty hours earlier, she could not have filled the role of director; or, at least, she would have believed it impossible. Be daring, Anne, she urged herself. It is the way forward. “Then let us read through the scenes and meet back here in, let us say, two hours to begin our rehearsals.”

As the others stood, Elizabeth heard Lydia complain, “I do not see why I must play Margaret. I would make a more plausible Hero.”

Georgiana intervened. Until that moment, Darcy’s sister had avoided Mr. Wickham’s new wife. It was as though Anne’s new approach inspired Georgiana. “It would be more fitting for Miss Donnel and Lord Stafford to commit to the roles. They are close and can say hurtful lines without offering an offense. Would you not think so, Mrs.Wickham?”

Lydia begrudgingly agreed, but she remained less than happy about the choice.

“Mr.Worth consented to be your Borachio,” Elizabeth said encouragingly. “That is an agreeable situation, and you do have one of the more provocative scenes.” Elizabeth smiled teasingly.“Hero is too bland a character for your talents, Lyddie. Be part of my and Miss Darcy’s group of minor characters.” She brought the two younger girls together in a tight circle. “I propose we do something of our own to spice up our roles as men.” Elizabeth glanced around to be sure no one else could hear them.“I say we dress in men’s clothing.”

Georgiana gasped. “We cannot, Elizabeth!”

“We can, Georgiana. It will be great fun. I will have Mr. Darcy help us find some men’s breeches and some shirts.” Amusement danced in her eyes.

“Oh, Lord.” Georgiana turned pale.“Fitzwilliam will never tolerate it.”

“Lizzy has a way with Mr. Darcy,” Lydia asserted. “I never thought to see the day when Mr. Darcy would even consider dancing with Elizabeth, let alone marrying her. If anyone can persuade him to permit such a scheme, it is my sister.”

Georgiana paused, recalling those early days after Elizabeth’s arrival at Pemberley. At first she often listened with an astonishment bordering on alarm at her new sister’s lively, sportive manner of talking to her brother. He, who had always inspired in Georgiana a respect, which almost overcame her affection, she saw the object of open pleasantry. Her mind received knowledge, which had never before fallen in her way. By Elizabeth’s instructions, Georgiana began to comprehend that a woman may take liberties with her husband, which a brother will not always allow in a sister more than ten years younger than himself. Georgiana giggled nervously. “I have always wondered about the freedom men’s clothing affords.”

“Then I will see to it.” Elizabeth smiled. “Let us find some tea in the rose drawing room, and then we will map out our scenes. I wish to be Dogberry; his mutilation of the King’s English fascinates me.” She led them toward the main door, her arms wrapped around their waists.