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“I suppose that explains the depletion of my stock of French brandy.” William shook his head in wonder as a small smile lifted the corners of his mouth. “Thank you, Mr. Walker, that is all.”

After the butler departed, William returned to reading the letter from his aunt, Catherine de Bourgh. Just before he left England, he had learned that Anne was married. Never close to his cousin, he prayed it was for the best; but lost in his own pain, he had no interest in following her situation. Besides, he knew Lord Matlock was certainly able to look after his sister’s family.

Scanning the months old letter, he was surprised to find Lady Catherine demanding he come to London immediately to help in locating Anne’s husband. She wanted him to find the man, demand the cad return Anne’s dowry, and then force him to have the marriage annulled. William chuckled at the irony. He clearly recalled that the last time he saw his aunt, she demanded he leave Rosings and never return because he would not do his “duty” and marry Anne.

Richard had related that Lady Catherine was estranged from Anne ever since her daughter impulsively married this charming stranger. She had been living in London with her aunt, Margaret de Bourgh, Sir Lewis’ sister, when she had fallen under his spell, and they had apparently married after a whirlwind courtship.

According to the letter, Lady Catherine had only recently gotten word that Anne’s husband had depleted her accounts and abandoned her, leaving her penniless and heartbroken in their London townhouse. Anne had been loath to share this information, but her sister-in-law, had grown tired of supporting Anne and had gotten word to her mother. Now Lady Catherine intended to make William straighten out the debacle.

William shook his head. He could only wonder why Anne’s husband had not forced his aunt into the dower house, claiming Rosings too. There were certainly a lot of questions to be answered, but he was under no obligation to get involved and felt no burden to do so.

I imagine my aunt lives in fear of what the man will do next, but that problem will fall to my uncle, as I have no intention of intervening. As I so aptly explained to my aunt the night she asked me to leave Rosings, I will only accept responsibility for the woman I marry—if I marry at all.

Immediately Mrs. Preston’s face appeared before him. As he recalled her nondescript grey eyes, they changed into two brilliantly sparkling, dark chocolate orbs with long black lashes. Frustrated that Elizabeth materialized whenever he tried to picture Mrs. Preston, he tossed the letter in his hand towards the fireplace.

Impossible woman! He was not sure whether he referred to his aunt or Elizabeth.

Shuffling through the rest of the pile, the neat hand of his cousin, Richard Fitzwilliam, caught his eye. William marvelled at receiving anything from Richard, as he truly loathed writing letters. Opening it immediately, he found that it contained a short note asking after his health, related that Richard was quite busy with his duties, and said he hoped to see him soon. His cousin then indicated the reason for his letter was to enclose a letter he received from Bingley, who was eager to know whether William had returned to Pemberley.

I wonder why Bingley would take the time to write to Richard. Perhaps I should see if I have any letters from him in this pile.

Rifling through the remainder, he immediately recognised Charles’ untidy handwriting. Tearing the seal, he was surprised to find it dated about six months after he had left for Scotland—six months after Elizabeth’s refusal.

Quickly scanning the missive, he smiled. Bingley was to be married to Jane Bennet!

William’s heart lightened knowing he had righted a wrong. When he had finally confessed to Charles his part in keeping him apart from Jane, his friend had been kind enough to forgive him. Yet, William had worried that his interference might have caused irreparable damage, and this letter laid those fears to rest. Suddenly it occurred to William that, while he was happy for Charles and Jane, knowing that Elizabeth would be pleased was the catalyst that lifted his spirits.

That knowledge brought to mind why he had returned—his declaration of being free of her. He simply must not think of Elizabeth! Shaking off the melancholy that always accompanied her memory, he picked up where he had left off reading. Charles’ plea for him to stand up with him at the wedding began to tug at his conscience.

All of a sudden, William bolted upright in his chair! He was stunned to read that Mr. Bennet had died of a heart ailment two months after Elizabeth returned to Meryton from Kent. Charles related that the family had been expelled from Longbourn because Mr. Collins insisted on occupying it immediately. The letter ended with a plea for him to come to Netherfield for the wedding and advise him on a matter of great importance, one that he did not want to relate in a letter.

William’s heart sank when he realised the letter did not mention Elizabeth specifically, so he began rummaging through the stack of mail looking for similar letters. It was a simple matter to find two more. Breaking the seal on both, he looked at the dates and took the next one in order, which was dated about six months after the first.

In this letter, Charles stated that he and Jane were married and expecting their first child. He expressed sorrow that William had not come for the wedding nor sent word that he could not attend. He declared that he was now desperate for help with the situation he had mentioned in his last letter, though he did not specify what it was, and knew of no one else he might ask for assistance. He requested William come to Netherfield as soon as possible.

The third and final letter was dated about eight months after the second, which meant it was four months old. In this letter, though Charles mentioned the birth of a healthy boy, he did not seem as joyful as one would imagine a new father would be. He seemed resigned to the fact that William was not going to help him, but made it clear that he was still desperate for advice and begged for mere correspondence in lieu of his actual presence. He seemed most hurt that William had never replied.

William sighed heavily. He had not meant to injure his friend. When he left England, it was all he could do just to get out of bed each morning and breathe in and out. Hearing from Charles would have been like hearing from Elizabeth, and that he could not abide while trying to purge her from his heart, mind, and spirit. He laid the last letter atop the first two and stared into the gardens just beyond the windows, gathering his thoughts.

Can I put my feelings aside and come to the aid of my friend?

He concluded that this would be a good test of his ability to treat Elizabeth as a common and indifferent acquaintance.

If I still want to call Bingley my friend, I must offer to help him, no matter the problem he faces.

Pulling out a sheet of paper, he began a reply.

Netherfield

Charles found Jane in the solarium, sitting side-by-side with Lizzy on a settee. The contrast of golden and chocolate curls never ceased to amaze him—that the sisters could look so different. Thinking then of the equal differences in their personalities, he remembered sadly that Lizzy was no longer the outgoing, gregarious woman she had been years ago.

Also very noticeable were the worry lines that always seemed to run across his wife’s forehead now. He did not regret trying to help Lizzy, but he hated that Jane had less time for him and their son as she tried to coax her sister out of her mental prison.

Seeing their son Peter the first day she arrived at Netherfield, had made Lizzy hysterical, so the child was not allowed near her. This forced Jane to choose between spending time with her sister and her child. In the end, she tried to spend part of every day with each of them, but the choice was readily taking a toll on her.

The sun streamed in the flower-bedecked room, and Lizzy had the familiar doll tightly in her grip, her face turned to catch the rays of light and her eyes closed. Glancing at her with trepidation, Charles did not draw closer. Whenever a man came in sight, Lizzy would begin to draw back, her breath would become rapid and her eyes would glaze over. There were few servants that they trusted to keep the secret of her residence at Netherfield, so since her arrival, she had not been exposed to anyone other than him, Jane, Mrs. Drury, or Mr. Mercer, the butler. He and Mr. Mercer kept out of view whenever possible.

“Jane,” he whispered.