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Chapter Text

Elizabeth ascended a hill with her aunt and uncle Gardiner in their carriage, not with excitement, for she had seen several great houses by this point in their trip, but with curiosity. The maid at their inn spoke of the beauty of the grounds, just as her aunt had, so when they learned the family were away from home, she agreed to their plan to visit the following day. Now she looked around and was indeed impressed with the variety of ground, the rolling hills, the ancient wood. Then, abruptly, the house came into view across a valley: they had reached Pemberley.

It was a large, handsome stone building, standing well on rising ground, and backed by a ridge of high woody hills; and in front, a stream of some natural importance was swelled into greater, but without any artificial appearance. Its banks were neither formal nor falsely adorned. Elizabeth was delighted. She had never seen a place for which nature had done more, or where natural beauty had been so little counteracted by an awkward taste. They were all of them warm in their admiration; and Elizabeth felt that if this were her home, she would never feel a need to travel like the Darcys were apparently doing.

When they reached the door and applied to view the house, the housekeeper arrived to give them their tour. Mrs Reynolds was warm and courteous, with clear pride in the house and her master shining through every description. Each room had a different splendid view; Elizabeth found herself spending far more time enjoying the prospects from the windows than the actual rooms of the house, elegant as they were. Before long her uncle inquired as to whether the master was away, and Elizabeth listened to the answer with mild curiosity.

"Miss Darcy has been away at Ramsgate this whole summer," Mrs Reynolds said, "and only two days ago Mr Darcy went off to surprise her there. This is always the way with him. Whatever can give his sister any pleasure is sure to be done in a moment. A more doting brother and guardian I have never seen; I am certain she will be delighted to be with him again."

Their attention was drawn to several miniature portraits suspended above the mantelpiece in the room they were in. "Does Mr Darcy have a brother as well?" asked Mrs Gardiner, seeing one more picture than expected.

Mrs Reynolds frowned for the first time since they arrived, her lips a grim line of disapproval. "That is Mr Wickham," she said, pointing, "the son of my late master's steward, who had been brought up by him at his own expense. I have not seen him in some time; I am afraid he has turned out very wild."

"Indeed?" asked Elizabeth. She knew she ought not pry into family affairs, but wondered what could have earned the affable housekeeper's censure.

"My late master had him educated at Cambridge, and intended him for the church, but Mr Wickham chose a life of idleness instead. But that," said Mrs Reynolds, changing the subject and pointing to another of the miniatures, "is my master—and very like him. It was drawn at the same time as the other—about eight years ago." 

"I have heard much of your master's fine person," said Mrs Gardiner, looking at the picture; "it is a handsome face."

"Yes, very handsome," Elizabeth murmured, and blushed brightly when she realized she had said that aloud. Fortunately, no one else seemed to have heard, and she leaned in for a closer look at Mr Darcy's image. She had never assigned much significance to a man's appearance, knowing his character was the truly important part of him. That did not stop her from admiring this man. It was difficult to see the picture well, being so small, but she could discern his dark hair, even features, and broad shoulders. She thought he was wearing a small, enigmatic smile, and wished the portrait were clearer.

As if reading her thoughts, Mrs Reynolds spoke again: "In the gallery upstairs you will see a finer, larger picture of him than this. This room was my late master's favourite room, and these miniatures are just as they used to be then. He was very fond of them." 

This accounted to Elizabeth for Mr Wickham's being among them, considering he was apparently not as close with the family as he had been previously.

Mrs Reynolds then directed their attention to one of Miss Darcy, drawn when she was only eight years old. 

"And is Miss Darcy as handsome as her brother?" said Mrs Gardiner. 

"Oh! yes—the handsomest young lady that ever was seen; and so accomplished!—She plays and sings all day long."

Mr Gardiner, whose manners were very easy and pleasant, encouraged her communicativeness by his questions and remarks; Mrs Reynolds, either by pride or attachment, had evidently great pleasure in talking of her master and his sister.

"Is your master much at Pemberley in the course of the year?" 

"Not so much as I could wish, sir; but I dare say he may spend half his time here; and Miss Darcy is always down for the summer months, excepting this year, of course, for her companion, Mrs Yonge, thought the sea air would be a pleasant change."

"If your master would marry, you might see more of him." 

"Yes, sir; but I do not know when that will be. I do not know who is good enough for him." 

Mr and Mrs Gardiner smiled. Elizabeth, impressed by this praise, could not help saying, "It is very much to his credit, I am sure, that you should think so." 

"I say no more than the truth, and everybody will say that knows him," replied the other. Elizabeth listened with increasing astonishment as the housekeeper added, "I have never known a cross word from him in my life, and I have known him ever since he was four years old." This was praise, of all others most extraordinary. Elizabeth had heard of these great families and the way they disdained others beneath them, but Mr Darcy, it seemed, was different. Her interest in the house and even the grounds waned, while her desire to hear more of its master grew with every sentence Mrs Reynolds uttered. Her keenest attention was awakened; she longed to hear more, and was grateful to her uncle for saying: 

"There are very few people of whom so much can be said. You are lucky in having such a master." 

"Yes, sir, I know I am. If I were to go through the world, I could not meet with a better. But I have always observed, that they who are good-natured when children, are good-natured when they grow up; and he was always the sweetest-tempered, most generous-hearted boy in the world." Elizabeth felt her heart flutter.

"His father was an excellent man," said Mrs Gardiner. 

"Yes, ma'am, that he was indeed; and his son will be just like him—just as affable to the poor." 

Elizabeth listened, wondered, doubted, and was impatient for more. Mrs Reynolds could interest her on no other point. She related the subjects of the pictures, the dimensions of the rooms, and the price of the furniture, in vain. Mr Gardiner, highly amused by the kind of family prejudice to which he attributed her excessive commendation of her master, soon led again to the subject; and she dwelt with energy on his many merits as they proceeded together up the great staircase. 

"He is the best landlord, and the best master," said she, "that ever lived; not like the wild young men nowadays, who think of nothing but themselves. There is not one of his tenants or servants but will give him a good name. Some people call him proud; but I am sure I never saw anything of it. To my fancy, it is only because he does not rattle away like other young men." 

"This fine account of him," whispered her aunt as they walked, "must be quite exaggerated."

Elizabeth wanted to agree, knew she ought to agree, and made some noise indicating acquiescence to her aunt. But secretly, she found herself believing. The commendation bestowed on him by Mrs Reynolds was of no trifling nature. What praise is more valuable than the praise of an intelligent servant? As a brother, a landlord, a master, she considered how many people's happiness were in his guardianship!—how much of pleasure or pain was it in his power to bestow!—how much of good or evil must be done by him! Every idea that had been brought forward by the housekeeper was favourable to his character.

She entered the picture gallery eagerly and her eyes sought out the only portrait that could interest her. And there he was; Elizabeth did not need Mrs Reynolds pointing him out to remember Mr Darcy. She stood several minutes before the picture in earnest contemplation. Her heart sped up the longer she looked. If he was handsome in the miniature downstairs, here he was positively beautiful. She studied his smile that had caught her attention earlier, now that she had a better view. She could believe him being called proud, as Mrs Reynolds said earlier, but there was more to his expression than pride. There was a gentleness, too, perhaps even shyness. Intelligence, certainly. He looked as though he knew something she did not. She could not help smiling back at him.

The housekeeper's words drifted through her mind while she looked at him. Best landlord and master. Affable to the poor. Good-natured. Doting brother. She could see it all in his face. I do not know who is good enough for him. Her aunt had laughed at that, but Elizabeth felt a strange pang of jealousy, that someday he would find someone worthy and marry her, doubtless a woman who was beautiful, well-connected, kind and good, and with a large dowry. Perhaps he was being introduced to her at that very moment in Ramsgate. Elizabeth pushed those thoughts aside. She knew she would never have the opportunity to meet Mr Darcy, but she could ignore that fact right now and imagine he was smiling for her alone. She liked the way his eyes seemed to follow her wherever she was in the room.

"Lizzy, keep up," her aunt called, and with one final glance at the portrait she hurried down the hall to rejoin the group. 

She could hardly focus on the tour of the grounds led by the gardener. Her head was full of Darcy. What was he like away from Pemberley? Was he a good dancer? Did he read the same books as her, and with the same feelings? It was easy to imagine him in all manner of scenes from his life: taking his sister shopping; giving informed opinions on the war; standing up to his knees in water to assist one of his farmers. She felt he would be serious most of the time—he had that look in his eyes even in the portrait that predated his inheriting Pemberley—but suspected a secret teasing side, too, that if she had the chance, she would draw out as often as possible.

She was still thinking of him as they drove back to Lambton, as they dined, as she lay in bed at the end of the day. She laughed at herself for her foolishness. Once she was away from Pemberley, she could see the entire place had enchanted her, which had surely coloured her impression of its owner. Still, she could not stop. She knew she would never meet him. She knew. Yet, what was the harm in pretending she might? In imagining him asking her to dance? In wondering whether he would be shy or bold in courtship?

Her trip to the Peaks with her aunt and uncle came to an end several days later. She returned home to Longbourn and life went on as it always had before. Yet Elizabeth felt different, somehow. She had done more than enjoy the sights and the company of her favourite relations; she had learned something about herself, about what kind of man she might like, and that felt significant. She knew she must marry someday, given the poverty she would be thrown into otherwise when her father inevitably passed, but had not given marriage much thought beyond the abstract. Now she knew she could not settle for just anyone. Mr Darcy seemed too perfect to be true, but learning about him gave her a sense of what was most important to her. Wealth still did not matter; it was kindness, generosity, responsibility. She would not accept any less.

When her mother announced that Netherfield was let at last to a young man of large fortune, she smiled ruefully. She doubted he, or anyone in his rumoured large party of friends, could possibly compare to the man who still featured in her dreams.

Chapter Text

The ladies of Longbourn prepared for the Meryton assembly with more noise and excitement than usual, for this was when they anticipated meeting their new neighbour, Mr Bingley. By now Elizabeth had grown quite eager to make his acquaintance. After all, new members of the community were rare, and regardless of the size of his party, every one of them would be an interesting subject for observation. 

The room was already abuzz with speculation when the Bennet family entered the assembly hall. Mrs Bennet and Elizabeth’s youngest sisters, Lydia and Kitty, eagerly participated in the discussions of a person they had never seen more than a glimpse of and his friends who may or may not arrive with him. Elizabeth and Jane, however, preferred to wait and draw their own opinions on the man, uninfluenced by the general feeling. They whiled away the time before his arrival dancing and conversing with their friends. Mary kept to the side with a book.

A hush fell over the crowd when it first became known that the famous Mr Bingley had arrived. All eyes watched as two ladies and three gentlemen came through the door. Elizabeth studied the group with curiosity, wishing her father were here to whisper his amusing observations to her. The one Charlotte Lucas pointed out as Mr Bingley himself was smiling. He glanced around the ballroom with an eagerness that Elizabeth liked, for it portended a pleasant new dancing partner. The two women—his sisters, as people whispered nearby—were dressed elegantly. She could hear her mother commenting favourably on the amount of lace adorning them. The ladies looked perhaps less excited to be here than their brother, but Elizabeth was determined to suspend judgment until more than five seconds had passed. The husband of the elder sister looked the gentleman, although there was nothing about him that particularly intrigued her.

When she finally cast her eyes to the last of their party, Elizabeth felt all the air rush out of her lungs. Mr Darcy. Mr Darcy of Pemberley was here. She was absolutely certain it was him; she had spent far too long gazing at his portrait to leave any doubt. 

Her astonishment could not be overstated. She would as soon have expected the Duke of Devonshire to appear, whose house, Chatsworth, she also toured on her recent trip. Feeling herself weaken, she hurried to the nearest chair to catch her breath. It must have been her imagination, she thought once seated; yet, when she looked back up, he was still there. 

“Lizzy, are you well?” Jane leaned over to ask.

“Yes—yes, Jane, I am well, thank you. This room is warm and crowded. I think I merely need some air.”

“You are indeed quite flushed; come, I will take you outside for a moment.” The sisters left the scene behind, left everyone to their gossiping and angling for a good look at the newcomers, and stood on the balcony. Elizabeth raised up her face with her eyes closed and took a deep breath of the crisp evening air as she leaned on the ledge.

“I have never seen you like this, Lizzy. Are you certain you are well? Shall I call for the carriage and take you home?”

“No, please, Jane, I am well. I will be well, that is, after another moment. Stay with me.” Jane stayed, gently rubbing her back, as they looked out over the town of Meryton. 

Elizabeth did not know why she would not simply tell Jane what was happening. When she had returned from her tour, she had regaled her family with stories. She spoke of the beautiful Peaks, the great houses, the interesting people, and the wonderful time spent with her aunt and uncle. She never mentioned Mr Darcy or Pemberley in particular, however, not even with Jane in the privacy of their own room, despite how significant that day had been to her. Perhaps it was because of the significance to her. It was her own private, cherished memory. It could only be tainted by hearing the opinions, especially the teasing, of anyone else. So she kept silent, even now.

They stayed there a few minutes more. Elizabeth looked at the town before her. It was small and insignificant, an unlikely site for a coincidence of this magnitude. She watched the activity below: the servants minding the horses, the families coming and going from the assembly hall. Through the dark she could discern the shops she frequented. It was not so different from Lambton, really. She hoped Mr Darcy would feel the same. 

It was still difficult to comprehend his being here. In an instant he had become a real person to her, who would leave a mark on this little community that she loved. She was nervous to meet Mr Darcy, the real person, after everything she had heard from Mrs Reynolds. However, this was an incredible opportunity to see for herself how well he resembled the housekeeper’s descriptions. If it was even half true, she had nothing to fear. With that thought, her apprehension at returning to the ballroom gave way to anticipation. She was losing valuable time, being out here. She ought to go back inside and watch him in a way she never thought she would be able to do.

Elizabeth and Jane came back in to a different scene than they had left. The novelty of the first glimpse had passed, and people were returned to the dance floor. It took her a moment to even locate her new neighbours in the crowd. Mr Bingley was dancing with Charlotte; that made her smile. The others had not strayed too far from the entrance. They were not looking her way, so Elizabeth took this chance for closer scrutiny. 

Mr Darcy was taller than she had realised. He was older than when his portrait had been painted, that much was obvious, but the additional years only added to his handsomeness. He was still serious, but there was wisdom in his eyes now. His hair was rather shorter. His clothes were still as fine, and showed his figure to great advantage; they would do even better if he were more relaxed rather than standing so stiffly. She wished he would smile, but he never did in her few minutes’ observation, not even when Miss Bingley said something to him and tittered at her own words. 

She heard a pair of matrons talking about him behind her, whispering about how handsome and stately he looked. She felt strangely pleased to hear him spoken of so favourably. In fact, the more she paid attention, the more people she could hear praising him around her. But she ached to learn more than the things she already knew. She did not want to hear about his ten thousand a year, but about those things that could only be learned through conversation instead of rumour: his likes and dislikes, what made him laugh, his favourite foods, and so much more. The only way to begin was to be formally introduced.

He would never notice her if she continued standing there stupidly across the room. Elizabeth knew her own reputation as a local beauty—nothing to Jane, of course, but handsome in her own way—and she decided that if she wanted him to seek an introduction to her, she would do well to make herself noticeable. 

“I am ready to dance again,” she said to Jane, smiling, so the two ladies walked to the vicinity of some gentlemen they knew, who happened to be near the Netherfield party.

Mr Bingley approached at that very moment with Sir William Lucas and requested an introduction to them both. Elizabeth watched with delight as Jane blushed and smiled and accepted his offer to dance the next set, then she made her way over to her friend, who as expected asked for her hand. She could not see Mr Darcy as she danced, and she was too polite to allow herself to be distracted by one gentleman while dancing with another, but she made sure she spoke pleasantly, laughed easily, and danced well with her partner. Just in case he looked.

The evening wore on. Elizabeth danced when she could, but gentlemen were scarce, and she occasionally had to sit out and watch. She did not mind too much; each time she sat down was an opportunity for Mr Darcy to approach. She behaved perfectly respectably and knew it was all she could do, despite her impatience. Yet he never came, never even seemed to look in her direction, and the more time passed, the more disappointed she felt. Besides that, she could sense the tide change in the public opinion on him. Where before, people praised his noble mien, now they called him haughty and proud. She saw him stand up and walk away after Mrs Long attempted to draw him into conversation. In fact, he spoke with nobody outside his own party. He danced only with Mr Bingley’s sisters, one set each, and walked about the room with a stern expression the rest of the time. He puzzled her. She attempted to reconcile what she observed this night with what she had heard from his housekeeper, and wondered if he was merely shy, which could easily be mistaken for pride in a person as elevated in society as him. 

Even that excuse was forced to give way. Near the end of the night, when Mr Bingley was dancing for the second time with Jane, she was again seated a short distance from Mr Darcy. Her heart sped up when his friend left the dance to cajole him into joining it. There were no other young ladies in the vicinity, and she had already been introduced to Mr Bingley, making her the most obvious prospect.

This was it. This was it. He would come, and they would be introduced, and she would act as though she had never heard his name before today, and she would charm him with her quick wit. She smoothed out her dress and allowed a very small smile on her lips while gazing at the dancers and pretending not to overhear. She stifled a laugh at the easy way Mr Bingley teased his friend. Then she stifled a frown when she heard Mr Darcy disparage “such an assembly as this”. 

When Mr Darcy said of herself, “She is tolerable, but not handsome enough to tempt me,” she could not stop herself from reacting. Her lips parted in a gasp and her eyes widened, and it was a moment or two before she could collect herself enough to school her features. She could feel her heart pounding in her chest, even more than it had done all night since his arrival. Mr Darcy carried on speaking ill of her until his friend walked away.

She did not know what to do. She stayed in her seat and relived the moment over and over. Had he really said that? Was Mr Darcy, whose own servants spoke so highly of him, truly so cruel to a woman he had never even met? She recalled the words clearly: I have never known a cross word from him in my life. Somehow Elizabeth knew more crossness from him in a single evening than others did in more than twenty years. 

With that thought, her shock gave way to anger. She was the daughter of a gentleman. She was in her home county, where she was known, liked, and respected. He was nobody here. How dare he come into this room only to shun and insult everyone in it?

Elizabeth's mood wavered between offense, hurt, anger, and shame. She told no one what happened. She did not dance again the rest of the night. When her family went home, she listened to Jane singing Mr Bingley's praises for as long as she could tolerate, then bid her good night and rolled over. Jane's breathing evened out quickly, but Elizabeth could not relax enough to follow. Her mind was still spinning.

It was her own fault, she thought, angrily swiping at a tear on her cheek. If she had not spent months building this man up in her mind—believing every word she heard from a single biased source, forgetting he was human and capable of human flaws and ill temper—she would not have been so affected. She would have laughed about it with her friends had those ludicrous words come from any other man alive. She should have laughed.

Still, she could not find the humour in it now, even when she tried. Her disappointment was too great. 

For the second time, and equally unwittingly, Mr Darcy had taught Elizabeth something that night. This time it was a more sombre, but even more important lesson, which was to guard her heart. Never again would she be swept up in a fantasy. She would go in with open eyes and judge a man by her own observations, not his reputation or his looks. At least, she thought with relief, she had learnt this without making a fool of herself. As far as Darcy or anyone else knew, she had never spared a single thought for him any more than the next person in Hertfordshire.

She rolled over and watched Jane sleep, smiling a little at her sister's peaceful visage. Mr Bingley, at least, was just as a young man ought to be, as Jane had aptly expressed it earlier. She had no previous prejudice to cloud her judgment on him but she believed it to be true. He met all the principal people in the room, danced every dance, was amiable in conversation, and had the good taste to single out Jane. She liked him well indeed. Perhaps some good would come of this night after all. She would not jump to hasty conclusions, but would watch what unfolded in that quarter. 

With this more pleasant turn of her thoughts, Elizabeth finally found sleep.

Chapter Text

The initial sting of Mr Darcy's cutting remarks ebbed, but of course Elizabeth never forgot. 

Over the next few weeks the Bennets were in company with the Netherfield party several times. Elizabeth and Darcy were never introduced, but those gatherings were not large. She knew he must be aware of her. She chose to keep her distance from him all the same, preferring to spend her time more pleasantly among her friends than to risk hearing anything else she did not want to hear.

She did take those opportunities to watch him from across the room. She watched and watched until she began to gain a familiarity with his ways, greedily absorbing everything she could without ever exchanging a word with him. She came to know the fond smile he only ever gave Bingley, and his ability to make his friend guffaw in a single sentence with a twinkle in his eye. She saw the way he would stiffen whenever Miss Bingley slithered near him and the way he would let out the smallest sigh of relief when she went away. The way he thanked the servants for doing things for him. The way his eyes darted around the room and his pacing increased the more people were in it. She pieced together a fuller picture of his character than Mrs Reynolds' statements alone had, and now she knew his manner depended on who he was with. Among strangers he was uncomfortable and haughty. With his friend he was clever and affectionate. At home, where he would be the most at ease, she imagined his housekeeper might still have had the right of it in describing his thoughtful leadership.

He was neither all good, as Mrs Reynolds had her believe, nor all bad, as he had behaved at the first assembly. In short, he was complex—just like everyone else.

One night they were all at Haye Park for a dinner party with the Gouldings. Elizabeth looked up and met Mr Darcy's eyes. He did not look away, so neither did she. The rest of the room disappeared as she could focus only on the man across the table.

What are you thinking right now? she silently beseeched. Why did you come to Hertfordshire only to be grave and silent? What are you like when you are truly at ease?

A loud crash at the other end of the table startled them both. Everyone's attention landed on Lydia, who had somehow managed to overturn her plate while reaching for her glass of wine. By the time Elizabeth looked back across at Darcy, he was staring down at his food, his jaw clenched. The spell was broken, and he did not meet her eyes again the rest of the night.

Although Darcy occupied a fair amount of her attention and thoughts, it did not escape Elizabeth’s notice how much time Jane and Bingley spent together during these same gatherings. And Jane's time was much more to the purpose, for it was clear she was a fair way towards falling in love. When Elizabeth commented as much to Charlotte Lucas during an evening at Lucas Lodge, they engaged in a good-natured argument over it.

"Happiness in marriage is entirely a matter of chance," Charlotte insisted, and went on to explain that it was best to know as little of one's partner's defects as possible.

"You make me laugh, Charlotte; but it is not sound. You know it is not sound, and that you would never act in this way yourself." Elizabeth noticed Darcy nearby and, lowering her voice, asked her friend, "Tell me, if Mr Darcy asked you to marry him tomorrow, would you truly say yes?"

"Certainly," Charlotte replied easily. "And why not? I want only a comfortable home and a man who is not vicious. There would be all the time in the world to learn how to live together in harmony. Besides," she smiled and leaned in closer to Elizabeth, "I am quite certain Pemberley is large enough that I need not suffer his disagreeableness for many hours each day."

"So you find him disagreeable, too, then?"

"Everyone says so. Do you not?"

"I… am uncertain," Elizabeth settled on, after a moment of thought. "He is capable of disagreeable behaviour, most definitely. We all saw him at that assembly." She considered confiding the most abhorrent statement of all that she'd heard, but thought it best not to risk it spreading further and harming his already brittle reputation. "However, I believe he is also capable of kindness and good humour. With his friends, at least, he appears perfectly amiable. I think he is proud and knows his higher rank compared to all of us, but is also shy and perhaps hiding that shyness behind his pride."

Charlotte's eyebrows raised higher with every moment of Elizabeth's speech. "You have given this some thought, Eliza," she said with a knowing smile. 

"Of course not," Elizabeth replied hastily, a blush rising rapidly. "Or, rather—yes, I have thought a little, because I am curious about the newcomers to our neighbourhood and have been noticing things about all of them."

"Well," said Charlotte, "if he were to propose to me tomorrow, I imagine I would be one of the privileged ones to witness his amiable side."

"Do put in a good word for me," Elizabeth teased, trying to collect herself; "I believe I would quite enjoy visiting my dear friend at Pemberley."

Jane approached them at that moment, as she had not seen Charlotte all night.

"Jane, do you find Mr Darcy disagreeable?" Charlotte inquired bluntly, instead of changing the topic of conversation.

"Come, Charlotte," Elizabeth interrupted, "we already know how Jane will answer! She likely is already furnished with excuses as to why he refuses to speak or dance with anyone except his friends."

"I know you are teasing me, Lizzy, but actually, Mr Bingley did happen to mention once that his friend has been out of sorts lately. He begged him to join his family at Netherfield, hoping being away from London would lift his spirits. Mr Bingley thinks the world of Mr Darcy and has been quite concerned."

"That is quite a clue for Eliza's detailed character sketch," Charlotte said. Then she looked over Elizabeth's shoulder for a moment, and turned back to her friends, smiling. "And I believe she is not the only one engaging in such an activity. Come, it is time to give someone our own clue at the pianoforte."

"What do you mean?" Elizabeth asked, while her friend tugged her across the room by the hand.

"It is nothing. But please do play something; it is far too quiet in this room. Will you sing that aria I like?"

"Very well," Elizabeth sighed, knowing any argument was pointless when Charlotte was determined to have her perform. She settled into the requested song, as it was one she knew well, and glanced around the room during a lull from singing. Most people were talking in their groups: Bingley's sisters stood at the far wall, paying her no mind; Charlotte and Jane looked on kindly from their earlier positions; Mrs Bennet and Lady Lucas gossiped together, and so did their other children.

Then there was Mr Darcy, who was watching with an intense expression that startled her into nearly missing the next chord. She recovered and continued her song, watching her hands, convincing herself that he only happened to glance over at the same moment as she did and was not actually listening. Except, when she looked up a few moments later, he was still there, still staring.

What was he about? He surely was comparing her to the large number of talented young ladies he must have occasion to hear in town, and Elizabeth knew she could not hope to meet his expectations. Yet, despite his seriousness, he did not look displeased. 

For all her watching and thinking and explanations to Charlotte, she still felt as perplexed by him now as she did on that first night. He declared her not handsome enough to dance with, yet this was the second time in a week she had caught him looking at her. He frequently stood near her, too frequently for it to be coincidental, and was sometimes close enough that she wondered whether he was listening to her conversations; but surely, if he wished to speak to her, he would simply do so?

She refused to give it too much thought in the middle of singing in front of him and the entire room. Instead, she determined to perform to the best of her ability and give him no cause to censure her again, if indeed that was his aim. She concluded the aria to a round of applause, then surrendered the pianoforte to Mary who was eager to take her turn exhibiting her talent.

After a song or two their youngest sisters prevailed upon Mary to play music for dancing, and Elizabeth watched with pleasure as Bingley approached Jane to join the others in the area that was cleared for the purpose. As she had no one in particular to talk to, she drifted nearer Darcy. He was watching the dancing and looked noticeably less sanguine than he had during her song. She listened with curiosity when Sir William made a conversational gambit:

“What a charming amusement for young people this is, Mr Darcy! There is nothing like dancing after all. I consider it as one of the first refinements of polished society.”

“Certainly, sir, and it has the advantage also of being in vogue amongst the less polished societies of the world. Every savage can dance.”

Elizabeth frowned. Sir William seemingly took no offense, but Darcy’s response had been needlessly hostile.

“Your friend performs delightfully,” Sir William continued after a pause; “and I doubt not that you are an adept in the science yourself, Mr Darcy.”

“You saw me dance at Meryton, I believe, sir.”

“Yes, indeed, and received no inconsiderable pleasure from the sight. Do you often dance at St James’s?”

“Never, sir.”

“Do you not think it would be a proper compliment to the place?”

“It is a compliment which I never pay to any place if I can avoid it.”

“You have a house in town, I conclude?”

Mr Darcy bowed.

“I had once had some thought of fixing in town myself—for I am fond of superior society; but I did not feel quite certain that the air of London would agree with Lady Lucas.”

There was a pause, during which it became apparent that Darcy had no intention of replying, and Elizabeth had heard enough. This was the second time she had had the impertinence to eavesdrop on one of Darcy’s conversations, and this one gave her no more pleasure than the first had in Meryton. He was being supercilious and was not worth listening to. She turned away.

She had barely moved a step when Sir William addressed her directly, her movement having likely caught his attention. “My dear Miss Eliza, why are you not dancing? Mr Darcy, you must allow me to present this young lady to you as a very desirable partner. You cannot refuse to dance, I am sure when so much beauty is before you.” And, taking her hand, he would have given it to Mr Darcy, but she instantly drew back, and said with some discomposure to Sir William:

"Indeed, sir, I have not the least intention of dancing. I entreat you not to suppose that I moved this way in order to beg for a partner.”

Mr Darcy, with grave propriety, requested to be allowed the honour of her hand. Elizabeth hesitated. She truly had no interest in spending more time in his presence tonight, but this was finally her opportunity to be formally introduced and speak with him directly. There was no way to know when another such circumstance might arise. She accepted and Darcy led her to line up for the next dance, to the audible pleasure of the man who had facilitated this event.

The dance started, and they began the choreographed movements she knew well. They danced for several minutes in silence. She once again found herself at a loss when it came to this man. Should she be quiet and see whether he would take the lead in conversation? Should she attempt to draw him out and learn something directly, to gain a data point in her study of his character? There was a chance she could learn something useful here, to either confirm or further contradict her first impression from Pemberley, which even now part of her still clung to. 

She looked out to the room and met Charlotte’s eyes, who was watching her and looking pleased. Elizabeth felt annoyed with herself for accidentally revealing so much to her; now Charlotte would take every interaction she had with Darcy as something more meaningful than it was. Darcy was turned away for the current steps, so she pulled a small face, attempting to indicate to her friend her displeasure in finding herself trapped in his company for the next half-hour.

Charlotte’s smile only grew. Then she winked.

Piqued, Elizabeth decided all at once to stop her constant fretting about Mr Darcy. Enough of this fixation masked as a character sketch. She would not be teased over a man who clearly thought little of her. He had been rude and ill-tempered once; she would provoke him and see if it happened again. If it did, she would be glad, for she would wash her hands of him and finally release him from her thoughts. Most importantly, she would prove to Charlotte that he was nothing to her, because he finally would be.

She looked up at him when the dance brought them back together, and asked him saucily, “Did you not think, Mr Darcy, that I expressed myself uncommonly well earlier tonight, when I was teasing Colonel Forster to give us a ball at Meryton? I believe you may have overheard.”

He smiled, which took her aback. It looked remarkably like his portrait. “With great energy; but it is always a subject which makes a lady energetic,” he replied.

“I confess it to be true, at least for my own part. I dearly love to dance. Do you?”

“I believe you already know my opinion on the subject,” he said, and there was that smile again, and the twinkle in his eye ordinarily reserved for Bingley; he was teasing her, pointing out that he was not the only one listening to conversations—that he'd noticed her doing it, too.

She would not be flustered by this revelation, however. “How would I know that, sir?” she inquired innocently.

"Were you not standing near us for some time before Sir William addressed you?"

"I must not have heard with any accuracy," she said, "for if I had, I should be quite surprised by you standing up with me."

"Perhaps it is not such a terrible activity when one's partner dearly loves it."

"It is fortunate, then, that my own enjoyment does not have the same dependence on my partner. Otherwise, I might be quite miserable for this entire half-hour."

He leaned in and said, "I assure you, Miss Elizabeth, that if your feelings about this dance mirrored mine, you still would have no cause for misery."

Elizabeth's eyes widened, and she was glad when the dance separated them again so she could collect her thoughts.

Who was this man? He was behaving entirely differently now than he had even a quarter of an hour ago. She was starting to think she could study him for years and be no closer to understanding him. She could think of no possible response to give, so they continued in silence once more.

But Elizabeth disliked dancing without any conversation. She decided to try a neutral topic for the few minutes that remained.

"Have I heard correctly that you visited Ramsgate this summer?" she asked.

To her surprise, Darcy's expression immediately turned grim. "My sister visited. I went only to collect her," he replied curtly.

"Did you truly travel all that way and not spend any length of time there? Was the seaside so disappointing?" She smiled, hoping to return to their earlier rapport. "I am certain your sister must have wished to stay longer."

His whole body stiffened and he looked—angry? distraught?—he looked precisely the opposite of how she expected for an innocent question about summer holidays. He never gave her a response. While he continued the motions mechanically, for the remainder of the dance he seemed lost in thought. His stern expression discouraged any further attempt at conversation. When it finally ended, he gave her the barest acceptable bow and walked away. She stared at his rapidly retreating back.

What on earth happened? How had his cheerful, almost flirtatious mood changed so completely, so abruptly? 

She watched as Darcy approached Bingley and said a few words in his ear. His friend looked concerned and clapped his back, saying something in return. Then Darcy bid a brief farewell to their hosts and left the room.

Elizabeth saw Bingley looking after Darcy in the same way she was, and suddenly remembered his words she had heard through Jane, how Darcy had been out of sorts lately and needed cheering. And his good mood had soured the moment Ramsgate was mentioned. Those two facts seemed connected.

Was it possible some incident occurred while in Ramsgate—something so terrible the effects were still lingering months later?

This felt like an important discovery. There was much more to his character than a single event that may have occurred, but it clearly has had a significant impact. Elizabeth forgot her resolution to put Darcy out of her mind; if anything, he became more entrenched after everything that occurred this evening. Although Elizabeth regretted that their only conversation ended with him storming out of the entire party, a part of her was secretly pleased by the result.

After weeks of observation and contradictions and confusion, at last she had her first clue.

Chapter Text

Fitzwilliam Darcy was in danger and he knew it.

The first time he ever saw Miss Elizabeth Bennet he had thought nothing of her at all. He felt wretched at that ball; he could think of nothing but his poor sister and his senses were overwhelmed with the crowds of staring strangers and their whispered rumours swirling around him amidst the cacophony of the orchestra. The last thing he wanted to do was dance with whatever country girl Bingley was pushing on him, and he scarcely recalled what he said to make his friend go away.

The second time he saw Miss Elizabeth Bennet he had been surprised to learn she was a celebrated beauty in Hertfordshire. "She a beauty!—I should as soon call her mother a wit," he said to his friends later, to the delight of Bingley's two sisters.

He did not know precisely when his opinion shifted, but it did, and the moment he saw her arrival at Netherfield after walking three miles just to check on her sister, he felt he had never seen a woman so beautiful in all his life.

Darcy was no fool. He was aware of his growing attraction to her and that this attraction was fruitless, as she had neither fortune nor connections to make him consider a match with her. Her ill-behaved family made the prospect even more repellent. But that did not mean he could not enjoy looking at her. Or listen to her conversations, or draw her into a debate about what made a woman accomplished—daring to subtly compliment her for preferring reading over cards.

Her presence at Netherfield was a breath of fresh air. In contrast to Caroline Bingley's calculated attentions and flattery, Elizabeth was unabashedly genuine. She looked at him with frank curiosity. She blushed at her mother's vulgar comments. She leaned in, eyes bright and lips pulling into a playful smile, whenever he said something purposefully incendiary that she could not resist responding to. And his unapologetic complacency in the face of Caroline's teasing helped send her the message that her jealousy meant nothing to him.

He knew his interest was not one-sided, however, and that was where the danger lay. For weeks now he had seen her looking at him, over and over again—as often as he looked at her, in all likelihood. He had noticed her listening to his conversations as he had listened to hers. He might have been mistaken, but he truly felt there was no cunning or intention in her stares other than to observe him, for she did not appear to realise he was aware of it. She did not bat her eyelashes, smile, or interrupt him the way others did. She politely and self-consciously refused to dance a reel at Netherfield when some bizarre impulse compelled him to ask one night. She simply looked at him, and he found that rather exhilarating.

On her third evening at Netherfield, everyone was assembled in the drawing room, including the eldest Miss Bennet whose health was improving. Darcy was reading and fending off Miss Bingley's attempts at conversation. When she moved towards her brother and they spoke about the ball he intended to host, he believed he was rid of her, until suddenly her voice rang out: "Miss Eliza Bennet, let me persuade you to follow my example, and take a turn about the room. I assure you it is very refreshing after sitting so long in one attitude."

Darcy was surprised by the request, and even more surprised by Elizabeth's easy acceptance, and looked directly up at them. He was as much awake to the novelty of attention in that quarter as Elizabeth herself could be, and unconsciously closed his book. He was directly invited to join their party, but he declined it, observing that he could imagine but two motives for their choosing to walk up and down the room together, with either of which motives his joining them would interfere. "What could he mean? She was dying to know what could be his meaning?"—and asked Elizabeth whether she could at all understand him? 

"Not at all," was her answer; "but depend upon it, he means to be severe on us, and our surest way of disappointing him will be to ask nothing about it." Darcy did not miss the saucy look she gave him and his playfulness rose, eagerly giving the response he had known Caroline would demand:

"You either choose this method of passing the evening because you are in each other's confidence, and have secret affairs to discuss, or because you are conscious that your figures appear to the greatest advantage in walking; if the first, I would be completely in your way, and if the second, I can admire you much better as I sit by the fire." 

"Oh! shocking!" cried Miss Bingley. "I never heard anything so abominable. How shall we punish him for such a speech?"

"Nothing could be easier," Elizabeth immediately replied with a smile. "Mr Darcy flatters us, but he would hate to be the recipient of such behaviour. Praise him until his discomfort forces him to apologise."

"Flattery as punishment! You are too much, Miss Eliza. Really, whoever heard of a man who does not like to have his ego stroked?"

Elizabeth looked archly at him and he could do naught but wonder at how she discerned after only three days in the same house that the way Caroline spoke to him—remarking on the evenness of his writing, his charming long letters, or the delights of his library—was the surest way to annoy him.

"Flattery and praise are different things, Miss Elizabeth," he said. "Flattery appeals to empty vanity, which is a weakness it has been the study of my life to avoid, with, I hope, some success. However, when a person has made a great effort, or has cause to be particularly proud, modestly expressed praise can only be pleasing."

"What a perfectly stated explanation, Mr Darcy," she replied, with wide eyes and her hand to her cheek. "Have you done much study in this area, or is it simply a result of your abundant natural intelligence?"

"Actually, I—"

He snapped his mouth shut.

"Mr Darcy is well known for his intelligence," Caroline said. "If you spent time in our circles in London, you would need not ask."

"I certainly believe it," Elizabeth replied, nodding solemnly. "Intelligence and such an august, dignified manner, too! Why, he is far too great to even darken the door of Netherfield. We are truly blessed to have him here."

"Indeed, but as my brother's intimate friend—and mine, too, of course—he has deemed our little country manor worthy of his time, after all."

"Enough, enough!" cried Darcy. "You ladies win. I retract my words from before."

"Win?" Caroline asked, tilting her head.

Elizabeth turned to hide her smile, but Darcy caught it all the same. "I hope you will forgive my impertinence, Mr Darcy," she said.

"You have not crossed my temper yet," he replied goodnaturedly. 

She froze and sobered in an instant. With a pang, he realised she might have been recalling the time he so rudely brushed her off and left the party at the mention of Ramsgate. She would not have known what she had done to incite such behaviour. He felt sorry for treating her so ill, but had been too strongly affected in the moment to think clearly.

"That is lucky," she finally said, "for I suspect your temper is little yielding. You cannot forget the follies and vices of others so soon as you ought, nor their offenses against yourself."

Darcy could hardly feel surprised at this latest comment. "You are once again remarkably astute, Miss Elizabeth. My temper would perhaps be called resentful. My good opinion once lost, is lost forever."

Elizabeth did not reply. She gazed at him, considering his words, and nodded slowly. He would have given anything to know what she was thinking in this moment.

"Do let us have a little music," cried Miss Bingley, tired of a conversation in which she had no share. "Louisa, you will not mind my waking Mr. Hurst?" 

Her sister had not the smallest objection, and the pianoforte was opened; and the remainder of the evening passed without any further uncomfortable observations from a woman who perhaps saw too much.

He woke up the next morning still thinking of her. It was certainly becoming a habit, starting his days like this, but he felt he was still keeping himself under good regulation. It was only when he heard the Bennet sisters would be going home the following day and his initial reaction was alarm rather than neutrality—or better yet, relief—that he knew things had gone too far. 

It mattered not how pretty or clever she was, or how he felt when she looked at him. She had nothing material to recommend her; only one uncle who was a country attorney and another who lived in Cheapside in view of his own warehouses. Those were the most salient points, for his family name would always be more important than indulging his personal desires.

Furthermore, he had been unwise in showing her as much attention as he had done this week. She looked at him often. She flushed when they locked eyes sometimes. She truly seemed to know him after even this fleeting acquaintance, giving hints during their conversation the evening prior. It was not unreasonable to wonder if her heart was also touched. The longer he allowed this flirtation to go on, the more difficult it would be to extract himself—and the less he would be able to convince himself that he ought to.

He wisely resolved to be particularly careful that no sign of admiration should now escape him, nothing that could elevate her with the hope of influencing his felicity; sensible that if such an idea had been suggested, his behaviour during the last day must have material weight in confirming or crushing it. Difficult as it was, he held steady to his purpose and scarcely spoke or looked at her the whole of Saturday morning.

He found himself alone with Elizabeth in the parlour after lunch and considered this his biggest test. His lips were pressed together and his eyes were firmly on the pages, but he did not absorb a single word in the book in his hands. All his attention was on Elizabeth and all his effort was on his resolution to keep her expectations at bay.  

She sat reading with her feet pulled up on her chaise, her brow slightly furrowed in concentration, frequently tucking back a lock of hair that kept coming loose. She was effortlessly charming. He could hardly take his eyes off her, pretending to be inflexibly studious while mindlessly turning another unread page. He felt a longing to have the privilege of experiencing this quiet domesticity every day with her. He ached for her to address him first, that he would have the excuse of politeness to look at her directly as he desperately wished to do.

After a quarter of an hour of this silent torment, his prayers were finally answered. He felt more than saw her look up in his direction. "Mr Darcy," she began, and his heart leapt into his throat as he whipped his head up and slammed his book shut. He could not help smiling—he truly tried to hold it back, but it would not be suppressed—and he asked with as much nonchalance as he could muster, "Yes, Miss Elizabeth?"

She placed her bookmark in her own book and set it aside, then smoothed her skirts. She cleared her throat. "I—well, I wanted to tell you that I traveled to Derbyshire with my aunt and uncle Gardiner this summer. And we happened to tour Pemberley while you were… away. Is it not an incredible coincidence that you came to Hertfordshire so soon afterwards?"

As quickly as his euphoria had risen from her speaking to him, her words felt like being doused with cold water. 

"And I wished to tell you," she continued, "how wonderful I found your home. Each room was decorated with exquisite taste, and the grounds were simply enchanting. I could have explored them for days, rather than the one hour I was able to spend there. You are very blessed to have such a home."

Darcy managed to keep outwardly calm, but inside he was reeling. Was Pemberley the only reason she had been looking at him all these weeks? The reason she loitered about his periphery until he asked her to dance at Lucas Lodge? The reason she teasingly argued with him? Perhaps even the reason she hurried to Netherfield and secured an invitation to stay here with her ailing sister?

His heart felt like it was rending in two. He was not prepared for how devastating a blow this was. With others, like Caroline Bingley, their intentions were clear, but with Elizabeth he had been sure that for once he had encountered someone who was interested in him rather than his property. Of course it would not be true. She simply was clever enough to find a different way to entice him than the arts and allurements ladies typically employed.

It had nearly worked, too. 

All he could do was stare at her helplessly as these thoughts churned within him. She smiled at him sweetly, clearly waiting for his response, but he had no words. The longer he sat mutely, the more her smile faltered. She looked down and smoothed her skirts again, then tightly clasped her hands in her lap.

"My housekeeper allowed a tradesman to tour my house?" was the thing that finally came out of his mouth. 

Darcy had never felt like a bigger fool in his life. Mr Gardiner was not his concern right now and he had no idea why he said that, but it seemed to be the one thing his mind had latched onto through the shock of his discovery of this woman's perfidy, her—her wiles.

Elizabeth looked up sharply and frowned, straightening her posture. "My aunt and uncle are respectable, genteel people," she said curtly. "We were not denied entrance to any house we petitioned."

Before he could even wonder if he should apologise for his remark, she stood up, clutching her book to her chest. "I had better check on my sister. We will both see you at dinner." And with a perfunctory curtsey, she was gone.

He sat alone in silence for a long while after she left. He attempted to muster some anger because it would be easier than acknowledging the bitter sting of disappointment; but he could not. This disappointment was his own fault, truly. He had known, logically, that he could never have offered for her; he had deliberately acted in such a way today as to quell any hope she may have begun to cherish; but as the minutes passed he was forced to admit that his mind and his heart had been at odds. Deep in his heart he had been thrilled by her attention, had mourned her imminent departure from Netherfield, had begun planning to ask her to dance at Bingley's ball, had been whispering to his rational side that marriage to Elizabeth would not actually be so very bad for the Darcy name.

Well, no more. He had watched his young sister learn the most terrible lesson only months ago that even the people who seemed the kindest were still only after their money. He should have guarded himself better against his own Wickham. Indeed, he had tried, and he knew he was not well liked in this blasted county due to his aloof manner. He did not like how cold he had become in recent months, but Elizabeth had given him an important reminder today of why it was necessary. It was something he would not forget so readily again.

"My good opinion once lost, is lost forever," he had said to her only the day before.

Elizabeth Bennet was about to learn just how true those words really were.

Chapter Text

Two days after her return home from Netherfield, Elizabeth walked to Meryton with her sisters and her lately acquired cousin, Mr Collins. They encountered Mr Denny who was walking with an unknown man. The other man looked rather familiar to Elizabeth but she could not place him.

Denny entreated permission to introduce his friend, Mr Wickham, who had returned with him the day before from town, and he was happy to say had accepted a commission in their corps. With a bolt of surprise, Elizabeth realised where she knew his face and name.

I am afraid he has turned out very wild, she heard in Mrs Reynolds' voice, as clearly as if the woman had spoken directly into her ear.

Elizabeth shook the thought out of her head. What did Mrs Reynolds know? This was the same woman who sang Darcy's supposed virtues for an hour complete. She was no judge of character. The man in front of her was dashing, charming, and perfectly well-mannered as he accepted introductions to Elizabeth and her family. She participated eagerly in the pleasant conversation that followed with their new acquaintance until they were interrupted by the approach of Bingley and Darcy on horseback.

Elizabeth was the only one present who would have already known of the prior relationship between Darcy and Wickham. She hardly took note of Bingley's remarks that they were on their way to Longbourn, so caught up was she in watching the men for the exact moment they recognised each other.

She was not disappointed. Their startled looks were almost amusing in how perfectly they matched, and for good reason. If she had felt the magnitude of the coincidence of her meeting Darcy here so soon after seeing Pemberley, it was increased many times over with the addition of Wickham. She watched with curiosity as they composed themselves and touched their hats in mutual acknowledgement, and in another minute, Darcy and Bingley went away.

The two had already been estranged when she first heard of either of them several months ago, and she wondered at the seriousness of the breach that would cause such a strong reaction in both. Would simply growing apart into separate lives be enough to invoke the anger she saw in Darcy's eyes, or had there been some altercation between them? After all these weeks of observing him, she still could not predict how he would react to anything.

Curiosity still burning, she was grateful to her less discreet younger sisters for asking their aunt later on about the newcomer, and disappointed by the lack of information Mrs Phillips could give. However, the hope of meeting him again the next evening for games and supper at the Phillips' house sustained her for the duration of the wait.

When all five Bennet sisters and Mr Collins returned to their aunt's house for their visit the following day, Elizabeth was happy to hear Mr Wickham had accepted the invitation to accompany the other officers for dinner. Even as she reminded herself of her resolve to not get swept away again dreaming about a man she did not know, it did not stop the thrill that ran through her when he entered the room looking every bit as handsome as she remembered from yesterday, and again when he sat next to her and spoke engagingly on the mundane subject of the weather. He was altogether charming and she could not imagine anyone disagreeing.

Although she kept her composure, her excitement was great when Wickham himself broached the topic she would never have raised herself, by inquiring how far Netherfield was from Meryton; and, after receiving her answer, asked in a hesitating manner how long Mr Darcy had been staying there.

"About a month," said Elizabeth. Something within her urged her to conceal her knowledge of Pemberley, Darcy and himself, at least for now, so she simply added, "he is a man of very large property in Derbyshire, I understand."

"Yes," replied Mr Wickham; "his estate there is a noble one. A clear ten thousand per annum. You could not have met with a person more capable of giving you certain information on that head than myself, for I have been connected with his family in a particular manner from my infancy."

Elizabeth feigned surprise. Her apparent ignorance was succeeding at keeping Wickham speaking freely.

"You may well be surprised, Miss Bennet, at such an assertion, after seeing, as you probably might, the very cold manner of our meeting yesterday. Are you much acquainted with Mr Darcy?" 

"As much as I ever wish to be," cried Elizabeth very warmly. "I have spent four days in the same house with him, and I think him very disagreeable."

It was true. She was tired, so tired, of Darcy occupying her thoughts and attention, of his flirting with her one day and insulting her uncle the next, of her feeling as though she could never do anything right in his eyes. She had held onto the wish that he was a good man as his housekeeper claimed who was simply affected by remembrances of some trouble during the summer; there were moments in the past week where it seemed true; but she was still angry with him over their interaction on the last day of her stay at Netherfield.

So, although she knew she ought not do it, she allowed herself to gossip with a stranger about Darcy's manners and pride. Finally airing her grievance to the small extent she did felt cathartic, as did hearing her feelings corroborated by Wickham.

After a little time she inquired about Pemberley, curious how his manner of speaking of it might compare with her own impression.

"Pemberley was a paradise to me as a child," he answered. "There was a stream that was perfect for fishing; I remember one particular section on the far side of the house away from the road, which I always swore had the most fish, and I would guard my territory fiercely against all comers. It just so happened to be located beneath an apple tree that was very close to the water, which allowed me to lean back comfortably, sit in the shade, and reach for a snack whilst I fished."

Elizabeth laughed and urged him to continue. This kind of description and easy conversation was what she had hoped to achieve when she addressed Darcy on Saturday. Why was it impossible for him to accept 'modestly expressed praise,' as he claimed would please anybody, about his own home?

"Another of my favourite aspects of the estate was the people," Wickham said. "My father was the steward and I would often accompany him to the tenant homes. I used to love playing with the children while my father completed his work. But the one person of all I loved most, who was as devoted to me as I was—and still am—to her, was the housekeeper, Mrs Reynolds."

I am afraid he has turned out very wild.

Elizabeth's smile froze as she heard those words in her mind exactly as she had done the day before. She could perfectly recall the elderly servant's look of disapproval, and more than that, her disappointment when speaking of the young man she once knew. Devoted she was not—at least, not anymore.

"It was my need for people that induced me to join the militia," Wickham continued, heedless of his companion's distraction. "I have always had something akin to family in the household I grew up in, besides my father and mother. The late Mr Darcy was like a second father to me, and he cared for me as a second son. Now that I am no longer welcomed at Pemberley by its current master, despite what anyone else may feel about the matter, the army is the best place to experience the same type of camaraderie. I have been a disappointed man, and my spirits will not bear solitude. A military life is not what I was intended for, but circumstances have now made it eligible. The church ought to have been my profession—I was brought up for the church, and I should at this time have been in possession of a most valuable living, had it pleased the gentleman we were speaking of just now."

Another memory surfaced for Elizabeth, which was no more welcome than the last: Mrs Reynolds had given her own explanation of this matter, which was Wickham's refusal to enter the profession that had been planned for him, preferring idleness and leisure over work. She brushed off this contradiction. She had already decided not to heed Mrs Reynolds' opinions. Furthermore, he was clearly in a profession now, as his new regimentals attested. 

She took a moment to admire how well the red coat suited him.

He really needed very little encouragement to provide more details. He went on to explain how his patron had bequeathed him his most valuable living, yet this Mr Darcy had found some excuse to withhold it when the living fell. The story roused Elizabeth's anger with the man anew. She warmed to the subject, interjecting her surprise and offense whenever Wickham paused his narration. "I wonder that the very pride of this Mr. Darcy has not made him just to you! If from no better motive, that he should not have been too proud to be dishonest—for dishonesty I must call it," she said.

"It is wonderful," replied Wickham, "for almost all his actions may be traced to pride; and pride had often been his best friend. It has connected him nearer with virtue than with any other feeling. But we are none of us consistent, and in his behaviour to me there were stronger impulses even than pride."

It was the most time she had ever spent talking of Darcy with another person since her visit to Pemberley. It felt much more satisfactory than her solitary ruminations, and it was fascinating to hear the thoughts of someone who knew him intimately, especially when they were so different from the housekeeper's estimation. She wished to ask Wickham about Darcy's friendship with Bingley, about his sister, what he had been like as a child, and every other detail she could possibly hear about him. But no, she ought to stop conversing about someone so unpleasant. Instead, she decided to inquire how Wickham himself had spent his summer.

"Ah, my summer was splendid," he said, smiling. "I was privileged to enjoy a last idyllic time at the seaside."

"How I long to visit the sea!" she exclaimed.

"I wish I could have stayed longer than I did. An old friend, Mrs Yonge, made the recommendation, telling me it was the place to make my fortune."

I am afraid he has turned out very wild.

Leave me alone, Mrs Reynolds , she thought impatiently to herself. She immediately forgot this mental interruption as she gazed at her companion who was waxing about his time at the sea, describing the people he met, the amusements he partook in, and even the food he ate. His considerable powers of conversation made every topic interesting. He was interesting. 

He looked at her warmly. His voice was as sweet as honey. He could speak happily on any subject she raised. His manners were open and inviting while still remaining perfectly proper. He was the precise opposite of Darcy in every way, and it was a soothing balm on her soul after weeks of contradictions and wounds from the other. She was so absorbed in listening to Wickham she hardly took notice of the lottery they were playing, the card game, all the people and noise in her aunt's parlour. She only had eyes for him.

"As delightful as my time there was, however, all good things must come to an end," he concluded. "My prospects I had traveled for were dashed just at the moment of realisation in another crushing disappointment. That was when I knew my only remaining recourse to support myself would be the army, and soon after I ran into Denny who recommended this militia. Although it is only my second day, I am pleased with my chosen profession and trust I will find as much fulfillment as I might have enjoyed in the church."

At that moment the whist table broke up and the players joined the other table, awakening Elizabeth to their presence and separating her from Wickham, ending their conversation. 

That night she went home and could think of nothing else but the time they spent together. He was handsome and amiable and her head was full of him. She recalled Bingley's pledge to hold a ball and began imagining dancing half the night with Wickham, getting lost in fantasies about the events of that future happy night.

Unfortunately, this feeling was familiar, and when she realised it her heart sank. She must not do this again. Yes, these feelings were borne of actual experience with him rather than some other person's flattery, but it did not matter. She had known him for one day. She ought to tread carefully and employ her reason.

She sat up in bed and rubbed her temples where her head suddenly began to ache. She slowly, begrudgingly, acknowledged that she must address those fleeting moments of doubt that she had brushed off earlier. She would be rational about this man. 

Something had caught her for a moment when he spoke about summering at the sea. He had not named the precise location he stayed so she did not know what could be so wrong. She tried to recall the exact words he used and she gasped when the answer came to her: An old friend, Mrs Yonge, made the recommendation.  

Mrs Yonge.

Miss Darcy's companion.

Miss Darcy's companion, Mrs Yonge, had induced her to summer at the seaside town of Ramsgate. A Mrs Yonge invited Wickham to some unnamed seaside town where he anticipated making his fortune. Mr Darcy had traveled to join his sister, only to depart with her immediately instead of visiting. He reacted with anger to the mention of Ramsgate and the sight of Wickham.

Elizabeth's headache throbbed. It could not be. She could not believe it. These facts painted a picture she absolutely did not want to see. 

And yet, they were facts. None of the three people she pieced these statements together from knew she had talked to the other two. There was no reason for any of them to lie or to withhold anything from her.

She gasped again as a frantic thought occurred to her: Was Miss Darcy safe?

She leapt out of bed and began pacing. Her heart beat wildly in her chest. Be rational, she admonished herself. What did she know?

Wickham had stated his prospects were dashed at the moment of realisation. Mrs Reynolds had stated Darcy traveled to surprise his sister. Darcy had stated he collected her. All of this corroborated the terrifying, absolutely abhorrent implications from the first set of facts, but it also suggested she was safe. Of course Mr Darcy would never spend months of leisure away with friends if his sister needed him. Elizabeth sighed her relief in a loud exhale.

"Lizzy?" Jane murmured groggily from her bed. 

"Hush, go back to sleep, love; I am merely fetching some water," Elizabeth replied soothingly.

She stepped out of their room and crept downstairs to the parlour to have space to think without further disturbing her family. 

Surely the man she enjoyed pleasant conversation with only hours ago could not, would not, do what the circumstances suggested? Wickham had every advantage in his upbringing at Pemberley under the patronage of the late Mr Darcy. He was amiable, open, and unguarded in his speech. There was goodness in his looks. She reviewed every word he spoke tonight, every look he gave her. It was truly difficult to believe he could utter anything other than the truth.

Her family housekeeper, Mrs Hill, entered the room, interrupting Elizabeth's thoughts. "I thought I heard someone moving about down here," she said. "Are you well, Miss Lizzy?"

"I am having trouble sleeping due to a headache," she replied. "I apologise for disturbing you."

"It is fine. Allow me to help." 

Mrs Hill had her sit on the chaise and positioned herself behind it. She massaged Elizabeth's scalp and temples with her fingertips.

"You have been doing this for my headaches for as long as I can remember," Elizabeth sighed. "How long have you been at Longbourn, Hill?"

"I began as the scullery maid when I was—oh, about Miss Kitty's age, I reckon. And it must be twenty years since I became the head housekeeper."

"That is an awfully long time to tolerate my father's peculiar temperament."

Mrs Hill chuckled. "He keeps to himself, and I know how to manage your mother. Truly, miss, when servants are unhappy we find situations elsewhere. I enjoy Longbourn and your family."

"I am gratified to hear you say so."

"Nicholls, over at Netherfield, she told me not long ago how she was considering looking for a new position, what with how long the house was empty. But she decided to stay after only one week with Mr Bingley. He is as kind and generous a master as she could hope for."

"I certainly believe that," Elizabeth said. She asked, hesitantly, "Is she pleased with all the family at Netherfield?"

Mrs Hill laughed outright at that. "I know what you are asking, miss, and I will not speak ill of anyone. I will say, however, that she greatly appreciates Mr Darcy, too."

"Indeed!"

"Oh, yes! Nicholls can hear them, sometimes, when Mr Darcy is teaching Mr Bingley about the estate. He was quite clear on how to manage tenants and staff, and whatever she heard pleased her very well."

Elizabeth hummed, contemplative, and after a minute she yawned. "I believe I am ready to attempt sleep, and you ought to return to bed too, Hill," she said. "Thank you very much for your assistance tonight."

Mrs Hill bid her good night and they separated. Elizabeth slowly made her way upstairs, considering what she had heard. This was not some stranger whose words she could discount at will. This was her trusted housekeeper she had known all her life. Mrs Nicholls, too, had been familiar to her for a long time, and was someone she could also believe.

It was a timely reminder of the value of a servant's opinion. It mattered who they praised and censured. It meant something that Darcy's own housekeeper had stayed at Pemberley for at least twenty years and spoke so highly of him, to Mrs Nicholls' apparent agreement. However poorly Darcy sometimes behaved among her society, a man's fundamental character was on display with his servants, so he could not be fundamentally bad or dishonourable. He also had nothing to gain from feigning anger at Wickham and distress at the mention of Ramsgate. Perhaps he even had good reason to deny Wickham the living—if Wickham had desired the living at all.

As Elizabeth settled back into her bed, she knew what she must do: she must speak to Mr Darcy as soon as possible. Although she felt incapable of starting a conversation with the man without it ending in mutual offense, hearing his side of the story was vitally important.

She did not know whether she wished Darcy or Wickham to be the one who was vindicated. She did know that what mattered most was finding the truth.

Chapter Text

Elizabeth reluctantly prepared for the ball that was being held at Netherfield that night, unable to match the rest of her family's enthusiasm. Despite her excitement at the prospect of this ball taking place, by the time the invitation was issued that excitement was gone. She did not have anyone to look forward to dancing with: only her irksome cousin, who had requested her first set with great pomp and formality, to her mother’s vocal delight. She did not have anyone to dress well for: she did not want Wickham singling her out again, if he came at all, and Lord only knew how Darcy would treat her tonight but she certainly would not go out of her way for him.

Moreover, she would need to find a way to talk to Darcy there, as a frustrating succession of rain the last four days had made leaving the house impossible, making this her first opportunity since meeting Wickham. But the more she thought things over, with the distance preventing Wickham’s charm from clouding her mind, the more suspicious he seemed. What were the chances of two women named Mrs Yonge traveling to the seaside at the same time, and how would he expect to make his fortune in one summer if not by marrying a girl with a substantial dowry? Additionally, how could Wickham not receive the living he was bequeathed without legal recourse against Darcy, unless he had willingly refused it? She had to hear Darcy’s version of things and, if her suspicions were correct, then decide what to do about this man living in her community for the foreseeable future with the militia.

The only thing she did anticipate with pleasure was the prospect of seeing her sister and Bingley together. Although Jane was guarded in her speech, and would not admit it out loud, Elizabeth knew she was well on her way to being in love. Jane was happy, lighthearted and teasing in a way she had never been before. And Bingley himself was so open and unaffected, she was certain he could not pay a woman such attention as he had been doing with Jane unless his feelings were genuine. He could not be so dishonourable. If all continued as it had been, she may even see her cherished hope of their engagement realised by Christmas.

With that happy thought, she completed her preparations and joined her noisy family for the short carriage ride over, determined to focus on the good things to come tonight. If she must have an uncomfortable conversation with Darcy, she could get it done early and enjoy the rest of the ball. If she must dance with Mr Collins, at least it was the first set and she could find other, more pleasant partners thereafter. She would see Charlotte Lucas for the first time in a week. Indeed, all her friends and neighbours would be there, promising an evening of merriment.

Elizabeth entered the drawing room at Netherfield and took a few calming breaths. She would get all unpleasant business over with at the start, and have fun the rest of the night, she reminded herself. The first thing she did was look for Wickham. He had said Darcy would not keep him away, and that he should be the one to avoid making a scene, but as she searched in vain and had his absence confirmed by his friend Denny—who added, with a significant smile, “I do not imagine his business would have called him away just now, if he had not wanted to avoid a certain gentleman here,”—she counted his first confirmed lie. It was true he might still have kept away even if he had been the one who was wronged, as the host was Darcy’s intimate friend, but this was certainly no point in his favour.

She moved through the room, greeting acquaintances and wondering where Darcy was. She exchanged pleasantries with Bingley and his sisters, and joined her dear friend Charlotte in the ballroom, pointing out her cousin to Charlotte’s notice and telling her stories of all his oddities and long-winded speeches she had been enduring these first eight days of his trip. It had finally occurred to her, after putting together the hints of his requesting the first dance and his marked attention and clumsy compliments, that she was selected from among her sisters as worthy of being mistress of Hunsford Parsonage, and of assisting to form a quadrille table at Rosings, in the absence of more eligible visitors. Any proposal he might decide to offer before his departure on Saturday could only result in quarrels and mayhem at Longbourn. She lamented this unfortunate prospect to Charlotte until the time came for the man himself to collect her for their dance.

It was during those mortifying thirty minutes, in between being trod on and correcting his movements, that she finally spotted Darcy across the room. He was not looking anywhere near her, or at anyone, seemingly. His brooding markedly resembled his attitude from the first night. A feeling of dread settled in. When the first set ended and an officer applied to her for the next, she gladly accepted the delay in approaching someone who appeared so wholly unapproachable.

Those dances came to an end, too, however. Elizabeth willed her courage to rise, refusing to be intimidated away. She marched over to where Darcy was still standing in the same place.

“Good evening, Mr Darcy,” she opened. 

“Good evening, Miss Elizabeth,” he replied stiffly.

Elizabeth decided to get straight to the point. “I could not help noticing your reaction to someone I met the other day,” she said.

He made no answer.

"I believe it was someone you know?"

"It was."

As low as her expectations were, he was still managing to frustrate and disappoint her.

"As he has joined the militia stationed here for the winter, perhaps my family will see him with some regularity," she pressed.

He shrugged and pointedly fixed his gaze on the dancing couples. “It is no concern of mine whom you befriend.”

“Well, I am concerned,” she said, “because I would like to know if a man is unsavoury or untrustworthy before forming an acquaintance, if I have the means to find out.”

“Wickham is only interested in money,” Darcy replied. “You have nothing to fear.”

“Fine,” she exclaimed, “I shall allow him to call on my younger sisters, and I shall believe every word he speaks to me on any subject, and your conscience will be clear.” She walked off without waiting for a response.

She paced the outskirts of the room in anger. Insufferable, infuriating man! She came across Charlotte who was sitting near the wall directly opposite Darcy and took the vacant chair next to her. Charlotte wrapped her arm around Elizabeth’s shoulders. Her friend probably saw the whole thing. Saw her once again humiliate herself in front of this horrid man. Elizabeth had already said too much at Lucas Lodge, and Charlotte knew her too well to hide anything, so she might as well gain some comfort. She laid her head on her dear friend’s shoulder. “What did I ever do to him?” she asked, defeated. “Why can I not say two words to him without offending him? He does not speak so unkindly to anyone else.”

She looked over at the place she had left him standing alone. He was watching her closely, impassively.

She closed her eyes.

Charlotte rubbed her hand up and down Elizabeth’s back and kissed the top of her head. “He rightly considers you the handsomest woman in the room, and is fighting his feelings,” she said.

Elizabeth huffed a mirthless laugh. “I cannot tell if you are joking or not, but believe me, I know that not to be true.”

“Come, Eliza," Charlotte pressed, “if he continually offends you, leave well alone. Make sport of him, as you would with anyone else. Where is the spirited Elizabeth Bennet I know? Why does he of all people get under your skin?”

Elizabeth could no longer think of her day at Pemberley with anything except mortification over her immature, irrational feelings and how thoroughly they have been dashed. She certainly could not talk about it with anyone, not even Charlotte. “I suppose I have more energy for defending others than myself,” she simply said. “If he insulted you, dearest, it would be pistols at dawn.”

Charlotte laughed, and Elizabeth looked back over towards Darcy’s place on his wall, but he was no longer there. She glanced around and was caught by surprise when she found him approaching her chair. She straightened out of her friend’s arm and eyed him warily.

“Miss Lucas, how do you do,” he said politely, and on receiving her response he turned his attention back to Elizabeth. "Miss Elizabeth, would you do me the honour of dancing the next set with me?”

She blinked. 

She scrutinised him, trying to detect the trap, but he was not looking upon her unkindly this time. She wondered if this was his way of extending an olive branch after speaking so harshly before, or perhaps it was a way to continue the conversation away from Charlotte. Perhaps it was both, or neither; whatever the reason, the only way to find out was to accept.

They joined the line that was forming, and when the dance began and they moved a bit apart from the other couples, he said, “Miss Elizabeth, I apologise for what I said earlier. My words were uncalled for.”

“Thank you,” she replied, and waited to see if there would be more.

“You are right to be suspicious of Wickham. He cannot be trusted, and you should be skeptical of any tales he tells.”

“When I toured Pemberley,” she began slowly, peering at him to see if he would be bothered by her mentioning this again, but he was not; “When I toured Pemberley, we saw his miniature portrait, and your housekeeper did not speak highly of him. Only that he was intended for the church, where he clearly did not end up.”

“It is true that was my father's hope, but when he passed, Wickham requested compensation in exchange for relinquishing all claim to the living planned for him, which I paid.”

“I see,” she replied thoughtfully. The dance separated them for a minute, and then she added, “He told me you denied the living on some pretext, and that is why the militia was his only remaining prospect.”

“He did apply when the living fell several years later, and I did deny him then, the pretext being his prior signed renunciation," Darcy explained.

Elizabeth noticed how close the two men's stories were on this point. Perhaps that was why both were conceivable. “But if he changed his mind and wished to be ordained, why not give it to him anyway? After all your family history?”

Darcy hesitated, then chose his words carefully. “He only requested the living because he was desperate for money. He is… not fit for the church. I do not believe he would do right by my parish.”

“But you said you already gave him money,” Elizabeth said, puzzled. “Was it so little?”

“He could have lived on it for many years, or used it to study the law, as he claimed to desire, but he squandered it instead.”

Elizabeth pondered his words while they danced in silence for some minutes. Darcy's story was plausible. So was Wickham's. 

Darcy was churlish and unpleasant, but she had not known him to tell a lie. Wickham had the disapproval of Mrs Reynolds, his questionable activities of this past summer, and his false bravado about attending this ball.

She was desperate to hear more, to gain some confirmation that Wickham colluded with Miss Darcy's companion to seduce her in Ramsgate, but that wish, she knew, was wholly impossible. She had been improper enough in asking for details about the dispute over the living, which Darcy was under no obligation to provide. The other matter, so close to his heart, could not properly be mentioned; she could not even hint at her suspicions, certainly not in a ballroom.

Darcy watched her as she considered everything. He appeared lost in thought, too. Finally, he spoke again: “He has hurt me deeply. I am not at liberty to reveal more details, but I urge you to exercise caution with him. I cannot speak of him, or even think of him without becoming affected. I am not myself in those moments."

His vulnerability surprised her. It was the most open he had ever made himself to her. This much, at least, she knew to be true. When she reflected on his behaviour during their dance at Lucas Lodge, where he stormed out after she tried to talk about Ramsgate, she realised this was as close to a confirmation as she could ever hope to receive. His experiences with Wickham did not explain everything he had ever said to her, but it accounted for much of it. She looked at him and her wounded heart softened.

He was dancing correctly, but his mind was far away. His mouth was pulled into a tight line. His eyes appeared damp, if it was not a trick of the flickering candlelight. She wondered if this was a glimpse of his true self: a man who felt things deeply, and who used a cold façade in public to conceal it, except when grief overcame him and manifested as anger.

Their eyes met and she said, "I believe you."

Darcy cleared his throat and nodded curtly. They completed their dance without exchanging another word. Elizabeth had the distinct feeling that they had entered into a truce, without ever having truly quarreled to start with. 

They did not cross paths again for the rest of the night. Elizabeth was busy reining in Lydia, avoiding Mr Collins, and fruitlessly attempting to hush her mother's gossip about Jane and Bingley. 

She still kept one eye on him, so she knew he remained at the ball, but he wandered around solemnly instead of participating. He watched Jane and Bingley frequently, and appeared to observe the rest of her family at times. She wondered what he was thinking. 

He nodded acknowledgment whenever their eyes met. At this point, it seemed to be the best she could hope for.

She did not know how long their uneasy peace would last before something else inevitably ruined it. Part of her wished he would leave Hertfordshire before it could happen. 

She did not know her wish would come true two days later.

Chapter Text

The Gardiners came to Longbourn for Christmas, as they did every year. Elizabeth was overjoyed to see them again. Although it had only been four months since they traveled together, that trip had forged an even closer bond between them than they already enjoyed. Letters were a poor substitute for the easy conversations and the confidences she could share with them both when they were together, especially with her young aunt. 

Seeing Jane's low spirits after the closing of Netherfield, they invited her to return to town with them at the end of this week, and Elizabeth fully supported the plan. She hated seeing her poor sister like this, quietly despairing after receiving a second letter from Caroline Bingley confirming the family would be staying in town all winter. In London, at least, Jane would experience the many diversions and entertainments to be had, find joy in spending time with her young cousins, and be away from the lamentations of her mother, even if she did not have the good fortune to meet him there.

Indeed, Mrs Bennet was worse than usual this week of their visit, proving the necessity of Jane's getting away. In her brother and sister she found a new outlet for airing her grievances. Her outbursts focused primarily on Elizabeth, for refusing Mr Collins's offer of marriage the day after the Netherfield ball; Charlotte Lucas, for accepting it two days later; and of course Bingley, for abandoning Jane. That list was not exhaustive. Mrs Gardiner, to whom it was chiefly directed, knew these things from her correspondence with her nieces, but patiently listened to it all.

Mrs Bennet did pride herself on her hosting, so she provided entertainment for her relations every day. They could not even enjoy a family dinner at home during their stay, because there was always some friends to host or a party to attend.

"Where is Mr Wickham?" Lydia asked one such evening, when several families were gathered at Longbourn as well as a number of officers.

"Mama, did you forget to invite him?" Kitty accused.

"I suppose I did," Mrs Bennet said, looking around the room, "although there is no shortage of visitors. I hardly know how you even noticed!"

"Have I met this Mr Wickham before?" Mrs Gardiner whispered to Elizabeth, who was sitting next to her. "His name is familiar."

"Do you remember when we saw Pemberley, in Derbyshire? He was the one from the miniatures, who the housekeeper disapproved of."

"Truly? The same man is here?" her aunt exclaimed quietly.

Elizabeth laughed. "He is not the only one we saw during that tour who has lately been in Hertfordshire."

"Of course we noticed that the most charming man of our acquaintance was not invited when everyone else we know was," Lydia said indignantly, and far too loudly. "We should be extra kind to him, after everything that mean Mr Darcy has done to him!"

"Lydia," Elizabeth hissed, "keep your voice down. And I told you before: Mr Wickham was not denied the living, he gave it up for direct compensation."

"Only according to Mr Darcy, who told only you!"

"And a man who bandies about his personal affairs is certainly not more believable or trustworthy than one who is circumspect."

"You only say that because you looove Mr Darcy," Lydia teased. Turning to their aunt, she added, "Did you know Mr Darcy danced with Lizzy twice, and never with anyone else?"

"Lizzy?" Mrs Gardiner asked in clear astonishment by all she had been hearing. "You never once mentioned his being here in your letters. And he singled you out for dancing?"

Elizabeth could feel how completely she had lost control of this conversation. She had thought, many times, of telling her aunt when he was here. But the same impulse that prevented her from telling Jane or Charlotte she saw his house, kept that information from her aunt; and later, she felt so much time had passed it would be strange to then bring it up. Once they had closed up Netherfield, she never really believed his name would be spoken again; no one else had ever paid much attention to him, or would feel his absence.

Before she could begin to formulate a coherent reply, she was interrupted by her mother, who asked, "Lizzy, when did you dance with Mr Darcy?"

"Once at Lucas Lodge, and once at Mr Bingley's ball," Kitty answered helpfully. 

"How do either of you girls know this?" Elizabeth exclaimed.

"We were always right there, dancing next to you. Did you think we were too stupid to see you?"

As it happened, Elizabeth did rather think her sisters were too caught up in their own partners and their punch to take note of what she was doing, but she chose not to address that part. "Well, he danced no more with me than with Mrs Hurst or Miss Bingley; and Mr Bingley must have danced with Jane ten times if he did it once. Clearly, dancing is not a meaningful event for either of them."

"How did I never see it, or hear of it?" asked Mrs Bennet, who seemed to be finally absorbing the significance of all this talk of dancing. "Oh Lizzy, it all makes sense!" she cried. "Of course you refused Mr Collins when you thought you could capture Mr Darcy. Ten thousand a year! You sly thing, I was so cross with you and you never breathed a word! The whole time you had a plan. If only you told me, I would have given Mr Collins a little hint to try Mary instead of you. But oh! He has gone, same as Mr Bingley." She covered her mouth with her hand, crestfallen by the remembrance.

"My goodness, Lizzy," said Mrs Gardiner, "and I said to you only yesterday that it would have been better for you to be the one abandoned than Jane, for you could have laughed it off. I am truly sorry for not realising how wrong I was. It seems you suffer in silence, like your sister."

"I was not abandoned, I was not trying to capture him, and I am not suffering for his loss," Elizabeth cried. "Aunt, I did not mention him in my letters because he was not what I expected and I knew he would not stay long here. I certainly did not admire him, nor him me."

"He must return," Mrs Bennet fretted, not listening to her daughter at all. "Mr Darcy and Mr Bingley both. What kind of gentleman would single out a lady like that and then abandon her? And to have both of them do it? No, they will most certainly return. And then imagine the look on Lady Lucas's face!"

She walked away, muttering to herself about the number of courses she should plan for the inevitable family dinner the gentlemen would attend. Lydia and Kitty, having grown bored of the conversation, were already across the room to talk to Mr Denny and some other officers. Elizabeth looked helplessly at her aunt. Her mother was now labouring under the false impression of a nonexistent courtship and she most certainly would never let the idea go easily, now that it was entrenched. This whole evening had gone terribly wrong.

"We can talk about this more tomorrow, in private," Mrs Gardiner whispered to her.

Elizabeth wanted to cry in frustration. She had been doing a splendid job at not thinking about Darcy too much these last few weeks—even after Jane received Caroline Bingley's letter about their departure, even through their mother's constant moaning about Bingley being away, even while being thrown into company with Wickham far more often than she liked. They had finally made their truce, had the possibility of a fresh start, and then he had promptly disappeared. 

She did not want to think about him. She did not want to talk about him. More than ever before, she wished he had never come to Hertfordshire at all.

"There is no reason to," she replied, without bothering to keep her bitterness from her voice. "He is gone."

Darcy sat cosily in his study at Pemberley. He had a glass of wine and a book, which was one of his favourite ways to pass an evening at home. His mind kept drifting away from his reading, however. 

He had hosted most of his family for Christmas this year. Lady Catherine and Anne did not come, but he would see them in the spring, and in all likelihood he, Georgiana, and the Fitzwilliams enjoyed themselves all the more for their absence. It had been quite nice having a full house for the season, but something had nonetheless felt missing that he could not name. Or, rather, he had a deep-seated suspicion of what it was, but he would not acknowledge it as long as guests were here. 

Now, however, he was alone for the first time in a fortnight, and he was thinking about Elizabeth Bennet. She was what had felt missing from his home ever since his arrival some weeks ago. The thought had wriggled its way to his consciousness, and now it would not go away.

Mrs Reynolds entered his study for the last bit of cleaning up before retiring for the night. She reached for his empty wine glass, but he stayed her hand. As he watched her move through the room, a thought occurred to him for the first time.

"Mrs Reynolds," he said, "you gave a tour of Pemberley last August when my sister and I were away. There was a young lady about nineteen or twenty years old, with her aunt and uncle. Do you recall them?"

His housekeeper paused for a moment, frowning. "There were several families this summer, sir. I am not sure I know the one you mean."

"The young lady's name is Elizabeth, and theirs is Gardiner," he pressed.

At that, her eyes lit up. "Of course," she exclaimed. "They called her Lizzy!"

"Yes, yes, Lizzy," he said. He smiled. He liked that name for her.

"How could I ever forget?" she chuckled. "She spent more time looking at your portrait than at the house."

"Indeed?" He poured himself another glass of wine and took a sip.

"Oh, yes," Mrs Reynolds said. "She was first caught by the miniature painting, the one in your father's room, sir. She called you very handsome, likely thinking herself unheard. Then at your large portrait in the gallery—oh, my! Her aunt was obliged to call her away after some ten minutes because the rest of us had already moved on." She chuckled again.

"I met her when I traveled to Hertfordshire, and she told me she toured the place."

"Did you really meet her, sir? Well, what a thrill that must have given her! She could not hear enough said about you that day, either; and I was happy to oblige, of course. No detail was too small for her curiosity about you."

Darcy smiled, a warm feeling coursing through his whole body. "And did she like the house?"

"As I said, sir, I believe she hardly even took notice. She did often look out the windows, however."

Darcy recalled how she had walked the three miles from Longbourn to Netherfield and suspected that was no rare occurrence. "She does love the outdoors," he said.

"Then I am sure she enjoyed Pemberley's grounds, even if there was a lack of portraits to be found there."

"Thank you, Mrs Reynolds," he said. He smiled at her and then turned his attention back to his book when she left.

Or rather, he attempted to read after he was alone again. Instead, he was now thinking about the way Elizabeth had looked arriving at Netherfield after that three-mile hike in the dirt: her cheeks flushed, her hair a mess, a sheen of sweat on her brow despite it being November. Absolutely enchanting. And then he pictured her looking like that here, perhaps after walking through these woods, jumping over a stream, or climbing a hill further back from the manor. She could spend countless hours in these grounds, and he would never tire of how her eyes looked when brightened by the exercise. 

It was a very pleasant thought, but ultimately pointless. When would he ever see her again? How could he reconcile her connections with his obligation to marry well?

Indeed, just the reminder of her family made him frown. The last time he had seen Elizabeth was the same night he had become absolutely assured of her family's unsuitability, not just for himself but for Bingley, too. If he had been certain Miss Jane Bennet had loved him, perhaps they would not have been too much for Bingley to handle, but he cared too much for his friend to let him marry a girl who would only accept him to please her mother instead of herself. Removing him from that entanglement was certainly the correct move.

Elizabeth, though… he thought about his housekeeper's words again. All suspicion that her interest in him was mercenary was now fully extinguished. He had spoken harshly to her at Bingley's ball and had been sorry for it the moment he saw the genuine hurt in her eyes. When he reflected on her words about Wickham and realised she must have spoken with that man, mistrusted him, and was seeking confirmation of her doubts, she soared in his esteem. He had feared that all her attention those six weeks was with the aim of ensnaring him and capturing Pemberley, but that was not who Elizabeth was, that was Wickham. She was nothing like that snake. She was intelligent, not cunning. She was concerned for her family and community, not herself. He knew then that he owed her an apology and an explanation, and that was what he gave her. 

And now Mrs Reynolds removed the last shadow of doubt tonight. He smiled when he reviewed his time in Hertfordshire with this new lens. He had always observed her behaviour without having any certainty about her motivation. That had made him fall briefly into the false belief of her fortune-hunting. Now he had clarity, like the last brushstrokes pulling together a painting. All her stares, her lurking in his periphery, her little conversational gambits. She had liked him before even meeting him. 

And he liked her, too.

She had wisdom to see through Wickham's lies; decorous behaviour in public and private; was educated, good-humoured, and kind. Elizabeth herself was perfect. It was everything else, external to her personally, that prevented any happy outcome for them.

He wished things could be different. If she had fortune, or family of rank, or a mother who did not mortify him every time she opened her mouth—any or all of it. Something.

As it was, she did not have those things, and he had long since crept out of her county like a thief in the night. It had been as much for his own sake as Bingley's. He had not known her mind as well as he did now; he had thought the separation would hurt only himself, especially after his behaviour the last two times they spoke. Now he felt something dangerously close to regret. 

Darcy stayed in his study even after complete silence fell upon the house. His book was put down, all pretense forgotten. He had only his wine and his thoughts for company, but they kept him up long into the night.

Chapter Text

It was a bright January day. The skies were clear and the roads were dry. The other girls thought it too cold to walk out, but not Elizabeth. She would rather not miss a chance to be outdoors for a while.

She walked the mile to Meryton alone, which certainly was not a rare thing for her to do. She visited the library and exchanged her last book for a new one. She browsed some more shops aimlessly, being in town more for the fresh air and exercise than to actually run errands, before turning her steps in the direction of Lucas Lodge.

At the outskirts of town, at the juncture to the road leading to their house, she suddenly pulled up short. Charlotte did not live there anymore. She had married Mr Collins and moved away to Kent, where Elizabeth would be visiting in March. She was still able to call at Lucas Lodge, of course, but at this remembrance she no longer felt like socialising. Between Charlotte's marriage and Jane's going to London with the Gardiners, Elizabeth felt very alone.

She had just resolved to return directly home when movement to her right caught her attention. She looked at who was emerging from the inn beside her, and gasped in surprise when she recognised him.

"Mr Darcy!" she exclaimed. "I had not heard of your returning to Hertfordshire!"

He gave her a small, conspiratorial smile she did not understand. "Miss Elizabeth, it is a pleasure to see you again. I arrived two or three days ago, but I have managed to avoid the local gossip, it seems. The innkeeper is discreet."

"But… the inn?" she frowned at him, then at the building. "Are you not with Mr Bingley at Netherfield, then?"

"I traveled alone this time."

"Oh. Mr Bingley had led us to believe his business in town would not take long, and then he would return."

Darcy cleared his throat. "It appears his business has kept him longer, and besides, the season is now beginning. He does not intend to leave town the rest of the winter, to my knowledge."

"Oh," Elizabeth said again. "You are more willing to miss the season than he is, though?"

"When I have a worthwhile inducement," he replied. He smiled again, the same meaningful one as before. She felt stupid, like she was missing something very obvious, because absolutely nothing made sense about Darcy being here while Bingley was not.

"Are you going home to Longbourn? May I accompany you for the walk?" he asked.

"Y-yes," Elizabeth said, hesitantly. She immediately thought of her mother and the havoc it would cause at home to be seen walking with Mr Darcy. She blushed when the possibility finally occurred to her that he had returned for her. Not likely, she told herself, but it absolutely would be her mother's assumption. Under no circumstances should he go in view of the house, if he must walk with her now.

They started down the road to Longbourn together. It was as silent and uncomfortable as either of the dances they had shared. The lack of conversation caused her mind to wander back to Christmas a few weeks ago.

The day after that evening party at Longbourn, Mrs Gardiner had pulled the entire story of Darcy's stay in Hertfordshire out of Elizabeth; every last sorry detail. The more she spoke, the more humiliating she found all of it. By describing aloud every attempt to speak with him she made and every insult he hurled at her in return, she began to see herself as he must have perceived her: just a silly country girl who was awestruck by his greatness and who foolishly thought she could gain his notice and wrangle her way into becoming Mistress of Pemberley. It was no wonder he behaved the way he did.

But now, what should she make of his turning up in Meryton, hiding at the inn for days, and seemingly only venturing out to walk her home? Why did he not say something? She could not bear the silence, but neither would she open herself up to the sting of whatever rude way he would respond if she spoke first.

Happily, he managed to broach a topic of conversation right at that moment: "Did you enjoy your Christmas this year?"

"I did, thank you," she replied in relief. "My aunt and uncle visited from London, and of course there were parties and dinners aplenty, as there always are during the festive season." In a moment of inspiration, she added, "My sister Jane returned to town with them to spend the winter there."

"Indeed?" Darcy asked. He cleared his throat again. "In Cheapside?"

"Yes, on Gracechurch Street," she replied tightly. "In fact, she called on Miss Bingley recently at Grosvenor Street."

"It is good to hear they are able to maintain their friendship there."

"Yes."

Elizabeth was at a loss now. She did not much care to speak of that friendship; she had only wanted to give a hint to Bingley's dearest friend that Jane was in town, only a short carriage ride away, and ready to receive his call.

She realised they were nearing Longbourn and sought to find a way to gently encourage Darcy to leave her, but it seemed he had the same thought before she could form her own excuses.

"Thank you for the walk, Miss Elizabeth, but I believe I must turn back now. Until we meet again." And with a very civil bow, he turned and strode back the way they had come.

Elizabeth watched him retreat for a moment, not entirely certain the last half-hour had actually happened, before shaking her head and making her way the remaining distance home.

The next few days she paid more attention than usual to the gossip shared during morning calls at Longbourn, especially when her aunt Phillips arrived, but she never heard so much as a whisper of Mr Darcy or his mysterious sojourn at the Meryton inn. She also walked to town with Kitty and Lydia when the weather was fairer and although she paid attention to her surroundings the whole time, she never caught a glimpse of him. It was all very strange, and she concluded he must have had some business to carry out on Bingley's behalf and gone home to London by now—if she had not dreamt their walk the other day to start with.

The reality of his presence was proven, however, the next time Elizabeth went to Meryton alone, several days after the first. She ordinarily would have taken the direct road home, but on a whim she decided to pass the inn the same way she had done before. Sure enough, Darcy emerged at the same place, and she was no less surprised by it. It was almost as though he had been waiting for her specifically both times, but that was not possible.

Was it?

"Miss Elizabeth," he said with a smile, "how do you do?"

She did not feel particularly cheerful, having received a letter from Jane that morning in which her poor sister was in worse spirits than ever. However, she knew the social script, and she said, "I am well, thank you, and yourself?"

He responded positively and they set out on the road to Longbourn together, exactly as they had done before. 

"Your business in Meryton still keeps you here, it seems?" she asked after a minute or two.

He gave her his peculiar smile, and said, "I may be in the county for some time, if all goes according to my plan."

His secretiveness irritated her, and so did the thought that he would not be in town to see Bingley personally. She supposed he might mention in a letter that he knew Jane was in London, but that seemed much less likely than it coming up casually in conversation. Writing of it would require intent, a conscious decision in the hopes of influencing the young couple's felicity, which Elizabeth was not certain he shared with her. Now could be an opportunity to find that out, however.

"I have heard from my sister that Miss Bingley finally returned her call. She waited a full fortnight for her, and then Miss Bingley was quite cold and departed after an exceedingly short time. It seems that acquaintance has ended rather abruptly." She glanced sidelong to see his reaction.

Darcy cleared his throat. "Perhaps it is for the best," he said to Elizabeth's astonishment. "They run in different circles and surely will never have cause to meet on the rare times they will ever be in the same city again."

"They have one common friend in Mr Bingley, I had thought, but he has not called on her at all."

"Why should he?" Darcy asked, and Elizabeth stopped short. He noticed she was no longer walking beside him, so he stopped and faced her.

"Why should he?" Elizabeth repeated incredulously. "After all the time he spent with her here this autumn, is it not natural for him to continue to do so there?"

"Forgive me for contradicting you, Miss Elizabeth, but I believe you are making their acquaintance sound more significant than it was. They only knew each other for some six weeks, which is really quite trifling. Furthermore, her friendship was primarily with Miss Bingley, and even that, as you say, is severed."

"Their acquaintance would be longer than six weeks if he called on her," Elizabeth argued. Her eyes narrowed as suspicion of Mr Darcy's deceit crept in. "Does he even know she is in town?"

Darcy looked away for a moment, and when he turned back she saw resolve in his face. "No, he does not," he replied firmly. "His sisters and I felt it would be better if he did not return here, and did not see her in town."

"Why—why on earth would you do that?" she cried. "I had my suspicions of her, but you—?"

"I am looking out for the best interests of my friend," he said coldly. "I could sense the general expectations for them in this neighbourhood, but I could not detect that she held any special regard for him above any other. His sisters shared the same concerns, so we followed him to London and informed him of our observations, encouraging him to remain in town. I have not told him she is there, and I will not."

"But you are wrong," Elizabeth exclaimed. "I am telling you she does care for him above all others. There: does that satisfy you enough to make the correction?"

Darcy pursed his lips in only the briefest moment of consideration. "No, I am confident in my own unbiased assessment of the situation."

"But who are you to decide? On what basis do you know my sister well enough to determine her feelings with sufficient conviction to interfere? Have you ever had even a single conversation with her?"

"I watched her for the entirety of that ball he held."

"When you were not too busy calling me poor, you mean," she said petulantly. Another thought struck her and she asked, "That is another reason you separated them, is it not? You feel my family is too poor and unconnected for him?"

"And uncouth, and ill-behaved, yes," he snapped. "I cannot recall a single time in company I did not feel repulsed by your mother, your younger sisters, and even on occasion your father."

Elizabeth threw her arms up in frustration. "That is enough," she cried. "I have had enough of your insults, and your sneers, and your pride! I have tried to give you the benefit of the doubt, after the wonderful things I heard about you at Pemberley. I have learned of Mr Wickham's treachery and believed that you were distraught and not yourself when you called me 'not handsome enough to tempt you', and when you looked down on my uncle, and every other time you have been boorish and rude. I have been willing to forgive you again and again, and to believe you were better than that, but truly, you are not! Your open disdain for my family and your arrogant actions that broke Jane's heart confirm it. This is… this is simply who you are."

Her voice broke on the last word she spoke. She turned away to hide the tears that began to fall. She did not know whether she was crying in anger, disappointment, or pain. Perhaps it was all three mixing and churning inside her, as they had been ever since the day she met this man. She clenched her fists at her sides to try to control herself as Darcy was quiet for several moments.

"I do not disdain all your family," he said quietly. "I was going to ask you to marry me."

"What?" She whirled back around in shock. "How could you possibly want that, after everything you have ever said and done to me? How could I possibly accept you?"

"Come, Lizzy," he said, with an ugly smile and derision dripping from his voice. "You cannot pretend you have not been wishing it."

"It is Miss Elizabeth, to you," she spat out, "and if this is the way you treat someone you think you are courting, then I cannot even imagine how dreadful you would be as a husband."

His confidence finally ebbed away. For the first time, he looked doubtful of himself as he seemed to absorb what she was saying. "I would be good to you," he said.

"Truly?" Elizabeth laughed aloud at the absurdity of it. "Then why are you hiding from everyone at the inn, and lurking in the shadows until you can catch me alone?" She gestured around them at the empty lane they were on next to the woods. "Would you allow my family to visit at Pemberley? Would you call on my aunt and uncle with me in Cheapside?"

Darcy made no answer. Elizabeth allowed him several seconds to give assurances she knew would never come.

"That is what I thought," she finally said. "And if that was not enough to persuade me away from you, there is also the matter of Mr Wickham."

Darcy glared at her. "What about Wickham? I warned you about him."

"Yes, of course, the vague warning of untrustworthiness that you uttered to me alone before you disappeared from the neighbourhood. What good has that done? He moves freely at Longbourn and in the community. He is paying court to Mary King now that she has inherited ten thousand pounds. What exactly am I to do when nobody believes me or takes your second-hand warnings seriously?"

"What am I to do?" Darcy demanded. "I am not his keeper. I am not your father."

"And you certainly have no respect for the people of Hertfordshire to stir any power you could exercise, if you wished it," she said. "I suppose I can also add cowardice to the list of reasons I could not possibly consider any ill-formed proposal you might have made."

Darcy looked at her for a moment, his jaw clenched painfully. "If that is quite all," he said icily, "I, too, have had my fill of insults hurled at me. I believe this discussion has reached its conclusion."

"Fine." 

Elizabeth turned on her heel and marched a few steps away, before stopping to turn and face him once more. He had not so much as stirred. "Actually, I have one more thing to say. Mrs Reynolds—" She wavered for a moment on seeing his glower at her naming his housekeeper, but she would not be deterred, she needed to say this: "Mrs Reynolds holds nothing but pure, positive regard for you. She believes most thoroughly in your goodness, kindness, and generosity. She would be ashamed of you if she knew what you really were."

She left him again, and this time for good. After some twenty seconds of her walk homeward she heard him stomp off in the opposite direction. That was the end of that, then. Whatever slight, tentative hope she might have felt on his return was utterly, irreparably shattered. So was her hope for Jane's reunion with Bingley. 

Darcy did not reappear the next day, or the next, or any day thereafter. Nor did she expect him to. Her best consolation, inasmuch as she needed consoling through her anger, was the closure this long-overdue quarrel gave her. She had been suffering in silence, as her aunt had put it last month, though not in the way Mrs Gardiner had thought. But no more. She had let out every last bit of her suffering and thrown it back tenfold at its source.

Charlotte was moved away. Jane would be in London for months. She would not set what transpired in writing in a letter to either of them, or to her aunt. Elizabeth was as alone at the conclusion of her acquaintance with Fitzwilliam Darcy as she had been at the start of it. She was alone, but she felt better than she had done in months.

She had her self-respect back.

Chapter Text

Elizabeth received a letter from Jane several days after her last encounter with Darcy. She was loath to open it. Jane's spirits were low and now she knew that odious man was to blame: first for separating Bingley from her, and then for withholding his knowledge of her presence in town from him. Reading her sister's false cheer and unconvincing promises that she did not miss Bingley or his sisters could only upset Elizabeth anew.

In the end she took the letter to the garden a little while after breakfast. This way, she could have privacy and space to walk off her anger that surely would rise.

She did find herself pacing within the first few words she read, but it was not in agitation; or, rather, she was agitated, but for an entirely different reason than she expected. The letter read:

Dear Lizzy,

I hope you are sitting down, for I have the most astonishing news! Would you believe me if I told you that I had two visitors this morning: Mr Bingley and Mr Darcy?

Oh Lizzy, I am so happy! It seems Mr Darcy had been away for some weeks, but somehow learned I was at my uncle's. Upon his return, he invited Mr Bingley to stay at his house for the rest of the winter instead of remaining with the Hursts. They called the very day after he informed Mr Bingley I was here.

Mr Bingley was as pleasing as always, and of course I mainly spoke with him, but Mr Darcy was surprisingly genial, too. He inquired about my stay so far, and then solicited my opinion on the plays I said I had seen. I only wished I had attended more entertainments these four weeks to describe to him as he seemed quite interested! He then spoke at length with my aunt about Derbyshire, particularly Lambton where she used to live. Truly, I have never seen him so loquacious in all the time I have known him, but it was good, for it gave me the opportunity to speak more privately with Mr Bingley.

Lizzy, it was just how it was back in Hertfordshire this autumn. He told me the story of how he learned I was here, and then we simply talked about everything else imaginable as though no time had passed at all. I have truly never felt so comfortable with any man like I do him; and I feel heard, too, for he listens to me more attentively than men usually do. I could not keep the smile from my face the entire time he was sitting with me. I surely looked very silly, but Lizzy, until today I had been so dreadfully unhappy, more than I even would share with you, with a depth that is only matched (or surpassed!) by my present happiness. 

I sat down to write this letter the moment the gentlemen left as I could not wait to share my news with you. Mr Bingley promised to call again tomorrow. You will laugh at my theatrics, but I believe I should never recover if he does not. Please do write back as soon as you read this, that I may enjoy my dearest sister sharing in my joy. I hope that by the time you read these words I will have seen him once or twice again.

With affection,

Jane

Elizabeth stopped her pacing and sat on a bench to reread her letter. She was overwhelmed with thoughts and feelings that spun through her mind, competing and colliding and coming too fast to grasp before a new one pushed in. 

She was glad. Of course she was. Jane's stated reason for going to London was to recover from Bingley's loss away from the prying eyes of the good people of Hertfordshire, but she and Elizabeth both knew her principal hope was to see him there and renew the acquaintance. And she had now achieved that end. Indeed, it was an exceedingly promising start that may even culminate in their engagement.

However—

Mr Darcy. 

Mr Darcy was involved and all over Jane's letter. Every time Elizabeth thought she was rid of him, there he was, meddling, meddling. Elizabeth could scarcely give credit to herself for him bundling up his friend and driving him directly to Gracechurch Street days after his return to London, but any other explanation was impossible. He had been so arrogant, so certain he knew Jane and her feelings and that he had done what was correct and necessary. Elizabeth could never have predicted he would consider her words after they parted and wonder if he had been wrong after all. Not after the way she had spoken to him in anger, calling him names, raising her voice. She blushed to recall her unladylike behaviour.

She read Jane's letter again.

It was unchanged. There was Mr Darcy, making an effort to speak with Jane directly and learn something about her. His first ever conversation with her. There he was, conversing pleasantly with her aunt, whom he previously could not fathom being allowed to tour his house. It could not be because of Elizabeth, but it could not be anything else.

She considered her response to Jane for a long time before making her way back into the house. She was sure to be suitably joyous in her writing, because Jane deserved no less. She would not let her complicated feelings about Darcy and his involvement sully this moment. She requested—demanded—every last detail of the calls Bingley surely made in these intervening days. She did not ask what she was most anxious to know: did Darcy return with him?

When Jane's next letter arrived a few days later, Elizabeth's reaction was quite the opposite of her last: she threw on her outerwear and flew to the bench in the garden, tearing the envelope open on her way. 

Dearest Lizzy, she read, I cannot believe how much has happened in less than one week! Lizzy, Mr Bingley and I are engaged!

Goodness, there is too much to possibly describe in the span of a letter, and my hands are shaking. He has called every day, and each day my feelings for him have grown. This morning, my aunt left us alone for several minutes and that was when he proposed! Do you know what he told me? He said he had been planning to propose soon after his ball but Mr Darcy and Miss Bingley had believed me indifferent to him when he went away on business. That was why they followed him to town and convinced him to stay. They decided together not to tell him I was here after I called on her, but later Mr Darcy decided to spend more time with me to be certain. He became quite convinced of my feelings, whereupon he confessed all only yesterday to Mr Bingley. 

It was very wrong of them to interfere, and I was saddened to learn of Miss Bingley's actions against me, but I hope, now that we are to become sisters, that we can move past it and let our friendship flourish. Mr Darcy, of course, is already forgiven, for he has corrected his errors and apologised to his friend. Indeed, he has been everything amiable all week. I had not expected him to continue calling after the first time, but he too has come nearly every day, and this morning he and my uncle closed themselves off in the study the whole length of the call. I believe they are becoming fast friends.

The letter continued to describe details of the engagement: how (pending Mr Bennet's permission) they planned to marry as soon as the banns could be called, and how she wished to remain in town for most of the engagement period to purchase her wedding clothes while her mother prepares everything at home.

Elizabeth heard a shriek from the house—an incredible feat considering the windows were all closed to the winter air—and she knew her mother must have read her own note from Jane. Elizabeth had wished to have more time to herself, to reread and absorb everything, enjoy some last moments of peace, and yes, to take out and analyse all her thoughts about Darcy and his reversal of his opinions and actions. However, when she heard her mother calling for her and for Mr Bennet, she smiled. She would not miss this moment with her family for anything. She tucked away her letter and went inside to partake in the celebration.

The next month flew by faster than Elizabeth could have imagined. The wedding was set for a few days before Elizabeth was scheduled to leave for her trip to Kent. Days were spent helping her mother plan the wedding and the breakfast at Longbourn afterwards. There were dresses to order for all the Bennet sisters and gifts to purchase for the couple. There were invitations to issue and beds to prepare for guests. Elizabeth was afraid to leave her mother alone lest the menu planning become even more excessive than it already was.

Through it all, new letters from Jane were a regular part of her routine. Letters had never flowed so frequently between the two women as they did now. And Jane mentioned Mr Darcy nearly as often as she did her own betrothed.

Mr Darcy, calling on their uncle.

Mr Darcy, inviting Jane, Bingley and their relations to his house for a grand celebratory dinner.

Mr Darcy, whose sister was impossibly sweet and full of youthful excitement for the wedding.

Mr Darcy, giving them his box at the theatre to see A Midsummer Night's Dream, Jane's favourite.

As the days to the wedding marched on, Elizabeth pondered and reflected and rehearsed what to say to him. She would thank him for making amends to her sister. She would apologise for speaking so harshly when they last met. She would acknowledge the strength of character it required for him to take the words she spat at him and do something good with them, when it would have been the easiest thing in the world to simply disappear from her life forever. She admired and respected that he gave Jane another chance, and that he confessed to Bingley when he did not have to admit his prior wrongdoing in order to encourage them now. It would be embarrassing and humbling to say these things, but she would do it anyway.

“Mama! Lizzy! Mary!” Lydia called breathlessly, as she and Kitty stumbled into the drawing room one morning without even removing their bonnets. “News from aunt Phillips!”

“Wickham is gone for good,” Kitty blurted out.

“Kitty! I was supposed to be the one to tell them.”

“I could not hold it in, it is too huge!” Kitty cried.

“But we agreed,” Lydia pouted, “when we were coming home, we said I would tell them about Wickham, and you would tell them what Mrs Forster said.”

“But what is the news about Mr Wickham?” Mrs Bennet cut in impatiently. Elizabeth set aside the handkerchiefs she was embroidering as a wedding gift for Jane and leaned in with curiosity.

“You know he disappeared a fortnight ago without a word,” Lydia said, elbowing her sister who was about to interrupt again. “Well, he has finally written to Denny, who showed the letter to aunt Phillips. Wickham has transferred to the regulars. He ships out to France next month, or possibly as soon as next week!”

“That is nonsense,” Elizabeth said, frowning. “The militia sees no war. Why would he choose the more dangerous option now?”

“To make more money, perhaps?” Kitty suggested.

“But he is not likely to have the means to purchase the commission or he would have started there. He has only been in the militia for three months, and it would take far longer than that to save enough.”

A thought came to Elizabeth the moment those words left her lips.

“And then aunt Phillips said all the shopkeepers have been talking about his debts,” Kitty jumped in. “They had not worried because the militia will be stationed in Meryton for some months yet, but Wickham owed more than any other officer. Yet he paid them all off the day he left!”

“He saved enough money to pay his debts and purchase a commission in the army,” Elizabeth repeated doubtfully. Her idea strengthened.

“Poor Mary King,” Lydia said, and she and Kitty giggled. “She must be devastated that he has gone, and who else would ever have her, ten thousand pounds or not?”

“That is unkind,” Mary admonished, the first indication she was even listening.

“Oh, Mary, do not be so serious all the time. Girls, what interesting news! I will miss seeing him at our little parties. The poor man! He was so charming. So handsome. What a terrible, terrible blow to never see him again, and without even a proper goodbye!”

“Mama, he is moved away, not dead,” Elizabeth said reprovingly.

“Not yet,” Kitty giggled, but then sobered as the understanding truly sank in that he would be at the front very soon.

Elizabeth slipped out of the room and upstairs to her own chamber while her family moved on to Mrs Forster’s gossip about another soldier's wife. She paced the room, thinking.

It had to be Darcy's doing here, too, did it not? It was the last of the accusations she had made that day: that he knew what Wickham was capable of but did not care enough to protect the neighbourhood from him. Now, somehow, Wickham was gone. The neighbourhood was safe. Mary King was safe, whether she realised it or not. 

She sat down heavily on her bed. It was beginning to be too much. Jane was coming home in two days, the wedding was in one week, and she was not ready to face Darcy, no matter how much she tried to prepare. If she could just know what he was thinking—why he was doing everything he was doing—how she could possibly reconcile the sneering man from the road to Meryton with the good person he appeared to be with everyone except herself.

She would make the effort, though, for Jane's sake. Her sister's happiness was too infectious for Elizabeth not to feel gratitude acutely. Perhaps, if she was lucky, she would have an opportunity to give him her conciliatory speech during the wedding breakfast, and if she was very lucky, would even glean some answers to the man who was more of an enigma with each passing day.

She was still wary of him. He had said and done too many hurtful things for her not to be. But if his new attitude continued through the wedding day and all went well when she spoke with him, she might find it in herself to forgive him one more time.

Mr Darcy did not attend the wedding.

Where is he? was Elizabeth's only thought throughout the entire ceremony. It had never even occurred to her that he might miss it. Every time she looked at Mr Hurst, witnessing for Bingley as she did for Jane, it felt wrong, wrong, wrong. She circulated among their guests at Longbourn during the breakfast and her smiles never reached her eyes as she received their congratulations. Even Mrs Bennet, as busy as she was, noticed his absence and wondered aloud at it. 

“He will be travelling soon for several weeks and had too much work to do before leaving to get away,” Mrs Gardiner explained when Elizabeth cornered her in an empty room.

“For a three-hour drive? He could have come for one night and left straightaway from the breakfast,” Elizabeth argued skeptically.

In response, her aunt shrugged. “That was what he said the last time we saw him,” she said. Lowering her voice she added, “I was surprised, too. I had it in my head after everything you told me this autumn that he rather liked you and would return here for you. And with the way he has been spending so much time with your uncle and myself, well…”

Elizabeth grimaced and shook her head. “Perhaps he liked me before, but I have thoroughly repulsed him.” In hushed tones she described everything that had happened in January that her aunt did not yet know about. “So you see,” she concluded, “it is quite likely he used the convenient excuse of work to stay clear of me. He despises me.”

Mrs Gardiner hummed thoughtfully. She studied Elizabeth for a minute. Elizabeth looked right back at her.

“May I offer an alternative theory?” she finally asked. At her niece's nod, she said, “He is changed, Lizzy, and it may be for you. When he first called with Mr Bingley, I expected him to be as you described him at Christmas: cold, haughty, and judgmental. Instead, he has been—well, he has been everything his housekeeper said he is. Kind, generous and clever. He makes Jane laugh. I do not know why he was so different in Hertfordshire, but your reproofs may have opened his eyes to just how far astray he had gone from his true nature.”

Far from helping her feel better, these words weighed heavily on Elizabeth's heart. He had righted his wrongs with Jane and Wickham, but not her. Perhaps he had done these things not for her, but despite her. 

She had already been surprised by the depth of her disappointment at his absence, and it was only growing. If he truly wanted her to see how he had changed, he would show her with his behaviour directly. Her aunt must be wrong. “If he is so wonderful a friend, he would be here,” she insisted. “Instead, he cannot bear to be near me, or the rest of my ‘uncouth’ family.”

“Or he believes you despise him,” Mrs Gardiner replied gently, “and does not want to ruin an important day for you with his presence.”

“But—” Elizabeth stopped herself from completing her thought aloud. But the day is ruined for me anyway.

“He has been good to us, but he is melancholy,” her aunt told her. “I believe he would have come if he thought you wished it, but how could he have known you do?”

“I appreciate his kindness to you and to Jane, and I wanted to tell him so. That is all.”

“Well, his dear friend is now married to your sister,” Mrs Gardiner said, graciously accepting the excuse. “You will certainly see him sometime and you can tell him then.”

“He may simply avoid me forever,” Elizabeth sighed.

“Or,” her aunt said, “you may cross paths again sooner than you think.”

Chapter Text

Elizabeth was in Kent. 

She had travelled with Sir William and Maria Lucas to stay at the Hunsford parsonage with Mr Collins and Charlotte. Sir William was only to remain for a week, but the ladies would be about six.

Lady Catherine was everything she had hoped for; Elizabeth delighted in her ridiculous posturing and in shocking her with her own opinions. She also loved spending time with Charlotte again for the first time in several months. It was a very pleasant trip so far. When she heard that two of Lady Catherine's nephews would be visiting over Easter, however, and that one of them was Mr Darcy, Elizabeth was stunned into silence. She chose not to dwell on it; she avoided thinking about their impending meeting at all; indeed, she scarcely even believed in it until the moment he entered the parsonage, as handsome as ever, the very day after his arrival.

Darcy politely greeted everyone in the room and introduced his cousin, a Colonel Fitzwilliam. They all sat down while Charlotte called for tea.

“How fares Mrs Bingley?” Darcy turned to ask her a few minutes into the call, his first words directly to her.

Elizabeth smiled, unable to help it when recalling her sister's radiance on her wedding day and the joy shining through in her letters. “She is very happy, as you well know, considering you have seen more of her this winter than I.”

He smiled gently back at her. “It is true I have had the pleasure of spending a fair amount of time with her. I merely wished to ascertain that nothing has changed on that head since our last meeting.”

“Only for the better since her marriage, if it was even possible,” Elizabeth said. There was his opening: she brought up the wedding day, now all he had to do was provide his explanations or apologies, because she truly did not believe he only missed it to work. 

However, he did not take the bait. “I am glad to hear it. And the rest of your family, they are in good health?”

“Yes, thank you,” she sighed. He did not say much for the rest of their visit. He watched her, though; she could see it through the corner of her eye. She had no idea what to make of him. He was more subdued than she had ever seen him. She hoped this would not be her only chance to observe him and learn if what her aunt said about him was true.

After a little while the gentlemen rose to leave, and as everyone started to head out of the parlour, Darcy moved closer to Elizabeth. “May I call again tomorrow, Miss Bennet?” he asked quietly.

Confused as to why he was asking when he barely spoke today, and unwilling to look too eager, Elizabeth hedged: “If you would like to, sir.”

“No,” he replied; “only if you would like me to.”

She blushed and looked down at her hands. She smoothed her skirts. She led him down the hall to the door where everyone else was waiting. They all said their goodbyes, gave their curtsies and bows. He hesitated after Colonel Fitzwilliam stepped outside, looking at her expectantly. Finally, when she could no longer put off answering him, she said, “I will see you tomorrow, then, Mr Darcy.”

The smile he gave her was small but his eyes were bright. “I will look forward to it,” he replied, and then he left.

When Elizabeth awoke the next morning, her first thought was of Darcy calling that day. Then she shook her head. She had already decided the previous day to remain on her guard. Yes, he had been friendly and polite when he was here, but of course he could manage that for short periods of time. She would wait, and watch, and determine if these manners could be sustained; if he was merely making a show of amends, or if he had truly changed. 

To this end, she started her day exactly as she would have done without the anticipation of a gentleman caller. She dressed in the first day dress she saw in her wardrobe—well, the second one actually, the first one was rather old and worn and she no longer knew why she had even packed it—and took a walk outside to enjoy the fresh air before returning for breakfast. 

Elizabeth, Charlotte and Maria moved to Charlotte's little back parlour after breakfast while Mr Collins repaired to his study to work on his Good Friday sermon. Elizabeth kept herself busy and certainly did not look at the clock. She picked up her needlework, but her fingers were clumsy today, so she set it aside after several unsuccessful minutes. She picked up her book, but her eyes would not focus well on the words, so she set that aside too. She moved to the table and started the crossword puzzle which she had pilfered from her cousin's morning newspaper. She had only answered the first couple of clues when the bell rang and her heart leapt into her throat.

She should not have been surprised to see Mr Darcy enter—after all, his request to call had never been far from her thoughts all morning—and yet, when he walked through the door with his eyes fixed on her, she could not quite believe he had come back. The first call yesterday was a social obligation, because he knew everyone in her household and he had just arrived in the neighbourhood. Coming today was completely his own decision.

He wanted to see her, even after everything.

Darcy’s manners were impeccable. He greeted Charlotte first, as the hostess, and then Elizabeth and Maria. He spoke with all the ladies about the weather and how fine a day it was. Elizabeth diligently stared down at her crossword. He was sitting beside her, and after a few minutes’ conversation with Charlotte, he turned his attention to her. “I am certain you need no help, Miss Bennet, but may I join you in completing this puzzle?” he asked.

Elizabeth gave him a tight smile and pushed the paper a little towards him to help him see it better. “This is the clue I am on,” she said, pointing.

The clue was, ‘Authoress of Sense and Sensibility’. Elizabeth knew the answer, but she watched curiously to see if he would. He broke out into a grin, reached out slowly, and slipped her pen out of her hand, filling ‘A LADY’ in the empty squares.

“Mr Darcy, I thought you only focused on the erudite in your reading,” she teased.

He leaned in, a small smirk now playing at his lips. “I am full of surprises, Miss Bennet,” he murmured. He slipped the pen back between her fingers and she unconsciously grasped it.

She straightened her back and looked anxiously over to the sofa. Charlotte raised her eyebrows, but smiled, not appearing to disapprove of his little flirtation. Elizabeth looked back at Mr Darcy. He leaned back into his chair and added, “In truth, I read every book my sister reads, including that one.”

“Indeed?” she asked. “Pray, what are your thoughts on Elinor and Edward Ferrars at the end?”

Darcy frowned. “He led her to believe all along he would marry her when he knew very well he would not because he was already engaged to Lucy Steele. That level of dishonesty does not portend a happy marriage, to me.”

“Thank you!” Elizabeth exclaimed. “Nobody else agrees with me that it was not a happy ending, including Charlotte.”

“They loved each other and they married. All's well that ends well,” Charlotte argued.

“Marriage can only be worthwhile if there is trust and respect,” Elizabeth said. Turning back to Darcy, she asked, “And Colonel Brandon? Hero or villain?”

“Eliza, he supported the child when he had no obligation to,” Charlotte cut in.

“Because it likely was his child,” Elizabeth retorted. “Mr Darcy, do you agree?”

“I thought there were several hints tending in that direction,” he said. “The ladies both married men who resembled Willoughby in their own way.”

“I am so pleased to find someone else who sees it my way,” Elizabeth grinned at him. They shared a moment, barely a few seconds, smiling at each other until Elizabeth became self-conscious. She looked back down to the table. “Now that that is settled: well, this next clue is too simple. The sword for fencing is EPEE. Do you fence, Mr Darcy?”

“Of course, although I have not had much opportunity to practise in some time now. That is something I would like to do more of this summer.”

They continued this way, filling in answers together and sometimes discussing them. She learned more about Darcy in that half-hour than she had in all their previous conversations combined. When they finished the crossword and he determined it was time to go, Elizabeth felt a pang. “I will return tomorrow,” he promised at the door.

And he did return, this time with his cousin. Elizabeth was at the table in the middle of that day's puzzle. Darcy joined her there while Fitzwilliam sat with the other two ladies. The next day after that was Good Friday, so her only glimpse of him was at church.

On Saturday, Mr Darcy came alone, and appeared surprised to find Elizabeth on the sofa instead of at the table. “No crossword today, Miss Bennet?” he inquired.

“I was—” 

Elizabeth snapped her mouth shut. She tried again.

“I was engrossed by my embroidery,” she finally said, instead of the truth, which was that she was waiting for him before starting.

It was a quiet domestic routine they established in the span of only a few days. The shared activity gave them something to focus on—gave her something to focus on, so that she would not get caught up in his blue eyes where he sat so close beside her. It also gave them endless topics of conversation. INERTIA led to a discussion of Newton's laws of motion, and Elizabeth was proud to note Darcy's pleased surprise by her knowledge. AESOP led to them comparing their favourite adages. 

They were safe subjects for conversation. The two of them were never alone, so Elizabeth never had an opportunity to thank him and apologise as she had planned to do during Jane's wedding breakfast, but with each passing day, it mattered less to her. They were getting along. Perhaps they would never have the camaraderie she had once hoped for; perhaps she would never acquire deeper knowledge of his mind; but this type of companionship, these little half-hour visits where they completed a puzzle and discussed the weather, it was better than she had ever expected after that first assembly in Meryton. It was peaceful. It was safe.

It was good enough.

On Easter Sunday, Elizabeth's household was invited to Rosings for the evening. It was their first invitation since Darcy and Colonel Fitzwilliam’s arrival.

Lady Catherine dominated Darcy's attention, but that was fine. Elizabeth knew he would come back to the parsonage and then it would be her turn with him again. She still could not quite credit having that much faith in a pleasant call from him, but after several days of exactly that she saw no reason it would change now. The arrangement this evening did give her a chance to speak more with Colonel Fitzwilliam, whom she had been neglecting all week and leaving to Charlotte to entertain.

They spoke together so pleasantly, and with such liveliness, that she had not even noticed Lady Catherine watching them until the great lady demanded to know what they were speaking of, which was music. After claiming that she and Anne would have been great proficients if they had ever learnt, and questioning Darcy minutely about his sister's practising habits, Lady Catherine went on to say:

“I have told Miss Bennet several times, that she will never play really well unless she practises more; and though Mrs Collins has no instrument, she is very welcome, as I have often told her, to come to Rosings every day, and play on the pianoforte in Mrs Jenkinson's room. She would be in nobody's way, you know, in that part of the house."

Darcy leveled a fearsome glare at her that had even Elizabeth cowed from across the room. “Miss Bennet is in nobody's way in any part of this house, where she is a guest,” he said coldly, “and furthermore, she does play very well already. There is no need for her to squander her holiday slaving at the pianoforte, especially when improvement is not necessary.”

*Darcy!” his aunt cried, “you cannot have heard her play before. Her plinking is passable at best.”

“And yet she is the best player in this room,” he rejoined. Turning to Elizabeth, his hard expression softened and he added, “Miss Bennet, would you do us the honour of playing something now, if it pleases you?”

Elizabeth was absolutely astonished. She had been tolerating Lady Catherine's incivilities for weeks now and had no expectation of anything changing. 

This was more than spending thirty minutes of his day at the parsonage, where he could claim to be calling on all their neighbours if anyone asked. This was a very public, very marked favouring of herself, to praise her in direct contradiction of his ranking aunt in her own home. He might as well have slayed a dragon for her, by the way her heart was beating in her chest.

All eyes in the room were on her, now, waiting for her response. She looked at Colonel Fitzwilliam, simply because he was the one seated closest to her. “I would greatly like to hear you, as well,” he said, loudly enough for everyone to hear. “I will sit with you.”

They moved to the instrument and she felt grateful he was there. Now, she was no longer choosing sides in a power struggle, but acquiescing to a general demand for entertainment. She flipped through the music on top of the pianoforte, unsure what to play.

“Miss Bennet,” came Darcy's voice from her elbow, where he had crept up without her noticing; “do you recall the aria you played that time we were all at Lucas Lodge?”

Elizabeth smiled brightly at him and eagerly sat down to begin it. It was not that she loved the song so very much; she liked it, but really it was Charlotte's favourite. She was happy simply because he remembered. 

Lady Catherine talked to Mr Collins through the course of the song, but she did not interrupt or make further statements about Elizabeth's abilities, so it appeared her displeasure was not boundless. She did, however, call for the carriage very soon after, thus making an early end to the evening.

Elizabeth went to sleep that night with a smile on her face. For the first time in many months, she dreamt of Darcy.

The next morning Elizabeth felt a new sense of urgency in giving him her previously planned speech. He had made amends to Jane by reconnecting her with Bingley, and to the people of Meryton by ridding them of Wickham. Now he had made amends to her personally, too. He had been nothing but kind to her and her friends since his arrival here, and he had defended her to his own aunt, risking their familial bond for the sake of someone of much lower rank. He deserved her thanks.

There was never an opportunity, however, and it became increasingly frustrating with each passing day. Between Mr Collins, Charlotte, and Maria, at least one person was in the small room with them at all times. 

Elizabeth came to realise just how much of their acquaintance before now had occurred in the margins of propriety. They lived in the same house while Jane was ill at Netherfield, giving them nearly unlimited access to one another to watch each other, engage in their debates, even to cause offense to one another. Then there had been the two days of walking the road from Meryton to Longbourn: not a soul in sight, let alone a chaperone. In no other circumstance could they have had such a quarrel as they did.

Now, doubtless in response to her prior criticism, Darcy was being perfectly, infuriatingly proper. She hinted that she walked every morning in the grove at Rosings, but he never joined her there. She offered to show him the parsonage garden, but when her cousin overheard and wanted to lead the tour, Darcy could only acquiesce. She longed for the privacy of the road to Meryton. They could say anything on that road. They had used it to say the wrong things, but at least they could say them. Instead they sat in Charlotte's parlour, day after day, completing their crosswords and engaging in their safe, acceptable conversations that never verged into the personal, while Elizabeth burned with the need to tell him all the things he needed to hear. 

Because now, ‘good enough’ was no longer good enough. A flame had rekindled in her that had burnt down to embers but never fully extinguished. But nothing could come of it unless and until they came out from under the shadow of their stormy history. They had to heal their open wounds in order to build something stronger in its place. What would they build if they did ever get the chance? She often wondered. What did he think of her? Were polite morning calls all he wanted of her? He had mentioned marriage once: was that still his intention, or did he merely want friendship with his friend's new sister? Elizabeth knew what she wanted, but as long as eavesdropping chaperones prevented them from speaking openly, she could not know his heart.

She began to understand why Bingley had been so uncertain in his own romantic endeavours with Jane. Propriety was so limiting.

One morning she nearly had her chance. Charlotte was running an errand in Hunsford. Maria decided to join her. Mr Collins was working in the garden. Darcy looked around the room in surprise when he arrived to find Elizabeth alone. They began as always, by moving to the table and opening the crossword puzzle. They worked in silence except to read the clues and offer possible answers; they did not digress to any other conversation. Elizabeth's heart was racing. This was her opportunity, perhaps the only one she would have in her entire trip, and she needed to say something, and soon. Her nerves made her hesitate, but she finally summoned the courage to start the uncomfortable conversation they absolutely had to have before they could have any hope of moving forward in their friendship. 

She put down her pen and looked at him squarely. “Mr Darcy?” she asked.

He put down his own pen—he had long since begun bringing it to take his turn writing answers—and looked at her with a soft smile. “Yes, Miss Bennet?”

She took a deep breath, and began to say, “Mr Darcy, I want to—I must tell—”

The door to the room slammed open and they startled in their chairs, moving apart from where they had unconsciously leaned close together. Mr Collins burst in, chattering away about something or other, and Elizabeth thought she might weep. She looked helplessly at Darcy who was still facing her with a sad look in his eyes. Her cousin finished talking and poured himself tea from the tray that was set out, then sat at the table across from them. After a long, long moment, Elizabeth looked down to their newspaper.

“Who told her mother-in-law, ‘Where you go I will go, and where you stay I will stay’?” she asked Darcy dully. 

She sighed.

Chapter Text

“Do you certainly leave Kent on Saturday?” Elizabeth asked.

Darcy frowned and looked down. He played with the corner of the newspaper page for a moment. “Yes,” he finally answered.

“You do not sound as pleased as I expected—are you not looking forward to returning home?”

He looked back up at her with a rueful smile. “I am looking forward to being with my sister again, and to the comforts of my own house, certainly. However, I have—” his gaze flicked to Charlotte who was adhering to her book across the room, and back to Elizabeth— “I have been enjoying my stay.”

The admission meant the world to Elizabeth. For more than two weeks he had been here every day except when there was church, and she never had the chance to tell him the things she wished. It was now two days before his departure and she had given up hope. She had even briefly considered writing him a letter, but she did not dare take the risk of being caught, of him disapproving her breach in propriety, or the risk that he simply did not want to hear what she had to say. Because by now, she believed it must be intentional. If Darcy wanted a private conversation with her, he would have arranged it. He could have met her on a morning walk or found some excuse to go to the garden with her. He could have asked Colonel Fitzwilliam to cause a distraction. He could have done something.

He did nothing of the kind, and if it were not for his continually turning up, Elizabeth would have been quite convinced he wanted nothing to do with her, as she had believed at Jane's wedding. She was instead convinced he had no further intentions than a pleasant half-hour away from Rosings each day. It saddened her that he was no longer interested in making an offer now that she was willing—more than willing—to receive it; however, if simple companionship was what he wanted, she could do that for him. She would.

At least she had acknowledgement from him now that he enjoyed these calls enough to regret them ending. Really, he looked positively forlorn.

“As for returning home,” Darcy continued, “I am merely going back to my house in London. Pemberley is the only place that truly feels like home for me.”

“How much time do you spend there over the course of a year?” she asked.

He sat back in his chair and folded his arms, thinking. “Perhaps half the year. The summer months, Christmas, and one or two other times. It is not enough. Whenever I return home, I feel—well, it is difficult to describe. It is as though everything is put to rights for me. I can breathe again, can be at ease. I feel like myself again.” A moment later he asked, “Does Longbourn feel that way for you?”

“No,” Elizabeth replied, surprising herself with how easily that answer came to her. “Not really. I enjoy the comforts of having all my own things, and the familiarity, as you said about London, but I certainly do not long for home.” She frowned, trying to identify the feelings she had never really thought about before, and he waited. “I have spent months at a time at my uncle's house on Gracechurch Street, and I have done a little travelling, like Derbyshire and now Kent. I do not believe I feel the same relief you describe about Pemberley when I return to Longbourn. I can always make the best of my situation and find contentment anywhere. I suppose… home is wherever I am.”

“I envy you, Miss Bennet,” he said quietly. “You handle any social situation with ease and grace in a way I never learnt. I experience a tremendous amount of pressure in my life that sometimes overwhelms me when I am away from home, because I lack your gifts, but,” he took a deep breath and released it slowly, holding her eyes with his own, “I am attempting to practise, lately.”

She smiled broadly at him, taking the statement as she knew it was intended: an acknowledgement of her reproofs and his pledge to correct them. Indeed, she knew he had been working on his corrections since almost the moment he last left her and Meryton, nearly three months before.

“Perhaps you had been associating with the wrong people,” she said. “It is no hardship to spend time with my uncle and aunt Gardiner, as you now know for yourself.”

“That is true enough; of course there are always many obligations when I am in town, but I am learning to make more time for the people I enjoy and who put me at ease. I am learning that I need not be at home to feel comfortable.”

“They take pleasure in your company, too, I assure you,” she said gently. “I am certain you will always be welcome in their home.”

He gave her a small smile. “Miss Bennet, I am counting on it,” he said.

They finished their daily crossword puzzle after that and then he returned to Rosings. Elizabeth watched him go with a heavy heart. That was the last time they would ever do this together. Tomorrow he would need to prepare for his journey and likely come only long enough to take his leave, and the next day he would be back in London where he had his busy life that would have little space for her. The agitation brought on by these reflections made her anxious and restless, until finally, she pulled on her bonnet and went outside for her second walk of the day.

Darcy’s departure meant her own was approaching soon, and she had meant what she said to him earlier. She did not look forward to returning to Longbourn. Indeed, she nearly dreaded it: a house with a nervous mother, wild younger sisters, and no Jane.

No Darcy, either.

Thirteen: that was the number of times he had called on her like this, sitting close beside her, working in harmony on their puzzles. It was fourteen times including the first day with no crossword. Hours and hours of talking, learning more about each other, smiling together. With that much time dedicated to one another, how could she not become accustomed to it? How could she go back to a life without it?

Then there was what he revealed today about his own difficulties and his attempt to overcome them. It was explanation, apology, and amends, all in a few short sentences, and Elizabeth accepted it all. This was more than a fit of good behaviour that was likely to be short-lived. He truly understood his errors and his efforts to correct them have lasted for months now—Jane and the Gardiners could attest to that. His arrogance had repulsed her before, but this new Darcy, the version she had seen every day for weeks, he was humble, kind, and everything she had hoped he would be on the night they first met. He surprised her with his subtle sense of humour and amazed her with his breadth of knowledge. He spoke so lovingly of his sister she felt she already knew her, and it lent him a softness she doubted many people were allowed to see.

She could not blame herself for falling in love with him here in Kent. She only wished she knew if he returned her feelings.

She heard someone walking nearby and her heart raced. Was it he? Would she finally, finally have a moment alone with him, on almost the last day? She turned her steps towards the other person and found herself face to face with Colonel Fitzwilliam.

“I did not know before that you ever walked this way,” she said, trying very hard not to let him see her disappointment.

“I have been making the tour of the park,” he replied genially, either not sensing it or being polite enough to pretend he did not, "as I generally do every year, and intend to close it with a call at the parsonage. Are you going much farther?"

"No, I should have turned in a moment." 

And accordingly she did turn, and they walked towards the parsonage together.

“I understand you leave on Saturday,” Elizabeth said. “Do you look forward to returning home?”

“I am an army man, Miss Bennet; I have no home, really. I do just as well here as London; any place I am less likely to be shot, I will happily stay.”

“You are not entirely unlikely to be shot here, of course,” she teased, “merely less likely.”

“Of course,” he laughed. “I would not be surprised to find out Darcy has begun scheming. I admit I have been something of a mother hen to him lately, and he is most certainly tiring of me.”

“What do you mean?” she asked.

“I mean I have been worried about him and as it turns out, my worrying manifests as hovering, as he phrased it. Perhaps you have not had much cause to witness it, Miss Bennet, but he has been—well, perhaps melancholy is the best word to describe him.”

“Oh.” 

Elizabeth was surprised at hearing that word applied to him for the second time, after her aunt had used it, but thinking back over these last weeks with him, perhaps it was true. It was not often she got that sense, but every now and then, in the way he looked at her in quiet moments, she supposed melancholy really was it.

Well, she certainly knew who was to blame for that, and felt remorse threaten to rise, until she recalled she was not alone.

“Do you know—has he said—” She shook her head. “No, I apologise, it is not my place to ask.”

“Not at all,” he said. “I brought it up, I can explain: it was something I had noticed since I returned to England in February, and I finally received something of an explanation when we were on our way here from London, cryptic though it was.”

“Indeed?”

“Now, Miss Bennet, he would not want me repeating this,” he warned.

“I understand,” she said hastily. “You should not betray his confidence.”

“Oh, but I wish to,” he said, chuckling, “only I do not want him to find out.”

“Only if you are certain,” Elizabeth said dubiously, to hide how desperately she wanted to hear what the good Colonel was clearly eager to share.

“It is that he had wronged a friend, and still regrets it, even though the friend has forgiven him.”

“That is all he said?”

“He said that was a principal offense, but there were others he has wronged who may rightfully never forgive him; that he has suffered the consequences, and is likely to suffer for the rest of his life. Rather dramatic, do you not think? Yet that kind of hyperbole is so out of character for him, that I am inclined to believe it.”

“Oh,” Elizabeth breathed again, rendered speechless. 

“I wish I could tell you more, but that is all I know for certain; and besides, here we are at the parsonage.”

They went inside, and although Elizabeth did her best to maintain her composure and behave the same as always, on the inside she was reeling. Her relief when he left was immense, and she went directly to her room to think.

Darcy would not have known she was there, only one mile away, when he came to visit his aunt. He would have said those things to his cousin before learning he would see her. And who else could he have possibly meant if not her?

She had not known he was suffering. There were hints, perhaps, in the solemn way he looked at her sometimes, but she had no notion of the extent of his feelings. Truly, a large part of her had never really believed he cared for her at all, even after he suggested he had returned to Hertfordshire to marry her; or at least, that he would not regret her rejection. She meant what she had said to her aunt at the wedding breakfast. 

Yet here in Kent, he went to her intentionally, over and over and over. He went to her fourteen times. If he truly believed she could not forgive him, why did he come unless his feelings would not allow him to keep away? Or, if he could discern her change of heart, why did he never leave the safe, constrained environment of Charlotte's parlour?

Her pondering was only raising more questions, but one thing was abundantly clear: now, more than ever, she needed him to know her mind. She needed to relieve his suffering. She was running out of time, he would be gone in two days, but it could be done. It must.

Explanation, apology, amends. That was what he had given her today, and she would do the same. This evening at Rosings when they went for tea, she would find a way.

“Mr Collins, I have heard another report of the Smith girl gallivanting with that Martin boy,” Lady Catherine announced in front of everyone that evening. “You must speak with their fathers about it to put an end to this.”

“They are only children playing,” Elizabeth defended. “Why must it be put to an end, if she enjoys his company and he hers?”

“They are too old for such fraternising; they must stop before they are subject to gossip.”

More gossip than what was happening in this very drawing room, Elizabeth supposed she meant. Aloud she said, “I sometimes wish there was less concern over this sort of thing. I have met those children, and they are merely friends.”

“They are nearly grown, and men and women cannot be friends; it is unnatural,” Lady Catherine averred. “If they do not plan to marry, they can have nothing of import to say to each other, and no reason to meet so frequently.”

“Respectfully, ma'am, I believe I must disagree,” Elizabeth said. “I have no plans to marry my father, yet he and I engage in stimulating conversations frequently, because nothing stops us. It is our social rules that forbid unrelated men and women from speaking freely on topics of import to them, between constant chaperonage and imposed expectations for acceptable subjects for conversation. The prevention of deeper friendship is artificial, not innate.”

“The social rules, as you call them, merely reinforce our instinctive sense of propriety,” the lady insisted. “If everyone wanted friends of the opposite sex, there would be no one to create the rules.”

“I cannot speak for everyone, ma'am, but I can speak for myself; and I have known gentlemen whom I would be honoured to call friends, if only I were allowed to know them better without being married to them.”

“What can you have to discuss that cannot be shared in front of others?” Lady Catherine peered at her sceptically.

Elizabeth smiled. “Many things. I have known Mrs Collins all my life, and we remain intimate enough for her to invite me to her home at Hunsford, yet in our lives, we must have quarreled and made up, oh, dozens of times. We would not have done so with witnesses. We discuss our hopes and our worries, and I value having such a friend with whom I can share my most private thoughts.”

“And you may have such intimate conversations—with other women. Why do you need men for that?”

“Why not? Friendship is not a rare commodity, to be sparingly distributed. Wherever there is a meeting of like minds, it can only increase the happiness of both to speak freely on all subjects, no matter the sex.”

Elizabeth chanced a glance at Darcy. He was sitting perfectly still in his chair, watching her intently. 

This was her moment.

“Consider, if you please,” she returned her attention to Lady Catherine, “a man and woman who might be inclined to friendship, but our social constraints prohibit their conversations from running more deeply than the weather, or the table his sister is painting. The only time they are ever left alone for a few minutes, they quarrel over something he has done. When are they ever to make up, the way Mrs Collins and I have been able to do over and over?” Her voice began to tremble ever so slightly as she pressed on: “How is she ever to apologise for how cruelly she accused him, or—or to tell him she forgives him?”

Lady Catherine waved her hand dismissively. “Your hypotheticals do not sway me. I have never known anyone this concerned about preserving a friendship with someone of the opposite sex. Your couple should simply marry, and then they may have all the quarrels they like.”

Elizabeth could not help the startled, mirthless chuckle that escaped her lips. She looked at Darcy again. His hands were gripping his chair's arms with white knuckles. His face was pale and tense. He swallowed.

“Perhaps they should,” she agreed as she stared into his eyes, and that was the end of that discussion.

The next morning, Mr Darcy and Colonel Fitzwilliam came together to take their leave, as Elizabeth expected and had been awaiting with dread. The gentlemen patiently listened to Mr Collins’s speeches and gave all the proper farewells to the ladies. When it was his turn to say goodbye to Elizabeth, Darcy bowed low over her hand and told her, “I will see you again soon, Miss Bennet.”

Surprised by the unexpected promise, she tilted her head to the side a little. “Will you?” she asked.

The only response he gave her was a warm smile. 

Then he was gone.

Chapter Text

One week after Mr Darcy and Colonel Fitzwilliam left Rosings, it was time for Elizabeth and Maria to travel to London. They would stay with the Gardiners for a short time before making the rest of the journey home.

When Charlotte hugged Elizabeth farewell, she whispered, “You must write to me the moment Mr Darcy proposes.”

Elizabeth laughed in disbelief. It had occurred to her, after what Darcy had said instead of goodbye, that he might call on her sometime at her uncle's, but she could not be at all certain. Here, he had had nothing else to do. There, he had his sister, his friends, his social obligations, his household operations. He could not possibly find the time.

“I am serious,” Charlotte insisted. “If he has not done it before you are back in Hertfordshire I should be enormously surprised.”

“You truly believe it?” Elizabeth whispered anxiously.

“Yes,” Charlotte laughed, “of course I do. I have suffered through the tension and longing glances from both of you for long enough here. You will see, and then you will write to me. Do not write until that is your news.”

“And if you are wrong?”

Charlotte squeezed both her friend's hands in her own and gave her a fond smile. “Then it will be pistols at dawn.”

Elizabeth thought about that conversation the entire ride from Hunsford to Cheapside. When Maria was waxing about how much she would have to tell, Elizabeth wondered whether she would have any news of her own to share. Charlotte seemed so certain. In fact, now that Elizabeth was thinking about it, Charlotte had been astute from the start about the both of them. Perhaps it was not unreasonable to hope.

As the minutes and hours progressed on their drive, and she thought and thought about it all, she became increasingly convinced of Charlotte's words; so when the carriage rolled up to the house on Gracechurch Street and Darcy was there to greet them alongside the Gardiners, Elizabeth had faith in what it meant. She flew into her aunt's arms, then her uncle's, then she turned her biggest, brightest smile on her suitor. Her heart was beating so hard she was sure he must have been able to hear it. She did not know what to say, so they simply looked at each other. Everyone else moved into the house, the footmen gathered the trunks from the carriage and brought them inside, and still Elizabeth and Darcy gazed at each other wordlessly. 

Finally, he spoke: “Miss Bennet, could I persuade you to join me on that bench in the park across the street?”

“Yes,” she breathed out in a rush, and took his arm to skip the short distance beside him. She glanced back to see her aunt watching them through the bay window. Mrs Gardiner waved, and Elizabeth took that as her permission; although really, nothing would have prevented her from going. The couple sat on the bench and she turned to face him. She was positively giddy, bouncing in her seat.

“Do you have something to ask me, Mr Darcy?” she asked teasingly. “For if you put it off any longer, I truly believe I will explode.”

He chuckled for a moment, then looked down self-consciously. “I told myself I had better not ask in Kent, because one of the many hard truths you taught me about myself was the impropriety of my previous poor excuse for courtship. I was arrogant and disrespectful to your family in avoiding them, you were absolutely correct about that. You were right about everything that day.”

He was beginning to withdraw inward in self-reproach, and that simply would not do. “But Mr Darcy,” she said innocently, “I was under the guardianship and chaperonage of my esteemed cousin, the Reverend Mr Collins. Surely you could have applied to him?”

He looked up at her warily; he clearly thought little of that man and his authority, but was reluctant to risk offending Elizabeth again by contradicting her. However, he relaxed into a grin when he saw her stifling a laugh. “Perhaps I would have done better to put the decision in his capable hands, instead of your father or your uncle, if not for the secret, true reason I put it off: I was afraid.”

“Afraid of me?” Elizabeth was genuinely surprised at that. She felt she could not have been more obvious in her feelings for him.

“Miss Bennet, you can be terrifying when you put your mind to it,” he said fondly. “In Kent, you allowed me to call on you, and allowed me to sit next to you and do those crosswords together. It was not enough, but it was the only thing I was certain I could do each day, so that was what I did. After the disaster last time, I thought that surely you would not allow more, certainly would never marry me. And then, when I did begin to feel some hope—or rather, when Fitzwilliam would not stop teasing me to come to the point—I was then afraid of making some ill-formed proposal that would displease you.” He huffed and ran his hand through his hair. “But here I am doing that anyway.”

“Not at all, Mr Darcy,” she smiled. “Continue flattering me and my hand will be assured.”

He slid his hand slowly, tentatively, along the space between them on the bench, until his fingers grazed hers. She turned her hand palm side up so he could slide the rest of the way over it. 

“I have nothing to offer you, Miss Bennet,” he said. “I have money, carriages, jewels, an estate and a house in town; but you do not want any of those things, do you?”

She squeezed his hand. As excited as she was that they were finally here, tempting her to more frivolity, she knew he could not be teased in this moment. “No,” she said gently. “I do not ask for much: merely for you to be kind to me and love me. If you can do those things I will be perfectly content.”

“I can,” he answered fervently. “I will. I do love you, Miss Bennet, more than anything in the world. I thought I loved you before, but have since come to understand that I could not love you properly without an accompanying respect for you and for the family and community that made you the incredible woman you are.”

“Your concern for my family is certainly one change I had noticed, and I have been aching to thank you for what you did for my sister Jane.”

He shook his head. “No thanks are necessary, truly. I was righting one of my many wrongs. Please do not think—” he paused, choosing his words. “I never thought I would see you again. I did not reunite them in an attempt to change your mind about me; it was for their sake alone. I want you to know that.”

“I do,” she assured him. She sat up straighter, turned more directly to face him, and straightened her hair and dress with her free hand. “Now,” she said brightly, “I do believe you were planning to ask me something, but all we have managed to do yet is talk and talk.”

He chuckled and shifted closer. “I will come to the point at last,” he said. He cleared his throat. “Miss Bennet, will you marry me?”

“Oh,” she gasped, covering her mouth in feigned surprise. “Why Mr Darcy, this is quite unexpected. I have no answer prepared. I shall require time to think it over—several months, at least.”

“Are you ever planning on making things easy for me, Miss Bennet?” he asked with an exaggerated sigh.

“It is Lizzy, to you,” she said, pointing playfully at him. “And no, I am not; I shall torment and plague you for all the days of our long and happy marriage.”

“Truly?” he asked, leaning in.

She looked at him and if she thought she was happy before, now she was thrilled beyond measure. He had a boyish excitement that she had never seen before in him. His expression held such warmth, such joy, she never wanted to ever forget in her life the way he was looking at her right now and the way it made her feel. He was relieved and happy and doubtful and she loved him. Lord, how she loved him.

“I will gladly marry you,” she said, because she had been waiting too long for this to become engaged without actually saying the words. She felt pressure in her hand where he seemed not to realise how tightly he was squeezing it but she would never, ever be the one to pull away from this.

“I wish I could kiss you right now,” he murmured with a quiet intensity.

Elizabeth laughed merrily. “We will find a way someday,” she said. “I am quite certain my aunt has not left her post at the window this entire time, however, and my uncle is likely writing to my father as we speak.”

“Good.” With a mischievous quirk of his lips he added, “Let all four-and-twenty families your mother dines with remark on how lucky I am that you will have me.”

“Your aunt will surely be eager to learn the news, as well, considering it was her idea for us to marry.”

Darcy barked a surprised laugh at that. “Lizzy, Lady Catherine wants me to marry Anne. I do not believe she will appreciate anything of the kind.”

“Not your cousin! And I had only worried about poor Miss Bingley before. You are breaking so many hearts!”

“There is only one heart that concerns me, my love. I still cannot quite believe I have won yours, after everything I have done.”

She shook her head with a soft smile. “If we had been perfect strangers from the start, perhaps we would not be here today. But as it was… I fell in love with you at Pemberley, eight months ago,” Elizabeth confessed. “Before you knew me, I knew you. Even through the whole of our acquaintance, I always knew you were a good man in your heart.”

He reached out and touched the backs of his fingers softly to her cheek. “You did not think me good in January,” he said softly.

“I was angry, that day. Still, you needed only to atone for Jane to be back in my good graces. You have done that and much more.”

“I would do anything you ask,” he promised.

There was much more to say, but for now they both felt they had said enough. They had all the time in the world to talk, now. They would have the rest of their lives.

They sat quietly on the park bench together, hands still entwined, watching the world move around them. The sun was still high in the sky. The verdant spring was in full bloom and they were surrounded by a rainbow of flowers. There were children playing with a ball nearby and birds singing in the trees. Elizabeth ran her thumb across the back of Darcy's hand, marveling that she was able to do this now. After a few minutes, she felt rather than saw him turn to watch her instead of the scenery. This time, she did not wonder why he was looking or what he thought of her as he did so. It caused her no discomfort or confusion. She was his, as surely as he was hers, and she was content to let him look. 

For the first time in eight months, Elizabeth felt peace.

They did finally return to the house, when they were ready to share their new understanding with more than just themselves. Her family's delight in her choice of husband was everything she could have hoped for, and she felt proud to see for herself the mutual affection and respect her uncle and aunt shared with her betrothed. She foresaw Christmases at Pemberley, summer trips, and frequent calls in town. This afternoon was but a first glimpse of the happy life they had to come.

Eventually, it was time for Darcy to leave, and Elizabeth walked him to the front door. They found themselves alone in the foyer. Elizabeth stole a quick glance around their surroundings to confirm their privacy, then grinned up at him slyly. She crooked one finger to beckon him towards her.

He smiled. “What is it?” he asked, even as he took a step closer.

Without answering, she continued to beckon him: closer, closer, closer. 

He had to lean down so they could be face to face. They were but a hair's breadth apart. His eyes were laughing. “Well?” he whispered through his smile.

“Come closer,” she breathed, and then she was the one who moved that last remaining distance, and then they were kissing. 

It was Elizabeth's first kiss. It was not something she had thought about much before, but from the first moment she saw his portrait at Pemberley, she knew he was the one she wanted to kiss. She had dwelled on it quite a bit, truthfully, but she was fairly certain she was not supposed to think about that kind of thing so frequently, especially about a man who was continually offending her, so in her more rational moments away from his presence she pretended she had been studying his character alone, and not how soft his lips looked.

But oh, were his lips soft, as she now knew for certain. She decided they absolutely must do this as often as they could get away with before marrying, and every single day thereafter. He was soft and gentle and utterly perfect as he allowed her to control the movement of their lips together in their delicious dance. Darcy was a man of deep feeling, she already knew, and so she was not surprised to feel how tightly his hands gripped her waist, a thrilling contrast to how carefully light he kept his kisses. She pressed a hand gently to his chest so she could feel his heart beating—not simply beating, it was pounding furiously, like he was running for his life—but, unfortunately, he mistook the action for her pushing him away, and he pulled back.

“Are you well, Elizabeth?” he asked her anxiously. “Was that too much?”

Her hand was still on his chest. She wrapped her fingers around his cravat. “It was perfect,” she replied. After a moment she added, “I cannot wait to go home.”

“Did you not once tell me you were always at home?” Darcy wondered with a small confused frown.

“I have changed my mind,” she said, beaming. “From now on, home will be with you.” She tugged him back in, and he went willingly, but after only one more short kiss—two more—she released him. “They will be expecting me back in the house,” she sighed.

“This will not be the last time, I promise you,” Darcy said, and she could hear the ardour even in his hushed tones.

She watched him let himself out the door, giving her a last lingering look as he did so, then she took a deep breath, straightened her dress, and strode back into the parlour. Her aunt and Maria were still there.

“You were showing him out for quite a while,” Mrs Gardiner said with raised eyebrows.

“Was I?” Elizabeth asked innocently.

“It was awfully quiet back there.”

“Indeed?”

“Did you behave yourself?”

“No.”

Maria giggled.

The season of courtship was rather more of a trial than either of the couple would have liked, with discontent from his relatives, fretting over wedding planning from hers, and not nearly enough time alone. They did marry, however, and moved straightaway to Pemberley where they would spend the rest of the summer.

“Ah! I knew you fancied him from the first moment you came here last year, Mrs Darcy,” Mrs Reynolds said to her shortly after their arrival.

Darcy looked rather too pleased with himself then, and his housekeeper turned a quelling gaze on him. “And I have not forgotten your dreamy looks either, sir, all last Christmas when you talked about her,” she pointed out.

“I suppose we are even, then,” Elizabeth told her husband, although their early feelings would forever be a point of teasing between them both.

Some weeks into their marriage, when they were beginning to settle into a routine together, the couple were in the morning parlour at Pemberley. She worked on embroidery on the sofa while he read the newspaper at the table. They were the very picture of blissful, quiet domesticity.

“Lizzy,” he called out to her, breaking the silence, “would you like to do today's crossword together?”

Grinning, she threw her work into her basket in her haste to join him at the table. They had not done a crossword puzzle since their time together at the Hunsford parsonage. She sat in the chair next to him and leaned in eagerly.

“Not like that,” he said slyly, and he slid her easily from there into his lap. “There; that is much better.”

“We have never done one like this before,” Elizabeth laughed, wrapping her arms around his shoulders for balance.

“No, but I thought about it every single day in Kent.”

“Well, then,” she murmured into his neck, “we need not do it any other way again.”

They never did.