Elizabeth walked with a spring in her step. She had arrived at Netherfield the morning before, and was already feeling much better. It was a great comfort to be able to roam the old, familiar paths again and she did not doubt that it will do her a great deal of good to return to live in Hertfordshire.

The long walk she had embarked upon had much to do with the improvement of her spirits - and so had Jane's influence, and the discovery that her mother and younger sisters had already returned to town. For all those blessings Elizabeth was grateful, particularly the latter, for she knew not how she was to face them yet.

Bingley and Jane had been all that was kind and reassuring and good. They were shocked by the revelations, Bingley slightly more so, but they left Elizabeth in no doubt that they would support her in whatever she chose to do.

A long discussion followed later in the evening, and although not all details had been put in place, it was eventually decided that Mrs Bennet and her daughters would come to live at Netherfield as soon as their sojourn in London had come to an end. The Gardiners offered their own assistance, but Bingley would not be swayed, and everyone saw the wisdom of his suggestion that the family should return to live in a neighbourhood where most of their acquaintance were, and in a house that could readily accommodate them.

Elizabeth had to own that, troublesome circumstances aside, she could not dislike the prospect of living at Netherfield. The joy of being reunited with Jane could make amends for almost everything, and after the turmoil of the last couple of days, it was rather soothing to think of settling back into the familiarity of Hertfordshire. As for being able to call Netherfield home, that was an attractive prospect in itself, as well. Elizabeth had long thought it a beautiful house, with a great deal to recommend it, although sadly pervaded by Miss Bingley and Mrs Hurst's arrogant superciliousness.

She smiled. Netherfield was a different place now. It was happy and welcoming, no longer exuding its former mistress' haughtiness, but Jane's kindness and warmth, and the love she and her husband shared. It was ironic - and exceedingly gratifying, Elizabeth thought with amused satisfaction - to see Jane rule over the place of her previous disparagement, and the perpetrators of said offence having lost all their power over Mr Bingley and his happy home.

Elizabeth had reason to hope that her mother and sisters will not greatly object to the arrangements either, although they will presumably bemoan the separation from their friends. The difficulty, however, lay in how much they should be told, and when. It was Mr Gardiner who had introduced the concern the previous evening, and it was just as well, for Bingley would not have dared voice the question that was on everybody's mind: how to ensure that the carefully guarded and potentially damaging secret regarding the identity of Farringdon's previous owner was not inadvertently disclosed by Mrs Bennet or Lydia, and become public knowledge, to the detriment of all.

No satisfactory answer had been found, though, and that had remained the only unsolved problem. It was agreed after a while that the removal to Netherfield will be attributed, to begin with, to Jane's insistent wish to spend more time with her family - it was Bingley who had suggested it, and Jane had readily concurred, with a smile of gratitude for her kind and very considerate husband.

Elizabeth had her own thoughts on the matter. In her opinion, her mother would never mention returning to Farringdon again if someone - perhaps her aunt ? - dropped a hint regarding her daughters' improved chances of marrying well, should they live at an easy distance from town, under Jane's guidance and care. It was, however, far too disloyal and mortifying a thought to be voiced in Bingley's presence, so she resolved to mention it solely to her aunt, before they retired.

The course of action otherwise agreed between the parties, there was very little else to be done, and Mr Gardiner decided he had much better return to his business, despite Jane and Mr Bingley's earnest entreaties that their relations should prolong their stay, in compensation for the curtailed tour of pleasure. They had left early in the morning, on the following day.

Soon after seeing them to their carriage, Jane, well attuned to her sister's mind and sensibilities, suggested she should take herself on a long walk and revisit some of her favourite places.

Oakham Mount had always been a decided favourite, and Elizabeth had made her way towards it without hesitation. It had been a delightful walk, full of pleasant reminiscences at almost every step, and as to the final ascent - taxing, but not exceedingly so - it had demanded enough of her energy to leave her with little ability or inclination to dwell upon unpleasant thoughts.

It was a great comfort to be on top of the familiar eminence once more, to feel the wind in her face and look around at the sun-lit countryside. It would have been difficult not to remember, however, as she took in her surroundings, that it was on the very stretch of open field at her feet that she had caught her first glimpse of the two gentlemen that were to influence her own life and that of her family so greatly. Elizabeth did remember, and with a sigh she bent her steps back to Netherfield.

The house was very quiet, which was rather unusual, as although they were but two in their happy household, Mr Bingley had the propensity of filling it with all the bustle of his ebullient personality.

Elizabeth made her way to the drawing room - and froze. Jane was there, but she was not alone. Georgiana sat at her side, and so did Mr Darcy. At her entrance, he rose and bowed very deeply, then remained standing, his eyes fixed on her, the most solemn look darkening his countenance.

Instinctively, Elizabeth's hand returned to the doorknob, and the urge to turn back and flee the room was overpowering. She let her hand fall, though, to smooth the side of her dress, as she drew a long, steadying breath. For the sake of her sister and brother, for the sake of his own sister even, she would have to become accustomed to being in the same room with him at least, sooner or later, and it might as well be then. With another deep breath and a small and rather conscious smile, Elizabeth advanced towards the party.

"Miss Darcy!" she greeted her new friend, with real, albeit restrained pleasure. "What a pleasant surprise to see you again so soon!" She let go of the sister's hands to turn to the brother, and could do nothing but drop a curtsey and acknowledge him with constrained civility. "And Mr Darcy. Good to see you, Sir."

The greeting so obviously lacked genuine sentiment and warmth that even she felt the awkwardness of the distinction between the sister and the brother, and could not be surprised to see him look injured. There was nothing to be done about it, though, and Elizabeth took a seat across from Jane. Georgiana returned to her seat as well, but Mr Darcy remained standing, resting a hand on the back of his sister's chair. Elizabeth could not bring herself to look in his direction, but she felt his steady gaze fixed on her, as unsettling as ever. The silence in the room was overpowering, and Elizabeth could think of nothing to say, as there seemed to be an embargo on every subject.

At length, her own wise sister asked whether she had enjoyed her walk, and they proceeded to talk about the beauties of Hertfordshire with great perseverance, assisted by the occasional tentative contribution from Georgiana, who would venture an opinion about the comparative merit of the Derbyshire countryside, when a lull in the conversation threatened. They had been thus engaged for above a half-hour when the door to the drawing room opened and Mr Bingley made his appearance. Elizabeth was left in no doubt about his purpose, or his loyalties, for that matter, as he came to sit by her on the sofa, and enquire with great gentleness and interest whether she had enjoyed her walk.

Elizabeth could not suppress a slight smile at this obvious confederacy destined to make her more at ease, and a trace of her former spirits returned to her repartee as she turned to her brother with an affectionate smile.

"Thank you, Charles, it was very pleasant indeed, but as we have already discussed the comparative merits of Hertfordshire and Derbyshire at my sister's instigation, perhaps I should refrain from a repetition and retire to dress for dinner."

With that she rose and, dropping a curtsey to no one in particular, she left the room.

Without any rational thought other than the compelling urge to do so, Darcy moved to follow - and would have, but for Bingley's interference.

"I would appreciate a word, Darcy," he said to his friend's retreating back.

"Not now, Bingley!" Darcy replied curtly, but Bingley would not be gainsaid. He advanced to his friend and stayed the hand that reached to open the door.

"Now would be most convenient, in point of fact!" Bingley said quietly, but without a trace of diffidence. "My study?" he offered, and at his friend's surprised and resigned nod, he opened the door and motioned to Darcy to exit before him.

Darcy could only catch a brief glimpse of Elizabeth's retreating form down the hallway towards the stairs, and with a barely suppressed huff, he followed Bingley in his study.

"Would you say it is too early for port?" Bingley asked companionably, but Darcy had no taste for civilities.

"I understood you wanted a word, Bingley, and although I fail to comprehend the urgency, I am at your disposal!" he said stiffly, barely refraining from concluding with 'so come now, out with it!'. Nevertheless, the inference was there.

Bingley turned and eyed him steadily, though not unfriendly, with a trace of regret in his countenance.

"Forgive me, Darcy, but I cannot allow my sister to be made uncomfortable in any way!" he said quietly, and Darcy stared.

"Your sister?" he asked, all astonishment, failing to see where either Miss Bingley or Mrs Hurst came into it, before inwardly abusing himself for his stupidity. "Your sister. Of course."

"Miss Bennet is my sister now - and my responsibility," Bingley clarified, and the authority in his voice surprised them both.

Although it was indeed rather too early for port, Bingley poured two glasses nevertheless. He took one to his friend, then perched himself on the arm of one of the chairs, at Darcy's elbow. He took a sip, biding his time, and finally brought himself to resume.

"I hope you do not mind my asking, but would you tell me whether the report is true?"

Not that he doubted Elizabeth's word any more than her judgement, but he could not bring himself to let the matter rest, without at least an attempt to hear his friend's side.

Darcy leaned against the desk and cleared his voice.

"I do not know what you heard, but if you are asking whether I had signed away a property in Devonshire in favour of Mr Bennet before he died, then yes, the report is true," he owned tiredly.

Bingley shook his head and stared into the glass, then looked back up at his friend.

"So are you saying that when we were last at Netherfield, and you attempted to dissuade me from offering for Jane, you stood here listening to me telling you of the supposed inheritance, while you were behind it the whole time? I thought we were close friends!" he added, not insubstantial disappointment in his voice.

"I do apologise," Darcy offered with genuine contrition. "The fewer people knew, the better, particularly as you were to become connected with the family. Not that I did not trust your secrecy," he amended, "but the deed was done, and I had no wish to discomfort anyone, least of all you."

Bingley made no answer. A long silence reigned, until he looked up again.

"Why did you do it, Darcy? I had been most curious to know ever since I heard of it."

His friend walked to the window and turned to stare outside.

"Because I did not want E-... any of the Miss Bennets to contemplate marrying such a reprehensible character as Mr Collins for their family's security," he said at length, resigned to owning at least part of the truth.

"But was he not already engaged to Miss Mary?" Bingley replied, puzzled, and Darcy gave a brief gesture of annoyance.

"No, Bingley, he was not. Oblige me, and give me credit for at least some intelligence!" he snapped, then rubbed his forehead and apologised. "Perhaps the engagement and the announcement of the so-called bequest were concurrent, but I had no knowledge that it was about to happen when I had instructed my attorneys, some weeks previously."

"Would all of this account for your avoidance of the Bennets and your subdued spirits at the time, then?" Bingley enquired and Darcy shrugged in lieu of any response. He was loath to lie to his friend, but he was not ready to bare his soul to him either. Not to mention that Bingley adored his wife, and Mrs Bingley was inordinately protective of her sister. Maybe they would have kept his confidence, but Darcy had neither the inclination to demand it of either of them, nor the willingness to take the risk. When Elizabeth was to know of his sentiments, he would have preferred that she heard of them from himself!

Bingley took another sip of his drink and swilled the remainder in his glass.

"A very generous gesture, Darcy... I am sorry, but it still remains beyond my understanding, though, why you would take so much upon yourself. I can understand your opinion of Mr Collins and I fully concur with you on that score, but in what way could it affect you if any of the Miss Bennets were to marry the man, to such an extent as to offer them a home and an income? In what way would you feel it incumbent upon you to ensure the Bennets' security any more than any other family's? Why, you do not even like them, for goodness' sake!" Bingley exclaimed, rather forgetting himself, as it was not in his nature to plague anyone of his acquaintance in this fashion, least of all his best friend.

He lifted his glass to his lips and his arm froze in mid-gesture.

"Unless..." he pondered aloud and then sighed. "Oh! I see..." he said quietly, before finishing his move and having another sip of his port.

Darcy turned to observe him with no small measure of panic. What? What did he see?

"I appreciate your friendship, Darcy," Bingley resumed, with some sadness, "but you can be awfully high-handed at times. I am sorry if you squandered a small fortune in your effort to 'protect' me from offering for Jane, but I can hardly feel responsible for it! In point of fact, I am rather disposed to regard your interference officious at best!"

Darcy advanced to his friend, his countenance full of contrition. He was rather glad for his misapprehension and was not about to correct it, but Bingley's sadness and obvious displeasure weighed on him.

"I am sorry," he offered. "For all my misguided notions, I am heartily sorry. All I can say is that I hold valid none of the considerations that have prompted me at the time," he added truthfully, inwardly thankful that his friend did not know the extent of his misjudgement.

Bingley looked up from his glass with a sigh.

Theirs was a long-standing friendship and the man appeared genuinely contrite.

After a pause - slight, but very noticeable - he rose and shook the proffered hand.

"Bygones, Darcy?" he offered with a smile, but there was nothing humorous in his manner, regardless of the lightness of his tone, when he added, "As long as you refrain from protecting me or mine despite our own wishes in future, that is!"

Darcy gladly shook his hand as he nodded his understanding and his thanks, and for a while the room was very quiet; then he looked up at his friend again.

"You will have to let me talk to her sometime," he said, more in response to his own thoughts than to any of Bingley's comments, and his friend sighed.

"Not if she does not wish it, Darcy," he said at length, with no small measure of regret. "I hope you can see that. Elizabeth is part of my family now, and a guest in this house. I cannot conspire against her peace of mind!"

Darcy could not suppress a gesture of annoyance. That Bingley should presume to act as Elizabeth's defender, and protect her from himself, of all people! A sharp retort came to his lips, but Darcy swallowed the bitter recriminations. He might have had, by now, the privilege to stand at her side and protect her for the rest of their lives. It had been his own choice not to seek it.

"Do you wish me to leave, Bingley?" he asked tiredly.

There was always The Red Lion in Meryton, or some other inn he could remove to, but Darcy heartily hoped it would not come to that.

"Good God, no!" his closest friend protested, with the energy of old. "I just hope we can find a way out of this messy business!"

So do I, Charles. So do I.

Darcy had readied himself for dinner with greater haste than at any other time, in the vain hope that he might be fortunate to gain a few minutes alone with Elizabeth, but he could easily see that his efforts were destined to be outdone. Mrs Bingley had come down for dinner at the same time as her sister, and although she was as warm and welcoming as ever, there was no doubt of her determination to support Elizabeth in her avoidance of him.

All that was left for him to do was to bow deeply to both and content himself with the formalism of common-place civilities, all the while endeavouring not to dwell on the fact that Elizabeth would not meet his eyes for above two seconds, nor would she answer any enquiries he dared make in more than monosyllables. There could not have been a greater contrast to that glorious afternoon in Green Park than this stilted, strained exchange, and it was painful to behold.

How was he to tell her that he loved her and ask her to trust him with her heart and her hand, if she would not talk to him? If she could not even bear to look at him?

The tension was somewhat eased when the others joined them, Fitzwilliam at first, much to Elizabeth's astonishment, until the connection was explained to her, then Bingley and Georgiana.

A brief attempt at general conversation followed, where everyone was trying rather too hard to be voluble and mask their discomfort, until dinner was announced.

To Darcy's dismay, the atmosphere at dinner was hardly any different. Mrs Bingley had chosen the smaller dining room for the occasion, to avoid their none-too-numerous party being dispersed around an uncomfortably large table, but the snugness of their current arrangements and the apparent family atmosphere was not making anyone more comfortable, least of all Darcy.

He was seated at Mrs Bingley's right and Elizabeth at Bingley's, as far from each other as the table could divide them, with Georgiana by his side and across from Elizabeth, and Fitzwilliam between Mrs Bingley and her sister. For all that was worth, Darcy could not but acknowledge to himself Mrs Bingley's abilities to diffuse the situation as much as possible. The seating arrangements were a credit to her diplomacy, and her efforts at keeping up a conversation with him throughout dinner a testament to her kindness and delicacy of spirit.

Much as Elizabeth's continued withdrawal from him pained him, he could not but rejoice, for her sake, in the fact that Mrs Bingley's diplomacy had borne fruit. As dinner progressed, Bingley's end of the table became animated with his - and eventually Elizabeth's - light-hearted discourse, punctuated more and more frequently, to his surprise and only joy, by Georgiana's laughter and well-placed comments. All that was left him was to look on, when least observed, and delight in her wit and sparkle, although it was for the benefit of others.

As for Fitzwilliam, he had attempted to keep the conversation going in both of the separate groups but had avoided singling Elizabeth out, and for his understanding and forbearance Darcy could be nothing but grateful, as he did not know how he could have borne it otherwise.

When the time had come to separate after dinner, Darcy could not dismiss the uncomfortable sentiment that, had it not been for him, the custom might have been forgone, but the discomfort such a notion engendered was nothing to the distress occasioned by their return to the ladies.

Darcy and Fitzwilliam had followed Bingley to his study for another glass of port. Nothing of consequence had been discussed this time, in part because Fitzwilliam's presence precluded it, although Bingley could not doubt his good information. After a while, which appeared to Darcy dreadfully long, Bingley signalled the time for their return and Darcy agreed with alacrity.

He had followed his friend to the drawing room, sounds of laughter and animated voices beckoning them therein. The door opened, and to Darcy's dismay, their entrance - no, his entrance - cast a pall over their obvious enjoyment. The laughter died out, and the room filled with all the suppressed tension of the previous encounters.

Darcy's spirits sank beyond redemption. He could not bear to be party to this any longer. He most certainly would not impose his presence upon them, upon her, if all it engendered was this dismal atmosphere. He turned to Mrs Bingley with a bow.

"I was hoping you would excuse me, Ma'am," he said formally, "and allow me to deprive myself of the pleasure of your company. There was something in Bingley's library I would have liked to peruse." And with that he turned towards the door and would have left, but for an intervention from the least likely quarter.

Elizabeth had no need to think of the remarkable collection housed at Pemberley, or to remember a conversation held months ago, in the same room, about the deficiencies of Bingley's library, to ascertain the unlikelihood of Darcy having found therein anything worthy of his urgent perusal.

It was clear to her that, against his own wishes, Darcy had excused himself to ease her discomfort, and the look in his eyes, as well as the turn of his countenance, spoke of his distress and of his unwillingness to remain in the present company as persona non grata, despite his obvious reluctance to leave them.

Elizabeth found herself unable to allow it. Yes, his presence made her extremely uncomfortable, and yet she could not bear the thought of spending a pleasant evening with her family and friends, while he exiled himself to the cheerless solitude of the library, for her benefit.

Before she knew how it came about, Elizabeth heard herself say, with a gentleness of address she did not deliberately choose, but could not regret:

"Mr Darcy, must you leave us so soon? We are to have some music in a little while. Your sister has kindly agreed to play for us and, from what I understand, this is a delight you would not care to miss," she said with a genuine smile, surprised at her own daring, as well as at the ease with which she had found a credible motive for urging him to stay.

The difference her words had made in his countenance almost brought tears to her eyes. The surprise of such a request coming from her was replaced almost instantly with a look so much akin to gratitude as to make Elizabeth heartily ashamed of herself.

She had been given to understand, over the course of the day, from his obvious contrition, that no slight had been intended or implied by his actions. No, it had not been his intention to remove the Bennets from his circle and, in having suspected him of it, she had greatly wronged him. His interference had been misjudged and high-handed at best, but her aunt Gardiner was right; it had given her father peace of mind in his last days, and that was worth any humiliation she may have felt. As to the humiliation itself - yes, she would have experienced it anyway, but it was only made worse by her own disappointment at having found herself the object of his pity, just as she had discovered she would have desired his love.

Elizabeth drew a long breath and, acknowledging it was perhaps time she stopped punishing him for her own disappointed hopes, she turned to Mr Darcy again.

"Well, Sir, what shall it be? The joy of music or of the printed word?" she asked, in a manner so highly reminiscent of their past interactions as to make him almost giddy with renewed hope.

The joy of you. My greatest folly was to ever walk away from it!

For an agonising moment, Darcy feared he had voiced his thoughts aloud, but the countenance of none of the party indicated that it had been so. Reluctant to trust himself to speak, he bowed his acquiescence to Elizabeth instead, and returned to the small company gathered at the other end of the room. He sat across from Elizabeth and his sister and smiled at the two ladies dearest to him in a fashion that almost made Elizabeth gasp, as she had recognised the look in Georgiana's sketch and wondered at it becoming evident in her presence, considering all that had transpired.

"I would like however to apply to you for the indulgence of music as well, Miss Bennet, for I have rarely heard anything that gave me more pleasure," Darcy said, daringly.

Blushing, Elizabeth declined in favour of Georgiana's superior talent, and her friend was finally persuaded to perform, as long as Elizabeth would turn the pages.

They seated themselves companionably at the instrument and Miss Darcy leafed through the rather small selection, to finally choose a piece which had been a longstanding favourite.

Drawn in the enjoyment of music and in her duties to follow the progress, in order to timely perform her task, Elizabeth was for a long time unaware of Darcy's steady gaze.

A chance look in his direction, however, overwhelmed her. Their eyes met and locked and none would look away. The unmistakable warmth in his eyes was mesmerising, and the devotion so evident that Elizabeth felt convinced she only found herself in the way of a look destined for his sister. As their eyes held, however, she could not but acknowledge that the tenderness was not brotherly, nor was it for Georgiana.

It was for her. Little as she would have credited it, it was for her.

He could not sleep. There was no way under heaven for him to be able to rest after all that had occurred, and in the knowledge that she was under the same roof, no more than ten doors away.

Darcy had dismissed his man a long time ago, without even attempting to prepare for the night. Had he been at Pemberley, he would have roamed the halls in search of memories of her, and of this evening. As he was but a guest in this house, he resigned himself to leaning against the back of his chair and closing his eyes. He was no less successful in conjuring up her image than had he walked to the now deserted drawing room. She was with him always, as she had been for months, and for the first time in the whole length of their acquaintance, there was a glimmer of hope in the picture his mind's eye presented. He would never forget the turn of her countenance and the look in her eyes, earlier that evening, during his sister's performance. There was none of her recent painful reserve; there was forgiveness for the embarrassment his misjudged gesture had engendered, of that he was almost sure, but it was that look of wonder, and the warmth therein that deprived him of his rest and left him impatiently counting the minutes till daybreak.

He could not sleep, but the thought of her beautiful face resting on a pillow some doors down the hallway made him forcefully grip the arms of his chair and propelled him to the window to stare into the darkness outside. A long sigh punctuated the futility of his endeavours to still his racing thoughts. Darcy turned away from the window to collect his dinner jacket and don it, then quietly left his room for the illusory sanctuary of the library, where he vainly hoped to find a way to cease thinking constantly of Elizabeth. The candle in his right hand cast long, tremulous shadows down the hallways of the great silent house.

She could not sleep. She had not even attempted to prepare for bed. As soon as she had retired to her chambers, at the end of a most unsettling evening, she had curled on the chair in the corner of the small balcony her room led to, and rested her flushed face in her hand.

What on earth would possess him to regard her in that fashion, during Georgiana's performance? She did not dare hope, and yet she could scarcely prevent herself from doing so.

Teazing, teazing man! If he cared for her, why did he remove himself from her society for such a length of time? If he did not, why did he regard her as though he did?

With the wise, but not so easily kept resolution to think no more of him, Elizabeth stood. It was very late and the advanced hour gave her pause, but she was not to sit and stare out into the night with no purpose, on the account of Mr Darcy! Poorly stocked as it might be, there ought to be something in Netherfield's library to prevent her from constantly thinking of him!

She walked quietly to the door and opened it, only to be stopped in her tracks by the sight of the receding figure - very tall and very familiar - that appeared to be heading in the same direction, his progress made evident by the soft glow his candle projected on the walls.

Elizabeth quietly closed the door. She leant against it for a while, a distant smile on her lips, then started to remove the pins from her hair and ready herself for bed. It was rather comforting to know that he could not sleep either. In truth, she owned, it was very comforting indeed!

After a while, she blew out the candle and nestled under the covers, with the heart-warming thought of them being the only ones to keep vigil, in the sleeping household.

She was still awake much later, when the sound of returning footsteps could just about be heard approaching down the corridor. They appeared to slow outside her door, and then faded in the opposite direction. Elizabeth gathered the corner of the pillow under her chin and finally fell asleep with a smile on her face.

Darcy walked the path to the clump of trees at the side of the house, head down and hands behind his back. He would have resented any implication of lying in wait, even though that was exactly what he was doing, with little hope of success, as he had no idea in which direction Elizabeth's penchant for an early walk had taken her.

He cursed his misjudgement of not having instructed his man to rouse him and relying on habit instead. As it happened, it had been a poor choice, as habit had been overridden by the sleepless night, and the utter exhaustion of body and mind that the last few days had brought. He had awoken when the sun was well into the sky, simply because, at some point in his restless pacing the night before, he had come to open the carefully drawn curtains and had forgotten them thus.

Darcy walked back to the house and up the flight of stairs that led to the terrace for a better view, only to be met by his cousin, who was just leaving. Fitzwilliam merely bade him good morning and Darcy thanked heavens for his cousin's perception, which had allowed him to see that he was in no humour for either sallies or conversation. Come to think of it, Fitzwilliam had been uncharacteristically reserved with his opinions lately which, given their quite recent heated discussions, was a source of wonder and not insubstantial gratitude for Darcy, as he knew not how he would have borne another lecture, under the circumstances.

On impulse, he offered his cousin his hand.

"Thank you, Richard," he said simply.

"Whatever for?"

"Your restraint."

The Colonel gave a light laugh at this and shook his cousin's hand, then clapped him affectionately on the shoulder.

"You're having enough of a hard time as it is, I gather!" he noted, not unkindly, then added, with a touch of real concern in his address. "I take you have not had a chance to improve matters..."

"No. Not as such..."

There was no denying the sudden surge of hope the previous evening had brought, but the truth remained. He had not had a chance to improve matters as yet. Darcy wondered briefly what was his cousin's real opinion on what had occurred - for he would have been quite naïve indeed to assume that Fitzwilliam had missed the undercurrents between Elizabeth and himself, or perhaps he should have said the altogether different undercurrents.

Fortunately, despite his inclination to talk rather excessively about concerns that were not his own, Darcy was in no doubt that his cousin was too much of a gentleman to even attempt to force a confidence in a case such as this. It was rewarding to note that, for once, he was not mistaken, as the Colonel turned away.

"I was going for a ride," he said casually. "Would you care to join me? It might do you good."

"I thank you, Cousin, but no. You could ask Bingley, though," he added, as an afterthought.

Fitzwilliam laughed.

"Anything for you, Darcy. I can but try! I take he has been somewhat of a monkey on your back lately, has he not? Still, you cannot fault him for his loyalty," he added and Darcy grimaced.

As soon as Fitzwilliam left him, Darcy returned at his post overlooking most of the approach to the house and, to his relief, after a while he was finally rewarded by the sight of a light-coloured spot progressing briskly across the distant fields. Darcy set back to meet her and reached the end of the designated path in just enough time to espy her running down the slope at the back of the house and deftly crossing over the sty, her dark-honey-coloured bonnet in her hand.

Elizabeth looked up as she became aware of his presence, without any of the self-consciousness he dreaded. In fact, there was something in the turn of her countenance that reminded him of that evening at Netherfield, when she had bid him to despise her if he dared.

No thought was further from his mind. In fact, the only thought he could grip hold of was how beautiful she looked, her eyes and complexion brightened by the exercise, her hair in slight disarray as though ruffled by the wind and - by Jove! - with skirts still six inches deep in mud!

Where did she find it? Bingley said it had not rained in Hertfordshire in weeks!

He ought to stop standing there and grinning like a fool, Darcy's remaining sense told him, to no avail. He had wanted to kiss her that morning long ago in the autumn, when he had come across her on her way to Netherfield to visit her ailing sister, and even more so now, when her bright eyes were radiating this endearing archness instead of the open hostility he now knew full well that she had shown him then.

"Lovely morning for a walk," he had managed at last, having erred on the side of caution, after wondering for a while if she would take offence at his presumption, were he to tell her how beautiful she looked.

Elizabeth agreed with a smile as she busied herself with tying the ribbons of her bonnet and Darcy pressed on towards his chance.

"Are you fatigued from your walk, Miss Bennet, or would you be inclined to take a turn with me?"

"I am not fatigued, Sir," Elizabeth replied and took his offered arm, an incipient sensation of comfort in each other's presence warming them both.

In Darcy's case, all ease soon dissipated, at the thought that this was his chance to speak, and he had no notion how to start and, for that matter, how to continue.

The feel of her fingers in the crook of his arm gave some measure of comfort. It would have been quite out of place, he knew, to reach and cover them with his other hand, much as he wished to, so he kept his hand to his side and his thoughts to himself - for the time being, at least.

"Where have you been walking this morning, Miss Bennet?" he asked at length and Elizabeth smiled.

"I was not aware you were familiar with the local paths and the intricacies of the Hertfordshire countryside," she teased.

"I was not, until yesterday," he retorted and Elizabeth looked up at him in surprise and laughed. That he should be able to jest about yesterday's ridiculously restrained and staid conversation, despite - or perhaps particularly because of - the tension everybody felt at the time was a source of delighted wonder to her, and she welcomed the intelligence that Mr Darcy appeared to have a sense of humour after all, over and above his other admirable qualities.

"I have not walked very far this morning," she answered at last. "Only about three quarters of the way to Longbourn."

"Do you miss it?" he found himself asking, and cursed his foolishness. He already knew the answer, of course, and besides, this was not the direction he would have liked their discourse to take. That was not to say that he did not welcome the openness, even the intimacy of their conversation, but the light-heartedness was gone, more was the pity.

Elizabeth was quiet for a while, then answered truthfully.

"I miss it for what it used to be. I miss the Longbourn I used to call home, and... I miss my father." At that, she halted her progress and looked up towards him. "I may not have given that impression, particularly yesterday, but I am grateful to you, Sir, not least because my father's last days were content and free of anxiety," she said with quiet honesty, and Darcy's spirits sank.

You had to speak of Longbourn, you fool!

Of course the conversation would sink down the path of all the unpleasantness still left unsaid between them, once he had asked about Longbourn.

"Pray, Miss Bennet," he urged tiredly and looked away, as he recommenced walking, "could we possibly not talk of this? I was wrong in many respects. Very wrong. Whatever good may have come of it does not right it, nor does it justify it."

"The intention was good..." she defended, and he frowned.

"The road to hell is paved with good intentions, is it not, Miss Bennet?" he retorted with bitterness.

The road to his own hell most certainly had been!

Darcy drew a long breath to ease his annoyance. The folly, the incommensurable folly of having ruined the disposition of the morning in such a dim-witted fashion!

All too aware of his dejection of spirits and pained for him because of it, Elizabeth briefly brought her other hand to rest on his arm.

"Mr Darcy," she said, stopping to look at him until she caught his eye, "although I very much wish to understand your reasons, I do believe that now would not be a good time, for either of us. So perhaps we could agree to put Farringdon aside for a while, and speak of it no more for now."

Her words surprised him no less than her gentleness of manner, but it was the warmth of her compassion that filled his heart with disbelieving wonder at finding himself its recipient, all things considered. Quite unwittingly, his eyes lit up with the tenderness he had long wished to otherwise express - and when he spoke, he did so.

"I should not wish to keep anything from you... But how can I hope to gain your good opinion if I start by recounting all my misguided notions, which I had long discarded?"

"You already have my good opinion, Mr Darcy," Elizabeth replied, almost in a whisper, with a fleeting glance in his direction before the intensity in his eyes compelled her to look away.

Darcy stood rooted to the spot, his gaze fixed on her blushing countenance, in an earnest attempt to ascertain her meaning. She would not turn towards him, but her hand was still ensconced in the crook of his arm, and the hope her words had kindled was exhilarating. They fell into step once more as she resumed their walk, his gloved hand clasped protectively over her smaller one this time, this simple joy more soothing than many words had been.

"Thank you," he whispered at last.

Her eyes returned to him for an instant and he took a deep breath.

"Miss Bennet..."

"It was a..."

Uneasily, Darcy exhaled.

"Pray, continue..."

She did not, however, and neither did he. As the path they had slowly followed joined another, their eyes fell on Mrs Bingley, seated on one of the benches, with what appeared to be a letter in her hand. Jane's presence, never unwelcome to either, was on this occasion an intrusion they both could well have done without. Elizabeth withdrew her hold of Mr Darcy's arm, and he clasped his hands behind his back, his frustration overwhelming.

Was there any privacy to be had, ever, at Netherfield?

At the sound of their footsteps Mrs Bingley looked up and her pensive countenance brightened into a smile.

"Elizabeth! I have been walking this way in the hope of meeting you! Mr Darcy," she belatedly acknowledged him, and Darcy bowed stiffly in response.

Elizabeth advanced towards her sister, concern clearly evident in her countenance.

"Nothing serious, I hope...?!"

"I... Well, no... I merely wanted you to see this," Jane said at length, offering her the letter.

"What is it?"

"I have just received the most puzzling communication from our mother. It is about Lydia. She writes... My mother writes that Lydia is married!"

Elizabeth was astounded.

"Lydia? Married?"

"Yes. Two days ago, by special licence, to a Mr Robert Ferrars."

By mutual agreement, they have returned to the house, to conduct their sisterly conversation in the privacy of Mrs Bingley's sitting room. The letter was produced and read again, even though not much could be gained from their mother's abilities as a correspondent. All that could be ascertained was that it had been a coup de foudre, which Mr Robert Ferrars could well afford, as he had recently acquired all the rights and privileges of a first-born, although he was in reality a younger son.

'Mr Ferrars has an elder brother, but he had displeased their mother exceedingly, I know not in what fashion', Mrs Bennet had written, 'so that she had settled upon her second son a fortune which should by rights have gone to his brother. And this had worked to the greatest advantage of our dear girl, who had caught Mr Ferrars' eye, and before I knew it, I was asked to give my consent for them to marry. I granted it, of course! Just think of the pin-money, the jewellery and the carriages my dear Lydia will have! So they were married by special licence yesterday, in the parish of St-Martin-in-the-Fields, where Mr Ferrars' townhouse is, and are now on their way to Dawlish, for a few weeks, which place dear Mr Ferrars had great curiosity to see....'

The rest of the letter was awash with details of the wedding dress, and how beautiful Lydia had looked, despite the suddenness of the arrangements.

Elizabeth folded the letter, amazed by the development and not insubstantially concerned for her friend Elinor. It was not difficult for her to fathom, given the intelligence she had received from the Miss Dashwoods the night Elinor's engagement had been made known to her, which was the circumstance that had prompted Mrs Ferrars' acute discontent.

She was cautiously pleased for her sister that she had made such an obviously advantageous match and reserved the right to judge its merits better, as soon as she had had the chance to become acquainted with her new brother, but she could not help a sense of disquiet at the thought that Lydia's fortunes had been gained at the expense of Elinor's.

Little did she know at the time that neither Elinor nor Mr Ferrars had any taste for such elevation in fortune, and would have considered it dearly bought had they been obliged to submit to his mother's constant interference.

Mr Ferrars was perfectly happy in his choice of wife and as to their income, they were soon to find that, although substantially smaller than what it could have been, it more than adequately met their needs, especially as it was soon augmented by the offer of the Delaford parish. Thus, in addition to their other sources of happiness, Elinor and her future husband had the joy of being settled in the vicinity of a loving mother, a very affectionate sister and an amiable new brother.

Elizabeth knew nothing of it at the time, but was able to rejoice with her friend, when the extent of Elinor's blessings was made known to her, several weeks later.

Alone in the library, Darcy paced.

Circumstances had conspired against him many more times than he was prepared to count, and that had begun to rile him in no small measure. It was hardly Mrs Bingley's fault that they happened upon her, instead of choosing any other path. This gave him no comfort, however, as he resumed his pacing, wondering how many misguided interferences or unfortunate circumstances were still left to divide him from Elizabeth.

The door opened and Darcy looked up.

Elizabeth had entered and greeted him, then sat at the escritoire by the window and, producing a sheet from within, she began to write.

Having offered a belated bow, Darcy sat and took up a book, mindlessly turning the pages, with an acute sense of déjà-vu. Of course. That distant day when they had sat together in the library and he had foolishly attempted to deny any interest whatsoever in her, before the notice of Mr Bennet's illness had been brought in. Such unmitigated folly was not remotely possible anymore.

Darcy closed his book and placed it on the table beside him, then leaned his head back against the cushions, filling his senses with the sight of her. Loose tendrils swayed as she wrote, her brow was slightly creased in delightful concentration and she was still occasionally biting the corner of her lip in the same endearing fashion.

He could not live without her. He had no wish to try. He only prayed she would have him.

As soon as her letter was written and folded, Darcy came to kneel by her side and took her hand, in a manner decidedly indicative of a proposal.

"Miss Bennet, will you allow me to tell you how ardently I admire and love you?"

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