AN: It's supposedly regency... but I'm not Jane Austen, so I really don't know what it was like to live then. Also, this hasn't been beta'd, so if you catch any mistakes, please point them out! Reviews are loved and appreciated!

It was a queer sort of day. The sky was covered in odd wispy clouds that flew rapidly across it. Due to their size, the patches of light and shadow on the earth seemed to be dancing, moving in close synchronization. Elizabeth Bennett was enjoying her morning. It was one of those rare days of late where she managed to leave the madness of her house and breathe the fresh air.

Seeing as to the fact nobody was around, she started a game with herself. Since the day was rather warm, she was amusing herself by walking only in the shadows cast by the wispy clouds. Despite their quick movement, she moved faster, so the only way to get about her game was to skip from shadow to shadow.

Despite the oddity of the game, it was refreshing to move about so. In a way, Lizzie was joining the dance of the clouds. Her dress swirled at her feet and lifted slightly at the breeze.

While doing this, however, one cannot say her mind was blank. No, indeed, she was thinking about what her life was, and what it would become. In a matter of weeks, she would no longer be Elizabeth Bennett, but Mrs. Darcy. The thought brought a smile to her face. The marvelousness of the situation had finally settled on her. It had taken a while. The happy feeling which now radiated from her had not in any way been quick to invade her, yet, when it did, it was most overwhelming.

Happiness is an odd sort of thing, she thought. Some people can readily say they are happy, and you can tell it's true, like dear Jane. Others say it too readily; their eyes reveal the falsehood. She continued her odd stroll as she mused, gradually becoming less aware of her surroundings. For most people, though, it seems as though the fact they are indeed happy is they are not truly aware of until it's taken away.

She was one of those people, Lizzie realized. Before meeting Mr. Darcy, she had been perfectly content, but had never considered it. Once introduced to him, he managed to get under her skin, yet it never did truly affect her. Until he asked for her hand, that is.

From there, her happy world had slowly, yet surely, started to crumble. It wasn't a deep despair, depression, as some might call it. Yet, it was a nagging thought at the back of her head that reminded her constantly of what she had lost. At first, it had been a mere sting, but upon discovering the changes Darcy had undergone, it had felt like that sting had been a wound in the process of healing that had been torn open.

Lizzie continued to move about the fields, shaking her head at the memories, and willing herself to imagine Darcy. Hers. He was hers now. Well, almost. She laughed at the thought. Never had she imagined that she would be possessive over a man. Her previous experience with men had made that seem impossible.

She laughed again and started spinning about, not minding if she was in the shadow or light. It was something she had loved to do as a child. She and Jane would go out on sunny days and start singing. Jane would then grab Lizzie's hands and both would twirl about until they almost fell into a laughing heap. The last time she'd done that was when she was five, and her mother called it out as improper for a young lady. It wasn't that she was inclined to follow what her mother told her, but without Jane, it hadn't seemed half as fun.

The sky swirled around her. The trees, the clouds, becoming streaks of color painted across her eyes. Her hair was now waving wildly about her. Freedom, flying; that's what it felt like. And she had missed it. Her dress tangled and untangled itself from her legs.

Then, an interruption came. So involved had Lizzie been in her childish games that she hadn't noticed the presence of a man. When she caught sight, her spinning stopped abruptly. Her cheeks, which had been glowing, turned crimson.

"Mr. Darcy!" she exclaimed, fumbling with her dress and curtsying rather unsteadily.

"Elizabeth," he replied bowing. His face was stretched into a grin of delight.

"Pray, sir, how long have you been watching?" His eyes danced at her expression of fright.

"Long enough to see you skipping from shadow to shadow and spinning like a young girl," was his reply. It was not unkind, though. In fact, his amusement was evident. "Lizzie, do not think you will frighten me away with that. I'm afraid to inform you that it'll take much more." Lizzie's posture relaxed a bit and she walked towards Mr. Darcy.

"Ah, that is indeed good to know, sir, but please, it is rather rude to spy upon young ladies!"

"I was not spying, my dear, I was merely searching for you. Visiting your house and finding you gone is not what I would call pleasant." Lizzie laughed. They had discussed the topic of Elizabeth's mother before, and had both come to the conclusion that staying away was the best option where sanity of mind was concerned. "I stayed a while, and then excused myself."

"How very improper of you, Fitzwilliam! If you were searching for me," she started in a slightly sarcastic tone, but with laughing eyes, "why did you not make your presence known the second you found me?"

"That, I shall not answer."

"That would lead me to believe you are ashamed of the reason."

"Or maybe afraid of your laugh."

"Is that so?" She started laughing gaily. His face flashed exasperation for a moment before joining her laugh.

He stepped up to her, taking her hands. "Do you really want to know?" he asked, whispering into her ear.

"Yes," she breathed.

"You shall have to promise not to laugh, though." Lizzie gazed into his eyes and nodding, sensing his seriousness. "You looked beautiful. Free, happy. I couldn't interrupt that." Her smile softened into tenderness.

"I felt like I was flying," she whispered back. "I was thinking of you." He pulled her closer again, this time placing his arms around her waist. She gasped but allowed the action.

"Fitzwilliam… this is not proper," she murmured halfheartedly.

"Neither is me being here with you alone."

"No," she agreed. Still, she made no effort to move away. The embrace was too irresistible. Then, without really thinking it, her arms were around his neck and their lips were touching. It was a soft, chaste kiss, yet, when they broke apart, both could sense the promise of more. They stared at each other, and then Lizzie laid her head against his chest.

"I love you," she said into his now slightly wrinkled coat. He mimicked her words.

"Three weeks," he said in a rather dismayed voice. "Three weeks until you are mine." She straightened up and looked into his eyes.

"It's not so long, and you are already mine," she said with a smile. "All mine."

"You mean to inform me that I am now your possession?" he asked, the laughing tone back in his voice.

"Yes, my dearest. I do mean to inform you." Then, with a wicked grin, she closed the distance between them, giving him a quick peck before pulling away. Then, taking his hands into her own, she exclaimed "Spin with me!"

Had anyone entered that particular field, they would have found two young people, holding hands, laughing and twirling like children.