A/N Some of you are worried about 'Hunsford'… the AU is here, and will be continuing for a while, but hang in there, everyone gets their moment. Remember, just because Lizzie is abrasive and brash and wears a lot of her issues openly, does not mean on the inside she is not still our Elizabeth. And just because Will learned to put on a good show, does not mean he is not hiding things, nor does it mean he does not have issues of his own. Let me know what you think x

Karen: Shh! Don't tell! Well, not exactly, but you will have to wait and see – have some patience, I'm saving that one for a special day.

Guest: I am glad I didn't come across an ignoramus, that is what every writer is going for x there aren't enough good horsey stories out there, in my (animal-crazy) opinion!

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A couple of day until all of Rosings' guests – Richard, Darcy and Elizabeth - were due to leave, Charlotte had a follow-up interview with one of the employers she a seen the week before. Because she would be alone for a significant portion of the day, Elizabeth decided to go for hike. She had been spending a lot of time with Richard and Darcy - she got the sense that they were bored with the company at the manor house - but she felt like a quiet day by herself.

Her quiet day was interrupted. Elizabeth had just got one leg of her jeans on a nail sticking out of the top of a stile. She had that leg in the air, but her head was hanging upside down with her hair falling into her face as she grabbed hold of the fence post. She heard the click of a camera shutter closing just as she lost her balance, tumbling to the ground in a clumsy pile of dust and ripped jeans.

"Darcy…" she groaned, as she was scooped up and placed back on her feet.

"You seem to spend most of your time around me falling over," her new companion quipped, as he bent to examine the long rip in her jeans. "I don't think these are recoverable, unless you want to cut the bottoms of completely and turn them into shorts."

"They are old anyway, I will probably just get rid of them." Nevertheless, Lizzie had a pout on her lips. "You got photographic evidence, didn't you?"

"And the photo will be kept until needed or sold," he winked. [1] "With you, I expect leverage will come in handy."

Despite several hints that he not, Darcy decided to walk in the same direction as Elizabeth. Her plan of a quiet walk by herself did not look like it would come to fruition, so in the end she gave in with a sigh, and resigned herself to some stilted conversation and awkward silences. To her surprise, he was actually quite eloquent. He spoke softly about the horses, about Charlie, about photography, he shared memories of Rosings as a child. The atmosphere became more comfortable as the time went on. Together, they reached an opening in the trees, as the hill they were hiking up crested. The view was magnificent. The fields below were a patchwork of green, yellow and gold; a tractor was at work in the distance, the tiny dots that were grazing horses wandered in circles.

Darcy turned from the view towards a bench set under the closest tree. He reached out to trace the name carved into the back of it,

"This is my Uncle Lewis," he said, as he sat down, "his ashes are scattered around the estate, but this was his favourite spot – he could spend hours under this tree – so when he died we put this bench here."

"When did he die?" Lizzie asked.

"Before my father, I was about fifteen. I was very fond of him – he was a pompous, infuriatingly conservative man, but he loved his family and had a mostly kind heart under all his bluster. Those times I needed the guidance of an older man, about those things I could not go to Richard about, I went to Uncle Lewis. I come here now when I need to make important decisions, I like to think he could still be helping me. I can still see him in his smoking jacket and cravat…" he trailed off.

Lizzie sat next to him, placing a comforting hand on his shoulder. "On Remembrance Day, I cannot be inside at eleven o'clock. Of course I mark the time, I hold the silence, but I cannot be anywhere that might play the Last Post." She swallowed, and looked away. Darcy gently took her hand. "They played it at my mother's funeral. I was nine. The next year, they played it at school, and I threw up. I just can't bare the sound of it."[2] Lizzie was surprised at herself. She joked and acted as though she could cope with her mother's violent death, but when her father had refused to grieve, he had denied his daughters the chance to too. The silence between them stretched, then settled about them like falling snow. They both felt a peace fall weightlessly onto their shoulders, entirely different from any feeling they had ever felt in each other's company. Darcy turned to face Lizzie completely, and lifted her hand where it was held in his, and intertwined their fingers.

"When we get back to Mertyon," he hesitated, staring down at their hands, "would you like to get coffee, or something?"

Lizzie was sure it was the amazing view, or their unusually intimate conversation, or the companionship she had felt grow in the last few weeks, but she did not feel like saying no.

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When Lizzie returned to the house later that afternoon, she found that Charlotte had returned from her interview, and her friend was curious where she had been.

"You left when I did – have you really been out all this time? That is a long walk, even for you."

"I bumped in to Will, and he gave me a tour of one of the paths I had never been down. We ended spending quite a while looking at the view."

Charlotte smirked. "And at what point did he try to get a leg over?"

Lizzie gaped at her friend. "Charlotte! I have never heard you be so vulgar! And for your information, he does not want sex, he wants coffee. At least, for now. And I can do coffee for now, but let's be honest – have you seen the man? I have been out riding with him, those are not legs I would mind getting under." Charlotte did not bother to hide her surprise.

"You've changed your tune. This time last week you didn't like him, and you were sure he thought you were stupid – which you weren't willing to put up with."

"I haven't changed my tune so much as he has learned to be pleasant. Don't get me wrong, I am still cautious, I have heard some dodgy stuff about him, so I only agreed to coffee. But there were times when he was out with Richard and me when he actually seemed really nice – also, he treats animals well, which is definitely a mark in his favour."

"Well, I will just say that with a guy that looks like that, I don't think it matters whether he thinks you are stupid or if he is nice to animals – with legs like that I don't think you should complain. Let him take you out for coffee, then out for dinner, then go back to his place to 'thank' him." Lizzie scowled at her.

"I'll stick to coffee, thank you."

The rest of her stay ended pleasantly. She did not see the residents nor guests of Rosings again, but she had exchanged numbers with both of the visitors, and each text her to say goodbye. Charlotte and Bill made a large evening meal to send her off the day before she left, then a cooked breakfast before she set off home. Lizzie made the arduous drive into London to drop Jane's car off at her flat – Jane was still at work – then she got the train home to Meryton.

Charlie was there to meet her at the train station, ready and willing to relieve her of her suitcase. He engulfed her in a bear hug, despite the fact that he was not much taller than her, then he drove her back to his house, where she was once again setting up camp.

"I really appreciate you doing this, Charlie. I had a flat planned with Charlotte, but after the wedding and her dropping out, I never got around to finding another housemate – and I really can't afford to live by myself. I know, I know I should have sorted it out over the summer, but…" Charlie interrupted her self-deprecating monologue.

"I want you to stay as long as you like, Lizzie. With you around, I actually get real meals with nutritional value that I did not just microwave in a packet, so it is a win/win situation as far as I am concerned." He gently kissed her forehead, then shoved her suitcase – which had been deposited haphazardly by the front door – in her direction. "Go an unpack, while I see if we have any edible food in the fridge."

Elizabeth was still living with Charlie when the new university year started in mid-September, so she was seated on the sofa next to him watching the news when she got a text from Darcy.

Hello Elizabeth it read. Lizzie glanced surreptitiously at Charlie, before typing.

Hi Darcy

How are you?

I'm alright. You?

I am good. Would you like to get that coffee sometime soon?

That would be nice, when do you want to?

Are you free tomorrow?

I am, but with freshers, I think the place in town will probably be packed.

I was thinking about going over to Broxbourne – there is a really good place owned by a French couple. I can drive us

Sounds nice. Four-ish?

See you then

Lizzie put her phone down on the arm of the sofa, and chewed her lip. She still was not sure about going out with Darcy, but he really had seemed different down in Kent, and she wanted to give him a chance. She looked up, having noticed that the room was silent, to see Charlie had paused the news, and was watching her with an enormous grin on his face.

"So..?" he asked enthusiastically.

"Hmm, what?"

"That was Will wasn't it? He said he was going to call, but I think he chickened out. Where are you going?"

"What makes you think I said yes. And how do you know, for that matter."

"Because Will is my best friend and a pretty awful liar. I told him last year he liked you, but he denied it for ages, then he comes back from his Aunt doing his version of 'glowing', and I eventually wheedled out of him that he had asked you out."

"This is not a date, Charlie, this is coffee. Just coffee. No date." She gave him a stern look, then reached over him to snatch up the remote, turning the TV programme back on. Charlie just laughed, and pulled her into his side, with his arm around her shoulders.

"If you say so."

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Will Darcy pulled up in his sleek, shiny black car, parking on the street opposite Charlie's front door. He swallowed loudly, wiped his sweating palms on his trousers and got out of the car on shaking legs. His knock on the door was so weak he had to knock again – this time it came out absurdly loud. He ran a trembling hand through his hair. Lizzie answered the door wearing her customary jeans, and a floaty dark green blouse. Will was sure he had never seen anything more beautiful.

"If we go now, we can escape Charlie. I got Jane to phone him so he can't harass us before we leave," she muttered, closing the door behind her quickly. This was not how Will had envisioned their date starting.

"Shall I get the…" he trailed off as Lizzie pulled open the passenger side door and promptly flopped in to the seat. "Right." He sighed as he climbed into the driver's seat when he saw Elizabeth had her head down, rummaging around in her bag, but his smile grew when she started talking.

"I know you said your sister had her exams last term, I don't know what she got," she said, pulling out an envelope, "but getting through them is enough of an achievement, so got her a little something." She handed over the card, which Will tucked into the pocket in the door, and glanced about awkwardly. "So tell me, where we are going?" Will grasped onto her attempt at conversation with enthusiasm.

"It is this tiny coffee shop tucked away in Broxbourne I discovered with Georgie last year. It is run by a French couple who make the most amazing pastries, and the coffee is really good, and they have a load of different teas, so I thought, well, hopefully you will like it," he laughed bashfully. Lizzie assured him that she would, and the drive was spent in frivolous conversation, asking questions about each other they had never thought to before.

"I told everyone at school that a horse at the stables had kicked me in the head, because what self-respecting eleven year old admits they had to get stiches because they knocked a tin of peaches onto their face," Lizzie laughed, leaning over to show Will the scar once he had parked the car. "The only bit that is still there is kind of hidden by my eyebrow, so I don't have to answer questions about it anymore, thankfully." Will brushed the pad of his thumb gently over the scar under her brow; Lizzie ignored the soft, tender look in his eyes.

The coffee shop Will had brought her to was quite a find – tucked away in a small village surrounded by countryside, a wonder of French pastries and artisan coffee had been created. Together, they had exclaimed over the artistry of the elaborated baking, and gratefully ordered several cups of coffee.

"Merci beaucoup Maia, c'est absolument délicieux, comme d'habitude," he said to the owner with a smile. [3] Maia gave him a sweet smile, and replied in in French. Once she had moved on to the next table, Lizzie turned to Will.

"You speak French?" she said with interest.

"I did it at school, then we had a deal with a French-Canadian company a few years ago which honed it – although I was told later on it now has a Canadian accent. Can you speak any other languages?"

"I knew some German when I was younger – I went to nursery in Germany when my Mum was stationed there – but I can't really remember any anymore." All of the awkwardness that permeated their earlier interactions seemed to have evaporated. Their conversation was relaxed, and any silences were companionable – for both of them.

After they had finished their second coffee each and had devoured platefuls of delicate pastries and elegantly decorated miniature cakes, they thanked the owner again and left. Not wishing to be parted yet, they wandered northwards, to the edges of a pretty looking woodland. They strolled together down a gravelled path – when they reached an opening with a view of a large stream tinkling though rocks and stones, they paused, and when Will reached out for Lizzie's hand, she held his back.

TBC…

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[1] Darcy is referring to the Get Out of Jail, Free card in Monopoly – it says 'this card may be kept until needed or sold'.

[2] On the eleventh hour of the eleventh day of the eleventh month, Britain holds a two minute silence to which marks the end of the First World War. The Last Post is the bugle call that was used by the military to signify the end of the day's activities before wristwatches were widely worn. After the 1850s, it began to be used, in the absence of other music, to accompany a soldier who died and was buried abroad, on his final journey. It is now played at military funerals to indicate that the soldier has gone to his final rest – we play it on Remembrance Day and Remembrance Sunday to mark the end of the two minute silence.

[3] "Thank you so much Maia, this is absolutely delicious, as usual"