Lizzy's bright, cheerful smile faltered somewhat when she entered the Pemberley dining room and beheld Fitzwilliam's stern, dark expression.

He stood up slowly, hesitantly as she walked in, uncertain how to greet her. He wanted desperately to run towards her, as was usually his wont, and to encircle her in his eager arms, planting passionate kisses all over her face. But he felt that it was not time for that yet. No, first he had to address the nagging questions that had been bothering him for the past twenty-four hours.

First he needed to assuage his sudden feelings of anxiety, of insecurity, of fear.

And then they would be free to embark upon the cozy evening of cooking and eating and loving.

"William? Is anything the matter?"

He roused abruptly from his thoughts at her appellation. And after a momentary silence, he began apprehensively:

"There is something I wanted to talk to you about, darling."

"Yes?" She placed a hand gently on his shoulder, in a gesture of comfort. But the wave of excitement and desire that her touch sent through his body only increased his anxiety.

"It's just… you see… I wanted to know… it's probably very silly… something's been bothering me…"

"William," She cut if off abruptly, but tenderly. She smiled. "What is it? Just tell me."

"Greg was here yesterday," He responded simply.

The fleeting glimpse of panic in her eyes pained him. 'Why does she suddenly look so fearful? Is she guilty? Is she distressed?'

"And?" She asked tentatively.

"He said some things about your break-up – that you – that you… that you kissed him a few days ago, when you broke up with him." He drew a deep breath, and, seeing the darkening in her countenance, hurried to add: "I told him that I did not believe a word of it, of course, and ordered him out of the house, but…" He did not know how to finish.

"But you did believe it," She finished for him. Calmly, flatly, indifferently.

Her tone gave Fitzwilliam hope.

"It's not true?"

"It is," She answered simply. She wanted to say more, but knew not what. A myriad different feelings coursed through her body, but she could not give way to any of them. Frankly, she knew not what to feel. She wanted desperately to be annoyed at Fitzwilliam for doubting her, but she couldn't, because it was true.

William's face contorted into a grimace of pain.

"Lizzy…" He whispered softly, desperately. "Lizzy, how could you?"

His hurt expression sent a pang of guilt through Lizzy's heart, but she refused to acknowledge it. Instead, she took to arguing rationally:

"How could I what, Fitzwilliam? How could I kiss my boyfriend before unceremoniously breaking up with him? Or did you forget that he was my boyfriend?"

The last phrase was imbued with more venom than was necessary. But it was the only way. She could either agree with him and feel horrible, or she could take offense at his presumptuous, controlling, possessive attitude. The latter was far easier.

"Yes, he was, but… but we had already begun going out together. You had decided to break up with him more than a week before. I thought… I thought…" He could not finish. He had to pause and regain his breathing, lest he erupt into a flood of tears. "I thought you loved me too."

If only at that moment Lizzy had swung her arms around his neck and assured him that she did love him! Then he would be the happiest man on earth, and would no longer give any consequence to Greg's petty words. If only his poor, battered, insecure heart could be assured of her regard! Then perhaps all would be well.

But she could not say, not yet. She felt it at the very tip of her tongue, but no… no, not quite. It was all too soon; it was all too fast. She was not yet certain whether she truly loved him. And Lizzy Bennet was not one to utter those words in vain.

Her silence was all he needed to hear.

His eyes hardened, and his voice grew cold.

"But you don't," He pronounced bitterly. "No, of course, you don't. I was blind to ever think that you could – that just maybe – that you were beginning to come to love me. No, far from it!" He drew a deep breath, and continued bitterly: "No, you slept with him, but you would not let me touch you!"

If his words were cruel, he no longer cared. She had hurt him more than he ever thought possible. And if he could throw even a thousandth part of that hurt back at her – all the better.

Lizzy's head sprung up at his accusing words, and her eyes shone with rage.

"How dare you!" She hissed angrily. "Is that what's gotten you so upset? That you haven't had sex with me? We've been together for a week, and you begrudge me the fact that I haven't let you fuck me?"

"You did it with him," He threw back with venom.

"What I have and haven't done with my previous boyfriends, Mr. Darcy, is non of your concern," She responded coolly.

"Oh, is that so? Am I supposed to completely overlook that you have had no problem fucking that Greg kid, but wouldn't let me anywhere near you? I've had to grovel, beg, plead – all for a chance to have your affection. And all you do is treat me like scum! Like I am not even good enough to have what Greg Samburg had!"

Lizzy seethed. "Did you just hear that last sentence, William? 'You have'; 'Greg had'! You speak as if I'm some stupid possession – a toy that you've wanted. A trinket that used to belong to another boy, and that you now want as your own. So that's all it boils down to; that's all I am to you. This whole tantrum you're throwing is because you're so damn possessive!"

"This isn't about my possessiness! This is about our relationship – our love… the love that I thought was ours, but of which you seem to feel none at all! You made out with another man after agreeing to be with me – after accepting my full, unwavering, adoring devotion! I gave myself to you completely and unreservedly; I gave you my everything; I've been entirely yours. And in return, you don't seem to feel a iota of affection."

He stared into her eyes, and she unwaveringly held his gaze. He inwardly begged her to understand how much she had hurt him, how much he wanted – no, needed – her assurance, her love. And she wished fervently that he would come to see her side too – that her life did not revolve around him exclusively; that it was far more complicated that that; that she was not just a pretty little thing to possess, but a real person with real problems, with real feelings, with real opinions, with real mistakes.

They stood that way for what seemed like eternity, but neither yielded. Neither understood the other. They seemed to have come to an impasse.

Then he suddenly grabbed her shoulders and shook them almost violently.

"Lizzy, don't you understand?" His eyes were filled with desperation, beseeching her to understand. And then, softly, hopelessly: "No, you don't."

He released her arms and shook his head.

He lingered for one more second – giving her a chance to reply, hoping against hope – before turning around and determinedly exiting the room.

After he left, Lizzy let out a pained whimper.

Then a frustrated groan.

Then a desperate cry.

And then she hurried out of that ill-fated mansion. She was too absorbed with her own thoughts, with her own misery, to notice the withering glare that the housekeeper gave her as she left the house.

Three days had passed before Elizabeth Bennet gingerly took the phone in her hand and dialed his number.

Three days had passed before she finally acknowledged to herself that she was the one who had to make this next step.

Three days of walking around with a grumpy grimace on her face. Three days of wallowing in self-pity and blaming the world. Three days of angrily damning him for his possessiveness, for his over-reaction, for his lack of understanding. Three days of thinking that he should call.

Three days before she finally and unequivocally admitted that this time – she was the one at fault.

How easy it had been to always blame him! How easy it had now been to blame him once again – for three whole days.

'How can he be so upset over a kiss when he has kissed Caroline Bingley?'

But that's the thing: he had kissed Caroline Bingley, and the next day he was sending flowers and apology notes, and even agreeing to that monstrous date between her and Greg. That humiliating masquerade with Fitzwilliam Darcy sitting at a separate table watching the woman he loved have dinner with another man.

'He had made so many mistakes himself! With Caroline, with Larissa, with Georgiana! How dare he now explode at me for a simple kiss with a man who was, for all intents and purposes, still my boyfriend?'

But that's the thing: he had made mistakes, but he had also made amends. Always. He kneeled and he begged; he did everything possible to earn her forgiveness for every transgression. And he always more than made up for anything he ever did wrong.

And she? She took three whole days to dial his number.

Tears streamed down Lizzy's face as she thought how terribly wrong she had been, and how terribly much she must have hurt the man whom – she now fully and unreservedly acknowledged – she loved.

She was still angry with him; she still thought that he was not entirely blameless. But that did not matter. What mattered was that while they were both at fault – she was more so. And hence it was her place to call.

The ringing on the other side of the line was pure torture. Why couldn't he just pick up?

At last, she heard a faint "Hello?"

But it was not his voice.

"Mrs. Reynolds?" She asked uncertainly, recognizing the housekeeper. "May I speak with Mr. Darcy, please?"

"And who is asking?"

Lizzy thought she detected a tint of hostility in the pleasant elderly lady's voice. She was puzzled.

"It's Elizabeth Bennet, ma'am," She replied politely.

"Miss Bennet," The housekeeper repeated coldly. "I'm afraid Mr. Darcy does not wish to speak to you. Please do not trouble him again."

"But –"

"Look, Miss, he has expressly informed me that he does not wish to speak with you in the foreseeable future. Good day."

Mrs. Reynolds felt a stab of guilt for such unsolicited intervention, but she extinguished it immediately. She had been a faithful servant to the Darcy household for many years, and she felt she knew what was best. And this woman – this heartless creature – was certainly not good. Having witnessed the last conversation between her employer and Miss Bennet, she felt that the only course of action was to make absolutely sure that he never spoke to that vixen again.

Long rings replaced Mrs. Reynolds' voice on the other side of the line. But Lizzy still clutched the receiver fervently to her ear. When it fell from her lifeless hand a few minutes later, her entire body was shaking form uncontrollable sobs.

'I have lost him.'

Four days had passed before Fitzwilliam Darcy found himself staring at the telephone with pained eyes.

Four days of sheer, unabated torture.

Four days of thinking and rethinking, mentally going over every moment of their last conversation – and every minute detail of their entire acquaintance. Four days of doubting whether he was right. Four days of alternately blaming himself and reproaching her. Four days of wishing desperately to pick up that damned phone and dial her treasured number.

Four days of knowing that this time it was her fault, yet of wanting to badly to cave in.

'How easy it would be to call her, to apologize, to make amends. To follow the same trajectory as I have followed countless times with her. How easy it would be to make things right.'

But that's the thing: it would not make anything right. If she felt for him even a fraction of the love he harbored for her, she would call. He was by no means blameless, and he would apologize to her, of course. But she had to be the one to call first.

'How easy it would be to crawl back to her, to take her into my arms, to forgive her everything without an apology. How easy it would be to then buy a house in New York City, where she wants, to be near her always.'

But he could not. No, this time, she had to make the first step.

And the fact that she had not called him in four days could only mean one thing.

In two days she would leave Meryton and his life, and he would not be at the airport to see her off. In two days, it would all be over.

'I have lost her.'

Two days later, when Lizzy's plane took off from the Netherfield airport, two hearts seemed to break irreparably.