Elizabeth Bennet half-awoke with an itch in her nose that was driving her mad. Maybe sleeping on straw was not in fact the best idea ever. She was trying to either sneeze or not sneeze as the case may be, but found herself caught in that place in the middle that was neither one nor the other. Perhaps, she thought, this sneeze was the perfect metaphor for her life. She thought about Mary, and how she would have called that a £10 word in their youth when Lizzy wanted everyone to have such delightful and intelligent conversations she drove all of her sisters mad with her attempts at teaching them vocabulary. She really missed Mary, and had not realized just how much.

Thinking of Mary finally settled her sneezing fit down enough for her to pay a little more attention to her surroundings, and she found that something was not quite right. It was not the sneezing fit… not her nostalgia for Mary… not the discomfort of the straw… it was.

With a start, she realized what the issue was. Her head was not on the pillow Mrs. Moffat so graciously loaned her, nor on the bare straw. Her head, she found, was lying squarely in the middle of the chest of Mr. Fitzwilliam Darcy. When the realization finally hit her sleep-addled mind, she started to jump up… but something stopped her. She knew she should be comfortably back on her side of the loft, maintaining her dignity and whatever shreds of propriety they had left, but she could not make herself move. A quick peek out of half-closed eyes showed what she suspected. She had joined him, not the other way round. Now, here she was with her head on his chest, and his arm around her shoulder and she felt… comfortable. That was not the £10 word she would have thought to dream up in this situation. In fact, it was a most ordinary word, an everyday word, nothing in the least remarkable at all; but it was the right word. She was amazed to think, that she was comfortable in the arms of Mr. Fitzwilliam Darcy. Who would have thought? What did it mean?

She heard her big lumpy pillow softly snoring, so unless he was more subtle than expected in his pursuit… and she had to laugh at that. Darcy was many things, but of all the things she knew about him, of all the adjectives she could think of to describe him; subtle would not be on the list. He was as subtle as a sledge-hammer on an anvil, so she could assume he was in fact asleep.

This gave her a few minutes to really stop and think about what she thought and felt about this man. Of several things she was certain. She liked him. She liked him a lot. They complimented each other. Each could shore up defects in deportment or understanding or knowledge of the other. He was an honorable man, who had gone to extraordinary lengths to right what he perceived as a wrong. The fact that at least part of it was out of love for her did not negate it in the least. He could have pursued her affections in any number of ways that were easier and more likely to succeed than his blunt declaration of love back in the inn, so many months ago… wait, that was not months ago, it was 9 days. It was a lifetime. So what did she really think about this man?

She thought furiously for a few minutes, wanting to take this time of closeness to… to what? She really should have moved back to her side of the loft some time ago, but she had not.

While she was thinking about her history with this man, all that had happened between them, she felt the slightest brush on her hair… on the very top of her head. It was the lightest touch you could imagine… the touch you might put on the top of a newborn babe's head… Just exactly like… a kiss.

Elizabeth noticed that her big lumpy pillow was in fact not snoring any more, and there could only be one explanation. The man just could not help himself. He had kissed her. Elizabeth pondered it for a moment more, and decided that she needed to address this immediately.

With just a little struggle, she pushed herself up so she could lay beside him propped up on her elbow and looked the man directly in the eyes. This forced his hand off of her shoulder, but he just let it slide down to her waist, and kept it there, clearly not relinquishing the contact without a fight, and he just looked at her intently, waiting to see what she had to say.

She began, "Fitzwilliam…"

She paused for a moment, as he just continued looking at her, waiting for her to decide what she had to say. Clearly, he felt it was a time to listen, not talk.

Elizabeth searched her mind for what she had been prepared to say, and then she decided perhaps she was looking in the wrong place. She looked inside her heart, for the first time in some time, and the answer was staring her in the face. It was all so obvious, once you looked properly.

With a shy smile, she took a deep breath and said, "Fitzwilliam Darcy! Yes, I will marry you."

She did not think that was all she had to say, but the feeling of finally coming to terms with her own heart nearly overwhelmed her. She realized that it was the kiss that he placed on her head that was the turning point, or perhaps just the last of many turning points that had been spinning her in circles seemingly forever. That was the point in which she realized that it was not enough. It was not even close to enough. She would not settle for a little kiss on the top of her head – not from this man. Not from her man. She wanted it all. This did not mean she wanted to anticipate her vows… that would come in good time; but she wanted everything from him, heart and mind and body and soul. Truly, if the kiss he bestowed on her was not enough… well, maybe she would just find out what was enough.

With that, no more words were needed for the moment, as she proceeded directly to show her Fitzwilliam what kind of kiss she needed… in exacting detail. Perhaps should anyone else know what transpired here she might be called a fallen woman, or of lose morals, or wanton; but she knew the truth. In this kiss, they were sealing their bargain. They were sealing their fate. They were sealing their life together, and while words need not be said, the bargain must be made. The hearts must be joined. Their souls must be one. It was not inevitable, not by any stretch. In fact, it was extremely unlikely given their history, but they had through the grace of good fortune found each other, right here, right now, right in this hayloft; and this chance, this opportunity was not to be wasted. Once she had finally come to understand her own heart, and her own soul's yearning for this honorable man that was holding her still across the back of the waist, still as gently as a newborn babe, she would brook no obstacle. He was hers, and she was his!

Finally, after an eternity, she lay back down on the straw, and put her head back on his chest where it started out the morning, and felt a sense of peace that she could not possibly describe. She felt.. she felt… She felt home. Right here, or really, just about anywhere with this man. She was finally home.

She felt that she had however not given this man who was now everything to her a fair bargain. He had laid his heart bare, and she had only given him the barest of answers. His heart had received all the answer it needed, but she needed to answer his mind.

"William, I believe I owe you more explanation than that."

He just chuckled, and said, "You said the only word I need to hear Elizabeth, and you showed me the only heart I need to feel. I need nothing more, but I will gladly listen. What question is so burning in your heart that you feel it must be answered."

Elizabeth just whispered, "Why"

William was sure there was something she had to say… had to get out of her mind to complete their binding, and for his part, he was content to listen to anything.

"All right Elizabeth, Why?"

She said, "I now know I love you with all my heart. I am certain of it, but the reasons… Really, it is so many things. The fact that you love me so fiercely is very powerful, and it was the first thing that started pounding away at my wall of reserve and prejudice. How can one stand against such a pure declaration of heartfelt love? Perhaps someone without a heart could, but I cannot. After that, it was your kindness, the way you treated me and everyone around you. The respect you show to everyone from a hostler to Mr. Moffat… and to me. You are truly a changed man from what I thought I knew in Hertfordshire. If you did all that for me I would accept it, but I do not believe that to be the case. I believe you did it for yourself as much as for me, and for that I adore you. I could never countenance a man who had not enough respect for his own soul to choose affection at the expense of respect. That would not be love."

She paused to take a breath, and he, acting on some instinct, said nothing. He just bent his head down and kissed her on the top of the head again, in just the same spot as before. He suspected he might be doing that for quite some time, and he certainly would not be one to complain about it.

Elizabeth continued, "In the end, when I looked in both my heart and my head, I found there is nothing there but you. I cannot picture a life that does not have you in it. It is as simple as that. You are the love of my life, my missing piece."

He said, "I have another confession, Elizabeth."

"Proceed"

He said, "For some time now…"

He paused to gather his thoughts, and said, "When I first realized I loved you, I imagined I would spend a life of torment, imagining a life without you and it would drive me mad. But that's not what happened. Well, it did actually drive me nearly mad in the end, but it was not imagining my life without you."

She crawled back up on her elbow and looked at him again, and since he seemed to be stuck for words, she thought perhaps to loosen up his tongue with a kiss, or perhaps two would suffice.

When she was finally back with her head on his chest, which seemed to be a prerequisite for either of them being able to form a sentence with more than two words, he started talking.

"As it turned out, I did not torture myself with images of a life without you, because I could not picture such a thing. I could not picture a child of mine that was not clinging to your skirt, or sitting on your lap for a story. I could not picture Pemberley without you there. I cannot imagine a conversation with my housekeeper without your council. I could not imagine teaching a child to ride a horse without you standing on the porch looking worried. I cannot imagine Pemberley after I am gone in anyone's hands but your son. It is not that I thought Pemberley would be a forlorn and empty house without you… I could not picture it at all. It became impossible to envision anything at all without you sneaking into the picture."

Elizabeth sighed, and said, "I must confess William, last night with little Emma on my lap, I tried to wonder if it would be my own children there one day, and I… I… I could not picture it without you standing there looking over at us."

She giggled, wanting to stop these thoughts before they became too maudlin, a trait she now knew they both shared, and said, "Perhaps, we just lack imagination William!"

He started giggling like a schoolgirl, and Lizzy joined him. He said, "Yes, we are the two dullest people in England!"

At that, they laughed some more, then kissed some more, then laughed some more, and kissed some more, and found themselves deeply in discussion about their future life, and in particular their next se'nnight, and where they would be married, and when they could have the banns read, and how they would help the others they loved; when one of the boys called them into breakfast. They did not want to attract undue attention so they did not attend church with the Moffats, but the Sunday's respite from travel gave them a day to just be together. To drink in their own comfort. To allow their souls to heal. To become a loving couple. To prepare to face life's challenges. To become one.

Neither of them were naïve. They both knew they had difficulties aplenty in the days and years to come. They were both still just as stubborn and willful as they had been that morning, and would probably still be tomorrow. However, they were decided. They were now we, and would be such until their dying breath.

As all days must, Sunday came to an end, with them not even pretending to separate themselves in the loft. There would be time for propriety soon enough, but for the moment, they looked down at the cows and goats, and decided they looked trustworthy enough to keep their own council.

Monday morning, found them in discussion with Mr. Moffatt.

Darcy said, "Mr. Moffat, I deeply appreciate your hospitality, but I am afraid I must beg one more indulgence."

Mr. Moffat looked carefully at the man. The man who came in Saturday afternoon had almost the look of a nervous but determined schoolboy. This man had the look of a man who had made his place in the world. Of course, one look at Miss Elizabeth yesterday afternoon had told the whole story front to back, top to bottom and he was certain all would be well. Mr. Moffatt just grinned from ear to ear, which was nearly indistinguishable from his normal countenance, and nodded for Darcy to continue.

Mr. Moffat, I would like to continue muddying Miss Jane's trail for a bit, but I am afraid that dogcart and horse may have been seen a few times too often. Would you mind hiding the cart and horse for a month, and then either sell them or keep them. I would consider it a great service."

Mr. Moffatt howled like a monkey, not fooled for a moment, but respectful of the young rapscallion who had somehow turned his politeness on its head and forced him to take payment for both sets of visitors; even though he thought their company to be payment in full a hundred times over.

He simply said, "I will see to it, Mr. Darcy, with a wink showing he was not fooled at all… just in case Darcy missed the previous howling."


Three days of hard travel saw Elizabeth sitting in a bath in Darcy house, her first bath in what seemed like months. They had arrived at Darcy house to find an enormous stack of letters from Georgiana telling them all the particulars of what had occurred in Longbourn in the last fortnight and Elizabeth gasped in consternation; but finally decided she did in fact have a formidable sister. In the end, they only missed her by ten days, and while Elizabeth would have liked to have been there to support her, it was clear Jane had made her place, and Elizabeth would not have given up the last fortnight for anything in the world.

She came out ready to collapse on the ever-so-soft bed of the mistress's suite, which would be hers in a month after the banns had been read… unless of course her betrothed got antsy and went to the archbishop for a special license. Lizzy gave about a fifty‑fifty chance of that outcome, knowing both of their impatience.

The housekeeper brought in two modistes, and they found they could make Miss Darcy's dresses work for her in almost no time, if they cut a few inches off the bottom. Georgiana would consider them hand-me-downs practically ready for the rag bin, but they were the finest clothes Lizzy had ever worn.

Finally, the day was over, and they headed for their respective beds. They both thought about repeating their hay loft experience, but had absolutely no faith whatsoever in avoiding anticipating their vows under that provocation, so they wisely desisted separated for the night.

The next day was Friday the 3rd of July, and they would leave at first light for Longbourn to finally, once and for all, reunite with their eldest sister, and soon with their other sisters.