"Miss Bennet, it is time to wake up."

Elizabeth woke with a start and looked blearily at the maid that had gently shaken her awake, who said, "It is seven o'clock, and you asked to be awakened."

Elizabeth nodded, and found that she woke up very quickly once she realized that there were things to be done. She surprisingly felt quite refreshed, wondering if even the beds in Pemberley were magic in some way.

"Thank you… my apologies, I did not get your name yesterday."

The maid, a kindly looking woman of perhaps forty years replied, "You did not miss it, ma'am. I was visiting some tenants for Mrs. Reynolds on the other side of the estate. I returned late last night."

Elizabeth was no longer surprised that Pemberley took care of its tenants, whether Mr. Darcy was in attendance or not. It was just the way things were obviously done on the estate.

The maid gave a small curtsy which might have seemed silly with Elizabeth still lying in bed, but she managed to make it seem like the right thing to do, and said, "I am Molly Stewart, ma'am. If you have no objections, I should like to serve as your lady's maid."

Elizabeth said, "I have no objections, thought I do not believe I need one for more than a dozen minutes per day. Should I address you as 'Molly', 'Stewart' or something else?"

"'Stewart' would be perfect, ma'am, and I will dispute the dozen minutes per day."

Elizabeth laughed a bit, and said, "I see, you have heard the rumors of the disagreeable dragon lady, I presume? Or perhaps, you know how frightful my hair is to control, or my extreme pickiness in all things clothing related."

Molly laughed, and said with a smile, "Perhaps I need to see to catching up on the gossip, Miss Bennet. My friends neglected to mention any of those things, but the day is young."

Elizabeth laughed along with her, and said, "Well Stewart, what shall we do with our dozen minutes."

"I have taken the liberty of bringing you a tray. Stockton told me you did not eat nearly enough last night. I do not know your preferences, so we just brought a variety. Once you are done with that, I will need you to try on your dress. They hemmed the sleeves and length last night, but I believe it needs some work on the bodice. I will see to that while you have your bath."

A bath sounded heavenly, and Elizabeth was by no means going to demure on that particular instruction, so she climbed out of bed and put on a dressing gown. She did not know which rooms she had been assigned, but knew she was in the family wing, and looked around the room in delight.

It was a large, well‑proportioned room, handsomely fitted up. Elizabeth, after slightly surveying it, went to a window to enjoy its prospect. The hill, crowned with wood, which they had descended in the rain the previous day, receiving increased abruptness from the distance, was a beautiful object. Every disposition of the ground was good; and she looked on the whole scene, the river, the trees scattered on its banks and the winding of the valley, as far as she could trace it, with delight.

It had stopped raining and had all the appearance of being a perfectly sunny day, thought the ground would obviously be muddy. Peering here and there through the window, Elizabeth got a better look at the estate and smiled in wonder. She had seen Pemberley reasonably well through a short break in the rain the previous day from across the valley, though at the time she had not taken the effort to really appreciate it.

It was a large, handsome stone building, standing well on rising ground, and backed by a ridge of high woody hills; and in front, a stream of some natural importance was swelled into greater, but without any artificial appearance. Its banks were neither formal nor falsely adorned. Remembering the view from the previous day, Elizabeth was delighted. She had never seen a place for which nature had done more, or where natural beauty had been so little counteracted by an awkward taste.

Sighing in resignation that she would not be able to explore, she went into the sitting room to begin her day. There she found a tray with just about every kind of breakfast food she could imagine.

"I cannot possibly eat all this."

"Do not worry, Miss Bennet. Eat what you wish, and we shall see to the rest."

Not normally a person for a large breakfast, Elizabeth sat down to nibble at the porridge, but soon found it gone, along with several slices of ham, an egg, a half‑dozen rolls, a cup of coffee and another of chocolate.

"I imagine I was hungrier than I thought."

"Yes, ma'am. Now, we just have time to pin the dress before your bath."

Elizabeth looked at the dress presented, and said, "Truly Stewart, that dress does not need any work. I wore one of Miss Darcy's dresses yesterday, and it was perfectly adequate."

Stewart looked at her sternly, and said, "'Perfectly Adequate' will not do for the mistress of this house, Miss Bennet."

Surprised that she was not snapping at the woman, Elizabeth said kindly, "I am not the mistress of this house. I am simply helping Miss Darcy."

"No, ma'am. For all intents and purposes, you are the mistress, and…"

Elizabeth saw the moment that the maid thought her tongue ran away from her head, and an embarrassed look passed over her face.

She gently asked, "… and?"

"'Tis not my place, ma'am."

Elizabeth said, "It is not my place to be acting as mistress either, so we are even. Please tell me what you were about to reveal. As you say, I am mistress for perhaps another day until Lord and Lady Matlock appear. It would help me to know what is being said below stairs. If I am doing damage that Mr. Darcy will have to repair, I would at least like to know what it is."

Looking shocked, Stewart said, "'Damage', how could you even think that. No, Miss Bennet. People have said that you took this role reluctantly, but executed it perfectly, with grace and intelligence. They are hoping that… well…"

"Go on, I shall not censure you."

"Well, they are hoping for a permanent mistress. If not you, then someone very much like you."

Elizabeth stared at the maid with a sinking feeling in her gut, but it was nowhere near as distressing as it should have been. She had known that her reputation might not survive this experience intact. There could be nothing worse than being seen as a grasping mercenary, intent on forcing her way into an estate. She might very well be beyond the moment when she would be required to accept Mr. Darcy's proposal just to remain respectable.

"What do the people of the area think of me, Stewart. Am I likely to be starting rumors along those lines? Will my reputation survive this experience?"

Stewart looked shocked, and said, "Of course it will, Miss Bennet. Everyone for a dozen miles has heard the story of a young lady who stepped in to help her particular friend, Miss Darcy. You are attributed only the highest of motives. Nobody believes you are scheming to become Mrs. Darcy, but… well, we can hope and dream."

Elizabeth sighed, and said, "It is a bit of a muddle, Stewart. I do not suppose there is any talking you out of an hour improving that dress. You seem like a woman who will agree with me on every particular, nod your head sympathetically, but make certain all of my instructions precisely match your desires."

Both women laughed at that, though both strongly suspected there was more truth than jest in the statement.

"Well, let us get on with it. I would not want to embarrass this fine estate."

Elizabeth thought there could not possibly be a finer pleasure in life than a hot bath after a dirty and dusty day. She reveled in the simple pleasure of having hair that was clean, and free of smoke and ash. She decided to indulge herself with at least a quarter hour of simply soaking and was pleased to see Stewart joined her in a chair in the corner, to work on her dress.

"Stewart, what can you tell me about Mr. Darcy?"

"Which one, Miss Bennet. I have known the present master since he was breeched, and his father before that."

"Either one… both… well, we do not have all day, so tell me something interesting."

Stewart drew a few more threads, and said, "Both are the finest men I know. I assume you must know that, since it must be perfectly obvious to anyone who knows them well. The current master is the best landlord, and the best master, that ever lived. There is not one of his tenants or servants but will give him a good name. Some people call him proud; but I am sure I never saw anything of it. To my fancy, it is only because he does not rattle away like other young men."

Elizabeth would have been astonished to hear that, and vigorously denied it a few weeks ago, but a long time spent reflecting on the man had left her in a more receptive mood. She had known him for six weeks in Hertfordshire, and another fortnight in Kent, most of it in social situations where all intercourse was constrained by both the rules of propriety, and to be honest, her prejudice against the man because he had found her not handsome enough to dance with. In Hertfordshire, they were also nearly constantly dodging the cloying attentions of Miss Bingley, which did not add any pleasure to an interaction.

In realty, she did not know the man at all, but was beginning to reevaluate all of their interactions. At the moment, she was at least disposed to listen and learn. After all, she had two months of acquaintance, while Stewart had over twenty years, and Miss Darcy had a lifetime. Was this not what she had been scratching for in Kympton and Matlock?

Very cautiously, she said, "You present a very good picture of the gentleman, though I must confess, I have not seen that aspect of him."

Stewart looked shocked, and then said, "Perhaps you did not see him at his best, Miss Bennet. I know that in society, he tends to shyness and reserve, which comes across as haughtiness. I believe the ladies of the ton have been hunting him for years, and he does not react well. He is especially vulnerable when he meets marriageable ladies with, how shall I say it, 'ambitious' mothers."

"Perhaps. So, what makes you think I am not just another huntress, who has found a better strategy. I can assure you, I know ladies who would jump at the chance to do what I have done to force his hand."

Stewart looked down at her sewing for a minute, and said, "He is very much like his father, Miss Bennet. You are right… you could probably force his hand after this, but nobody in this house believes you would, and to be honest, there are those who would consider that outcome nearly ideal. This house needs a permanent mistress."

Elizabeth gasped, but Stewart just laughed a bit.

"Do not worry, Miss Bennet. Those are just dreams. Nobody but me would dare speak them aloud, and I would not to anybody but you."

"You have known me all of an hour, Stewart."

"I have known Miss Darcy since she was born, Miss Bennet, and Mr. Breton as long as Mr. Darcy. They trust you, and that is good enough for me."

"So, tell me about Mr. Darcy."

For the next hour, as she finished her bath, dried her hair and got her dress altered, Elizabeth got the first true, first‑hand, honest assessment of Mr. Darcy. If Stewart was to be trusted, he did indeed sound like the best of men. Stewart did not stint in praise, nor was she shy about telling when he did something disagreeable, which happened as often as it might for anybody.

She had quite a lot to say about the three boys that grew up together. She could not say enough good things about two of them, nor enough bad things about the third. Elizabeth was shocked to learn just how very bad Mr. Wickham appeared to be, and she became ashamed that she fell for his tale so readily. She had already decided he was unreliable, but now had to entertain the shocking idea that he deliberately lied, specifically to paint Mr. Darcy in a bad light. Stewart did not know all the particulars, but believed he was an especially bad man, and that he would do just about anything to injure the master, any chance he got. Furthermore, not only could he do it, but he had done it more than once.

Elizabeth had the uncomfortable thought that like a ship who took the wrong river, Mr. Wickham had pointed her in the wrong direction, and she had taken just about every interaction after that point in a negative light, just because it matched her first impression. She resolved that she would have to go back to basics and rethink every single interaction, with the idea that Mr. Darcy was being as honest as he could under the circumstances, which was admittedly not without fault. Stewart was just about done with the dress, when Elizabeth suddenly gasped with fright at a startling thought. Poor Stewart thought she might have stuck her with a pin, and it took a moment to convince her otherwise, but at the end of that, a thought struck her like a lightning bolt.

Suppose Mr. Darcy started feeling an attraction to her but found her circumstances not adequate for the Mistress of Pemberley. He had no indication that she could manage a large estate. Her younger sisters were noisy flirts, her mother was an ill‑mannered mercenary who made no bones about it. Her father was an indolent master who left daughters with no dowries or education to speak of. She had no connections, no wealth, marginal beauty and accomplishments; in short, nothing to recommend her. Suppose he felt some attraction anyway, or even fell in love as he claimed. Not love as a man is expected to declare in a proposal out of form, but true love, of the kind that a man could not ignore. He would be honor bound to keep his distance, not raising any expectations until he was certain. When he was certain, he would have to make his intentions known, but before that, he could not in good conscience do so, for fear of raising expectations that could not be met and then damaging a lady and her reputation as had happened to her poor sister. The Mr. Darcy that Stewart described, would not do that.

All of a sudden, it seemed like Mr. Fitzwilliam Darcy was not so very complicated after all. He may well be just what he appeared to be – a man who fell in love very much against his will, against his reason, against his family and societal expectations, and against his better judgment.

If that was the case, it begged a single question. Was that a bad thing?