Looking at job listings all weekend energized Lizabeth. Some were in traditional library settings, alas didn't pay much, but still had the appeal of being in her field. Others were related, such as a university position that wanted someone with experience scanning documents to microfilm.

Emboldened, she began applying for any positions that seemed appropriate even if she felt only partially qualified (something she wouldn't have done a year ago). Lizabeth threw in every bit of detail about the work she had done in the recording office and hoped someone would write her back.

But if they did contact her, she would need to travel to Los Angeles for an interview. But that was a thought for another day.

"You look chipper," said Doug as he held the door open for her that morning.

"I'm feeling more put together," Lizabeth admitted as she walked in and turned on the lights.

"Something good?"

She stopped to wait for the terminal to come online. "I'm taking charge."

"Good to hear. I worry about you, you know." He put his cup and the bag from the Hill Café on the desk then leaned against it. "I've been waiting for you to share, but you've been in your own bubble, and Lydia's been here. But just know that I'm concerned. I read everything in the paper about Spectre hoodwinking all those people and fleeing to Russia, and that guy being in on it, or maybe even being the head of it, and detaining you." Doug looked at her with a question in his eyes.

"It wasn't an adventure or romantic. It was terrifying," she said. "Not a story, like a happy-ending story. Definitely when the reality is something you have a hard time describing, but everyone wants to hear about it. In detail."

"I'm sorry." He held out his hand as though to shake hands. Lizabeth was momentarily confused by the gesture. "I'm in solidarity with you," Doug explained. "I don't need to hear the details, and I don't feel like I can hug you in sympathy, but I'm sorry for everything nasty that happened. You, out of everyone I know, didn't deserve it." She took his hand. It was warm and wrapped around hers in a firm handshake.

"Thanks," she smiled. "This means a lot." She squeezed his hand, maybe a little too hard in return.

Doug tapped her shoulder gently with his other hand. "I think the terminal is up. You can enter your magic password now."

"Oh! Right." She let go and turned, feeling happy even if there were a few tears in her eyes, and logged the public terminal onto the county system.

Mary didn't work Mondays, but Jane was in the bar when Lizabeth walked in. "How did it go?" she asked, curious and maybe a little confrontational. Lizabeth knew she came with an agenda, but the two women's lives seemed to be going along parallel lines.

"Traffic is a nightmare, but it went well, really well." Jane grinned, an expression that seemed uncharacteristic.

"So, you're thinking of moving?" Lizabeth prompted.

"Maybe. I don't know." That sounded more like Jane. "How are you?" Open-ended questions were also a Jane specialty.

"Coping. Each day is a little easier," Lizabeth admitted.

"William mentioned your…confinement before it was written up in the papers. It really bothered him. Charles and I spent a lot of time consoling him one night. He was upset about you being hurt and blamed himself. Said he'd come down to the bar to drown his sorrows, but we talked him out of drinking too much and just…talked to him." She paused to smile at her friend. "Maybe I'm not explaining this well. But William was concerned, really worried about you because he hadn't been able to get a hold of you. It was tearing him up."

Lizabeth's stomach lurched. She hadn't been able to think beyond her own needs and hadn't considered that he cared so much that he was drowning his sorrows in drink. "I'm sorry my situation upset him so much. Sorry too, that I didn't call. At the time, I couldn't. It was tough. I was jittery, panicky, those first few days. Then I went home to see my parents, and that was another set of issues."

"Have you talked a lot to him since?" Jane asked.

"Just the once. We talked through the incident." Lizabeth blew out a small breath. "I need a name for it or need to figure out what to call it. 'My kidnapping' or 'being confined' or what?"

"You don't have to joke about it if you don't want to. Or even talk more about it. Is that why you came to the hotel?" Jane asked.

"No, not really," said Lizabeth. "I wanted to find out if you have decided to move to LA? And if you were going to move there, were you moving in with Charles, or do you want to get a place together?" She leaned down to put her head on her hand, with her elbow resting on the counter. That had been a bold set of questions.

"Wow. I still had it as a sort of back-burner decision, but you sound ready to go." Jane looked thoughtful. She was used to planning out the smallest details in her line of work, but Lizabeth wondered if she did the same when it came to her life. "Charles has a friend, who has a friend, who works at a hotel in Beverly Hills that may be looking for an event planner. I think I need to press him to get the contact information and see if this might just work."

"I think you should." Lizabeth nodded. "If you're willing to make the leap."

"I think I am." A gleam sparkled in Jane's eyes. "I think I am."

Caroline hadn't been willing to scrap Bella Montaña or to consider changing how they worked and pushing their schedule a year out.

"Nobody works that way," she asserted, cutting him off. "You can't keep up with trends."

"We do historical stuff," William replied.

"But we highlight current trends couched in history," Caroline quipped. "And we need a romantic lead for Charles." They set Mary King the task of writing the final episodes (she had finally settled on a name; Erin was too close to Aaron), and she had created a romantic entanglement for Charles to end the first season.

"I had an interesting phone call a while ago," Caro said one afternoon.

"Who is it this time?" William asked. "Some would-be actress who's already heard the rumors about our plans? The Webbs didn't call did then?"

"No, and since you will never guess, I will tell you outright. Lizabeth Bennet called me out of the blue." She smiled, gently, but with so much emotion behind it, he was momentarily stunned.

"Lizabeth!" William felt himself fall. It was the only way he could characterize his body (which was already seated), settling down even more into his chair as he stared back at her. He waited for Caroline to say 'just kidding,' though that wasn't her way.

"Lizabeth called you?"

"Yes. She's job-hunting and wanted advice."

"I guess I hadn't believed her," he murmured, mostly to himself.

"What! Did you know?" Caro asked.

"She mentioned it. We talked, had lunch, right after Ryan fled, after that business with him tying her up. I had to make sure she was okay. But…I just…I don't know. I didn't think she meant it," said William.

"Has she ever said anything that you didn't believe in the past?" The anger tinging her voice was palpable.

"I've fucked up again, haven't I? Thinking she's just saying things out of the top of her head like most people do here."

"I suppose you're waiting for her to call you too? Don't wait for a reason to come to you!" she yelled.

He didn't think it possible to disappear more into his chair, but he tried.

"I told you, romance. That means getting off your butt and doing a little wooing. When she moves down here and meets a totally slick fellow like Charles, and you see her everywhere around town on his arm, don't say I didn't warn you." Caro's voice was back under control.

"Is that all you're going to share?"

She seemed on the verge of speaking but bit her tongue. "Yes, that's all I'm going to say."

Over the next few days, Lizabeth came up with many excuses to call William—she could be honest and say she was job-hunting, or say she wanted to move to Southern California, or that she simply wished to see how he was. But she was never able to pick up the phone.

Jane texted practically every day to say she had talked to Charles, had some leads, and was enthusiastic about the idea of making the leap to LA.

I've got this. I'm ready. Had been Jane's last text message.

Lizabeth had been ready even before this point. And though she had the drive, she didn't have a job or a place to live. Nor would her savings last unless she found a job. But her worries were relieved when a state college called about their library position scanning books to microfilm. The pay was comparable to what she made at the recording office, and she jumped at the opportunity. In some ways, it was a step down as she had more responsibility where she was: essentially running the office by herself. But working at a college library meant the potential for advancement. At the John Muir Recording Office, there was nowhere to go.

She broke the news to her family gently. Scott's high school graduation was a noisy affair on the school's football field with family and friends sitting in the stands. The graduates filed in all decked out in cap and gown. Her cousin Tyler had flown home to support his little brother, so her aunt and uncle's focus was elsewhere.

The kids with surnames beginning with G had filed past to get their diplomas, so Lizabeth wouldn't be distracting her aunt's focus while her uncle was talking to Tyler.

"I wanted to share that I have news as well," Lizabeth began. Chrissie turned with a smile. She was a proud mother that day. "I have a job interview; it's a librarian position. It's not in Merton, however, but at a college down in Southern California."

Her aunt's face was instantly worried. "Southern California! So far! Lizabeth!" She put a hand out on her arm.

"Oh, dear. If you have such a reaction, I fear mother is going to have a heart attack." She took her aunt's hand in between her two. "I am well and truly able to care for myself, despite everyone thinking to the contrary. My friend Jane and I are to get a place together so that I won't be living by myself. It's not an evil place. Millions of people live in Los Angeles and never come to any harm." She let go of Chrissie's hand. "I think I've had enough drama in my life that I can live comfortably for forty years without anything befalling me but ingrown toenails."

"I worry," said Chrissie Gardiner.

"You don't need to," Lizabeth asserted. "Do you worry nearly as much about Tyler and Scott? They'll both be living all the way across the country. I am years older, out of school, and financially independent."

Her aunt colored in embarrassment at her assertion that her worry had been due to Lizabeth being female—a little girl. No one wanted to let her grow up, it seemed.

"You have changed since coming to Merton. I think I need to do some changing, some house-cleaning of my own," said Chrissie. She smiled, a small gentle one. "Tell me about the job so I can run interference for you with Dawn."

"Thank you!" Lizabeth let out a rather loud breath, then shared all of her and Jane's plans for moving (including the fact that their new jobs were on opposite sides of Los Angeles, so they would both be forced to commute).

Charles was full of news about Jane moving close. While William congratulated his friend, he still brooded and wondered at his inability to decide what to do about Lizabeth. He knew what he wanted to do, but couldn't find the strength to call her and ask her for a date. To be rejected again would be too much. He felt he had everything any woman would want, except for someone like Lizabeth. What could he offer her?

But many things happened, all in a short space of time. The family lawyer called. The government had seized Pemberley House, and William was without any leverage. The best-case scenario would be that they would auction the entire property, and he might be able to purchase it outright (though he would have to bet against other interested parties). Whether the government would compensate him for his one-third share was still up in the air. It was a blow.

His aunt called, and he answered. It was a long conversation as she had much to share, but for the first time, the conclusion at the end of her ramblings wasn't for him to immediately attend her. While she had no resolution about her future or finances, Anne's flight seemed to have been a wake-up call for Catherine Deburg. Perhaps his one remaining relative had a modicum of sense when she was faced with nothing.

The call-backs for the role of Charles' love interest were to commence after the three-day weekend, on Tuesday. William hadn't been impressed with any of the actresses, but William Darcy Productions wasn't Hollywood, just streaming. They weren't going to get top-billed actresses.

Somehow, when he woke on Saturday morning, with a three-day weekend looming in front of him, instead of work, William saw opportunity. It wasn't as though he was driving to Merton to talk to Lizabeth about considering the role of Clara Cooper, their newest Bella Montaña character. Nor was he driving to Merton to speak with his aunt or to see the chained-up gates of his family home. He was going to see Lizabeth in person to see what amends he could make.

He thought of her every day and dreamed of her at night. His affection and love for her had grown in the intervening time; it hadn't diminished by being apart. She really was like no other. William considered his initial wishes and desires when his eyes had first landed on her and been unable to move elsewhere. Lizabeth had been a bright, joyful woman, so unlike any he knew.

But he had not appreciated what he had, placing work before their relationship, and making assumptions about Lizabeth and her motivations. He had deserved to be dumped. But he was making amends now as he navigated the freeway, far more content than that last drive to Merton. For once, he had no plan, no to-do list beyond finding Lizabeth—to stare into her dark eyes—and letting her know how valuable she was to him.

When William pulled into her apartment complex, he still had no specific plan to woo her back. Somehow, appearing on her doorstep with flowers and chocolates would seem forced when he wasn't sure how she felt about him. But a stilted conversation over the phone wouldn't suffice; they needed to talk within proximity of each other even if they couldn't necessarily look the other in the eye because of embarrassment or anger. William was willing to let her feel however she wanted about him. But he wanted to see and hear every feeling in person.

Slamming the car door startled him from his internal monologue, and he looked across the parking lot at her building. The landscaping looked a little browner in the heat of May than it had back in early April. That damn cat and chasing her around for twenty or thirty minutes that day. His mind made a pleasant leap to their first night together, and he smiled, heartened about his mission. A path snaked around the building, and he followed it to the stairs that led up to her apartment.

William heard a door click; he looked over and watched Lizabeth's downstairs neighbor pull her door closed and lock it.

"Hello," she said, turning back. "You're that nice young man who borrowed spices."

"Hello, yes," he nodded. He couldn't recall her name. Typically, he was good with names as that was important in his line of work, but his brain was elsewhere.

"Coming to visit?" the older woman prompted.

"Yes…I haven't seen my friend for a while, thought I would pop by." He didn't need to explain himself, didn't need to stand and talk to her, but dashing up the stairs seemed rude.

"Do you like to cook?" The bags in her hand indicated that she was making a grocery store run, so food must be on her mind.

"I love to cook," William answered. He got pulled into a discussion of cuisine, arguing that there were multiple types, while Mrs. Annesley (he finally recalled her name) said there were truly only two, Western—meaning French—and Asian.

There was another small sound, and he didn't look around for its source. But then he heard footsteps on the stairs, and a slight shadow passed over the two of them. William looked up to see Lizabeth frozen in the middle of the stairs, staring down at him.

"William!" She sounded surprised, but not shocked. "You've come!"

"I should get on with my grocery shopping," said Mrs. Annesley, looking at the two of them.

"Thank you for the chat," he said, briefly turning to nod to the older woman.

When he turned back to Lizabeth, she had moved a few more steps down the staircase. "I'm glad you've come. I can't help but say that I'm glad you've come." She took a few more steps down to stand a foot above him.

"I'm sorry if I startled you. I didn't call first to let you know. I wasn't sure what my reception would be, I just knew I had to come—to see you," he explained

Lizabeth held out a hand, and he clasped hers, helping her off the step. "Maybe let us walk a little and talk," she suggested. Her apartment complex had walkways that wound around the many buildings. It would never occur to him to walk in such a place, but it provided a neutral territory for a conversation.

"I must be bold and tell you again that I'm glad that you have come," Lizabeth repeated after they walked away from her building and were crossing the lawn that was the scene of cat-chasing months ago. "I have been thinking of calling you and sharing my news. I possibly have a new job, down near—or nearer—to you. I'm going to share a place with Jane. She's moving too, did you hear?" She turned her head to look at him; her hair spilled across a cheek, but as he firmly had a hold of one of her hands; the lock hung unhindered. A breeze picked it up and blew it across her chin.

With his free hand, he reached over to tug the errant lock free. "Charles is excited to have Jane near." He maneuvered himself in front of her. "I'm excited to hear that you will be near, but even if you weren't, I came intending to ask if we could try again. I messed up badly last time. I let things—work, my stupidity—get in the way. But I want to try again, regardless of what changes you've made. You don't need to move near me for us to try being together again. You're important to me. I didn't realize that until I screwed up and lost you. I've been missing you ever since that wretched phone call. I drove up here this morning fueled only by hope, but tell me if I have a chance?"

Lizabeth's dark eyes stared up at him during the whole of his speech. Her chin was tilted up; her neck angled so she could see him—it was the perfect angle for kissing. But he watched as what seemed like a small flame in her eyes came to life and blossomed as she listened to his speech. A smile crept up her cheeks.

"I want to try again. But I need you close, though that will create its own challenges. And I'm not expecting promises to be with me every night. I don't want you to make me promises you can't keep. But I want, most sincerely, to try again."

William swooped in to taste those lips; they were sweeter and more divine than he recalled. Her arms snaked around his waist as though she would never let him go. He pulled back, decided he wasn't done and had to kiss her once more before they continued walking.

"I fear I've not treated you well, and mean to make it up to you. I'm not sure that I know how to do romance, but we can both learn what the other needs, right?" he asked.

"Right. I don't think that I'm too demanding," Lizabeth said, then snorted—a very un-genteel sound. "I have been a spoiled, pampered child, but I believe that I've overcome much."

"Especially since you threw your mother out of your house," he said with a laugh.

"Perhaps I still am a little spoiled," she said, turning to gaze at him with a mischievous twinkle in her eye. He grabbed her and kissed her again for her impudence.

"I will kiss you every time you look at me like that!"

"I shall never be reformed!" Lizabeth asserted, grinning.

They walked to the far end of the complex, then circled back to the front where Lizabeth's building stood. "I came solely to see you, but I also have this idea of persuading you to act, be an actress in our production," William began.

"An actress! Everyone keeps telling me to act when I've never considered it," she argued.

He explained about the new writer, the updated story arc, and their need to hire a romantic lead. "We've already got Mandy playing Charles' kid sister, so we can't use her. So why not think about it?"

"But I have a job!" Lizabeth stopped to frown at him. William froze, wondering if he had just spoiled his chances with her by bringing up the subject too soon.

"Drop it. I'm sorry." He reached out to rub her arm a little awkwardly. After a few seconds, they walked on.

"So Charles is happy to have Jane near? No more driving north?" Lizabeth asked.

"Yes. I've heard quite a lot about it since we've had him reading with the actresses trying out for his love interest. In between, he waxes on about how happy he is. Apparently, Jane has done well and accepted a position at a hotel?"

"Yes, in Beverly Hills. My job is in Long Beach, so we've tentatively found a place that's sort of half-way between. We'll both have to commute. Not having a ten-minute commute is going to be eye-opening." She made a rude sound.

They reached the bottom of the stairs leading up to her apartment. He stopped when she put a hand on the railing as she started to climb.

"Do you want to come up?" Lizabeth asked. "Or do you have other plans, like to visit your aunt? Or something else?"

"I had no plans but to come to see you and persuade you to love me again," he said. That statement made her jump a little, though her hand on the railing kept her upright.

"You love me?" Lizabeth asked.

"On the evening you called to dump me, you don't know how much you up-ended my world," William explained. "It is no excuse for taking you for granted, assuming you would patiently wait for me to call in a month when I was ready. But in losing you, I realized that I loved you."

"I think I love you too," she said. Her hand dropped, and the foot that rested on the first foot of the stairs fell to the pavement. Her other hand reached out to tug at his sleeve. William stepped forward to wrap an arm around her waist. She moved her hand up to his shoulder, and pulled on his neck, leaning in to kiss him. Her eagerness surprised him. Gone was the shy creature who hadn't wanted to make love with the lights on as she swirled her tongue in a teasing manner while her hands dropped down to rub at his chest and waist.

"Come up," Lizabeth said when they both needed air.

"Weren't you going out?" he asked, worried that things were happening too fast.

"I was out of cat food, that's all. Come up." She tugged at a sleeve, her eagerness obvious, though William thought that she was still a little embarrassed to talk about sex.

They stumbled up the steps, through the door, and into her room, trailing clothes as they went. William was careful and patient, focused on her pleasure. She was playful and welcoming. He couldn't think she'd slept with anyone else since they split, but maybe it was her new-found sense of self that showed up in the bedroom.

When she wrestled with him and pinned him down on his back, insisting she wanted to try it that way, William almost lost it. He thought as they hovered in that sleepy state of bliss afterward, that he loved this side of her.

Change is like a road sign or a hilltop or misty clouds in the distance at the end of a road. While Lizabeth could look down the road and see it, she wasn't there yet. The red tape with the university took time once the offer was made. Signing a lease for an apartment and getting out of the old one took time. And Jane had the one colossal Jenkinson wedding at the hotel to oversee before she could untangle herself from her Merton ties.

But by July, Lizabeth and Jane had a rental van filled with boxes as they pulled up in front of their small duplex. It looked like a miniature box when viewed from the front, though the unit was long and narrow.

"I can't get used to bars on windows," Jane murmured as she stared at the side of the apartment.

"William assured us that this was a safe-enough neighborhood. LA has had more extremes, and not everything is as pretty as Merton. The development hasn't been as controlled," said Lizabeth.

They still locked the rental van before walking up the stairs to their unit, unlocking the front door, and stepping eagerly inside. Every wall screamed with white paint, though perhaps it helped to reflect light through the small windows (the building was probably fifty years old).

The living area was smaller than the one Lizabeth had in her old place; she and Jane were going to have to attempt a lot of trial and error with their furniture to see how it would fit. She now appreciated not purchasing items just for one place but thinking ahead for future installations.

There was a blocked-up fireplace that made a lovely focal point, and the two of them had already discussed how they wanted to decorate that space. Lizabeth's tiny dining room set was perfect for the small dining area as Jane had a huge antique table that she put in storage. They were going to use Jane's kitchen things. Lizabeth's white plates (ones her mother had chosen, insisting 'white goes with everything') had been packed off to a charity shop.

She gave her barely-used second mattress to her aunt and uncle (with Scott moving out, they could use it to replace his childhood bed). Currently, Mrs. Bennet wasn't speaking to Lizabeth, but Chrissie kept Lizabeth informed of what was going on in the Bennet family. It hurt that her mother couldn't be supportive of her decision to move. Dawn had her world view, and LA was an evil place. She also believed that daughters were helpless creatures who forever needed guidance.

Todd Bennet had helped by giving Lizabeth money for a deposit so she wouldn't be dipping into her savings, but she heard from him only in between sports events. Baseball's regular season plus the basketball finals (and his job) were enough to distract him.

The rooms were tiny, and they would have to share a bathroom. Neither bedroom was the master, though the back room was slightly larger.

"I think I have more stuff than you. Okay, if I take this room?" Jane asked. Lizabeth nodded, looking at the room in its current generic form with fake wood floors and aggressive white paint. They would need to do a lot to make it homey.

"I wonder how much time we will both spend here, with our jobs and our…men," said Lizabeth.

"I need my personal space," Jane began, stepping over to peer down from a window, taking a first look for what would become a common sight. "Charles can be too emotional. We're still working on the relationship. I don't think I would have moved here if it meant living with him." She turned to smile at Lizabeth.

"I'm happy with the man-part," Lizabeth remarked. "It's the job thing that worries me. I may never be home." She leaned against the doorframe and watched Jane cross to the other set of windows to check out that view. "I hadn't realized when I applied, that the microfilm job was a night and weekend job. I like a nine to five schedule."

"Yes, but it gives you time to act!" Jane turned to grin.

"I still think this is some weird dream. But when Caroline called to say they still hadn't found the right candidate, and would I consider taking the role, everything sort of fell into place. I was flying down for my job interview, so I thought, 'why not audition?'"

"Charles says you're a natural," said Jane walking over. "And Elizabeth Todd as a stage name! It sounds alluring and elegant."

"I'm glad I'm using a stage name, otherwise Mom would really freak out, might try to kidnap me or something the next time she sees me."

Jane giggled.

"Shall we start to unload or wait for the guys to help?" asked Lizabeth.

"I think we need to let them do the heavy work, but where are they?" Jane murmured.

"William only lives fifteen miles away; he has no excuse for being late," said Lizabeth, who turned and walked down the hallway back towards the front room as the two of them discussed plans for their new apartment. "Maybe Kitty is giving him a hard time and he can't leave. I wish our landlord had allowed pets, but I'm glad she loves William's place."

Jane merely grunted and tugged at the lid on a box as she started to unpack.

The end.

A/N: And bam! The Door closes on another story. More of a hopefully-ever-after. Thank you for coming on this journey with me. I know a few people weren't happy with my Elizabeth at first as she wasn't like book Elizabeth. But that was the point, to show how she grew from her experiences. Maybe she was a little too reflective as she analyzed all interactions that she had with people, but then she learned. And she also learned, somewhere along the line, to feel and express emotions.

Mrs. Reynolds is the character I forgot. Though I believe I simply couldn't figure out how to wrap her into the story. William had Uncle Lewis as his important adult when he was a child, so I couldn't quite bring her into this weird tale where everyone is familiar yet no one acts is exactly predictable ways.

But Darcy wasn't super rich! No, he wasn't in this story. I've made him the son of a hedge-fund manager in previous modern stories; an easy thing to do, especially since I hear tons of tales from my husband who works for a company that makes high-end financial services software. As I mentioned previously, he's the one who gave me the story idea about bit-coin scams and Dark Web software. He shares some wild tales about what the super-rich do for fun. "I need 5 million to build a tennis court for my high school kid who is showing some talent so she can practice every day." Those sorts of extravagances.

But in creating my 'card deck' for this story, I considered how I wanted to portray Darcy. If you read scholars who boil down P&P into elements and themes, etc., they often refer to key moments for each character. For Elizabeth, it's that 'I never knew myself' point when she realizes she's been blind and prejudiced.

But for Darcy, does being rich define him? (In my book, no.) Or is it really his selfish character and overcoming that prejudice? And that his love for Elizabeth and her love for him helps to correct it? This is the true Darcy and not the focus on his wealth.

Key passage:

"I was spoiled by my parents, who, though good themselves, (my father particularly, all that was benevolent and amiable,) allowed, encouraged, almost taught me to be selfish and overbearing, to care for none beyond my own family circle, to think meanly of all the rest of the world, to wish at least to think meanly of their sense and worth compared with my own. Such I was, from eight to eight-and-twenty; and such I might still have been but for you, dearest, loveliest Elizabeth! What do I not owe you! You taught me a lesson, hard indeed at first, but most advantageous. By you, I was properly humbled. I came to you without a doubt of my reception. You showed me how insufficient were all my pretensions to please a woman worthy of being pleased."

In the Regency world, the reward for self-realization (Austen's goal for a woman), was economic, hence Darcy is rich. Even Anne Eliot in Persuasion gets the now-rich Captain Wentworth.

But I figured in the modern world, we girls can own things and make money ourselves, so Darcy's 'worth' doesn't have to be wealth. And wealth is changing, which I detailed (his grandfather had land, his parents' generation cashed it out, his cousins 'made' there's-those in nefarious ways instead of getting a job like William).

But is there anything more wonderful than love as a reward? To be loved and valued and to feel safe in a relationship. All three are necessary.

Thanks for reading, SixThings.