A/N - I'm honestly a bit shocked at how little understanding some people have for Elizabeth, but then again I was surprised by how badly people reacted to Darcy in the beginning so I guess I'm just good at making people feel big emotions (yes, that's what I'm taking away from this).

Aunt things – someone asked why Mrs Ramsey is not Lizzy's Aunt: Mr Gardiner is Mrs Bennet's brother, so Mrs Gardiner is Lizzy's aunt by marriage, so Mrs Gardiner's sister is not actually a relation (at least, not a blood relation) and as Lizzy didn't meet her until she was, like, 20 I'm going to assume they had no reason to be closer. However:

More aunt things - I refer to Georgiana as John's aunt. Now, I am pretty sure she is his first cousin once removed, and I'm using aunt in spirit rather than technicality, but a considerable number of you like to argue this in the reviews, so I thought I'd let you start revving up now (I love it, you nerds).

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Monday 26th June 1797

In that past half a year, it seemed Mr Darcy had improved in at least one sense – his timing was no longer abominable. After respecting her entreaty to avoid difficult topics, Darcy had been everything helpful, cordial, polite. The evening meal was muted, as Georgiana was still quietly feeling things with all the intensity of her sixteen years. Conversation remained restricted to the weather and the health of their various mutual acquaintances. When Mr Darcy ask after the Fitzwilliams, Elizabeth informed him they were busy entertaining but otherwise well. She said little else on the subject.

On Sunday, Elizabeth and the Darcy siblings took the carriage into Lambton for morning services, where Mr Ramsey delivered a compelling sermon about neighbourly forgiveness. They stayed for some time afterwards outside the church, speaking to the polite society of the area. Elizabeth was gratified to see that Darcy was sufficiently familiar with the prosperous merchant and manufacturing families that he knew children by name and could enquire after their specific concerns.

The rest of the day was spent in reflection, as was favoured by the Darcys. As she usually reserved such quiet contemplation for a walk in nature or evenings with a book, Elizabeth was unaccustomed to tranquillity, but found it suited her now. She was not tempted to draw Georgiana into liveliness, as she had been wont to do on her previous visit. Instead, the afternoon was spent sedately, Darcy with a novel, Georgiana with letter-writing, Elizabeth with embroidery she would ordinarily approach as a chore, but which now felt like meditation.

The dog, a soft-eyed, russet spaniel, lay on each of their feet in turn – it was this which calmed John, who was fussy and out of sorts after so much disruption. When he could be still no longer, Mr Darcy found him marbles to roll about the floor. Only once did he try to swallow one.

Occasionally Mr Darcy would read a passage aloud to them, his voice fine and deep in his narration. After tea, Georgiana played for them a new piece she had learned, as well as a few old favourites. Elizabeth said little, sometimes closing her eyes to focus on the sensation of breathing, first in, then out.

There was a sense of undisturbed peace in the air. Her spirit felt lighter for it.

By some undiscussed but unanimous decision, Mr Darcy and Elizabeth took pains to conceal from Georgiana the tension which lay as an undercurrent to their every interaction. Their endeavour was successful, as the young girl had never previously had the opportunity to see them together, so could not know that the restrained distance they maintained would have been wildly unfamiliar to their friends in Meryton, who had been privy to many of their heated discussions and teasing debates.

Over the breakfast spread of cold meats the next morning, Mr Darcy cleared his throat quietly and set aside the letter he had read and reread fruitlessly several times.

"Mrs Fitzwilliam," he said, his tone solicitous, "I would beg of you a favour of you."

Elizabeth raised an eyebrow.

"You know from my visit to Mr Ramsey that I am having some trouble with quarrelling tenants. I will be riding out in the next day or so to discuss the dispute with them, in the hopes that I may resolve the situation without further distress to either side." He coughed again. "You mentioned to me once that, prior to your marriage, you would often minister to your father's tenants – I had thought that you might come with me. To the famers. To… help."

"I do beg your pardon, Mr Darcy, but what is it exactly you expect me to do? I have experience delivering blankets and beef broth when a farmer's wife is ill, but it does not follow that I should be of any use with an aggrieved tenant."

"Nonetheless, you are accomplished at placing those around you at ease. And while I believe I do right by my actions as a landlord, my intentions are not always matched in my delivery. Which is to say, where my powers of diplomacy fail, I seek your charming manner to be my balance."

Elizabeth could see the gentleman was in earnest, and as they were, with unspoken mutual agreement, pretending there was no awkwardness between them, she could only reply in the affirmative.

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Wednesday 28th June 1797

Though she avoided thinking of the place and the visit, Elizabeth was grateful that she had ordered a new riding habit while she was at Wentworth Woodhouse (and that she had remembered to pack it in her hasty exit) because her old one no longer fit, and as Georgiana was tall where she was short and willowy where she was stout, Elizabeth could not have borrowed one. Her concerns were entirely for practicality, she assured herself. That her new habit was a flattering shade of dark green and fit most becomingly across her shoulders was irrelevant to her current activity: riding across Pemberley to visit the quarrelsome tenants. That she was riding next to Mr Darcy in this new, green habit was no matter.

There was no nursery maid at Pemberley, and this would have consigned Elizabeth to the house if Georgiana was not so enthusiastic a replacement. The young woman had taken to the role of aunt with gusto. Having no younger siblings or cousins, Georgiana had little experience with small children, but this did not damper her eagerness to watch the boy. And though Elizabeth loved her son dearly, the break was not unwelcome.

As she rode along through the grounds of Pemberley, Mr Darcy beside her, she could not regret her decision. There was enough cloud streaked above to shield them from the glare of the sun, but not so much as to settle the sky heavily around them. A breeze plucked at the trees and sent waves cascading through the grass.

Then they left the park behind, and cobblestone buildings the colour of coal smoke soon dotted their eyeline. Mr Darcy must have cut a distinctive figure on his horse, because labourers some distance away raise their hats and called a greeting, and one woman bobbed a curtsey, laundry piled in her arms, as they passed.

When they came to a cluster of these houses, a child of nine or ten rushed onto the path ahead of them and skipped into a bow, tugging at his forelock.

"Sir, Mister Darcy, sir," the boy greeted.

A corner of Darcy's mouth twitched, and he solemnly replied,

"Good morning James."

The child hopped from foot to foot and wringed his hands until Mr Darcy said,

"Well go on then, say hello."

Elizabeth watched as Mr Darcy stopped by the child, who slowly approached with an arm outstretched.

"Ah do, Jasper," she heard the child whisper as he stroked the horse's muzzle. "Ye're a good 'un." He looked up to Mr Darcy beseechingly. "I don't 'av nowt to give 'im fer lowence."

Darcy finally broke into a chuckle and pulled a slice of apple from somewhere, which he leaned down to hand to the child. The boy eagerly fed it to the horse, who had to chomp around the bit, and both looked to be enjoying the treat. Then he jerked another bow as he thanked "the gentleman, sir, most grandly" and ran back to the house.

As they continued on, Elizabeth looked askance, but Mr Darcy merely shrugged.

"The Turners' boy. He's fond of the horses."

She nodded, as though this answered any of her questions.

"You have not yet told me, what is the nature of this dispute between your tenants?"

Darcy sighed and gave his horse an absent-minded pat.

"We had bad weather over the past winter, with heavy snow which melted suddenly. The river burst its banks and many of the farms were flooded or battered by the water flowing through. I was- well, I was at Netherfield at the time, and my steward did his best, but it was a fraught time."

They drew the horses to a halt in front of one of the low, stone cottages, and Mr Darcy gestured to another house down the lane.

"Clarke has now reported that with the shifting soil and broken fencing, his neighbour Shaw moved the property boundaries. They have both been grazing their sheep quite happily, but soon the lambs will be ready for slaughter and Clarke has complained his sheep are not so large because they have had less land to graze on. The argument has become extremely bitter, and my steward is concerned about escalation."

"Oh goodness." Elizabeth dismounted without waiting for Mr Darcy's hand. He pretended not to notice.

On Mr Ramsey's suggestion, Darcy first called on Mr Clarke to hear his grievance, and then on Mr Shaw to hear his defence. All the while Darcy positioned both himself and Elizabeth between the men when he brought them together, because they would not swear in front of a lady nor resort to violence in front of Pemberley's master.

The mediation did not promise to be fruitful until Elizabeth stepped in. With a guileless smile and an exaggerated Hertfordshire accent, she admitted to her ignorance of the area. Her voice was bright and curious as she asked after the men's livestock, and their families, and their ties to the land. She drew from them tales of growing up on Pemberley's farms, of playing amongst the heather and disappearing over the Peaks with the sheep. Darcy watched with wide eyes as Elizabeth coaxed each man into declaring their love for the land and for Pemberley.

Shaw had moved the boundary markers. Rather, the shifting earth had moved them, driven by the rushing water, and he had failed to move them back. Clarke had not noticed at first, because his eyes were poor and his joints rheumatic, so he could not walk the perimeter of his plot. His only son had taken up on another farm, and he had no grandchildren to watch the sheep for him, and the animals suffered for it.

And thus, the solution was simple: Darcy's steward would find Clarke a boy to help around the farm and ensure the sheep were well cared for, and Shaw would move the boundary markers back now that he miraculous remembered their original position.

"What a happy conclusion to this whole affair," Elizabeth declared.

Their ride took a winding route back to the house so Darcy could survey his lands. He looked stern and powerful atop his chestnut horse, yet there was a softness in his eyes and his posture as he took in the swathes of pasture and heather, punctuated by cows and sheep and squat, ash-coloured cottages.

Both he and the land shared a tightly restrained wildness.

"That went rather well, I think." Elizabeth adjusted her seat as the slope grew steeper.

"Indeed. Your presence was invaluable. I do not have your talent for reminding old neighbours of their friendship."

"But you are invested in the harmony of your tenants," she observed, "not just for the sake of your own convenience but for their happiness too."

"I am not careless with my efforts as a Master and Landlord – indeed, to hold such a position is to understand that the same man who doffs his cap to you by day might very well, if he was so inclined, kill your sheep, snare your pheasants and poison your dog by night." He waved his hand towards a cluster of labourer's cottages at the base of the hill. "The most rational conclusion is to therefore give no man a reason to resort to such measures. A man who is happy in his work, and can keep his family warm and well-fed, is a model tenant."

"For all your high manners, you are a man of the land." Elizabeth could not say why this fact surprised her, but it did.

"My parents directed me, guided me, but it was Pemberley which raised me. Though perhaps," his shoulders lifted self-consciously, "that does not recommend her to you. I have let her down, of late."

They crested the long swell of moorland and slowed as the valley flowed into view, the great limestone house at the centre of it all, a palace emerged from the earth itself. The sun, which had been shielded behind a thick streak of grey, suddenly broke across them. Mr Darcy turned his face to the light and smiled.

They had to ride down to through the heather and then the sprawling woods to reach the park. To begin with, Elizabeth was content to enjoy the journey from wild nature to guided landscape in quiet. But when the long limbs of the oak trees began to interlace and the world drew in closer, she turned to Darcy and asked,

"Will we ever talk? Or will we continue to pretend that nothing passed between us, until we forget it ever happened?"

"I did not feel it my place to bring it up." A flush of red spread from the tips of his ears across his cheeks.

"Perhaps we shall start here: on the day I arrived, you tried to say something?"

"Yes." There was a deafening pause as Mr Darcy looked everywhere except at Elizabeth. "Yes, I did." Now he could look nowhere except at Elizabeth, and that was not better. He took a fortifying gulp of air. "I must apologise to you, Mrs Fitzwilliam."

Elizabeth nodded.

"Which is to say," he continued, "I am sorry. In our last conversation in Meryton, I was callous to your feelings when I- when I…" He trailed off in the manner of an actor recalling half-learned lines.

"I thank you for your apology, Mr Darcy. I think it is safe to say that neither of us was at our best, then."

"Oh no!" he declared, reinvigorated. "I cannot let you assume any such responsibility. You had much to bear, with such heavy grief, which you did me the honour of sharing with me. But in my selfishness and preoccupation, I could see only the closeness, the fact that you had confided in me. I was so consumed by my affections for you that I could not see your friendship as just that. My pride and conceit let me to see intimacies in place of the natural desire for comfort that you…" His voice faded away again.

They were quiet together for a moment, while Elizabeth chewed on his words and Darcy stared intently through the leaves at a buzzard circling overhead. She had not found a reply by the time he spoke again.

"All of that is to say, I'm sorry. Yes, I'm sorry, and I beg your forgiveness."

Even after every apology of the past five minutes, the words seemed no less absurd falling from Mr Darcy's lips.

The buzzard mewled above them. Elizabeth thought of the sermons she heard as a child, and of the soothing wisdom of Mr Ramsey, and the iron fist which had held her heart for a week.

"You have it, Mr Darcy. There is something about these hills which makes it easy to forgive you." She watched as the cloud returned and the sharp light of the sun was dulled again. "And besides, there are many worse things a man can do than express his affections at an inopportune moment."

"Then I must thank you for accepting my apology."

"It seems to me I have no other option, for now that you've started you do not seem inclined to stop. I must forgive you if only to prevent our conversations growing dreadfully repetitive."

The twitch of his eyebrows suggested Mr Darcy might default to offense at this, but then his face broke into a gentle expression.

"I tried to write to you, afterwards. I started a letter so many times." He sat straighter in the saddle. It took a moment before Darcy steeled himself to continue. "I would sit at my desk and begin to write, but I would say 'Dearest Elizabeth' and have to throw it in the fire, for I have not right to claim such intimacy."

A wave of heat swept through her body at the sound of her name, a hint of a lilt so distinctly Derbyshire as it formed on his tongue.

"Then I would write 'Dear Mrs Fitzwilliam' and remind myself of the very callousness which caused our parting. So while I planned each letter in my mind, I did not write, because nothing I could say would be right."

"It is very well you did not write, I think, because I would not have known what to do with such a letter before now. My spirits were very low in January, and I was overwhelmed with it. But I removed to Somerford Park, and gave myself to these feelings for a month, and felt able to go on."

"I hope I did not cause any greater upset for you."

"Do not fear," Elizabeth said wryly, "of all my troubles, you were a minimal contributor. In fact, I remember very little of the encounter."

"Oh?" Darcy's mouth crumpled into a knot.

"I was not well, Mr Darcy. I remember that we spoke, and that you" she waved her hand in a vague gesture. Darcy winced in understanding. "But I could not tell you what I said, nor how you replied."

The space between them yawned.

"I must be grateful, then, that you cannot recall the particulars, for that makes my task much easier – I will make my amends through better behaviour in the future, rather than chasing to atone for the past."

They rode on further, closing in on the Great House. With a burst of light, the woods melted into open parkland as the river rushed alongside them. Intoxicated by the sweet air and rush of water, Elizabeth felt freer than she had in many months. Her body had been tightly coiled and prepared to run, to fight, to do something, but she had not recognised this until the tension was drained from her.

This thoughtful, considerate Mr Darcy was not unsurprising – such character had frequently bled through the cracks in his haughty mien – but here in his home it was not tucked in deep pockets or shielded away. Elizabeth allowed her mind to wander for a moment. She was not prone to daydreaming, not these days (when you are allowed to live your daydreams only to have them snatched away and dashed to pieces on the rocks, they lose their magic). But she had found a friend in Mr Darcy, and that friendship was worth saving. She did not have many other friends to lose, anymore.

Their conversation moved to easier topics for a while. With Midsummer passed, planning for the harvest gathering was already underway – "we take Harvest Home very seriously" – and they each shared tales of country traditions and their childhood scrapes. It felt easy.

Mr Darcy disappeared off to his study when they reached Pemberley, but the ease continued. It seemed their conversation, in direct contrast to a certain other conversation, had cleared the air and settled the tension between them. That it would be difficult to navigate at times was inevitable, because such strong personalities did not share an orbit without occasional collision, but their friendship was restored.

The fact that half a year earlier he had all but admitted to loving her, Elizabeth firmly banished from her mind.

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