A/N: I love being back to writing! I cannot get enough and I will spoil you today with another chapter. Feel free to share your thoughts.

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A Wicked, White Cravat
by Anton M.

Chapter 4: Estate Matters

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Friday morning begun like a carefully orchestrated dance. Together, Mr. Bennet and Elizabeth made sure that the members of the household who were aware of the events of the previous night would know the official version of it. Elizabeth sent a footman after Jenny and informed Mrs. Hill of Esther's afternoon off, and met up with Mr. Bennet in the library as agreed upon.

She shut the door after herself, careful to use her uninjured hand. Jane had helped Elizabeth clean her wound, which was sore and swollen but dried up.

"I spoke to Mr. Collins," Mr. Bennet said. "He seems to have quite a different mind in the morning."

"And?"

"He is willing to accept our version of the story, but he is determined to stay in Hertfordshire."

"He cannot stay here, papa!"

Mr. Bennet nodded. "I agree. If he preyed upon your sisters and they were less decisive in their reaction, the result would be disastrous." He observed his daughter in silence. "Today, I find that I should tell you how proud I am of your behaviour yesterday. If the truth comes to light, and it might, there is more evidence for your continued virtue than there is evidence against it."

"Thank you."

"I spoke to both Mr. Finch and Esther and they both assured me that the servants' quarter is much too far from the library for anyone to have heard you. Neither of them heard anything until we called for them. Esther took it upon herself to share the story we agreed upon."

Elizabeth smiled. "She is a delight."

Mr. Bennet sat behind his desk. "But I cannot figure out what to do with Mr. Collins. If he is a drunkard, and there is more evidence to suggest so than just last night, that is far beyond our reach to fix. And how do we tell his patroness and the church that he cannot be trusted without implicating you? It is not sensible to let him be near any member of the fairer sex if this is how he behaves, but warning anyone will increase curiosity and immediately point to what really happened last night. He said that he had a school friend in Meryton that he had intended to pay a visit to, but I am unfortunately not so kind as to find out if he would. Mr. Finch is packing his belongings and he will leave whether he likes it or not. His sister lives in Essex, he could go there. As long as he's not here."

"Where is he now?"

"He is in his room with a blasted headache so strong his whining is endless, and I believe he might be running a fever. Mr. Finch is under strict orders not to let him be alone with any servants, although I heard they already dislike him a great deal."

Mrs. Bennet heard the story of Elizabeth's hand during breakfast and would not stop fussing about it, concerned that she would not be well enough for her wedding. Mr. Collins was also revealed to be indisposed in his room, having fallen off the horse early morning and already seen by the doctor.

"Oh, but he was supposed to call on the Lucases today! We must send Mr. Finch to let them know that Mr. Collins is not well to visit them. Oh, dear. We must find extra reinforcements for the preparations for the wedding if everyone insists on being sick!"

All things considered, it was as good of a reaction as any, and both Kitty and Lydia impressed Elizabeth with their sensible behaviour. The danger of never being able to find a gentleman for a husband had, apparently, kicked so much sense into them that Elizabeth was almost glad that something good was coming out of everything.

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Ever since Elizabeth turned seventeen and revealed a sliver of interest in the estate business, Mr. Bennet and Elizabeth had sat in the library each Tuesday, Friday and Saturday after breakfast handling and discussing the estate business. Mr. Bennet, not having a son, first enjoyed her child-like questions regarding the estate. Later, he grew to depend on Elizabeth's input. Together with Elizabeth, after a small dip, they had increased their annual income to £2600 and he was saving the extra the way he had never done before.

It would not perhaps have been a big increase for a man like Mr. Darcy, but for the Longbourn House, it made all the difference: if Mr. Bennet could continue like this for five or ten years, with Elizabeth's help, he could ensure that whichever of his daughters did not marry would be well provided for.

This increase in income was done through creating rows of drains in the heavy clay soils next to the river, which turned their most unwanted rental properties to their most profitable ones. Four-course crop rotation was established. Elizabeth convinced Mr. Bennet to invest in machines for chaff cutting and threshing, as well as a seed drill. In addition, Elizabeth insisted that he invest in his brother's growing business.

Mr Bennet had been too settled in his ways until Elizabeth came along, and they both had a tremendously enjoyable time together. The other sisters cared for the estate management so little that the boredom of the topic itself ensured that they did not have the slightest intention of gossiping about something as boring as planning to cut the ryegrass for feed on the fourth year of the crop rotation.

The interest was not intended for ladies, and Elizabeth knew that she had to give it up once she was married, but until then, she intended to take advantage of every last morning with her papa and give advice to the tenants based on all her reading materials.

Because Friday brought dreadful winds and rain, enough so that the gentlemen from Netherfield did not call upon them, Mr. Collins' departure had to be delayed. However, on early Saturday morning, after Mr. Bennet had convinced Mr. Collins that a story about his sister in Essex was in order, he emerged from his room to have breakfast together with the family and bid farewell due to his sister's poor health.

Elizabeth did not wish to be near him or even look at him, but she could not help it. Together with the rest of the family, she had to pretend that all was well and that he looked fine.

He did not look fine.

In fact, his face was so swollen and disfigured that Elizabeth would not have been able to recognise him, and Kitty stumbled against her chair and nearly fell down when she saw him. Mr. Collins acted as if nothing had happened. But it was not only his face — nearly every square inch of available skin was covered by minor cuts.

After the breakfast during which Mrs. Bennet was the only member of the household fussing about such an unfortunate accident and the following surprise departure, they bid farewell to their cousin. It was a relief to almost everyone in the household, and Elizabeth could not be certain that a bribe was not involved. (Her father refused to answer.)

She wished she could be as relieved as Jane. Sending Mr. Collins away was not a permanent solution — if he had a taste for alcohol and revealed this incident when he was malt above water, her reputation was still in danger. But for now, she could breathe easier.

In the library, Elizabeth pulled a chair next to her father's as they went over the previous year's earnings, rental agreements and recent letters. The night had brought a mist of frost on the windows, and Elizabeth tore away her eyes from the patterns to focus on the letter in her hand. She was not usually prone to distraction in the library, but she could not help but wonder what Mr. Darcy would think about her interest in estate business (if she ever dared telling him about it).

"Mr. Wilmington writes that he needs an extension on the Christmas rent," she read. "Do you think we should arrange for digging of the drains in his fields in the spring? It appears the same kind of problem as Mr. Notley had, and his crop yields have been dreadful now for—"

"Miss Bennet, Mr. Bennet — Mr. Darcy is here to see you."

Elizabeth released the letter as if she was burnt by it, and stood up. "Mr. Darcy!"

He had a curious look about him, and he had most certainly heard Elizabeth's words. Elizabeth walked away from the table in the hopes that physical distance removed her from the shame of being interested in men's business. (A silly notion, but she could not help herself.) She became fully aware of not yet being properly attired, and upon the realisation that she was not wearing gloves, she hid her injured hand behind her so quickly that she grimaced from pain.

"Mr. Bennet, Miss Elizabeth — I thought you would both like to know that I have successfully procured a special licence."

"Truly?" Elizabeth took a step forward, happy and hopeful. He bowed to her, and when his smile reached his eyes, Elizabeth, for the first time, understood why small, lace-edged fans were becoming more popular. She felt charmed by his presence and such an urge to be close to him she was sure he must have felt it.

"I take it that you are happy with this news?" Mr. Darcy asked, eyes on Elizabeth's. His eyes were brown, with sharp, wide eyebrows, and Elizabeth felt like she had never really seen them before.

"Very much, sir," she replied, in a daze.

Even though she had not realised that Mr. Darcy had been tense, his whole countenance relaxed as he squeezed his hat and smiled wider. He said nothing.

"Mr. Darcy, please — have a seat," Mr. Bennet said, the first person to remember his manners.

"Thank you, Mr. Bennet, but I did not actually — I am too early for a visit, and I apologise. I interrupted a discussion on your estate matters. I was out for the morning with my horse and time escaped me. I am quite happy to return at a more appropriate hour for a visit."

"Nonsense," Mr. Bennet said, but before he could continue, Elizabeth interrupted.

"Would you care to go on a walk earlier, sir? I will get changed and we can get going right away."

"I would be honoured," Mr. Darcy replied, bowing to her.

Elizabeth rushed out of the door but then returned just as quickly.

"Sir, is Mr. Bingley with you?"

"He will be here within the hour."

Back in the room they shared, Elizabeth told Jane about Mr. Bingley's arrival, and proceeded to get changed so quickly that when their lady's maid arrived, Elizabeth thanked her but convinced her to help Jane instead. Contrary to the rest of her attire, putting on her long, light blue velvet gloves was a painful and slow affair.

"See you soon!"

She was downstairs at the entrance of the library a moment later, and Darcy stood up as if stung. He opened and closed his mouth before rubbing his neck and admitting,

"It appears to be quite useful to be courting a country lady. No time is wasted waiting on your beloved."

Elizabeth smiled. "It is a gift indeed."

Mr. Darcy hesitated. "Who will chaperone us?"

They waited for Bingley to arrive in front of the house. Fog covered the gentle hills in the distance and the sun had started to rise. The ground was soft underneath the frost but the cold had ensured that top soil was frozen enough for comfortable walking.

"Miss Elizabeth," Mr. Darcy said. "I fear I owe you an apology for how we left things two days ago."

"Sir, I appreciate that you were honest about your feelings."

"No, but that's just it — I have been brought up with great principles but left to follow them on my own. I have had the luck of having so much always within my reach that I never had to learn how to — earn a lady's heart worth earning. I accused you of compromising me only because of my wealth, but I was blind to the fact that I have only ever been introduced to ladies knowing that that's the very thing that would always attract them. I accused you of wanting what every other woman I have been introduced to, wants from me."

Elizabeth paused, searching his eyes.

"Are you quite all right, Mr. Darcy? I fear that I just heard an apology and I must be mistaken. If you proceed like this, I might grow very fond of you indeed."

Darcy laughed, reaching for her hand but then reconsidering, and Elizabeth was afloat with nervous excitement and butterflies. He did not know that Darcy could be this light-hearted, funny, and full of energy.

"Bingley had a word with me. I had to admit to him how difficult I found talking to you and told him about your reaction to my question. He thought you slapping me was perhaps the greatest thing that had ever happened to me. Truly, he could not stop laughing for two whole minutes after I told him about it."

Elizabeth shifted under his gaze, and Darcy was so taken with her that he wrapped his palms around her hands. Elizabeth snapped back her hands and nearly cried out in pain.

The light went out in Darcy's eyes, and he stepped away from Elizabeth, drawing into his severe, haughty-looking shell.

"Forgive me, m'am, for being too familiar." He gave her a curt nod, and looked at the horizon in brooding silence. Hidden behind his mask, she had hurt him. She knew she had hurt him.

"William," she whispered, stepping closer to him.

He turned to look at her without showing any emotion.

"I did not turn away from you because you are too familiar — quite the opposite." She smiled warmly. "I injured my hand a few days ago and it hurts if you squeeze it. You did nothing wrong. In fact, I quite enjoyed…" your touch, she wanted to add, but felt too forward.

Darcy took a moment to digest her words, and then, he stepped into her personal space and caressed her shoulder before carefully, so very tenderly lifting her velvet-covered arm close to himself. He touched the side of her bonnet, grazing her cheek with his knuckles, and she was ready to melt in his arms when he quietly asked, "What happened?"

His caress was so careful, so thoughtful, that Elizabeth was within a hair's breadth of telling him about Mr. Collins. Mr. Darcy was an honourable man, wasn't he? How could this tender, caring man turn her away if she told him the truth and explained everything that happened?

But, for a poor gentleman's daughter, virtue was her most valued possession. Without it, she had no value in the marriage market, and if she made this choice too soon and she turned out to be wrong, her entire family might suffer for life.

If it were only her choice to make, she would've told him.

"I fell off the ladder in the library," she lied, carefully avoiding his eyes and staring at her velvet-covered hand. "It is quite all right by now. It only hurts when you squeeze it."

He gently lifted her chin. "Did you see the doctor?"

It almost hurt how tender he could be with her.

"Yes, of course. He said I should be as good as new for my wedding."

"I'm glad," he replied. "Please remind me if I forget. I don't want to hurt you."

He smiled tenderly, and instead of taking a step back, he stepped close enough for her to feel his breath on her face. Nervous and filled with butterflies, she did not withdraw.

A throat was cleared nearby, and Mr. Bingley jumped off his horse. "It's like I'm not even here!" He joked, slapping his friend on the back and laughing. "Miss Elizabeth, it's a pleasure to see you."

"Mr. Bingley." She curtsied. "Jane will be out in a moment."

"I shall go greet the household and be right out," Mr. Bingley said, knocking on the front door.

Mr. Darcy and Elizabeth stood, frozen in time, close enough that if she lifted her chin and closed the gap between them they would be kissing. Mr. Darcy, apparently with the same thoughts, blushed when their eyes locked. She looked away but did not move.

"It's a beautiful morning," she said, filling the void with meaningless words. Mr. Darcy shifted slightly and held a hand against her back.

"So it is," he replied, not giving a tinker's damn about the morning but beholden to propriety. If he were any less of a man, he would have put his special licence to good use today and discovered all the things he wanted to do to her and with her without an audience. Realising that his thoughts were on slippery ice, he cleared his throat and took a small step away.

She was not indifferent to him, he saw. He knew it before, of course, but he needed the confirmation. But he was determined to wait for her to, hopefully, return his feelings with the same depth as he already felt them. Darcy did not know how such feelings could be encouraged, but he was determined to heed to Bingley's advice — if ever in doubt, do not insult your future wife.

The fact that he needed the advice spoke volumes about how little experience he had wooing women.

Mr. Bingley arrived with Jane, Kitty, Lydia and, surprisingly, Mr. Bennet. Mr. Darcy held out his right arm only to realise his mistake and switching to his left one. It felt odd, having her on the wrong side, but he did not mind. They set out to walk in the direction of the Burfarrow forest, with Elizabeth and Mr. Darcy leading in the front, followed by Mr. Bingley and Jane with Mr. Bennet in the back with his youngest daughters.

"And which one of you is the gentleman when you walk?" Mr. Darcy asked, and Elizabeth laughed.

"We take turns being the gentleman," she replied in all seriousness. "You being on my right arm is not nearly as strange to me as you having me on your left arm, I'm sure."

"As am I," he replied, eager to show her that he could be the better man she wished for but not knowing how to show her.

Seeing his struggle to find a topic of conversation, Elizabeth decided to take the decision away from him and ask him a question with an idea that had struck her the previous night.

"Sir, have you ever realised that you and Jane, you are the same?

"What on Earth do you mean?"

"For a lady as beautiful as Jane, always having serene countenance is the most effective protection against any ill-suited interests. If the beauty of the country shares her heart in her sleeve, or even shows more than what she feels in her heart, her suitors and heartbreak, exposed to the world to see, would be endless. In hiding her true feelings, she is protecting herself from heartbreak and knowledge of heartbreak. For her to seem unattached to any man has been a habit for as long as she has been out, and it must be a difficult thing indeed to change your character in only a few months, even if you wish you could."

"Miss Bennet has feelings for Mr. Bingley?" Darcy asked, amazed but happy by the knowledge.

"Does she!" Elizabeth laughed, and leaned slightly closer. "She is embroidering a handkerchief with their initials on them," she whispered. "Mr. and Mrs. Bingley! Do not tell him and do not tell her that I know, but if that is not proof of her attachment, I don't know what is."

Her faux-conspiratorial whisper was so endearing to him that he almost missed what she was telling him.

"And you?" he asked, almost dizzy with her scent and joy.

"And me what?"

"Are you also embroidering a handkerchief with my initials?"

She nudged him and laughed. "No, sir. I am not quite there yet."

"But we are engaged to be married!"

She drew back to look in his eyes. "Sir, if I did not know you any better, I would say that you are disappointed."

He was tempted to reply in jest, but instead, he decided on an approach he had not yet mastered: admitting his feelings without insulting her.

"Yes," he muttered, meeting her eyes and feeling the heat of a blush. "I admit I am envious of Bingley in this matter."

"Truly?"

He nodded.

"You would like embroidered handkerchiefs with our initials on them?"

He nodded.

"Forgive my surprise, sir," she replied, taken aback by his bashfulness in the best possible way. "I will ask Jane if she would mind embroidering ours as well."

"No!" he said, a little too loud. "I would prefer you to do it. That is, if you wish."

"But sir, my skills in this area are dreadful! You would receive scribbles as if made by a five-year-old. You would be too embarrassed to use it, and I would be ashamed of having delivered a handkerchief with vastly inferior embroidery."

Darcy stopped walking, turned to face her, and gently, mindful of her injury, took her hands in his. His smile was so tender and open that she felt an intense urge to open up his coat and hide herself in it. Instead, she stared up at him, breathless.

"Elizabeth," he said. "I do not have a care in the world about your embroidery skills or having the perfect handkerchiefs. I am envious of Bingley because the woman he cares for is spending her time thinking about their future together."

"Oh!" She shifted under his gaze. "Of course."

He pressed a quick kiss on her cheek before they started walking again, and he enjoyed her small smile.

"Before we got carried away discussing embroidery, you said something about me being the same as your older sister. Would you care to explain?"

She squeezed his arm. "I hope I made it quite evident that Jane has a perfectly good reason to always appear serene — if she can help it. However, if Jane is a victim of her beauty, then you, dear sir, are a victim of your fortune."

He paused. "I am all attention."

"Your fortune ensures that you have grown up, and have been brought up, to be cautious around ladies to the point of appearing so unaffected that, when I kissed you at Mr. Bingley's drawing room, I was under the impression that not only did you not have any particular regard for me but that you almost certainly disliked me a great deal."

"You cannot be serious," Darcy said. "I could not tear my eyes off of you!"

"I thought it was to find fault! Truly, I did. Only now that I have gotten to know you better do I see that your particular character is shaped, first, by your natural inclination for brevity, and second, the fact that all social events that you frequent, you must be extremely careful around ladies not to give out any false signals of interest. Your natural instinct and your environment have come together to give you a habit of appearing so unaffected that you must look prideful and haughty in any assembly you frequent. If you did not seem unaffected by the flocks of ladies being presented to you each season (regardless of how you really felt) and if you were not carefully aware of any attempts to sabotage your person as husband material, you would, I dare say, have been married by the age of 19 to someone who, quite frankly, did what I did at the Netherfield's drawing room but with intention."

Darcy paused, in awe of her character study of him and amused that it was delivered by the lady who did, in fact, compromise him.

"I am quite taken with your analysis," he admitted — again, to practice admitting his feelings without first finding fault in her words.

"Well, if you had not created a habit of appearing distant to any potential love interest, I am quite certain you would have avoided insulting your future wife when all you wanted to know was that her behaviour was not driven by money."

He averted his eyes uncomfortably, but, nevertheless, let out a small laugh.

"I am afraid that you are correct, Miss Elizabeth," he said. "But I must admit that I was more concerned that I could not recognise it if you had lied to me about it."

"How do you know I did not?"

Darcy drew his finger over his cheek in memory of her slap, and she hid her face behind her hand.

"Again, I am terribly sorry. It was not planned and I did not realise I had slapped you until I had already done it."

"I am glad you did," he said, smiling. "It was as sincere a reaction as any and I barely felt it. Bingley might yet erect a statue in your honour."

She laughed.

"Also, thinking back now, I realise that if you had managed to plan a situation with Mr. Collins the way he was, saying what he was saying, in public, and having scripted that whole paragraph, I fear your future should involve the military or the parliament because no human alive should hope to influence another human to humiliate themselves so thoroughly."

Not knowing what to say, she smiled.

"Do you regret kissing me?" he asked in a low voice.

"No," she replied, looking in his eyes as she said it. "It saddens me that I quite possibly ruined the kind of well-connected future you had imagined for yourself. But I find that I do not regret where I find myself."

"Elizabeth…" he whispered, filled with regrets he did not know how to voice.

"It is quite all right, sir," she replied. "You did not hide your true feelings from me and I am grateful for that."

Neither said anything for a moment while Darcy squirmed. "I fear that — what you said that morning, I did not take your words lightly. I complained to Bingley about what you said and he agreed with you so strongly that he started listing all my flaws. There is nothing quite as humbling as your dearest friend agreeing with the worst you do not want to believe of yourself and telling you that he is, frankly, astonished that I could find a lady such as yourself."

"He is a good friend," Elizabeth said, thrilled that Darcy had not dismissed her words.

Together, they admired the fog rolling down the hill, and the rising sun caused some frosted branches to start dripping.

"And how often do you, Miss Elizabeth, get involved in the matters of the Longbourn House estate?"

Darcy put his palm on top of her elbow, and looked at her with such a twinkle in his eyes that Elizabeth let out a relieved laugh.

"You are not upset?"

"Upset?" he repeated. "I would be excessively stupid to be upset by such an interest. But I certainly am intrigued. Do you help your father make decisions about his estate?"

"Yes."

"For how long?"

"Three years and a half, now."

"Do you help with the tenants? Rent? Farming methods? Equipment buying? Stewards or bailiffs? Investments? What is the extent of your interest?"

"And you are sure this topic does not upset you," Elizabeth repeated, so amazed by his interest in her interest that she was sure he must've been joking.

"I am very far from feeling upset," he replied. "I cannot fathom why this should upset me."

"I have never met a man who was not my father who was not put off by my interest."

"You, Elizabeth," he leaned closer, whispering, "have met some very stupid men in your life."

His words thrilled her so much that she hid her face against his sleeve, and he had the silliest smile on his face when she resurfaced. This man, this fun, tender, interested man did not feel like Mr. Darcy, and she wondered if this was the man he turned into when no strangers were around, and she was simply, no longer a stranger.

"But tell me," he continued, "Tell me the extent of your interest."

"It is all of it, sir," she admitted. "Advising tenants, procuring equipment, rotating crops, and learning the supervising of the estate accounts and managing contracts from the steward."

He pulled back to look properly in her eyes, and almost stumbled on a rock. Smiling in embarrassment, he squeezed her elbow.

"Pardon me for challenging you, m'am, but how deep does your knowledge go?"

"I keep myself updated with all the most recent literature," she replied.

"If you feel you do not want to answer, then my all means, but — what is the annual income of Longbourn House?"

"It was £2000 before I got involved. It is £2600 now."

Mr. Darcy stopped dead on his tracks, turning to Elizabeth. "You managed a twenty five percent increase?"

"Yes." She shifted under his scrutiny. "It was not right away — it went below £1700 on the first year when I got involved, and papa was uncertain about my advice and input. But it dipped because we had to invest in some equipment and drainage before we could take full advantage of them."

Darcy blinked before he continued walking, and he kept switching between staring at Elizabeth and looking ahead on the road. When Elizabeth caught his eye, she saw admiration. It was not just admiration for her physical form or intelligence, but for her achievements, and few moments in life had ever made her feel so nervous and proud.

"Elizabeth," he whispered, amazed. "I did not know women like you existed."

Darcy took hold of her neck, caressing her cheek with the other hand, and searched her eyes before he leaned into a desperate kiss. She felt his passion, his tenderness, his need, and she had never felt this precious. His coat fell open, and when Elizabeth squeezed his side underneath, Darcy pressed himself so close to her that their bodies were flush against each other. She was sure she was floating, and never before had she understood what it felt like to feel desire and desired. Everything else faded away.

"Fitzwilliam Darcy!" Mr. Bingley shouted. "Have you lost your mind!"

Darcy pulled back, suddenly aware of their surroundings, and took a step back. He cast a glance back at Bingley and Jane, both of whom were red-faced from embarrassment. Fortunately, Mr. Bennet had been just around the corner with his youngest daughters or Mr. Darcy would have been setting a dreadful example for Elizabeth's youngest sisters. Not to mention, Mr. Bennet would have never dared leave them alone for a single second.

"Please forgive me," Darcy said, breathless. "I have too much respect for you to treat you this way."

Elizabeth, still in a daze, felt like she was floating. "I did not know I could feel…" Lost for words, she motioned between them, and said, "Or that a man could make me feel…"

Darcy pulled his coat shut and let out a silent string of curses, many of which Elizabeth had not imagined he even knew. He started walking, a little bit ahead of her, and took deep breaths.

"Did I offend you, sir?"

He turned, mid-step, and took Elizabeth's arm before they continued walking together. His laughter was embarrassed and endearing, and he kissed her hand. "No — God no," he said. "I am just — when the woman you love says things like you just did in response to — I am not strong enough to not see a challenge in your words."

His smile was sheepish, and Elizabeth felt like he had never delivered a more natural, endearing speech. His casual claim of his love for her made him feel like a different person to her.

"Did I hurt you?" he asked in earnest.

Elizabeth hid her smile. "Certainly not. In fact, I quite —"

"Please," he interrupted, in silent agony, pleading and yet smiling. "Do not continue, I cannot handle this conversation."

"Sir, your, uh, kiss just now — is this how much you usually—" She paused, searching for the right words. "—restrain yourself?"

Darcy let out a silent, surprised groan, and shut his eyes as he drew a breath. "Elizabeth," he whispered, half-plea and half-agony. "Please. Let us switch the topic."

Elizabeth was all amazement, and as they switched to topics about the forest that they had passed, his sister Georgiana coming to Netherfield for their wedding, and the ball to be held next week, she cherished his gentle touch and attention. It continued to amaze her that this man was the same severe-looking person standing silently in the corner of any social gathering.

After a walk that felt like a minute to Elizabeth and like a month to her youngest sisters, Elizabeth, even without taking off her outdoor clothes, asked her father to step into the library.

"I have to tell him," she said after closing the door. "I cannot lie to him. It will come out sooner or later, and I am certain he would rather hear it from me."

"And you are certain that he will not break off the engagement?"

"Not certain, but… as close as I can be. Papa, Mr. Collins was precisely the person I was trying to avoid at Netherfield, on that night when Mr. Darcy and I, uh, decided our future. Mr. Darcy would have to have poor judgement indeed if he believed any rumour over me, but the only way to avoid that would be to deliver this news to him before he has heard anything."

Mr. Bennet hesitated.

"I believe you might be right."

"Since they are coming to dinner tomorrow evening, I have asked Mr. Darcy to come slightly earlier — I will tell him then. He must hear it from me."

The decision was like a rock lifted off her chest, and she could breathe easier. She had feared that her interaction with Darcy would become stilted, now that she felt she had no other way but to marry him, but not only was there no stiffness between them, he was more open with her than ever before. He had admired her for her interest in estate business, he had revealed that the idea of her embroidering him a handkerchief was endearing to him, and he had engaged her in conversation in a way she had not previously believed possible.

Elizabeth helped her mother pick out details for the wedding, giving input sometimes where she did not have an opinion, and she listened to Jane gush over her own beau. Jane was shocked by Mr. Darcy's behaviour during the walk, but Elizabeth suspected that there might have been a little bit of friendly envy in her words. Mr. Bingley had not yet made an offer, and although their mother had stopped talking about their courtships after Elizabeth's words to her, it was clear that Jane's heart was full of hope each day that an offer would be made.

On Sunday, in the early morning before breakfast as Jane was helping Elizabeth take care of her hand, there was a knock on the door and Esther peeked her head in.

"Miss Elizabeth, I am terribly sorry, but I must speak to you."

"Come on in."

She fiddled with her apron. "Miss, Mr. Collins stopped at the Inn in the crossings at Hatfield yesterday. He got properly jug-bitten and said terrible, terrible things about you. Dorothy told Jenny that Mr. Darcy was there, but Ralph said that it was just some Mr. Darcy's friend, but whoever it was must've heard and Mr. Darcy must know now, too. I had to tell you!"

Elizabeth shared a glance with Jane.

"Thank you, Esther. I'm glad you told me."

Esther curtsied and left the room.

Jane had paled, and Elizabeth squeezed her knee. "I will have to call on them after breakfast. All will be well," she assured, not at all sure that her words would be true.

It was an intimidating thought, calling on Netherfield, probably abuzz with new gossip, and Elizabeth ate her breakfast deep in thought while the rest of the family talked. In the middle of breakfast, before Elizabeth had gotten dressed to go out, the footman, Mr. Finch, appeared in the breakfast room.

"Mr. Darcy is here to see Miss Elizabeth Bennet," he bowed, and Darcy appeared on the door. He looked so stiff that Elizabeth nearly spat out her bread.

She stood up, looking at her father or Jane for a possible chaperone.

"I request a private audience," Darcy said, and his voice left no room for an argument. "We will be in the garden and you are free to observe us from here."

His voice sent a shiver down her spine. Darcy pointedly did not look at her as she passed him to get dressed.

When she was ready, he was waiting for her by the pond under a willow tree. He stood rigidly, jaw set and deep lines between his eyebrows. There was no lightness in his eyes. The weather was equally gloomy, cloudy and windy but without rain.

Intimidated by his mood, Elizabeth curtsied when she walked up to him but did not say a word. Darcy nodded without looking at her. He threw a pebble into the pond and watched the ripples on the water hit the ice on the sides.

"There are rumours," he said, clearing his throat. "Of your person."

Silently, she waited.

"You are said to be a light-skirt whose arm injury happened by squabbling with a lover." He spat out the word. "In fact, there's a man at the Hatfield Inn who insists that you have an eye for men like myself."

His voice was devoid of emotion, but his eyes revealed his turmoil.

"Mr. Darcy—"

He stood in front of her, looking her in the eyes for the first time, and his voice cracked. "Tell me it is not true."