A/N: Sorry for delay but spring is here in Australia and the outdoors have been beckoning. I hope this is enough to sink your teeth into. And as for Darcy's blindness to what is before him, though I find myself chuckling at your playful exasperation, keep in mind he has been indoctrinated for more than two decades with what his life should look like. Sometimes beliefs are so well conditioned within us we can take it as fact instead of something subjective. If any of you have lived in a share house, be it with strangers or friends, a partner or kids, it can be a real struggle to step back and accept that what we were taught or what we believe is "right" or "necessary", may not be the only way to look at things. It is the journey we begin as teenagers, and hopefully never cease to forget the merits of, as we sift through what we are told by parents, friends, social media, the news, or the subliminal messages of advertising etc, and decide what we will hold on to and what we release. This is just one of the things I love about Darcy's character - he makes choices, not based on feeling but conviction - so there is bound to be a bumpy ride when they clash.

p.s. Thanks Gianna for highlighting correct address for Sir William. That was great! Hopefully they are all corrected now

The ladies turned at the sound of hoof beats. Elizabeth felt something between hopefulness and elation supplant the apprehension she had been experiencing since witnessing the unexpected reaction between Mr Darcy and the newly arrived Mr Wickham. She had seen the instant anger in one and the fear in the other, but what could be its meaning? Nothing was known of this latest recruit to the militia, but she trusted wholeheartedly in the innate goodness of Mr Darcy, and could tell he had been exerting a lot of self-control. Elizabeth had had to force her feet not to follow when he left them. Jane had yet to hear the full confession of all that had transpired at Netherfield. Elizabeth had only informed her elder sister that Mr Darcy had apologised, he was indeed respectable and kind, and that, yes, yes, Jane had been correct to give him the benefit of the doubt. But the truth was, Elizabeth had been sorely missing her conversations with him, not even banter with her father making up for the lack of it. Now Mr Darcy was cantering toward her, and she hoped it boded well for some communication between them.

At an appropriate distance, Darcy slowed his horse to a walk, then stopped before the staggered group.

'Good day to you once again, ladies,' Darcy said, in a voice to be heard by every member of their party as he tipped his hat. 'I had hoped to find you all, so that I might apologise for my abrupt departure earlier, and be assured you had an appropriate escort during your walk.' He gave a passing glance toward the only male in their midst, before dismounting and walking toward Jane and Elizabeth, leading his horse behind him. Uncharacteristically, Elizabeth just followed him with her eyes, so it was the elder sister who spoke first.

'Mr Darcy, thank you for your consideration,' Jane began. 'It is a pleasure to see you again.' A pause. 'Did you meet our cousin, Mr Collins, earlier?' she continued, turning to the perspiring, heavy set young man of the cloth Darcy had noted. She followed her question with the requisite introductions. Darcy bowed, bestowing the parson his brief but full attention. This small courtesy however, incited an effusive speech from the newly met Mr Collins, full of obsequious, deferential expressions that could not be stemmed by any subtle cues. Darcy glanced briefly at Elizabeth and deduced this performance was not unexpected. There was in her eyes a mixture of compassion, embarrassment, and amusement. At the next available pause in Mr Collins' monologue, Elizabeth finally spoke.

'Mr Darcy, it was good of you and Mr Bingley to have taken the trouble of asking after Jane. I hope everyone is well at Netherfield.'

'Perfectly so, Miss Elizabeth, I thank you.' Darcy's relief was evident in the warmth of his eyes as he turned them fully upon her.' Now that I know you are all well chaperoned, I wonder if someone could point me in the direction of the local magistrate. I have information about Mr Wickham that I would like to discuss with all possible expediency.'

Lydia, who had been whispering with Kitty during Mr Collins' earlier soliloquy, now entered the conversation. 'Mr Wickham did you say? What sort of information are you talking about?' she asked.

'Miss Lydia, I feel it best to discuss details with the magistrate first, but I can offer you this warning. Please always follow prudent measures when in his company.'

'What can you mean?' responded Lydia. 'He was most polite and gentlemanlike. And he is to join the regiment. I saw nothing to warrant concern.'

'Miss Lydia, I do not mean to offend your judgement, but I have known him my whole life. Good manners do not always correlate to good morals. Personally, I would not allow my own sister within ten miles of that man. I cannot force this on others, but knowing what I do and the honesty found in this neighbourhood, I would not want to have any of you taken unawares.'

There were gasps and murmurs until Elizabeth, seeing an opportunity, said, 'Sir William is the nearest magistrate. The lane to their home is just back yonder. I could take you there if Mr Collins would be good enough to escort the rest of my sisters home. Our father should know of this too, Mr Darcy. Perhaps once you have spoken to Sir William, the two of you might accompany me home?'

Darcy met her eyes and simply nodded.

'Jane,' continued Lizzy, not allowing Mr Collins a chance to intercede, 'could you let Father know where I am and to expect a visitor later? We should not be above an hour if Sir William is home.'

'Of course,' replied Jane, beginning to shepherd the group toward Longbourn.

Elizabeth and Darcy walked in the opposite direction, to the fading sound of Mr Collins expounding on the importance of ladies adhering to propriety and respecting the generously administered advice of those of elevated rank.

'Thank you,' said Darcy as soon as they were out of earshot. 'I was not sure how to extricate myself without employing my usual offensive behaviour,' he said with a half smile. 'Mr Collins is most persistent.'

'Do not concern yourself in this instance,' replied Elizabeth with a warm smile of her own. 'Mr Collins is one who seems to require the strongest measures to expunge his enthusiasm. I believe he possesses the extraordinary talent of extracting, even from a direct insult, the blessing of notice if issued by someone of higher rank.'

'He is your cousin?' Darcy asked.

'Distant cousin,' she clarified, wryly. 'He is to inherit Longbourn.'

'An entail?'

'The bane of my mother's life, and why she is so determined to have us married off as soon as may be. It is hard to determine how much of her histrionics are based on fear and uncertainty for the future, but it definitely plays a significant role.'

'And your father?'

'My father,' sighed Elizabeth, as though speaking of an incorrigible child. 'He makes light of it. I believe his nonchalance grows in direct proportion to my mother's hysterics. Perhaps he holds to the philosophy you mentioned earlier, about people balancing each other out. In this case however, it does not appear to produce the beneficial results you spoke of.'

'No, I can imagine that would create uncomfortable… situations at times. When I have witnessed the benefits of the theory, both involved parties have been willing to allow the other to influence their outlook rather than intensify extremes.'

'Of course,' she replied, happy to let the topic drop. Studying his countenance she then asked with all sincerity, 'How are you, Mr Darcy? I was worried about you after you left.'

'I apologise again for the rudeness of my abrupt departure.'

'You were not rude. I believe you were actually exerting a lot of disciplined restraint.'

He only nodded.

'You claimed to have known him since your youth. Is he the one,…' she paused, '…the one you were referring to when you said you were betrayed by someone you grew up with?'

He did not meet her eyes, but she heard the cold emotion in the 'yes' he uttered, almost under his breath.

'We turn here,' she said gently, motioning to her left. They departed from the main road and began walking down a narrow lane, flanked by a stand of trees for about four or five hundred yards.

'Miss Elizabeth, Wickham is not a good man,' Darcy said suddenly. 'Please do not ever trust him, no matter how appealing his manners. I could not bear it if anything happened to you.'

She put her hand on his arm to stop him. He obliged. Surprise passed over Elizabeth's face as she glanced to their point of contact. 'You are trembling,' she said quietly, her eyes meeting his again.

Darcy dropped his gaze to the condemning testimony under her small hand. 'The cost of restraint,' Darcy replied, unable to look at her. 'Miss Elizabeth,' he said quietly, 'of all the people I know, he is the only one I truly despise. You would perhaps no longer respect me if you knew how much. Even I am unnerved by its intensity.'

'Would you have faith enough in our friendship to trust in its resilience?' she asked gently.

Darcy held her steadfast gaze for a moment before confessing. 'When I saw him, Miss Elizabeth, I was torn between wanting to pummel him with my fists to within an inch of his life, and removing myself from his abhorrent presence as effectively as possible.'

She gave his arm a gentle squeeze. 'I commend you for the choice you made.'

Darcy barked a cold laugh. 'But the full truth is, had our meeting not been so public, I cannot vouch for the same outcome. And even with the choice you have just endorsed, had we not forged this friendship, I could well have been tempted to leave not just the main street of Meryton, but this neighbourhood entirely, without saying a word of his character: closing my heart to everything around me, disdaining even to think about or acknowledge his existence, and consequently the impact he might have on those unknown to me.'

Darcy ran a hand through his hair. 'When I turned my horse back toward Meryton,' he continued, 'it was to assure myself of your safety, to selfishly furnish my need. However, while I searched for you, I realised it would not be enough. Even if you, Miss Elizabeth, were too astute to succumb to him, if he hurt anyone connected to you, he would be hurting you by extension. It is the knowledge of your generous compassion for others, not mine, that has motivated me to do the right thing.' He gave a dry laugh. 'At least I might extract this comfort, Miss Elizabeth. Your influence is making me a better man.'

'But the credit is yours, Mr Darcy. How did you put it earlier? That it is only when we allow others to influence our perspective that the best can be achieved.'

'Perhaps, but it is still true that you are my motivation for doing the right thing; preparing to speak of what I know, pre-warning businesses that may extend him credit, and hoping to incite caution in daughters I may never meet.'

Elizabeth paused before asking cautiously, 'Is he the one who hurt your sister?'

Darcy nodded.

'Did he…' she couldn't bear to finish that question. 'Will she recover?'

'In body she is fine. I discovered, by pure chance, his scheming intent before any physical damage could be done. But he stripped away her faith and trust in people, and more importantly, in herself. She was only fifteen, a child still,' Darcy uttered, pain etched into his words. 'She trusted him. Her upbringing had provided every indication that she could, so why would she not?' Darcy looked at Elizabeth and elaborated. 'Wickham was the son of our highly respected steward, raised alongside us within the grounds of Pemberley. He had the advantage of being my father's godson. My parents had given that ungrateful miscreant, privileges of trust and regard, as well as a gentleman's education to befit him for an honest profession. When my father passed away five years ago, it rendered poor Georgiana an orphan at the tender age of eleven; barely remembering her mother, grieving the loss of her father, and with only one sole surviving brother, who was swamped by all the new responsibilities of running an estate. I tried to spend time with her, I did, but it was not enough. At my aunt's suggestion, I sent her to a school until I had a better hold on things at Pemberley. I saw her as often as I could. I tried.'

He paused in his narration, shifting his feet, and looking about him to ensure they were alone. He lowered his voice, regardless. 'I withdrew her from school toward the end of last year just after her fifteenth birthday, engaging masters for her benefit, and a companion. I thought we were both doing well. I let my guard down.' His voice now took on an almost plaintive tone. 'This sweet, sensitive, innocent, girl, who had lost so much in life, was growing up so generous of heart, conscientiously working on her lessons and assiduously avoiding any requests that she thought might burden me. It was her idea that she stay at Ramsgate, so I would feel free to spend some of the summer weeks with friends. Unbeknownst to us, Wickham had a prior acquaintance with Georgiana's new companion. So, the first time I let my sister out of my sight, he comes along, and with his insatiable greed and desire for vengeance upon me, rips even the comfort of confidence and trust from Georgiana's world. He should have been protecting her like a brother,' he ground out, 'not...'

Darcy's voice caught, his imploring words stark pain in the sudden barren silence. Hands were balled into fists; the tension in his body palpable. Elizabeth moved on instinct, stepping forward, and wrapping her arms about his waist. Darcy froze for a moment, but when Elizabeth didn't instantly pull away, he gave in to his need and wrapped his own arms around her, holding her tightly. Safe. Dear God, keep her safe, he pleaded from the depths of his heart, not knowing if the prayer was for Elizabeth or Georgiana. Perhaps deep down, he was also praying for a safe place for his own heart. Eyes closed, Darcy focused only on Elizabeth's enveloping touch, that was slowly reaching into the overwhelming loneliness at his core; the ache for his parents, the grief for his sister, the longing for something true. Before he knew the risk of such vulnerability, a series of shuddering, barely audible sobs, shook his body.

Elizabeth held tighter.

With her unguarded compassion, the final wall of his resistance broke down. For the first time, since the passing of his parents, Fitzwilliam Darcy of Pemberley, cried.

Elizabeth did not speak, for which he was glad. He did not want to hear platitudes. Instead, her gifts to him were in her presence, in the unspoken words that reached to his soul; the comfort of her embrace, the reassurance of her small palms pressed firmly on his back, their mutual trust as her cheek pressed against his chest, the soothing softness and scent of her hair now so close to him, her compassion and empathy heard in her occasional sniffs, telling him of tears she too, was shedding.

When once again master of his emotions, Darcy found himself struggling to relinquish the exquisitely fragile precious moment. The connection was more than comfort now, it was appeasing a craving that he dared not voice; a longing for something closer with Elizabeth that he felt compelled to deny if he was to honour his parents' legacy. Yet, by some miracle she was here in his arms, he could feel the shape of her, the rhythm of her breathing, and he just needed to savour the gift a few moments longer. Just ten seconds more, he begged his self-control, now tapping him on the shoulder. Darcy breathed in her presence, committing to memory as much as he could, until he sensed a slight change in her awareness. Slowly, reluctantly, he pulled away.

'Miss Elizabeth, I apolo…'

'Don't!' she whispered, closing her eyes briefly against his words. 'Please,' her voice barely audible, 'please don't.'

Darcy froze. 'I do not understand,' he said slowly.

Her voice still low, entreating. 'I do not want this moment lacquered into something stiff and uncomfortable with apologies and "should not haves". Can we not just leave it as it is? Soft, and undefined.'

She stood before him, eyelashes yet wet with tears shed for his grief. He nodded. 'Soft,' he said, as he reached out and brushed a thumb across her damp cheek. 'And undefined.'

Her own hand came up, covering his. She closed her eyes and pressed the side of her face into his open palm. Another tear trickled down from beneath her lashes.

'Thank you, Elizabeth.' Darcy whispered.

She nodded. Hands retreated.

Bending her head, Elizabeth hid her face as she sought composure. Darcy watched, reliving the memory of holding her form tightly against his chest, as she took a deep drawn out breath. Then another. Slowly she raised her face to meet his own and Darcy was captivated by the expression in her eyes.

'Thank you for trusting me,' she said quietly. 'I will not tell a soul. I promise.'

'I know,' Darcy replied, his voice caressing the words. 'I would trust you, with anything.'

She held his gaze for a quiet moment, her eyes brimming with emotion, before giving a tiny nod. 'Do you,' she said hesitantly, glancing briefly down the lane before searching his face, 'feel ready to go on? To speak to Sir William?'

'Yes.' Darcy took a step back, more befitting propriety. 'Thank you.'