START NOTES: This chapter is.. sort of an interlude. See, I wasn't planning on posting Again today, but SO MANY people replied about having trouble suspending their belief, so I thought I might make things a little easier with A transition chapter. Short, and not super sweet.

Have at it, y'all
~Vinny

The only sound was the clinking of silverware. Pure silver silverware. It was heavy to lift, and cold to the touch. Darcy had gotten used to it— it was all he had ever known, really— but Lizzy was still a stranger to their dinner table. Luckily, she only dropped her fork once, and not on the tablecloth.

Darcy wasn't sure why his father had asked if Lizzy would care to dine with them. He had been strangely… calm about it. Almost... happy. It was frightening.

"Have you two been enjoying your walks?" He had asked, hands caught behind his back.

Darcy had stopped in his tracks on his way up the staircase; Lizzy had already gone back to her room. She had stopped needing crutches days ago, and really only needed her bandages changed once every day— the only sign that she was still injured was a slight limp in her step. She hid it when the doctor came around.

So… had his father noticed? Was he inquiring about Lizzy's health? Or (more likely) had he found Lizzy's parents at long last?

Darcy should have been more excited at that last idea. But all he could think about was.. if that was the case… then Lizzy would be gone.

He set his shoulders back and steadied himself for whatever was coming. "Uh, yes, father," he said through his teeth. "It's been very pleasant. Why… why do you ask?"

The elder Mr. Darcy looked away, towards the staircase. His eyes traced the banister, and when he found nothing, they returned to his son's face. "Because I wished to know if Lizzy would be inclined to pay us a visit at dinner."

If Darcy had been drinking water at the time, he would have spit it out.

His father clicked his tongue in exasperation. "Honestly William, wipe that look off your face. It's unbecoming."

Darcy did as he was told, but couldn't help asking: "But— why?"

There was a brief hesitation. "We're going to have a visitor tomorrow," he then said in a sedate voice, "And I think it would be fitting to inform our…," his mouth twisted in what might've been repulsion, "...houseguest about him personally. At dinner. Will you extend the invitation?"

His son blinked, then nodded.

"Good." The man swept his hands down his chest like he was wiping off dust. "Good lad."

As soon as he turned away, Darcy felt a wave of anxiety crash onto him, and (when he knew his father was out of earshot) took the stairs two at a time, pounding the carpet with the soles of his feet. When he got to Lizzy's bedroom, his heart was going like a rabbit on a fox hunt, and his brain was swirling with guesses and worries.

She had opened the door on the first knock. Then she had ushered him in and sat him down so that he could explain.

Hours later, here they were, still with no more answers than they had started with.

Lizzy was fidgeting on her cushion, and kept glancing toward the entranceways— partially to see if either of her suspects (her uncle who owned a warehouse, or her father, who owned a cat) were coming, and partially to avoid eye contact with the local patriarch, who was picking apart his lamb with small, deliberate strokes.

"Lovely meal, isn't it?" He said into the stuffy silence. "Freshly slaughtered and prepared this morning."

"Yes sir," Lizzy replied, and Darcy cringed inwardly as he waited for her to say the wrong thing. But to his surprise, she said: "It's a scrumptious dish. Thank you for allowing me to share in it, Mr. Darcy."

The man inclined his head in reluctant acknowledgement, and continued eating. Darcy could see his friend squirming underneath the table.

"But, sir," she said, and both father and son laid their forks down simultaneously. "But sir.. I must ask… Why am I dining with you tonight?"

Delicately, he dabbed at his lips with the tablecloth. "Because, Miss Lizzy," he told her with his nose in the air, "I wished to say goodbye."

Now it was Lizzy's turn to drop her utensil. "Is it my father? My uncle? Have they come to collect me?" She leaned eagerly forward, and Darcy felt his stomach drop at the way she smiled.

"No," his father's voice intoned. "Unfortunately not."

A brief interlude. Then:

"Well?" Lizzy piped up, her eyebrows smashing her brown eyes into thoughtful creases. "Who is it?"

Mr. Darcy began cutting another piece of lamb before he spoke, and when he spoke, he still didn't answer.

"I'm sure your parents— whoever they might be— are very worried about you. But since they did not respond to the general notice I sent out to relevant neighborhoods, I imagine that… with your injury nearly healed… it is time to.. peruse other options."

"Options?" Darcy echoed, finally speaking up. "What options?"

"Options for where she should stay of course," he replied mildly.

"But—," he blinked, swallowed, and unconsciously began shaking his head. "But she's staying with us. Until her parents come for her, she's staying with us!"

"William, lower your voice," His father chided, "And I believe dear Miss Lizzy would receive far better care in the local children's home than she would here."

"Children's home?!" Lizzy said, clearly terrified. "B-but I have a family! I told you, we're the Bennets, and we live to the South and a little East, but my mother—"

"—will be staying with your Aunt Gardiner for the next three weeks," Mr. Darcy finished in a thoroughly unbothered tone. "So you have said. Now, think for a moment (if you can). How many days have passed since your… arrival?"

Lizzy's eyes dropped to her plate. "Thirty-two."

"Exactly," he said smugly, sitting back. "Now. You won't have to leave for the orphanage right away, of course, but tomorrow Mr. James Lonthre is coming to inspect you and fill out the necessary paperwork. You will be expected to be polite, and courteous, and say nothing of any ill treatment— not that you can. I will not have our good name drug through the dirt. Do you understand?"

"..yes," Lizzy said in the smallest voice Darcy had ever heard. "I understand."

The rest of the meal was eaten in silence.

Every few seconds, Lizzy's eyes would cut to him, and Darcy would have to look down to avoid crying out. It was as if a dam was building inside him, and it was about to give way to a biblical-sized flood. Every look Lizzy threw to him was another wave crashing into him.

Darcy excused himself early from dessert. He and Lizzy still communed, as they always did, but this time they hardly spoke. There was too much silence in the air to say anything relevant. They both went to bed soon after. The goodbyes fell from their lips like raindrops sliding down a drain pipe— all too quickly, the doors were shut.

The silence persisted, long into the night.

END NOTES: Okay, so addressing a few comments I got...

You see, I DESPISE writing in regency Style (let alone dialogue), even more than I hate reading it. Which is saying something. I have read multiple Jane Austen books, and each one was an incredible story!...Each one, a story where I had to wade through pages and pages to get to a paragraph break, and my only solace was the semicolons (EVERY. OTHER. LINE.).

So, yeah, I don't write QUITE like they would actually talk. Fanfiction is a purely self-indulgent art form— I only write what I like writing. So, to the person (or anyone else) who noticed that, thank you for the thought and for the note, I'll try and be better, but NO, I am NOT changing my entire story to fit the colloquial quirks of regency England. Sorry. I just don't have it in me.

Anyway... You're welcome, you bastards (i love you all so much though ❤️) See ya next chapter!
~Vinny