It took three trips to London for Darcy to understand his own heart.

-PP-

The first trip happened two months after Elizabeth's departure. Bingley was still trying to find a suitable tenant for Hartfield. There were a few possibilities, one of them the Stiles daughter and her husband. Darcy vaguely remembered the eldest son from Eton—there were two sisters—but nothing was yet settled and Darcy was not in a hurry to see the house occupied by strangers. Anyway, he had business in town for a few days; as always, he would stay with Bingley and Jane, a habit he had taken years ago and that was too practical and too pleasant to change. Opening Darcy House for such a short stay would be expensive, and Georgiana was traveling, sea bathing in Ramsgate, in the company of Jane Fairfax and Mr. and Mrs. Weston.

Darcy arrived dusty and exhausted. The town was busy and shrill. A vulgar scuffle happened two steps from Bingley's door and the crudest language was used. Jane or Elizabeth could have heard, Darcy thought with ill humor, while leading his horse in the courtyard. Georgiana could have, if she had been dining here—which happened more than once.

This was insufferable. Maybe Darcy's mood was also not helped by the fact that he was thirsty, that the meal on the road had been ghastly, and that a short time after his departure, he had been forced to ride for an unpleasant hour under a short but disagreeable bout of rain.

"You should move, Bingley," was the first thing Darcy said when he was ushered into the dining room, where he had been told a tray was waiting for him. "This is truly the most inconvenient neighborhood—this place is not good for your reputation or rank in society, and really, you should not subject your wife to this."

"How wonderful to see you again, Darcy," was Bingley's philosophical answer. "I believe we already had this discussion, more than once. Would you fancy some wine?"

"Please," Darcy grumbled, taking a chair.

"I believe," Elizabeth said with amusement, "that my sister is very aware of the choice she made. She married a gentleman with connections in trade," she continued, with a theatrical look at her brother-in-law, who put his hand on his heart and pretended to be shocked by the accusation. "Someone who is living in a busy neighborhood where he can do business. I know, such uncouth words. A real lady should never utter them."

Darcy was stunned for half a second. He had not even seen Elizabeth in the room. But here she was, her hair elegantly done, clad in a deceptively simple dress of deep grey silk, with pearls around her neck. Never had she looked so sophisticated.

"Are you going out?" he asked, before remembering himself, standing, and bowing. "Miss Bennet."

"Mr. Darcy," she said, smiling, with a small curtsey. "Are we not beyond such formalities?"

"One should never be beyond basic courtesy, as some people in your street should learn, Bingley," Darcy said pointedly while sitting down again.

"Oh Lord," Elizabeth sighed, with fake anguish. "Have you been haunted by Lady Catherine's spirit again? Is she inside your soul, speaking your words?"

Lady Catherine was alive and in perfect health, but this was an old joke between them. Darcy glared at Elizabeth, who laughed. "Yes, I am going to the theater with a friend," she explained, "but I wanted to greet you before I left. Do not fret, the play will be very tragic, as becomes my mourning status. I shall not shame my relations by my conduct."

"I shall contradict my stance on formality here," Darcy said, feeling already so much better in a dry, comfortable room, with wine, food, and civilized conversation. "But I believe Mr. Bennet would not have cared about those absurd rules. On the opposite, he would have loved you to see a comedy—on the condition that it was well written."

Elizabeth's smile was melancholy. "You are perfectly right. But this is all a game, and I have to play it if I wished to be accepted—if I want to be allowed to converse in the right drawing rooms, with the right people."

"You are finding London to your satisfaction then?"

"I am," Elizabeth answered, sounding herself a little surprised with the realization. "So many fascinating encounters."

This answer was strangely not completely to Darcy's satisfaction.

-PP-

The next morning, Darcy was up just before nine, which was very late for the gentleman, and Elizabeth was up right after, which was very early for the lady. They met in the breakfast parlor, where Elizabeth blindly reached for coffee, and had to recall all her manners to ask Mr. Darcy if he wanted some before drinking her own.

Darcy watched it all with much amusement. "A late night, I assume?"

"I was supposed to come back just after the play, but Lady Saltridge invited us into her home for sherry and 'literary discussion'… It is a habit of her, I believe, to do this with trusted friends, after a play had taken her fancy. It was— I drank too much sherry, I believe."

Elizabeth was certainly not so elegant now, wearing a simple day dress of ivory muslin, her hair in slight disarray. But she was charming in a different manner.

"Was the discussion worth the trouble at least?"

"It was! It took unexpected turns. We talked of women's education—I had not realized how unusual mine had been, with Father teaching me Latin, talking to me of all subjects, and sharing his books and his reflections with so few scruples."

"It was indeed, an unusual choice." Darcy frowned. "I would not recommend it for other ladies. Maybe such a method could have been destructive, you know, on a weaker temperament than yours—on a woman less clever than you were."

"I shall be flattered for my sake and offended for all womankind. And I shall fight your prejudices and win, sir, you will see—but not before a second cup of coffee. This morning, a group of…gentlemen decided to loudly argue under my windows, using the most iinteresting language," Elizabeth explained. "This is why I am awake at this unfathomable hour. And now I have the worst headache."

"Thus, my point from yesterday. Bingley should move. This is not good for your reputation either."

Elizabeth just smiled. "And what are you doing this morning, Mr. Darcy?"

"Visiting the new docks. There are a few things I must buy; I would prefer to see the merchandise with my own eyes—you remember what happened with Walker. And I am meeting with Captain Tarbutt. The man is quite the character, they say. It should be an interesting encounter."

Elizabeth sighed. "The river, the gulls, the warehouses, and ships' captains! This sounds even better than Lady Saltridge's politics and views on education. I wish I could come."

"Why don't you?" Darcy asked, on an impulse. The gulls, the warehouses, and Elizabeth's laugh. What had been a chore, if an interesting one, could turn into— The thought had not really time to coalesce, because Elizabeth gave him a tentative smile.

"Could I? Are you serious in your invitation, Mr. Darcy?"

He smiled back. "When am I not?"

And all political discussion was cheerfully forgotten.

-PP-

Going on an errand, just the two of them, was not as simple in town as it had been in Highbury. Darcy and Elizabeth had often walked together in the country; they had found themselves alone in a carriage more than once without anyone remarking on it, but this was London, so after getting ready, Elizabeth asked her maid to accompany them. Darcy borrowed one of Bingley's footmen—the area was not always safe, and he would not want a lady under his protection to suffer any unpleasant encounter.

They arrived at their destination without any issues, and...nothing much happened. The recent warehouses were austere and practical, the sky was silver, the gulls were following their elaborate and deadly dance. "Well, deadly if you are a fish," Elizabeth remarked. The birds' cries talked of sand and waves—of the sea, not that far, but still quite out of their reach. The sound of coarse voices was carried by the wind, a thick humidity floated in the air, the smells were still unpleasant despite the attempts at cleanliness and modernity—Elizabeth loved it all.

"Do you remember when we went to Whitstable, as children?" she asked, after a few moments of strolling in silence, enjoying such novel sensations.

Elizabeth must have been nine; Darcy's parents were still alive. The Darcys had organized the trip; they had invited Mr. Bennet's two daughters along with a horde of nurses and servants—and Miss Taylor, whose rational but affectionate rule was appreciated by both families. George Wickham, who was eleven, had also been of the party, as had Charles Bingley, who was of similar age, and who Mrs. Darcy did not appreciate much. "At least Mr. Bennet is a gentleman," Elizabeth had overheard Mrs. Darcy whisper one day to a friend. But Elizabeth was too young, at the time, to understand the hidden significance of the remark, or to make sense of the deadly pattern of social nuances. Strangely enough, Mrs. Darcy liked Wickham. The boy was so charming, no one could help but appreciate him.

But Mr. Darcy—the old one—stayed loyal to the friendships of his youth, and his wife had to accept that despite all of her discreet efforts, the Bingleys and the Bennets would remain part of her circle.

It had been such a happy, carefree time for the children at the seaside, and Darcy and Elizabeth had a cheerful conversation remembering it all. Their joyful games, their very prudent sea bathing, the simple joy there was in running around the rocks in the wet sand. Elizabeth found that same simple joy now, having a pleasant conversation with a dear friend, strolling near the majestic ships unloading their cargos of spices, furs, furnishings, and even bullion. Once Darcy reached the Appollo, he had to leave Elizabeth behind. Despite their previous discussion, Darcy still believed the harsh realities of sea life were not for a woman's ears.

The lady was not offended; she was happy enough exploring some of the warehouses under the watchful eye of both servants, and after discovering a series of beautiful Chinese cupboards that, alas, would not be to Jane's taste, she found a tiny shack selling hot tea, hidden between two of the newer buildings. The beverage, made with a lot of sugar and milk, was almost of a caramel color, the young girl stirring it on a huge pot kept piping hot on the coals; she served it with a ladle. Elizabeth felt very adventurous asking her maid to purchase four of the…maybe they should be called bowls? Whatever the recipients were, you could not in all truth call them "cups." One for each of the servants, one for her, and Elizabeth had the pleasure to hand the fourth one to Darcy herself when he stepped out of the ship.

He accepted the gift with a smile and a gallant bow. Then they walked to a calmer spot to enjoy their hot beverage, the waters of the Thames at their feet, an experienced sailor yelling in the distance at some poor overworked boys. Gulls were still drawing elaborate curves in the sky. A fisherman's boat was unloading his modest cargo of smelt and crabs.

"Whitstable was also the first time I ever tasted oysters," Elizabeth commented distractedly, coming back to their previous topic. "And the last, I believe."

Darcy pretended to be shocked. "You did not eat oysters all the time you were in London? All those 'fascinating' people you had the honor to meet in town, didn't they know how to feed a lady of means and education?"

She laughed. "Oysters felt like such a treat when we were young—for our first time on the coast. But here people sell them in the streets, you know. They are cheaper than most fruits."

"This is not an excuse. You are taking this insult to your taste and character very lightly, Miss Bennet. Your London hosts are behaving shamefully, in not asking for your preferences. I would not react so mildly if I were you."

"I suppose I should not. I should cut all of my friends. I will, starting today. 'No oysters!' shall I write to Miss Crawford. 'Was it a deliberate insult?' I will take it as one.'"

"Good. In the country, you would not have been treated this way."

"Did we eat oysters when I was invited to Pemberley?"

"We would have had, if you asked."

"I will have you know that London is still a land of wonder, Mr. Darcy. Can you believe I looked at a few pineapples—from afar, of course?"

"I am all convinced now. I will write to Mrs. Reynolds, she will start packing at once."

Elizabeth gave Darcy one of her most brilliant smiles—he seemed surprised, and there was a fleeting emotion on his face that she would have been at loss to define. But smiling she could not help; it was all so pleasant, their absurd conversations, their affectionate disagreements. Elizabeth had talked to many fascinating people indeed, but Darcy had a dry wit, a quickness of reaction that she had yet to find in any of her new acquaintances. And suddenly she was seized by a powerful wave of yearning—for Hartfield, for Pemberley, for the hills and the trees of her youth, for the beauty and simplicity of a thousand mornings.

"You know I did not want to leave," she whispered, somewhat senselessly. She looked away, suddenly finding herself on the verge of tears, for no reason she could discern. And maybe Darcy felt her distress, because he quickly covered her hand with his—he gave it the briefest squeeze.

"I know. I am sorry." His voice was rough. "I was speaking in jest. Of course, I am happy you are finding a new home here."

Was she? She would not risk intellectual solitude in London, at least. But she had never felt lonely in Highbury either—not with her father and Darcy as daily companions. This was not the time to dwell on regrets though—not on such a beautiful day.

"And now I am craving oysters. It is your fault, sir."

Darcy nodded gravely as if confronted with a severe problem. "Let's have some right now."

It took a good hour of wandering in the neighborhood's questionable streets before Darcy found an establishment he felt comfortable inviting Elizabeth in. The place was simple but clean; they both enjoyed an excellent oyster ragout, cooked with some grated lemon, nutmeg, white wine, and served with fresh bread. Then they decided to send back the carriage and walk home—it was a rather long endeavor, and somewhat of an adventure, but it was also delightful.

-PP-

Darcy stayed a week more in Bingley's home. Alas, he and Elizabeth were both busy, and an opportunity to spend part of the day together did not present itself again.

And then he was back in Pemberley, to the charms of the country and the weight of his responsibilities, leaving Elizabeth to a world of silk, velvet, novel friendships, and original, mayhap dangerous ideas.