Well, that previous chapter certainly caused a stir didn't it.

I was incredibly overwhelmed with the responses, good and bad, and really did find it an absolute privilege to read every single one of them in response to this work. This is a story that I hope will bring out many a feeling, good and bad and hopefully a truckload of debates.

Saying that, I don't want anyone to be truly upset by it, so if you are one of those who may be affected by some tough scenes, heavy conflict and moral outrages, do reconsider reading this. No story is for everyone, and I know I lost a few in the last chapter with Darcy putting his hands on our Lizzy.

I still have reviews to try and respond to where questions were asked, and many thanks to all those guest reviews too – especially those who have a sign-off of some sort it's nice to but names to the chapter after chapter reviews.

Thank you to those defending the work too, very kindly appreciated. I'm all for debates and criticism ( as long as it's polite, and thankfully most of them have been.)

Pushes to get me writing are as always much appreciated and needed.

Anyway enough of that, onwards!

Chapter 12

Leaving Longbourn

The carriage pulled over not 5 miles from Longbourn.

Propriety was a concept Elizabeth had feared all but abandoned, alas the carriage had arrived at the touch of dawn with only a young maid and driver. It was a precaution she had not expected, especially as Mr. Darcy had deemed it acceptable to arrange a meeting in a public bookshop. A gentleman turning up in a loaded carriage to leave with an unmarried daughter would have wagged more than a few tongues of anyone who may have passed the estate.

Still, this consideration did very little to soothe her or the distraught family she had just left behind. And what little hope of a prearranged unattended journey vanished as they pulled alongside an awaiting carriage. It was hard not to feel abandoned by the young maid when she all but fled, leaving the door wide open. Elizabeth took the precious moments alone to collect herself.

"Mr. Darcy."

"Elizabeth," he sounded relieved to see her as he climbed inside but Elizabeth just gave him the necessary perfunctory nod before giving her attention to the window.

He seemed unsure where to sit, and she had little hope that he would choose her preferred location, up with the horses. Settling himself on the seat directly across from her, she could feel his attention on her, awaiting her objection to his choice. Elizabeth tried not to dwell on some dark thought at the proud gentleman who had made her feel so unsure throughout this whole escapade, was now unsure where to sit in his very own carriage. What did it matter to her where he sat? This was a Darcy carriage, and much larger than any she had traveled in before. But it was still a box, a box they were going to be stuck in for days on end, traveling miles up the country. There was no place he could sit that would make him disappear.

Although should he prove exceptionally insufferable, she would happily make friends with the horses herself, society and Mr. Darcy be damned.

He tapped on the roof twice, and the sound of hooves and grit soon filled the silence.

His eyes hadn't left her once since he'd entered, seemingly trying to draw her attention back to him to open conversation. Elizabeth could feel a blush mortifyingly hit her cheeks at his attention, but as the carriage started to pick up speed and a slight breeze came through she very much hoped the man would assume to chill in the air was the culprit. And the chill was there, somehow finding its way through the glass panel, Elizabeth felt herself shiver.

"Are you cold?" he had already marginally risen, a hand gripping the cover of his seat.

"Not at all, Mr. Darcy," and in truth, she would be fine. The sun was fighting its daily rise, but rise it would, and a morning chill, after all, was nothing to her. Mr. Darcy loitered in pose for a beat before setting himself reluctantly back into his seat and resumed his attentions. Elizabeth was still doing her best to ignore him, but it was clear from his frustration that he would not be content to sit in silence for long. Elizabeth held her blink a spell.

"Did you sleep well?" Mr. Darcy broke.

Elizabeth turned to look at him. His wince was answer enough for both of them.

She was under no illusions that she looked like the appropriate mistress. Her mother had insisted on her being dressed in Jane's best wool dress and her hair was formed in a perfect upheld twist. But no amount of pinned curls and fine stitching would hide the redness of her eyes.

"Did you?" she responded turning away from the man not awaiting his response. This was probably the last time she would see Hertfordshire for a while, with no accounting if she would ever be allowed to return. And, quite frankly, she'd rather look at a field than at her traveling companion.

"No," he answered softly, "No, I did not,"

Elizabeth just nodded again, making no effort to incite further conversation.

None of the household at Longbourn had truly slept, even the younger girls who remained blissfully unaware of the turmoil at Longbourn. The pretty story about Elizabeth being sent to London to find suiters had sprouted a few protests of jealousy from Lydia. She was shot down most abruptly by her father and to the surprise of the entire household, backed instantly by his wife. The unprecedented agreement of the usually polar opposing parenting had the younger girls picking up on a tension in the house that didn't quite fit in with the loose tale they had been provided. With little evidence to voice it, they remained confused and observant. Young as they were, they couldn't quite fathom the need for their mother to help their sister to pack privately, only for the rest of the siblings to be told to remain well away downstairs.

And that particular delicate conversation just added to Elizabeth's restlessness.

She was an observant girl, and with plenty of animals on the estate, had pieced together what she understood the physical act to be somewhat like. A rather unfortunate incident of witnessing swimming soldiers from afar had led her to some clues, but had dared not tell any but Jane, who had blushed enough for the both of them, had left her a few more questions than answers. Elizabeth knew anything about the realities.

Her mother had a lot to say on many a topic, but alas she was frustratingly light on the details surrounding the relations between a man and a woman. Stumbling over expectations of "Mistress" rather than "wife" seemed to have thrown her mother into a rather unsure exercise on what exactly she should be preparing her daughter for. And Elizabeth felt next to useless having no idea on what she should ask. So her mother settled on the mechanics and caution, having declared, "There is little telling, Lizzy, what a man would do with a mistress over a wife. Best to simply do as he instructs, and become settled with it. The discomfort is lessoned with time."

To say that Elizabeth was expecting more than that was to put it lightly. Varieties of do as you're told and don't complain were the bread and butter of female genteel society but as Elizabeth had frequently experienced society was not always pleasant, and rarely fair to her.

Against her mother's explicit instructions, Elizabeth immediately relayed all to Jane the moment they were left alone. Her sister, in her typical fashion, had turned her pale skin red but remained characteristically positive surrounding the discussion of relations. Her belief being that while Mr. Darcy had many faults, he hadn't seemed the sort to be a brute during their brief interactions at Netherfield. Elizabeth didn't doubt that her sister's positivity would be vastly diminished if she had shown the slight bruising on her arms hidden below sleeves.

Elizabeth had never been a careful child, and very little had changed as she'd grown into a young woman. While the climbing of trees and roughhousing had decreased with greater parental attention, and lack of willing participates, she'd experienced her fair share of scrapes and bruises. She had even fallen from their old gelding once and turned her side black and blue for weeks and it had barely put her off, pulling herself back on at the first chance she'd got. She would have said it would have taken more than a few bruises to scare her off any challenge.

But the bruising on her arms concerned her. Mr. Darcy concerned her. The light marks on her arms would vanish in a day or two, but being reliant on his goodwill to release her had stuck a cord that she hadn't even known had existed. And Elizabeth rather despised the discovery of it.

Laid in bed listening to Jane's optimism and curiosity and all she could feel in her sleeved nightgown were trepidation and concern.

He had let her go. Not soon enough, but eventually. When she had told him he was hurting her, he had let her go. Even suspected that he hadn't actually meant to harm her, but really, if the result was the same, what did the intentions matter? And if a man can cause bruises on her arms from a heated conversation, what damage could he do in, well, the act?

Her father had taken her aside with an unease that had matched her mother's and repeated his support that should the situation become unbearable to her that she was to write immediately and come home. Elizabeth had relayed her assurances to the man who raised her that she would do so. All the while not meaning a word of it.

And so really it was such a small omission to take Jane's words of comfort and provide no evidence to the contrary.

And to top the evening off, it was the first time Jane had mentioned Netherfield since the night of the Meryton dance, where Elizabeth had relayed all that Mr. Darcy had shared with her. Jane had taken the news of her previous suiter with a gentle hurt that in turn wounded Elizabeth. Mr. Bingley may have traveled far but he had left some unforgivable pain in his wake, more far-reaching than the choice would have initially belayed. Where would they all be now if Jane had indeed married Mr. Bingley?

If the question had reached Elizabeth's mind, it certainly hadn't escaped her sisters and rose again on their last evening. Jane did not hide her misplaced guilt well, even as Elizabeth reassured her repeatedly, that Mr. Bingley was not a man she should think of. With luck, the news that he was now married and settled should assist Jane in a full recovery. And, should her sister would find someone else to make her happy, it would make Elizabeth's own sacrifice worth it.

"Elizabeth," Mr. Darcy broke the silence once again, "I wish to express my… regret in the turn of our conversation yesterday, it was not intended to reach such levels."

She kept her attention on the passing scenery, breathing in firmly. "It does not matter." It mattered a great deal, but the less she thought about that the better. She had spent half the night thinking about it, and had little desire to voice her concerns to the man himself.

"It is between us, and I wish it were not so. I spoke… and acted somewhat rashly."

She turned to face him at that somewhat admission. As she was sat in a carriage moving further and further away from the people she cared about, it seemed such a redundant admittance. If he truly had regretted his actions he would have let her enjoy the time with her family and neither of them would not be sat having this unfavorable exchange.

"It is best forgotten," she spoke as calm as she was able because gracefully accepting his apology would give him his sort after peace, and to attack him further would only cause damage in her tenuous situation. And she meant her words, it would be best forgotten, just as sure that she certainly would not.

"Elizabeth, I am trying to…" Mr. Darcy fidgeted in his seat, his hands fisted on his lap. His blatant discomfort only made Elizabeth want to keep to her calm persona, her hands so gently placed atop of one another, rather than digging divets into the softly lined seat. "I do not want you to be distressed. It was not my intention to make this situation more difficult for you," he wiped a hand over his face, the movement catching her attention in its level of weakness that she had not expected to witness, nor did she particularly want to, "I had hoped the time with your family would have helped settle you to this."

ELizabeth doubted it. But the time would have been precious to her all the same. She didn't want to get into his placating apologies, the damage was done. She was exhausted, all she wanted to do was close her eyes, close her eyes and vanish away from here, get away from this man, away from this conversation. So she gave a small nod, her new preferred form of communication. He could take from that what he will and turned away from him again. She was gifted with silence and closed her eyes briefly in relief.

"Elizabeth, are you set on ignoring me?" Anger. The first sign of it, and something she couldn't ignore, even as his question made her want to.

"No sir," she forced out, belaying some irritation in her own tone at his continued attempts for discussion, "not at all. I just don't know what you expect me to say."

"Whatever you want to say," said Mr. Darcy, frowning, even as he made the request.

Elizabeth couldn't help a smile at that, if a bitter one, "I really don't think that would be wise, Mr. Darcy."

"No, truly, I would prefer you always speak your mind with me," he insisted, leaning forward. His hands moved with him, faster almost, but remained on his lap. She wondered if had meant to reach out and touch her own, but then he had thought better of it. She slid her hands closer to her waist to discourage any future attempts. He frowned again as he clocked the movement.

"That Mr. Darcy," she gave out a small unladylike noise, "is a luxury I can no longer afford."

"Elizabeth, I know you are upset, I know you. I would rather clear the air. You cannot believe" he expressed in disbelief, "that will throw away this entire arrangement over a few honest words, now or at any point in the future."

The belief that this man could possibly believe her knew her was laudable. A stranger could read her unhidden anger, let alone the target of it, it took no intimate knowledge of her. She gave him a cold look, "I had not expected, sir, that my sisters and I walking into town with a known friend would lose me my remaining time with my family." The moment she'd finished speaking, she regretted breaking her stance and felt foolish for allowing herself to be drawn into the conversation. In truth, it was not in her personality to hold her tongue, and physically biting it seemed to be the only way she could manage to keep her temper.

Mr. Darcy just looked at her for a moment, turning away himself for respite, "I regret that I lost my temper and acted as I did Elizabeth, truly, I believed it was for the best, for all involved, that we proceeded," he looked back to her, "I still do in truth, although I would prefer to be on better terms with you."

So really Elizabeth translated, he didn't regret a thing.

"As I said Mr. Darcy, it does not matter. What is done is done," returning to the safety of passive rejection. She could not deny that no small part of her enjoyed his evident frustration at her dismissive response and relaxed in his irritation and her small triumph. Honestly, what was the man expecting? Her to smile sweetly, and reassure him that she actually she couldn't wait to be dragged away from that family he had always deemed of little worth? To be overjoyed to be whisked away to a life of ill repute?

This, a man who foolishly claimed to know her.

The noise of the road filled the carriage. Elizabeth wondered if the driver could hear their conversation over the hooves. She rather hoped not, it was shameful that the servants may even suspect her traveling purpose, let alone be able to hear every word spoken between them for days of travel.

"Fitzwilliam," he responded "or William should you prefer." Elizabeth just stared at him, taken out of her thoughts. "My Christina name," he clarified, "I was unsure if you knew it."

"I- No I did not Mr. Darcy."

"I would prefer it, Elizabeth," he spoke as if she had simply misunderstood the request.

"Is that a requirement of the arrangement, Mr. Darcy?" she inquired lightly, an obvious trap that he would have to be a fool to miss.

From his searching pause and tense jaw he actually seemed to consider making it so before wisely abandoning the idea, "No, just a request."

Elizabeth just nodded. She had no intention of conceding.

"I would think, Elizabeth," he emphasised her name again, as if he hadn't been saying it since he'd invaded her hometown, "it would be better going forward if there was less distance between us," he was leaning forward again, speaking more softly, "You needn't be so formal."

"I will certainly take your request under advisement." It wasn't lost on either of the carriage inhabitants that she had failed to address him by name.

Elizabeth couldn't imagine two people that had a less harmonious interactions than her and Mr. Darcy. She could feel him looking at her, trying to…well she wasn't quite sure but attempting to reach something with her. Every time he opened his mouth she tried to keep her calm, but it seemed hopeless.

This wasn't going to work. And this had to work. He wanted less distance but she would place an ocean between them if she could, if her family's welfare didn't bind her in ties thicker than any rope. It didn't help that the man made himself so disagreeable.

"The books, do you like them?" The change in topic took her back a bit abruptly; it took Mr. Darcy looking down to the pair of novels beside her to recall them herself. She followed his gaze to look at them settled beside her, placing a hand on top of them in recognition.

On returning to Longbourn she had stood in front of the kitchen fireplace and considered giving them a much-deserved send of. Despite their less than ideal origins, the idea of taking her anger out on her favourite companion was a step she just couldn't bring herself to take. And she had taken the truth from his words in the bookshop, and considered the books a distraction from the man in front of her for this wretched journey. But what she didn't expect was that her tiredness was making her eyes sting and the movement of the carriage, that she had rarely any ill efforts from, was doing its best to make its presence known in her stomach. No, reading would not be the ideal distraction right now.

"In truth sir, in between, you handing them to me and this very moment, I haven't had a chance to look over them. You understand that I chose not to spend my last hours with my family reading in the corner."

His tense jaw was back as he looked away. Elizabeth closed her eyes berating her sharp tongue and took a breath, "I have not come across either of them before," Mr. Darcy looked back to her considering her more leveled response. Under the slightly unnerving attention, Elizabeth felt unable to stop there, "I did," she cleared her throat gently, " I do appreciate them."

"You enjoy reading." He had made it a statement, but she gave a nod all the same. Books after all were her favourite pastime when exploring, gathering and lively conversation wasn't to be found. He seemed pleased with her small confirmation, and settled back in his seat, considering his next words carefully.

"I'm glad. Since Netherfield, I had wondered whether you had enjoyed the books you read, or had chosen the activity out of the necessity of avoidance. I suspect you found objections to more than just my company in that party." He watched her reaction to his comment, but Elizabeth was careful to keep her face plain, accepting the explanation. "I hope when you do read them, you will enjoy them," he continued, "One of them is my sister's favourite. She is a spell younger than you, but I know she expressed a particular fondness for the brown bound novel. The other, I too have not come across before and it may be a good tomb to gift to my sister at the festivities." He seemed to take a breath, reading into her attention, "I would appreciate your opinion on its suitability, should you oblige me."

"You would trust the opinion of your mistress on suitable reading material for your charge? That sir, is a rather peculiar choice," Elizabeth couldn't help but find the request amusing, she doubted many gentlemen would want any similarities with the reading materials between a mistress and an innocent.

"I have made no effort to hide how much I respect you Elizabeth," he insisted, "That certainly has not changed by your circumstances. Nor by my influence in them," he lifted a brow, "That would be most hypocritical of me would it not?"

"Quite. Most generous of you," Elizabeth replied curtly, once again a reminder of his intention. Mr. Darcy frowned observing her less than jovial tone.

"I just meant I would dearly value your input."

"Of course sir, I would be happy to discuss the texts with you." Elizabeth was well aware she sounded anything but willing.

"Should you wish to read rather than converse, I would not object."

"Is that a require-?"

"No, no of course not, I only meant if you should wish…" he trailed off with a wave towards the books, looking somewhat troubled.

Elizabeth looked again at the books to her side, considering the offer sincerely, even if to bring an end to this interaction. But even the idea of written words made her stomach lull again and her headache.

"I fear my tiredness will not allow me to partake at this time. I will save them for later, thank you." Mr. Darcy nodded and went to speak again, but Elizabeth cut him off, "Please sir, do not think we have to converse on my account. I am quite content with the scenery."

He seemed to consider her, taking in the truth of her words, and hidden truths of her words. He let out an exhale, that Elizabeth couldn't translate.

"You should rest, if you are tired." To Elizabeth's surprise, he raised himself off his seat and sat down right next to her, a hand moving the expensive books to the floor of the carriage, something which Elizabeth nearly vocally objected to but was too taken aback by his actions. He leaned over and opened up a compartment below where he was previously sat, taking out a thick fur-lined blanket. It was still quite chilled, and the speed of the action meant that Elizabeth didn't even have time to object when the thick wool blanket was draped over her lap, and in part, his. She was more concerned that the man was now sat beside her, tucking her in rather than returning to his seat.

Despite her previous thoughts that his seating choice didn't matter, he felt infinitely closer with his thighs mere inches from hers and the joint warmth already beginning to collect under the furs. "We have a few hours until our first stop, and it would be better if you are well rested. You can rest on my shoulder should you find that more comfortable. I am used to such things, traveling with a younger sister," he clarified misreading perhaps deliberately Elizabeth's taken aback expression.

The idea of sleeping in a carriage with this man was an off-putting thought, but in reality, the man could be the devil himself and the ache behind her eyes and wading stomach would still tempt her to slumber. That being said, she had no intentions of taking him up on his additional offer, she couldn't imagine how she would find comfort enough to sleep in that position, it was off-putting enough feeling his thigh move beneath the blanket.

"Sleep does sound like a preferable option." She ran her fingers through the thick fur with some reluctant appreciation, "Thank you, for the blanket I mean."

He seemed pleased with himself, which irked her. Maybe she should have objected more to the high-handed manner he's just arranged her, but she really was tired, and as she kept having to remind herself, she should be trying to find some level of peace with the man.

"Rest Elizabeth, I shall wake you when we have arrived."

Even the structure of an order didn't pull her stubborn nature to the brink. She rested her head on the back of her seat, facing away from him. Her attention briefly on the passing grasslands and trees before letting her exhaustion pull her away.

Gently woken up a few hours later, was greeted to a view outside her window that was a rather less pleasant sight, and nothing like the rural paradise her eyes had left behind in Hertfordshire.

And we're off! I know some of you wanted more family reactions to leaving Longborn, but honestly, I feel like we'd never get anywhere. I could write every scene you describe but at the speed I write, we'll all be too blind to read it.

As always, thanks for treading this journey with me, however cautiously.

Feedback is always appreciated

EJC