Elizabeth woke the next day, tired, sore, and in a decidedly ill humour. She was mad to get out of the house, and absconded with Darcy as soon as she found him. She knew he was an early riser, and that he spent his mornings walking or riding about the countryside. Fortuitously, he had opted to remain on foot this morning, so there was no equine monster to disturb her equanimity further.

Of course, the surreptitious meeting was hardly the height of propriety. In her present mood, that was enough to recommend the activity to her, but she knew Darcy's deeply-ingrained sense of decorum could not so easily be set aside. She was thus rather irritated with him, but knew her feelings all out of proportion - she had knowledge of how quickly matters could escalate between them, and realized Darcy's caution was far from unwarranted. Nevertheless, when all the tension of the evening and morning combined to a boiling point, she lost control of her temper, but she wished the words unsaid immediately, even before catching the telltale flinch and expressionless look in his eyes.

Oddly, it was he who diffused the situation, quite without intending to. "Elizabeth, are you, er . . ." he began hesitantly.

Since everyone else either ignored her or snapped back at her at such times, she was faintly bewildered at his reaction. "I am very sorry," she said.

"No . . . that is, I meant . . . are you . . . er . . ." He blushed.

Elizabeth sighed. "I am in a rather poor humour this morning, Fitzwilliam," she said shortly. "Please say what you mean outright."

"Ah . . . I do not know what it is called, exactly. Mrs Reynolds never said, when Georgiana - " He flushed even more. "Is it . . . that time?"

"I do not understand you," she said.

"The time when you, er . . ." His fingers were tightly clasped and his eyes steadfastly fixed on a rock near his foot.

Elizabeth stared, then smiled as she comprehended his meaning. "How do you know about that?"

"We thought Georgiana was dying; we all did," he said. "My housekeeper told us what it was."

She almost laughed outright, imagining poor Mrs Reynolds explaining the matter to her young master and mistress; then she thought of a frightened, motherless girl with no confidant but an austere older brother.

"I see," she said.

Darcy looked sheepish as he continued, "It was one of those times, that I rather wished my mother or my older sister had survived."

"Older sister?" Even imagining Darcy with parents was difficult enough.

"There were four children before me," he said breezily. "The first, Catherine, died about a sixmonth before I was born; she was then seven or eight years old, I think. The others were born too early. We all were, but I lived anyway. Then there were three after me, two daughters and a son, and then - " His brilliant smile seemed at odds with the subject matter, until he continued in a softened voice, "then there was Georgiana."

Elizabeth stared. Somehow this picture was so contrary to the vague sketch she had in her mind. For the first time, she thought of his parents, his family, as not simply the dim shadowy figures who had produced Darcy, vague ideas in her mind, but people as real as Lydia, Mrs Gardiner, her father. She thought of a woman whose wealth and beauty and accomplishments were not enough, who had borne so many children, and lost them all - but for one frail boy, and she could only imagine how dear he must have been to her.

"Your poor mother," she said.

"Yes," said Darcy gravely, before turning the subject; "speaking of Georgiana, I received this from her. I thought you might like to read it."

Elizabeth smiled to herself as she saw the letter. Prolific correspondence seemed to be a family trait; four sheets were insufficient to contain Miss Darcy's delight at her brother's engagement. Elizabeth was pleased, for her sake and his, that at least one member of his family approved of their attachment; but she was struck by the almost reverential regard with which Georgiana addressed her brother. Within two paragraphs, it was evident that Miss Darcy worshipped the very ground Darcy trod on; he was to her what Elizabeth had mockingly called him, a man without fault.

Pictures of perfection make me sick and wicked, she thought whimsically. I am glad that he has faults and foibles enough to make up for actually living up to such an ideal.

"Actually," Elizabeth confessed, several minutes later. "I was in an ill humour because of my mother."

Darcy opened his mouth, then shut it again, and simply waited for her to continue, and Elizabeth impulsively stepped closer, absently playing with the sleeve of his greatcoat. While she certainly preferred conversation to silence, one of the very great pleasures in their mostly solitary walks was that she never struggled to make herself heard. There were few, if any, exclamations or interruptions when she spoke, and he certainly never ignored her. Moreover, she never needed to sift through well-meaning omissions, careless words prompted by the impulse of the moment, but regretted later, or outright falsehoods. Darcy never said a word he did not mean.

Contemplation of her fortune instantly improved her mood, and Elizabeth felt more disposed to speak of it. "She is set on going to town, for our trousseaux. All of this has rather gone to her head. Of course, Jane and I do not want to be separated, so we joined with Papa in trying to convince her, but . . ." She shrugged eloquently.

"Why would Jane be separated from you?" he asked, looking faintly perplexed. Elizabeth blushed.

"Not from one another - from you," she said instantly, then added as an afterthought, "and Mr Bingley, of course."

"Oh, I see. Well . . ." The faint widening of his eyes told her that he was anxious, doubtless over some imagined insult he had inadvertently dropped.

"Fitzwilliam, what is it?"

"I - Bingley and I were talking, and . . ." He cleared his throat. "That is what we wanted to talk to you about."

"What is?"

"We both have some business in town, not urgent, but then there are the settlements - " he looked deeply embarrassed at even so indirect an allusion to the disparity in their situations. "We thought you might find it convenient to accompany us."

"All of us?"

"If the Gardiners consent, I suppose so."

Elizabeth smiled a little to herself. "Mama will be pleased. She has already complained to my aunt and uncle enough that they offered to let us stay with them."

"And you?"

Elizabeth glanced up at his face, which was rather too composed. "Of course," she said, "the only reason for the disagreement was that we wished to be with you and Mr Bingley."

Darcy smiled, and upon their return, it was decided, amidst vociferous complaints, that Mrs Bennet should take Elizabeth and Jane to town, and stay for a week, while Bingley and Darcy completed their business. Despite the painful prospect of a journey during which Mrs Bennet and Darcy were both present, Elizabeth anticipated the brief freedom from Meryton, and wrote an effusively grateful letter to her aunt.