When Jane walked into her room, she saw to her astonishment Elizabeth kneeling near the fire, hands shaking violently as she held several sheets of paper towards the blaze. Then, at the last moment, she snatched them back, with an expression at once whimsical and uncertain. She repeated this action some three or four times before sighing and rocking backwards on the balls of her feet, staring into the flames.

"Lizzy?"

Elizabeth leapt up, holding the letter against her. "Jane! I am so glad you are here."

"I am always pleased to see you, as well, of course," she agreed cautiously.

Elizabeth laughed, then made her way to the bed, tentatively bouncing a little. "I am in desperate need of counsel," she said.

"Yes?"

"I promised Darcy I would burn this," she said, turning the letter over in her hands. "I did mean to. The only thing is . . ." She frowned. "I can see why he wished it burnt. It is not a proper love-letter."

"He wrote you a love-letter?"

"No - I mean, yes, in a manner of speaking, but that is not what this is." She unfolded the letter, and Jane could see how worn it appeared, as if it had been anxiously read and re-read. A line formed between Elizabeth's brows as she looked down at it, fiddling nervously. "There are parts that are very . . . painful. I understand, I really do, why he is afraid I should have the power of re-reading it. But there are other parts, too - and I am afraid of not having the power of re-reading them. It is very silly," she continued hastily, with a light laugh, "I am sure he will speak them to me should I desire it."

Inspiration struck. "Is this that letter?"

Elizabeth nodded, her eyes lowered. "Jane, am I very different from a year ago?"

"Well - you are the same - in essentials," said Jane. "You are still Lizzy."

Elizabeth smiled tiredly. "But . . .?"

"You are quieter, more thoughtful, and when you laugh, it is not so - well, not at other people so much, but more because you seem . . . happy. You seem softer, somehow." Jane looked anxious. "I mean no offence, Lizzy. It is only what I think."

Elizabeth reached over and clasped her hand. "Of course you did not. I - I was wondering how I might seem from another perspective. I feel as if I am someone else entirely, sometimes, and other times as if I have not changed at all." She looked down at the letter, and sighed. "When he left me, at Lambton, I knew I had no right, no claim on him; but this was such a - such a comfort. He was very angry, and hurt, and bitter, when he wrote it, I think." There was a peculiar un-Elizabeth-like detachment in her voice; then she regained something of her customary demeanour. "And yet, in spite of all that, I think - I think he must have loved me very much." She looked pensive. "Of course he still does, but it is different now. That was more bittersweet. When he wrote this, he loved me without . . . without hope of return, without hope of anything, and he trusted me."

"Good heavens, Lizzy, what did he say?" Then she caught herself, and blushed deeply. "Oh, I am sorry, I should not have asked."

Elizabeth handed her one of the pages. "You may read the last line."

Mr Darcy had very neat, painstaking handwriting, as unlike Bingley's treasured but careless scrawl as could be imagined. The ending read, very simply, I will only add, God bless you, followed by his signature. "He used his name," she said irrelevantly.

"I beg your pardon?"

"I was simply wondering why he did not use his initials. It would have been safer, if someone had found it."

"Fitzwilliam assumed I would burn it." Elizabeth tilted her head to the side. "I am glad he signed it properly." Absently, she traced the signature with her fingers.

Jane looked at her sister curiously. "Do you always use his Christian name, Lizzy? - I have never heard him speak of you in any way other than Miss Bennet or Miss Elizabeth."

Elizabeth blushed and played with the fringe of her shawl, before confessing, "He always calls me Elizabeth when we are alone, from the very first, but he thinks it is improper and disrespectful to do so before company. I told him that he could call me whatever he likes, Lizzy or Eliza if he wanted to, but he prefers Elizabeth. He is the only one who always uses it, and it is how I have always thought of myself. Of course, then it was rather strange to be Elizabeth and Mr Darcy, but I knew his name from the letter - " she nodded at it - "so I started using it, and he was so delighted that I kept on doing so."

"That is lovely," Jane said dreamily. "I cannot imagine calling Bingley Charles, as his sisters do."

"It did take me awhile to grow accustomed to using it. I really could not imagine shortening it - anything else would be dreadfully common and not right for him, and he told me that most of his relations do use his Christian name, because if they all use surnames it can get dreadfully confusing. And now, it is how I think of him. Even Mr Darcy does not seem quite right anymore." She looked at Jane plaintively. "I want your honest opinion. Should I burn it?"

"Well, if you promised . . . but did you say when you would?"

"No, or I would have done it earlier."

"Well, perhaps . . . I am not sure, because Mr Darcy is so different from Bingley, but . . . why do not you simply tell him?"

Elizabeth looked blank. "Tell him what?"

"That you would like to keep it, of course. After all," she added, fixing a stern eye on her sister, "you should not have to make every concession, Lizzy. If it is that important to you, he should understand. And if he does not, I shall make him understand!"

Sometimes, Elizabeth reflected, Jane was more like Mrs Bennet than at others. Certainly she could be as fiercely defensive. Somewhat comforted, she leaned over and kissed her sister's cheek.

"Thank you, Jane. Oh - what shall I do without you?"

"Write to me," said Jane succinctly.

Elizabeth was not certain whether she was going to die of embarrassment or repressed laughter first. Mrs Bennet had found nothing new to say to Bingley, and quickly bored even herself; therefore, she turned her attentions to her other prospective son. Darcy, while too reserved to display his feelings before her, was to Elizabeth's eyes deeply uncomfortable; the empty politeness in his voice and the blank expressionlessness on his face said as much, more loudly than any words could do.

"This is a lovely carriage, Mr Darcy. So large, and comfortable, and rich!" Mrs Bennet proclaimed. Darcy's relentlessly well-bred manners, accompanied by somewhat less reserve than had been his wont, had unfortunately encouraged a certain familiarity in his mother-in-law.

"Thank you, Mrs Bennet."

Her eyes grew sharper. "We know all of Mr Bingley's relations, but not yours. You must tell me all about your family, sir, since they are soon to be ours as well."

"I am afraid I shall have to disappoint you, ma'am," said Darcy, "for there are only two of us, my sister and myself."

"Oh, so your mother is dead?"

"Yes, she passed on thirteen years ago."

"You must have been quite young," Mrs Bennet observed. "Why, you are very young now - pray, what is your age?"

Darcy glanced at Elizabeth - she shrugged helplessly - then an unfamiliar expression crossed his face, his eyes alight with what would have been mischief had they belonged to anyone else. "With a grown-up sister over ten years my junior," he said gravely, "you can hardly expect me to own it."

Elizabeth hurriedly turned away, trying to regain her countenance. She had no idea how he had heard of his aunt"s inquisition - perhaps Lady Catherine herself had waxed eloquent on the subject of Mrs Collins' impertinent friend.

Mrs Bennet unconsciously provoked her still further, by saying dismissively, "You cannot be thirty, I am sure, so you need not hide it."

Bingley and Jane looked merely curious, aware that they were missing something, and Darcy gave Elizabeth a conspiratorial smile before relenting. "I am eight and twenty."

"Then you were really only a boy. How did you get along without a mother to guide you?"

"I am blessed with several relations of an advising nature."

"Oh!" cried Mrs Bennet. "Why, that reminds me; Lady Catherine - your aunt, Lady Catherine de Bourgh - called on us at Longbourn. A remarkably elegant lady, did you not think, Lizzy?"

Darcy and Elizabeth exchanged pained glances. "She is certainly very . . . splendid," she managed to say.

"My aunt and I are estranged," Darcy said briefly. It was the first time he had publicly acknowledged it, and Elizabeth bit her lip. She had no fondness for Lady Catherine, who was absurd, impertinent, and arrogant; she certainly did not wish for Darcy to choose his relations over her! Nevertheless, she disliked being the cause of a rift in his family, and she could only hope this was not a harbinger of things to come.

"Oh, that is unfortunate, family quarrels are such dreadful things, one so often doesn't manage to outlive them," Mrs Bennet said. "Surely she is not your only relation, is she?"

Darcy smiled faintly. "No, far from it."

"Your family must be very rich and grand," she continued speculatively. Only a little flushed, Darcy said simply,

"We have none of us ever wanted for anything that can be bought."

Mrs Bennet gaped, and embarrassed as she was, Elizabeth comprehended the sentiment, and even felt something of it herself. She knew no specifics of his income and property, except that Pemberley had been worth ten thousand a-year when he inherited it, and there were other, lesser properties, and he could not support a life of serious dissipation and vice. She did know, however, that he was prudent out of inclination, not necessity; when she tried to explain why she did not like to spend half her allowance on a trifle, he simply looked blank and bewildered, as if she were speaking in a language he did not understand.

"Do you have any unmarried cousins?" Mrs Bennet was demanding. Darcy smiled.

"Yes, ma'am; all five of my mother's nephews and nieces are presently single."

She looked about to swoon at such unforeseen bounty.

"Three of them are ladies," he added.

"Two gentlemen," breathed Mrs Bennet. "Are they all as well-settled as you, sir?"

"I am afraid not."

She wilted.

"One is an officer - "

"- in the army," Darcy continued imperturbably, "but Lisle receives a generous allowance from his father."

"Lisle?"

"My cousin Lord Lisle - my uncle's heir."

Mrs Bennet had no difficulty putting two and two together when it came to eligible gentlemen. "This uncle is an - earl?"

"Yes, ma'am."

Her eyes gleamed. "This would be . . . the husband of one of your mother's sisters?"

"No, madam; Lord Ravenshaw and my mother, Lady Anne, were brother and sister."

"Good heavens." Mrs Bennet smiled beatifically at Darcy. "You must tell me about the rest of your family." Sotto voce, she added, "Grandson of an earl! Lizzy, did you hear that? You have done very well for yourself!"

There was a choked sound from Bingley's direction, Darcy could not keep himself from colouring deeply, while Jane and Elizabeth blushed nearly as fiercely. This cannot be over soon enough, she thought.