Elizabeth was amused to see her young cousins make a beeline for Jane, then stop in their tracks when they caught sight of Darcy, and hover uncertainly before dividing into two groups and gleefully attacking each of them. John tried to climb up Jane's dress, Meg put her hands behind her back and primly curtseyed like the little lady she was, while Neddy attached himself to Darcy's legs and Polly demanded to be lifted up.

Elizabeth was astonished to see her quiet betrothed laugh out loud, swinging Polly up into his arms - she squealed with pleasure - and then giving Neddy his watch to play with. Darcy had said he was fond of children, of course, but she had not taken it very seriously; it was clear that they already knew him, though, and obviously had formed an attachment - oh, Lydia.

"It is quite all right," Darcy assured Mrs Gardiner, who was apologising for her middle offspring. "Madam, sir, it is a pleasure to see you again."

Elizabeth could see Bingley's lips forming the word again? before Mr Gardiner commandeered his sister and her nerves, and all were settled down in the parlour. The children abandoned their favourites to greet everyone, Meg settling between Darcy and Elizabeth while Polly bounced on the latter's lap.

"Lizzy," she demanded, "are you really going to marry Mr Darcy?"

"I am," Elizabeth replied, ruffling the little girl's hair. Neddy, seated at his father's knee, dropped the watch and clapped.

"I am very happy for you, cousin," Meg said primly. Polly seemed faintly puzzled, and looked from Darcy to Jane with her small brows furrowed.

"Well, Polly?" Elizabeth raised her brows.

"It's lovely that he's going to be our cousin now - "

"Cuz-zin?" said John hopefully.

"- because he is ever so nice - " Darcy coloured deeply - "but . . . I should not want to marry a man so much prettier than me!"

Elizabeth could not keep from laughing outright at this, along with most of the room (although Meg whispered a distressed apology), and snuck a look at Darcy, who had covered part of his face with his hand and was shaking slightly.

"I don't see why it's so funny," Polly continued loftily. "He should have married Jane, then he would still be our cousin but they would match. And Mr Bingley is only so pretty as you, Lizzy, so you could marry him." She beamed.

Jane and Darcy were staring at one another in abject horror, Bingley had bit back laughter but not a smile, and Meg hissed,

"You don't marry to match, Polly!"

"Well, Lizzy," Polly conceded, ignoring her sister, "you will still look nice together."

"Thank you," said Elizabeth gravely, "I am very much relieved."

Mrs Gardiner, after a pause, hustled the children off to bed, and the adults enjoyed more conventional conversation, interrupted only by Mrs Bennet on occasion (for her astonishment at the easy camaraderie between her brother and son-elect along with exhaustion had gone a long way in quieting her). After about forty-five minutes, she and Jane both confessed themselves exhausted and retired for the evening, while Bingley, with no great inducement to stay and business at home (namely, his sisters), returned to Grosvenor Street.

"I have already congratulated you," Mr Gardiner said cheerfully, "but allow me to say, once more, how pleased I am for both of you. This is a wonderful development, if not entirely unforeseen." He grinned at Darcy, who flushed slightly.

"I must confess myself somewhat bewildered as to how this has come about," Mrs Gardiner said. "Lizzy tells me that you were not engaged when we left Derbyshire."

Darcy looked startled. "No, far from it. I would have been surprised to know that she did not dislike me very much."

Mrs Gardiner raised her eyebrows. "Not dislike you?" she repeated, with an incredulous glance at her niece. Mr Gardiner laughed outright.

"We had . . . quarrelled . . . in April," he said haltingly. "I . . . said some things . . . that, in retrospect, I was deeply ashamed of, and would not have been surprised if she had grown to hate me even more than before."

"Things that you were deeply ashamed of?" cried she, laughing. "You could not have been more ashamed than I."

"I deserved everything you said."

Elizabeth's curls flew as she shook her head violently. "No. No, you did not. Not the way I said it. And certainly not in regards to Mr Wickham."

"Wickham?" exclaimed Mrs Gardiner. "So that is how you found out?"

"Not exactly," Elizabeth admitted, blushing. "He wrote me a letter - speaking of which, that is something I must speak to you about, perhaps tomorrow?" Her fingers twisted together. Darcy knit his brows.

"You have not burnt it?" He caught sight of her hands and gently stopped the anxious movement.

"No, I - that is what I would like to speak to you about."

He nodded acquiescence, even as Mr Gardiner cleared his throat. "You wrote her a letter, sir?"

"I did not send it," Darcy said hurriedly, "I handed it to her. I should have . . . perhaps I should have said it personally, but . . ."

"It was better this way," Elizabeth assured him, before turning back to her family. "So, that is how matters stood when we went to Pemberley. You can imagine what I felt."

"That is why you tried so hard to get out of it!"

"A comedy worthy of the Bard," Mr Gardiner remarked, leaning back.

Darcy smiled at Elizabeth, his look almost as openly affectionate as when they were alone. "It has not been an easy . . . courtship," he conceded.

"Two more perverse lovers never existed," Elizabeth declared. "We needed all the assistance we could get." Impulsively, she kissed her aunt's cheek. "We shall always be indebted to you both, you know. If you had not taken me into Derbyshire - "

"It was a pleasure," Mr Gardiner replied, with a warm look for his wife. "Why, we have made the match right under everyone's noses! I could not ask for anything more."

"Edward," chided Mrs Gardiner, "we did no such thing. Lizzy and Mr Darcy were quite capable of managing their affairs themselves. We only gave them a . . . small push."

"There seem to have been a good many small pushes going on," Darcy observed wryly. "Elizabeth is correct, though; we owe you, more than any other, our present happiness. For that alone, you shall always be welcome with us. You will be able to come to Pemberley for Christmas, I - we - hope?"

Mrs Gardiner coloured at the praise, which was positively effusive coming from Darcy, and looked hopefully at Mr Gardiner.

"I have a great deal of business . . . "

"It must be a long while since you have seen a proper Derbyshire winter, Mrs Gardiner," Darcy added.

"Winter in Derbyshire must be very like winter anywhere else - cold and unpleasant," Mr Gardiner declared, laughing.

Mrs Gardiner and Darcy stared. "My poor benighted husband knows not whereof he speaks, Mr Darcy," Mrs Gardiner explained. "He has never been north of Hertfordshire during the season." They both eyed Mr Gardiner pityingly.

"Nor I," added Elizabeth. "Pemberley cannot possibly be more beautiful than when I saw it, surely?"

"It is different," said Darcy.

"It was winter when I first visited," Mrs Gardiner added. "I thought it was like looking down on the kingdom of heaven - of course, I was only a girl then."

"You went to Pemberley before last summer? When was this?" Darcy asked, startled.

"I was eleven, I believe, so it must have been nearly twenty-three years ago."

"Oh, I was ill that winter, else I probably would have seen you. My mother was very particular about attending to her guests, even - " he stopped dead, but Mrs Gardiner gracefully saved him.

"Yes, she was. I do not think I have ever felt more welcomed to such a great house in my life, at least not until this year. She was very gracious, very elegant, very kind - a lady of the first order. I was rather overwhelmed, I am afraid." She shook her head, with a faintly wondering expression. "I would never have dreamed that I should see my niece in her place."

"Stranger things have happened," Mr Gardiner remarked, but his wife instantly riposted,

"Not outside of novels. I, a guest at Pemberley? Had you suggested it when you courted me, Edward, I would have laughed in your face and rejected you out of hand, on the grounds of your insanity. And now . . ." She shrugged. "Forgive me, Lizzy. Good fortune is always more startling than ill."

"Oh, I understand," Elizabeth assured her. "You could not have been more surprised than I." For no particular reason except a natural impulse, she reached for Darcy's hand, and absently entwined her fingers in his. "So, uncle, shall your business be too pressing?"

Darcy and Mrs Gardiner opened their mouths, doubtless to elaborate on the superiority of Derbyshire winters to those in every other country, but Mr Gardiner forestalled them.

"I think not. I shall never hear the end of it, if Margaret misses another one of your frozen Christmases."

Elizabeth beamed, and Darcy said earnestly, "It will be an honour, sir."

In the morning, before Mrs Bennet and Jane woke, Elizabeth explained the saga of the letter to Mrs Gardiner at somewhat greater length, although still remaining vague about the exact nature of their "quarrel." She and Darcy had agreed long ago - or it seemed long ago, at the beginning of their engagement - that the particulars of the proposal and their ensuing behaviour would remain a strictly private matter. Only Jane would ever know all, and Bingley if necessary, although she doubted it had gone even so far as that.

Mrs Gardiner's reaction was reassuringly similar to Jane's. "Lizzy," she said, "I do not need to know what was in it. If it is important to you, he will understand."

"He wanted me to burn it. It was important to him." She had known Jane was too prejudiced to see, but Mrs Gardiner instantly comprehended.

"Your interests will not always coincide, Lizzy. This may be the first difficulty of the kind you will face, and how you manage this may very well have a powerful effect on how future disagreements are resolved."

"We have not disagreed yet!" This sounded so childishly petulant that she could not keep from laughing.

"Your wishes are contrary to his," Mrs Gardiner said calmly. "That is inevitable, Lizzy. Listen to me, dear. Mr Darcy did a great thing, all the greater because he expected nothing in return. To feel somewhat . . . humbled by that, is perfectly natural. But you cannot allow it to create an inequality in your marriage, simply because you do not have such a gesture to offer in return."

"We are only engaged, we are not married yet - things will be different when we are married."

"Nonsense. The balance will even be more greatly weighted towards him then. Lizzy, I do not truly think you are in any great danger of becoming too deferential, nor do I think Mr Darcy likely to encourage it. Nevertheless, there is more to marriage than affection. It is a union, and anything that concerns you, concerns him."

Elizabeth frowned. She loved Darcy - more than she had ever thought she could love another human being - but she was not accustomed to such openness, not even with Jane who had been her confidante for so many years. And she felt a fierce protective instinct that could not but make her careful of saying too much. Nevertheless, they could not proceed in this half-distant, half-intimate situation forever. They would be husband and wife, bound indissolubly for the rest of their lives, within a matter of weeks.

"You are quite right," Elizabeth said firmly. "I shall explain it all to him today."

Her resolution was only slightly shaken by Darcy's uncharacteristic lateness. Some fifteen minutes after expected, he arrived, looking rather wearier than he had the night before when they at last reluctantly parted. Elizabeth was instantly alarmed, although he endured Bingley's teasing with a grave tolerance that, earlier, she would have mistaken for veiled offence. When they walked out in a small park in one of the less fashionable areas of town, taking advantage of the few hours before he would be locked away with business for the rest of the day, she asked,

"Fitzwilliam, what is it? You look dreadful."

He smiled tiredly. "I daresay even Polly would not say I am prettier than you, or anyone, today."

This tacit admission was enough to provoke her further. "Did you sleep poorly?"

"Not at all." He inhaled deeply. "My uncle and aunt called rather early this morning."

Elizabeth caught her breath, although she could not claim to be much surprised. "They do not approve?"

"No, they do not." He looked more troubled than anything else, and although her instant reaction was a defensive anger - what right had two people she had never met to declare judgment on her? - she pushed it back and laid her hand on his sleeve.

"Fitzwilliam, surely you do not expect them to?"

He hesitated. "No, but neither did I think - and when he said things - he!" Elizabeth frowned in bewilderment, but Darcy was, she suddenly realised, so utterly furious that he required only a willing ear. "He who married that wretched woman - the worst sort of fortune-hunter, the most indecorous wife and negligent mother - with vicious habits I do not even wish to know about - " Elizabeth's brows shot up - "he had the temerity to speak to me - to me! - of duty."

"Fitzwilliam, slow down, your legs are too long," she cried.

"Oh - I beg your pardon." He took a deep breath, but did not speak, only lowered his eyes.

She could not entirely understand him. He had not cared about Lady Catherine's opposition, and yet here he was, distressed and angry over a man who did not sound greatly different, and a woman he obviously held in deep contempt.

After a comfortable pause, Elizabeth said, "Tell me about your uncle, Fitzwilliam." When he opened his mouth, she added, "Not as he is today - you would not care so much, without a reason." He stopped and sighed.

"He was . . . very kind to me, when I was a child. He treated me like another son, a favourite son at that. I would not have been surprised if my Fitzwilliam cousins had grown to hate me, his preference was that marked. My father and mother were - they were not well-suited, and - you understand what that is like, Elizabeth."

This was the closest he had come to any criticism of her family since the letter, but she perfectly comprehended the spirit of the offering. In this as in so much else they were equals. "We shall do better," she told him, and for the first time that day his face lightened, and he clasped her hand affectionately before continuing.

"My mother's family was always very fond of her," he said, "and therefore of me. As a child, I often stayed at Rosings or Ecclesford - Fitzwilliam and I were all but inseparable. Then, when I was eight years old, several children at Pemberley fell ill with scarlet fever. My parents were so frightened that they immediately sent me to Ecclesford, where I remained for some time. My father travelled a great deal and my mother had her own entertainments."

"I see," said Elizabeth inadequately.

"At Eton," he added, "my cousins made certain I was taken care of."

She glanced up. "Your cousins took care of you?"

"Well, I was - am - the youngest."

The idea was at first incongruous, perhaps because she had only seen him in the role of benevolent elder brother, but after a moment of consideration it made perfect sense. The two incompatible pictures in her mind, of the sweet-natured, lovable child Mrs Reynolds spoke of, and Darcy's own account of himself as spoilt and over-indulged, began to mesh. A handsome, clever boy, the precious heir to his parents, the favoured youngest to the Earl - She looked at the man walking beside her, now appearing more like himself, and thought she was beginning to see how he had become who he was.

"Your uncle and your mother were close?" she pressed.

"Very close. He adored her - that is why he so disliked my father."

"This is Colonel Fitzwilliam's father?"

"Yes."

Here was another figure to add to the mental portrait of those who would be her family. A proud man, who had married the abhorrent creature Darcy had described, but disliked Elizabeth herself without even meeting her. He did not sound remotely likable; but neither did he seem so dreadful as Lady Catherine. He had loved his sister and favoured her son above even his own children. Not something to encourage cousinly affection, and she thought of Colonel Fitzwilliam's steadfast loyalty in a rather different light.

"Very well, Fitzwilliam; now, tell me what he said that so distressed you. You did not expect his blessing, did you?"

"Oh, he will give his blessing, though I certainly do not require it."

She stared. "Then - what - "

"He called simply to express his disappointment; he cares too much for family solidarity, or at least the appearance of it, to censure me or my choice publicly."

"Is not Lady Catherine's disapprobation known?" she asked, surprised. Darcy shook his head.

"She has few correspondents outside her own circle, and too much pride to make it a matter of general concern, or so my uncle says. That is the only part of the affair he takes pleasure in."

"Which part?"

Darcy's lips quirked into a reluctant smile. "Being at odds with Lady Catherine."

She laughed outright. Their pretensions notwithstanding, they sounded very much like any other large, closely-knit family, with only wealth and a powerful name to distinguish them. She felt that Darcy, however - Fitzwilliam - would not appreciate the observation and only said, "What precisely was he disappointed about?"

"Oh - they had . . . other expectations of me."

"Miss de Bourgh?"

He blinked. "No, he never approved of that. He did not think I would be happy or respectable married to her." She started, immediately reminded of her father's concerns. "He wished someone more . . . suited to me, within the family, or someone else who would bring interest and connections, but whom I could also like and respect."

"Did you never find any acceptable ladies worthy of your respect?"

"My parents respected each other, at first," he said baldly, "and thought they liked one another. I did not want to make the same mistakes they did. I found none that I was certain of, no."

Someone more suited to me, within the family. Elizabeth had never considered that she had even hypothetical rivals; as he had proposed to her while at Rosings, he clearly felt no obligation to Miss de Bourgh, and his manner towards Miss Bingley was one of tolerance at best, and often skirted around the edges of contempt.

"Not even one of the half-dozen accomplished ladies among your acquaintance?"

"Not even. Besides, two of them are my grandmother and my sister, and two others cousins I could not possibly look at as . . . anything else."

"Why on earth not?" she asked perversely, keeping a firm grip on his arm.

"Jane is married, and Rosemary five and thirty. Besides, she has known me since I was in leading strings. It would be unendurable - we are too different."

"You and I are not alike," Elizabeth pointed out.

"We are in matters of substance."

She remembered Bingley's throwaway comment, which had bothered her, in a trivial, niggling way, more than she liked to admit. "When you were speaking of your mother, Bingley said something about Lady Ravenshaw."

"Yes, that was my - aunt," he said, with a look of repugnance. Elizabeth smiled and leant her head against his arm.

"If they truly care for you," she said, "they will come to terms with your choice."

"Yes, I daresay they will." He paused, then said decisively, "That is enough of my family, however. You wished to speak to me about . . . that letter." The distaste in his voice was clear, and it only made what she had to say that much more difficult.

More happily, the hand at the small of her back was moving in small, distracting circles, although Darcy himself seemed quite oblivious to his own actions. She elected not to enlighten him. "Yes, I did. Fitzwilliam, I told you I would burn it, and I truly meant to, but I find it very . . . difficult. I do not wish to burn it."

"Why not?" He seemed genuinely surprised. "It was a dreadful letter."

"No. Yes. That is, yes, there were parts that were . . . resentful and haughty, of course. But it seemed like - you did not only trust me with Georgiana's story, and your interference with Bingley and Jane - it was like your entire character was there, under hand and seal." She flushed under his steady gaze. "And it allowed me to see not only you, but myself, and to correct where I had gone wrong. I do not think on our past with any more pleasure than you do - although I probably do so less often." She smiled up at him, winning a wry look in response. "Were it not for that letter, I might very well have continued in that path all my life, and I do not know what I would have become." She thought of her father and said, "Can you not see?"

She was not certain why it was so important that he understand this. His brows were knit together, his entire expression reminiscent of Meg when she was struggling to conjugate an irregular French verb. "Elizabeth," he said carefully, and something clenched in her chest, "I . . . I do not understand, entirely - " she properly interpreted understand as a euphemism for agree - "but - " he shrugged. "If it is truly that important to you, certainly I will not hold you to your word."

Elizabeth could scarcely keep from laughing, her relief was so profound. "I have less introspective reasons for wishing to keep it," she confessed. "At first, it was easier for me to believe that you did not truly love me, but later on, after Lydia eloped, it was a comfort to know that you did, that you wanted me to be happy, whether that happiness included you or not." She looked up, her eyebrows lifted. "You would be astonished at the silly, melodramatic things I thought and did, during that time. Besides - " she smiled - "it was the first thing you ever wrote to me. Ladies like sentimental keepsakes of that kind, Fitzwilliam."

"They do? Whatever for?"

"To remember, of course." They stared at one another in mutual bewilderment, then he shook his head.

"Some things are comprehensible only to your sex, I think. It is your letter, Elizabeth; do with it as you please."