The rest of the meal passed away, more pleasantly than anyone could have expected. Lady Darcy's and Miss Fitzwilliam's friendliness went a long way in lifting Elizabeth's spirits, and while Darcy was not near her, their eyes often met in commiseration or amusement.

Afterwards, they all prepared to retire to the same parlour as before, and the earl - to general astonishment - limped to Elizabeth"s side and offered his arm. The Fitzwilliams rearranged themselves unobtrusively.

"Thank you for your kindness to myself and my family," Elizabeth began civilly.

Lord Ravenshaw smiled with a familiar trace of dry humour. "It is not kindness, it is a pleasure."

Elizabeth's old frustration with Darcy's impenetrable good breeding reanimated itself. She had never been able to catch him in any strict improprieties, for even his most offensive remarks were coloured by an unassailable correctness. Lord Ravenshaw seemed to be tarred with the same brush.

"I must offer you an apology, Miss Bennet," he said unexpectedly, although his manner remained as stiff as ever.

"I beg your pardon?"

"On my sister's account; Catherine, whatever her private opinions, had no right to attack you as she did, and certainly no right to interfere in our nephew's personal concerns. He is eight and twenty and may do as he wishes; we have no say in it."

Elizabeth met his eyes squarely. "You are not responsible for Lady Catherine's behaviour, sir. I would not blame you for the impropriety of a relation - you had nothing to do with it."

Lord Ravenshaw smiled slightly. There was no doubt in her mind that he perfectly comprehended her. She continued, guided only by what she felt, and an impulse of the moment, "Mr Darcy certainly seems to think the opinions of his family more important than that, however."

"Oh?" The earl's eyes flicked towards her and then away.

Doubtless Darcy's first proposal would have been a great comfort to him. Elizabeth nearly shook her head at the thought, and persevered, "He must ultimately depend upon his own feelings and judgment, of course, but I understand that is what his family taught him?"

He gave her a quizzical glance. "To depend upon his own judgment, in any case. We did not wish him to repeat my sister's mistakes. It is a pity we were not more successful."

With that non sequitur, as they were at the parlour, he handed her over to his nephew and left.

"What did he say to you?" Darcy instantly demanded. Elizabeth gave him a sharp look.

"This is a lovely room, dearest; I remember, there was one like it at Pemberley, although of course that one was not so crowded."

He looked slightly abashed, and left at Elizabeth's nod when his grandmother shooed him away. "Miss Elizabeth, would you mind sitting by me?"

Despite the faint old-fashioned courtesy with which she spoke, this was clearly a rhetorical question, if one at all. Elizabeth sat.

"I have been talking with Miss Bennet. She is a delightful young woman."

"Thank you."

Lady Georgiana's eyes went from sister to sister, her expression perplexed. Elizabeth said lightly,

"My mother finds it very odd that Mr Darcy should have wished to marry me, rather than Jane, if he were to marry any of us at all."

"She is very lovely," said the old lady, "and seems quite sweet-natured, but she is not the sort of lady that Fitzwilliam prefers."

"Oh?" Elizabeth's eyebrows shot up.

"He tends to like people who are lively and open, or clever and strong-willed."

Or both, thought Elizabeth, without undue modesty. The puzzling friendship between Darcy and Bingley was beginning to make more sense. The latter benefited from her intended's steadiness and good sense, the former from Bingley's easy friendliness.

"Yes, I would think so," she agreed. Her ladyship, after a pause, said,

"I was glad to hear that he was marrying. I should like to see his children before I die - none of my grandchildren have married, and the others are growing older. Why, my niece Alethea is reckoned quite the beauty, yet she is a full eight and twenty."

Charlotte's age, thought Elizabeth. This unknown girl, rich, beautiful, and well-born, could marry whomever she liked, or not at all. Yet Charlotte, surely no less deserving, had been driven to become Mrs Collins. The injustice of it struck her with a sudden fierceness she had not felt for a long time.

Well, it shall be over soon enough, she consoled herself; then her dark eyes opened wide. No, no, it shan't! This evening would pass; and when she married Darcy, these all would be her family, until she died. She took a steadying breath, and threw a glance at her companion's impassive face.

"Lady Georgiana, may I ask you a rather impertinent question?"

"Certainly."

"Is there something about me as a person that you find repulsive, or do you object simply to my lack of consequence?"

She blinked. "I am not certain I understand you, Miss Bennet. Are you asking why I dislike you, assuming that I do, or enquiring as to the feelings of my extended family?"

"I meant you particularly, your ladyship."

"I do not know you very well," said Lady Georgiana coolly, "but I do not think Fitzwilliam would have chosen you if you were deficient in any way. He has excellent taste. No, at this juncture I must say that I care only for your situation in life."

"That is a relief," said Elizabeth, "I should hate to think there was something of substance that I could in any way affect."

"You can do nothing about your birth, that is true," the countess agreed. "Miss Bennet, it is not simply a matter of fortune and connections, although those are considerations. We wished someone of our own sphere, acquainted with our ways. Of course we do not blame you for your circumstances and upbringing - you could hardly help it."

"Madam," she said, "I understand your concern, but my father is a gentleman. I am not completely ignorant."

"My dear Miss Bennet," replied Lady Georgiana, smiling with a sort of patronising kindness, "do you know why it was that, when my son courted Lady Anne Fitzwilliam, it was his family, not hers, who objected to it, who considered it an unequal match?"

"I did not know there was any objection at all."

"We considered her unworthy of him because the Darcys were a family of wealth and influence when they left Normandy over seven hundred years ago. They were snubbing upstart nouveaux riches when the Fitzwilliams could dream of nothing higher than selling wool in Dublin." She flung her head back. "I am the daughter of a duke. With his lineage and connections, it does not matter a whit that Fitzwilliam has no title, his name is enough. He is of our sphere, not yours. Forgive my bluntness, but that is how the matter stands. George chose Lady Anne because she was rich and beautiful, and those were his requirements in a wife. She accepted him because she wanted entry into more respectable circles than her birth allowed."

Elizabeth smiled. "And, as I am neither beautiful nor wealthy, you do not think I can be a creditable wife to your grandson? I suppose all of you are of one mind on the subject?"

"I do not know what you can be," Lady Georgiana said. "I only know what you are."

"The unpolished daughter of a minor country squire, you mean? Not what you wished for Mr Darcy? Not what he wished for himself?" Elizabeth raised her chin. "I suppose you think me the worst sort of fortune hunter, your ladyship."

"No," she said. "I do not doubt your affection for my grandson. It is evident to anyone who has seen you together."

Elizabeth started.

"You have a very expressive face, Miss Bennet."

"Thank you."

Lady Georgiana gave her a look of undisguised astonishment. Evidently, it had not been a compliment. Elizabeth suppressed a sigh - she was really beginning to wonder that Darcy had turned out as well as he had. That he was so different from them, with nothing but his own will and conscience to guide him, was little short of miraculous.

"Your ladyship," Elizabeth said firmly, "Mr Darcy and I are engaged to be married. We shall be married. There is nothing to be done about that, we have made our choice. His family's antipathy towards me does nothing to shake our resolve, and only makes him unhappy. I see no purpose in it, since you clearly do not wish to repudiate him or me. All that may be done on your part, now, is to help me be what you are so certain I cannot."

"I beg your pardon?" Lady Georgiana stared at her. "I do not have the pleasure of understanding you."

Elizabeth met the older woman's gaze directly. "You cannot possibly think I did not consider the ramifications of my choice before now. I have no intentions of being moulded into something I am not, a - a mere ornament on his arm, of no use or purpose, but that is not the same thing as clinging to old ways which have no place in a new life. Mr Darcy can only marry me because he is a gentleman, and I a gentleman's daughter, but I know what his lineage means to his place in society. Surely it comes as no surprise to you that I wish to be a credit to him? It is not infatuation on my part any more than it is on his. I want him to be as proud of me, as I am of him."

Lady Georgiana smiled with greater warmth than Elizabeth had seen all evening. Her eyes filled with tears, and she dabbed at them with a dainty handkerchief.

Elizabeth, who had not imagined the stern old lady could cry, stammered, "Your ladyship?"

"Forgive me, Miss Bennet, I am old and sentimental. You seem a very sensible girl." With her slender blue-veined hand, she covered Elizabeth's. "He is too good for this world, you know, and no woman on earth deserves him, but I do hope you shall be happy."

Elizabeth smiled, a great release of tension easing the pressure in her head. She did not think she had won them all over in a single evening, nor Lady Georgiana alone, but she knew a battle had been won tonight.

"Thank you."

"Elizabeth?"

While the others were either showing or being shown the house, Darcy snatched up Elizabeth's hand and pulled her into an unused room.

"Fitzwilliam!" she cried, laughing at her own surprise and his look of boyish mischief. Suddenly, she could imagine him as a child - not the tragic invalid Lady Darcy had described, but a real child, gangly and golden-haired, planning adventures with the quick flashing smile she sometimes saw on the harder, older face before her.

"Shh," he said, pressing his hand against her mouth and pulling her towards him, "or else they shall hear."

The clear baritone was indisputably the grown man's. She giggled against his fingers, then gasped at the sudden touch of his lips against her neck. It was unexpected but very pleasant; the laughter that now emerged from her lips was a low, throaty sound utterly unlike the earlier girlish one. Chills broke out on her arms and a flutter descended to exactly that spot where his gloved hand rested against the curve of her waist. It was the first time, as far as she remembered, that he had ever touched her out of the impulse of the moment, and she was thoroughly delighted.

He lifted his head and said in a light, amused tone, "This room is not crowded, dearest."

"No, but - Fitzwilliam, we are in your uncle's house!"

"Yes," he managed, "that is very fortunate."

She almost lifted her head. "Fortunate?"

"Yes. When I was growing up, my cousins and I spent a great deal of time here, and we had much freer reign here than at home. I believe I may say that I not only know this house better than my own, I know it better than my uncle does."

"Do you?" she repeated weakly. Darcy, with a superhuman effort, stepped back and walked around to face her. It was very dimly-lit and she could just make out his shining eyes and pale hair.

"Fitzwilliam," she said, recovering more of her ability to speak in coherent sentences the further away he walked, "has something happened? You seem . . . rather unlike yourself."

"I think they are gone," he declared, then laughed outright. "I am only very happy, Elizabeth."

"I would never have known from your behaviour earlier," she said, trying to put her loose curls back into some degree of order.

"We were in company then. I cannot show my feelings before other people."

Only me, she thought, quite happy herself. She had always thought she would wish a lover with no qualms about displaying his devotion publicly, but she knew that in this, she would not wish him any different.

"Are you simply pleased with the world in general, or something in particular?" She marched to the window and pulled the curtains open. Pale, dusky light flooded the dark room. Darcy laughed again.

"Oh, I am never pleased with the world in general. I had not known until today, though, how much I . . ." He stopped, and she could see him struggling with his native reticence. His expression had altered into one of such tenderness that it transformed his entire face. Then he stepped forward and captured her hand in his, pressing it against his lips. "Elizabeth, I . . . you . . . tonight, you were . . . magnificent. I - " he spoke rapidly, like a child giving an apology, "I am proud of you. I have loved you for a very long time, but that is not - I did not realise until I saw you with all of us, that I had not merely chosen well for my (I hope our) personal happiness, but for . . . other things. I am honoured that you have consented to be my wife, and the mother of my children, and the mistress of my home."

Elizabeth's eyes jerked up to his in astonishment. She could not think of anything she had done that was in any way different from her usual behaviour - perhaps somewhat tempered in deference to her company, except for her attempt to provoke and placate Lady Georgiana. Yet that, of all things, could hardly account for this sudden effusion. Her natural impulse was to escape the awkwardness of it with a light jest, yet she intuitively knew it would be an inappropriate response to this sort of occasion, even after they were married. She thought this, too, was another important moment, setting the tone for what would happen afterwards, but she had only begun, "Fitzwilliam, I - " when they heard footsteps.

Darcy winced. "They will have missed us by now; we should go back."

She could not possibly leave it at that. Elizabeth snatched his hand, wondering a little that she could feel the heat and coldness of her fingers and his, despite the gloves between them. "Fitzwilliam." She could think of nothing very meaningful, her mind was terribly blank, so she only said, "I love you."

That seemed to be enough, though. His face lit up with another, more unfamiliar smile, and he replied, "Thank you, Elizabeth."

As they walked out to give their excuses to their relations, he put one hand against the small of her back as they walked, and, in a gesture more tender than passionate, gently brushed his lips against her temple.