This was written for a Pride and Prejudice fanfiction trope challenge on another website. No offence intended to anyone. I hope you read and enjoy. This story was not beta-read so any mistakes are my own.

…

"Of course this was all bought on credit," Darcy said in an offhand manner, waving one gloved hand around towards the parsonage window, through which the splendour of Rosings could be viewed. "My aunt is extraordinarily poor at money management, and thanks mostly to the chimneys she's now about forty thousand pounds in debt."

"My goodness," Elizabeth replied, reaching into a basket of sewing work, "but how do you know all this?"

Elizabeth was stitching a gown for a poor tenant child, in a magnificent display of charity, accomplishment, and her suitability to be mistress of Pemberley.

"Oh, I come here annually and review all the estates. Of course, I have to sneak around behind her back because she would find it pretty rude if her nephews used their annual visit to do such a thing to a woman who has been running an estate since before they were born."

Elizabeth nodded, impressed by both his ability to handle troublesome women (aka every woman except herself and the forgettable ones) and his masterful estate management skills.

"This year I visited all the tenants and undid the harms I am certain she imposes on them through the year. Fitzwilliam did all the finances."

…

Colonel Fitzwilliam walked next to Elizabeth through the grove, fanning himself a little in the hopes of dissipating the lavender-scented air. He had grown remarkably handsome over the past few days, perhaps related to his new acquisition of forty thousand pounds, and also due to the fact his older brother was newly sickly. He finished his exposé of Darcy's actions, and was quite surprised to see Elizabeth in distress.

"Are you well?" he asked.

"A sudden headache," replied his companion, slipping from fanon to the 1995 BBC television series.

"Perhaps leave off the lavender," Fitzwilliam suggested amiably.

…

Darcy and Elizabeth were on one of their regular walks. The pair rounded a corner and through a gap in the vegetation spotted Mr. Collins walking towards the great house. He was difficult to see over the hedges, having shrunk a good twelve inches since he was introduced as a tall young man in chapter thirteen, but the sight of his plastered down oily hair gave a clue to his identity and even if it hadn't his sweat would have confirmed it. His unique odour wafter across the air and mingled unpleasantly with Elizabeth's usually overpowering lavender scent.

"Who is that young lady following him?" Darcy asked.

"'Tis Maria Lucas," Elizabeth replied.

"I hadn't the faintest idea she was in Kent," Darcy said.

"Nor I."

"But isn't she staying at the parsonage with you?" Darcy asked, surprised.

"I suppose so," Elizabeth said thoughtfully, "I haven't seen or heard from her in weeks. I thought she'd gone back to Meryton with her father."

…

Miss de Bourgh was seated silently on the sofa, doing a very good impression of being ill, for fear of her mother poisoning her again if it was known she'd made a recovery.

Her companion bustled around her, rearranging her shawls and chattering on about the family's sycophantic physician.

Mrs. Collins hovered around in the background, willing to collude with anyone to further the plot; quite possibly it would be Anne de Bourgh but she was secretly hoping for Colonel Fitzwilliam who was by now almost Adonis.

Anne felt the familiar forming of a headache and frowned miserably. She had deliberately swapped her cup of tea with one of the parsonage guest's. A moment later her nose started running and she realised her symptoms were more closely related to the strong floral scent emanating from her neighbour on the sofa.

The culprit, Miss Bennet, offered her a handkerchief, which Anne accepted before realising that the cloth had seemingly been soaked in lavender water. Fortunately at that time Elizabeth was prevailed upon to entertain them all with her exquisite piano playing and moved away.

Anne examined the stiching on the handkerchief and raised an eyebrow at the initials F.D.

Mrs. Jenkinson bustled out of the room to fetch another shawl.

…

Colonel Fitzwilliam stared at Elizabeth playing the piano; he half wanted to marry her, but he thought a different country nobody with connections to trade would suit the son of an earl better. One of her younger sisters, perhaps, if she liked lavender less and was keen to appear in an epilogue.

…

Through some fortunate slip of Colonel Fitzwilliam's tongue, or Darcy's letter or some such thing, either before or after a failed proposal, the whole history of Wickham was laid bare to Elizabeth.

She and Mr. Darcy met again in the grove, both experiencing several months worth of reflection and personal growth in a matter of minutes. Any scruples were cast aside, any evils forgiven, and any good magnified considerably.

"Oh, William," Elizabeth cried, throwing her arms around his shoulders. "Yes, of course I will marry you!"

Darcy smiled, which made his face hurt as he was rather unused to it, despite having explicitly been described as smiling many times thus far in the book.

"It's Fitzwilliam," he said, but this was ignored.

"I cannot wait to be married," Elizabeth said dreamily.

"I will speak to Mr. Collins for his permission at once!" Darcy said proudly.

"Er… why?" Elizabeth asked, briefly shaken out of her stupor.

"He is your closest male relative," Darcy reminded her.

"No he isn't, my father is."

"Well, geographically speaking."

There was silence for several moments.

"I'd prefer you speak to my parents," Elizabeth said eventually, although to be honest she half expected he'd write a letter, which seemed to be his real solution to most problems, or at least the ones that he didn't want to duel over.

"Well in that case, I shall ride to Hertfordshire at once," Darcy said.

"Your aunt may find that pretty rude," Elizabeth said, "and besides, I would rather you be here."

Darcy conceded the point and looking around spotted a convenient fallen log.

"Let us stop quarrelling, sit down and practice kissing."

So they did.

…

Epilogue:

They all lived happily ever after.

Even Colonel Fitzwilliam and one of the younger Miss Bennets. Probably Mary.

…

FIN

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Any reviews, including constructive criticism, gratefully received.