Author's Note: I'm excited to share this chapter with you! To be honest, I am anxious to share more D/E interactions, but the story must develop to that point first. I hope the glimpses of Darcy's early regard for Elizabeth will tide you over until then. I also enjoyed writing Georgiana, so I think this may not be the last we see of her! Thank you for your reviews; they brighten my day, and I love reading every one! I passed 100 reviews! I also made a language correction suggested by a Guest reviewer who has since deleted their review. I appreciate all feedback, and even though I am not striving to be one hundred percent Regency compliant, I do my best to not pull you out of the story too much. I will see this story to the end, so all the love is very much appreciated and returned.

Chapter 10

Georgiana was exceedingly pleased by her dear brother's improved spirits since his return from London. After his visit to Rosings, he had been in a melancholy mood. She never heard a cross word from him, and he was always kind and obliging to her, but during the previous weeks before he left for London, he preferred his solitude in his study or library. It was a stark change from their usual summers spent in each other's company. Well, that is, until the previous summer, when George Wickham had attempted to convince her to elope with him. Georgiana had spent some time wondering if that was the reason her brother was so troubled. Fitzwilliam had said and done everything possible to assure her of his continued support and affection after Ramsgate, but Georgiana was still wracked with guilt at her own naiveté. She would never have gone through with it without her brother's consent, but she still felt foolish for how close she had been.

When Fitzwilliam had left for London and a new pianoforte arrived in his place, Georgiana had spent many days puzzling over Fitzwilliam and his strange mood. She much preferred Fitzwilliam's company to a pianoforte, and it plainly annoyed her that Fitzwilliam wanted to smooth over his absence by distracting her with a gift. These were her initial uncharitable thoughts. But her love for her brother, and her understanding of his intrinsically kind and generous nature, helped her realize that something must have been bothering him so greatly that he wanted time to process it on his own, in London without her, and the pianoforte was all he could offer as a trade. After Ramsgate, she herself had felt the need to be alone enough to understand Fitzwilliam's decisions.

Georgiana thought all this as she readied herself to retire to bed. Fitzwilliam's absence she could forgive now that he was back, and his improved mood this first evening of his return made her happy. They had spoken freely and jovially with each other during dinner, and he was thrilled with the new piece she had learned in his absence. Georgiana only retired to her chambers because she had been up early visiting tenants; otherwise, she may have stayed to enjoy his company more. Her maid had helped her dress for bed, but Georgiana insisted on brushing her own long, blond hair. Like music, the rhythm of counting out the brushstrokes soothed her. Georgiana knew she was more anxious than other girls her age, her mind racing from one thought to the next when she should be getting ready to sleep, and brushing her own hair helped settle her mind. At her vanity sat the letter Fitzwilliam had brought to her from London.

Georgiana smiled. She treasured her letters from him, and since they were often apart as he took care of business in London or traveled with friends, she kept his letters to refer back to when she missed him. Georgiana was lonely. Her companion, Mrs. Annesley, was kind towards her, but Georgiana was unable to form a close bond with her after the betrayal of Ms. Younge last summer. In fact, Georgiana was now more and more convinced that Fitzwilliam and her cousin Richard were the only people she could truly depend on. How she longed for more family and close friends.

Fitzwilliam was right. It did humor her that he would hand deliver a letter from him to her. She did not anticipate his unannounced return, and it was a delight to think of her brother, usually so reserved and organized, making such a last minute decision to return home. She opened the carefully folded letter. It was dated only a couple days ago, before the start of his return trip.

Dearest Georgiana,

I hope this letter finds you well. I am writing to you regarding a matter of utmost importance. I have written and spoken to you often about a Miss Elizabeth Bennet of Hertfordshire.

Georgiana nodded and smiled. He did frequently write about a Miss Elizabeth Bennet while he was visiting Hertfordshire, and he had been near raptures when he discovered her presence at Rosings in April, but when he returned, his sullen mood prevented Georgiana from inquiring at length about his visit. Only once had she asked about the company at Rosings and hinted that she thought his extended stay this year may have had something to do with Miss Elizabeth. His stiffening demeanor and quickness in changing the subject showed Georgiana she had overstepped, and she never asked him about his time visiting Rosings again.

Georgiana's young, still romantic heart, leapt at the mention of a matter of importance. This Miss Elizabeth was the only woman outside the family whom Fitzwilliam had written about at length. Even when his letters mentioned Mr. Bingley's sister, Miss Caroline Bingley, he would never write at length about her the way he had with Miss Elizabeth. Georgiana had spent some time wishing dearly that her brother would bring her home a sister, and Miss Elizabeth was the most likely candidate. She continued reading.

While I have neither the heart nor the words to adequately account for myself, I beg you to honor my following request. Please be so kind as to not speak of Miss Elizabeth Bennet to me or in my presence from this moment on. Under no circumstances. I wish not to be reminded of her, and I fear that my reaction may be one of anger or confusion, causing you a severe amount of stress, and I would prefer to avoid this for both of our sake. My future felicity depends on it. I will be with you soon, dear sister.

Affectionately,

Fitzwilliam

Georgiana reread the short missive several times, even turning it over to make sure she did not miss further explanations on the back page. Fitzwilliam had not mentioned the contents of the letter or even hinted to the distress therein that evening, but the tenor of the message was certainly troubling to Georgiana. It was a peculiar request. For one, she was unlikely to bring up Miss Elizabeth unless he did, which he frequently had in previous letters to her. For another, she did not understand the change of feeling towards Miss Elizabeth.

Georgiana's candles were growing dim as she contemplated the letter. A part of her longed to find Fitzwilliam and ask him what this was really about, and to find out the details of what had transpired between him and Miss Elizabeth. But Georgiana prided herself in being a dutiful and devoted sister. Fitzwilliam had shown such grace to her last summer, could she not grant him the same understanding now? He rarely asked anything of her, and here he was, making a simple request.

Georgiana's eyebrows furrowed, not unlike the way Darcy's did when he was in concerned thought. She moved to the writing desk in her sitting room where she kept a chest. Inside was all her correspondence over the years with her brother, carefully wrapped in stacks and tied with delicate ribbons. She did not have to rummage far to reach his letters from the past autumn when he visited Hertfordshire. Georgiana unfolded several of the letters to skim the contents.

Charles is delighted with the countryside and has made several acquaintances amongst his neighbors, though I find the society mostly lacking. There is one family we see frequently. It is a family of five daughters. The eldest Miss Bennet is currently staying at Netherfield. She came down with a dreadful cold while dining here. Do not worry, sister, for the rest of the party remains in good health, and Miss Bennet is being well taken care of. One of her sisters, Miss Elizabeth Bennet, has come to keep her company. Their estate is three miles from Netherfield, and Miss Elizabeth Bennet walked the distance, a day after rain, to come tend to her. The consideration and affection for her sister does her great credit. While I would never want you to walk the muddy countryside in such a manner, I do wish you had a devoted and caring sister like Miss Elizabeth.

Then, in another letter:

Netherfield remains much the same. I do long to see you and return to Pemberley. We have not surveyed the grounds much this week since Charles prefers to remain near in case Miss Bennet needs assistance. This has allowed many opportunities to converse with Miss Elizabeth. She is never at a loss for something insightful or interesting to say. Once Miss Bennet is better, Charles intends to host a ball. You know my opinions on dancing and balls, but I find myself looking forward to the event.

Georgiana skimmed her remaining letters. He had written a short missive after the ball to inform her the party would be returning to London and to send her correspondence there.

There was no mention of Miss Elizabeth during the winter until a letter sent from Rosings. Amongst reassurance that their cousin Anne was in as good of health as could be expected and that he had assured Aunt Catherine of Georgiana's dutiful practice of the piano, there was plenty about Miss Elizabeth.

Dearest Georgiana, I must inform you that a pleasant surprise awaited Richard and I. Miss Elizabeth Bennet is visiting her cousin, Mr. Collins, and his new bride, Mrs. Charlotte Collins, who is a friend of Miss Elizabeth's from Hertfordshire. Mrs. Collins and Miss Elizabeth make for livelier company than what Richard and I are used to on our annual visits, and we encourage Aunt Catherine to invite them frequently for dinner. I wish you had accompanied us on this trip, as I greatly desire you to make Miss Elizabeth's acquaintance. She delighted us on the pianoforte and played quite well, despite her humble protests that she played poorly. I found nothing lacking in her playing, and I made sure to share that with her. I hope that in the near future you will be able to enjoy her playing as much as I did.

Georgiana had convinced herself after this letter that Fitzwilliam would return to Pemberley with Miss Elizabeth as his wife. But that was not to be the case. She could only make conjectures as to the cause of Fitzwilliam's change of feelings towards Miss Elizabeth. With a small smile, Georgiana conceded that the Darcys felt their emotions strongly and stubbornly. Much like the mere thought of George Wickham could send a mix of shame, disappointment, and a touch of anger through her, she understood Fitzwilliam must have his reasons for not speaking of Miss Elizabeth again. Still, she could hardly imagine why Miss Elizabeth would not return her brother's affections, unless her attentions were engaged elsewhere.

Georgiana would indeed honor his request. It was the very least she could do for a brother who had done so much for her. She folded up all the letters, including the one she had received today, and placed them gently in her chest before going back to her chamber to sleep.

Darcy's late evening had been spent in similar curious contemplation as his sister's. After she retired for the evening, Darcy retreated to his study. He was enjoying a glass of brandy, contemplating the peculiar happenings over the recent days. The words of the apothecary had not left his mind, and he was more troubled about it than he was originally willing to admit. And then the curious young woman who had visited Pemberley. Undoubtably, he was drawn to her. When he had seen her face from the window, he had felt something. He decided her face was plainer than usually caught his attention, so his reaction was not entirely physical. Why was he still thinking about a common tourist to Pemberley?

Darcy had heard her companion call her Lizzy. Certainly short for Elizabeth.

"Elizabeth," Darcy said to himself. Feeling warm, he loosened his cravat and took another sip of his brandy. He could not shake the impression that this girl, the apothecary, and Oakham Mount were related.

As a child, Darcy had displayed a keen interest in maps. When his father returned from a trip, he would bring back a map of the area he had visited for young Fitzwilliam to peruse repeatedly. Over the years, his father's business would take him to the same regions, and he would bring back updated maps. Darcy enjoyed comparing the changes to an area between the years. Sometimes change was slow and steady, and other times regions would change from one year to the next, a mark of rapid progress and growth. And then there would be constancy of certain roads or landmarks, unchanged from their surroundings. This complimentary relationship between progress and persistence had always fascinated Darcy.

With these thoughts, he walked out of his study and briskly towards the library, trading the brandy in his hand for a candle. The corner of the library where the reference material was kept was dark. Darcy made his way there and held a candle to the titles before finding the Darcy copy of Britannia Depicta, a road atlas. Darcy started to pull it out with one hand, but then realized the size of it required both his hands to be free. He moved back to the large table meant precisely for laying out large books, lit the surrounding candles and set his candle down before returning to pull out the atlas. With a loud thud, he set the road atlas down on the table. Darcy ran one hand through his hair as he opened the tome, and his hand eventually rested covering his mouth in concentration. The illustrated road atlas had colorful renderings of many regions and towns in England, and this edition was chosen by the late Mr. Darcy for having been an updated version with topographical renderings. He would need to peruse this in an organized manner. First, he would review the maps of areas he frequented, beginning with Derbyshire itself, then to other places he has visited. He would review every single page in this atlas if he needed to, and if that failed, he would move onto the collection of maps that he had kept from his childhood.

Surely, Oakham Mount would be significant enough to be listed somewhere. Darcy felt it was the key to a puzzle he knew he was in. While he could not fully believe what the apothecary had spoken, he did have a significant sense of unease that was beginning to grow. Thus, over the next few days, any moments when he did not have estate matters to attend, he inspected maps of England and thought about the young woman who visited Pemberley.

The remaining parts of their northern tour had passed in a blur to Elizabeth Bennet, whose mind was engaged elsewhere. Several things held her thoughts after she and the Gardiners left Pemberley. Truth be told, it was less several things and rather one person. She was anxious to return to Longbourn, to see Jane, and to calm the tumult of her mind with the balm only home and family could provide.

Two days before visiting Pemberley, Elizabeth had woken with a start at the Rose and Crown Inn. She was having a vivid dream about Mr. Darcy. She had to admit that it was not uncommon for him to appear in her dreams, but it was usually fleeting. On this night, she dreamt vividly of dancing with him at the Meryton Assembly on the night they met. In her dream, she had vigorously pushed the bounds of propriety with her unabashed flirtations, and he had welcomed her teasing. It was a happier Darcy than she had ever truly seen. It would not do to grow fond of a Darcy that did not exist. Elizabeth had willed herself back to sleep, but a night did not go by when she did not think of his pensive stares, his blue eyes watching her at Netherfield. She was certain now that he had in fact been searching for imperfections in her, but only to dissuade himself of his growing affection. Elizabeth was not sure if this thought made her less or more upset.

I love you. Most ardently. The memory of his voice was clear as a bell in her mind. Elizabeth viewed that moment with regret at the words she had chosen. She meant to wound him as much as he had wounded her, but she now worried she had hit her mark much harder than she intended.

After the letter he had delivered at the parsonage explained his dealings with Mr. Wickham and the reasoning behind the imprudent advice he had given Mr. Bingley, Elizabeth's mind softened towards him. She was still irritated at the delivery of his proposal and his manner in Hertfordshire, but the clarity provided by distance and time had stilled most of her anger. He had not said anything she herself had not at one time or another thought about her family. And had not Charlotte Lucas questioned Jane's feelings towards Bingley? It infuriated Elizabeth that Darcy would take it upon himself (aided by Caroline Bingley, no doubt) to intervene in Mr. Bingley and Jane's life, but she acknowledged Darcy's consideration for the well-being of his friend was a mark of good character.

Like this Elizabeth had spent the time between her visit to Charlotte and her travels with her aunt and uncle. And thus, she fluctuated from annoyance, to something close to forgiveness, to confusion, to determining that none of it mattered for she would never see him again, a thought that disquieted her more than she would admit.

When her aunt and uncle had insisted on visiting Pemberley, Elizabeth was relieved to hear that Darcy was not at home. As she toured the grounds and the rooms, his presence was pronounced. Mrs. Reynolds described a man that was unlike what she had seen of him in Hertfordshire.

Elizabeth conceded Mrs. Reynolds knew Darcy better than she did, and the character she sketched began to shape Elizabeth's own thinking of him. Darcy seemed kind and generous with those under his care, especially his sister. When she finally saw the grandness of Pemberley, Elizabeth also began to understand the tremendous responsibility Darcy had been shouldered with at only three and twenty when his father passed. And Darcy did not avoid responsibility. It was so unlike the other man in her life, Mr. Bennet. Darcy had risen to the occasion, making the difficult decisions required to protect Miss Darcy and Pemberley.

When Elizabeth came across his portrait, she saw him in a new light. There were many things she still wished to speak to him about, to better understand, and she longed to see him. She even lingered as they left the house, looking back to commit the house and grounds to memory. When she glanced up, she thought she saw a figure in the windows, but decided it was a trick of the sunlight. Elizabeth felt as though she had lost something, as if a possibility had been taken from her somehow, but she knew this to be ridiculous. Darcy was never truly hers to begin with, and their possible future was gone due to her own actions.

Elizabeth understood now that a great, generous, and kind man, for all the faults in his manners and his pride, loved her. Or at least had loved her. She was certain she had successfully extinguished the romantic feelings he had for her with her choice words in Kent. Elizabeth left the beautiful grounds of Pemberley dispirited.

Now, she was journeying back to Longbourn. The rest of their northern tour was uneventful. Elizabeth had received letters from Jane, who was occupied with watching their young Gardiner cousins. Little had changed at home. The most eventful thing was that Lydia had sprained an ankle on her way back from buying ribbons at Meryton for her trip to Brighton, and she spent three days in tears when she was told she was in no shape for accompanying the Forsters. All had shared in Lydia's misfortune, for Mary and Kitty were forced to help retrieve things around the house for her while Lydia's ankle healed, Mrs. Bennet felt her favorite daughter had been cheated of an opportunity to net a husband, and Mr. Bennet had absolutely no peace in his house. Jane bore it all with the usual patience and equanimity befitting her character.

There was quite a welcome party awaiting Elizabeth and the Gardiners as their carriage arrived at Longbourn. The little Gardner cousins were ecstatic to see their parents.

"Lizzy! it is wonderful to see you," Jane said as she embraced Elizabeth warmly when she disembarked the carriage. Elizabeth held Jane tightly and much longer than she usually did, even after a long journey. Ever perceptive, Jane pulled back and held Elizabeth an arms-length away, rubbing her arms comfortingly.

"Dearest Lizzy, whatever is the matter?" Jane asked, her face showing a deep concern

"Oh, Jane," Elizabeth replied. She was relieved to see Jane in good spirits, and she had not intended to be so transparent in her own distress. "I am well, Jane. I am only tired from the journey. I am happy to be home," Elizabeth said, smiling and trying to recover. Jane was not fooled, but she was not going to press Lizzy in front of the family. Kitty, Mary and Lydia, hobbling along but at least walking, were coming out of the house with excited yells, and Mrs. Bennet and Mr. Bennet were not far behind. Elizabeth greeted her family excitedly, and no one else seemed to sense anything was amiss. Shortly, Elizabeth excused herself to her room to refresh herself before joining the family for afternoon tea.

Elizabeth slowly climbed the stairs to her and Jane's room, letting her hands linger on the railing as she walked. When she opened the door to her room, her eyes were drawn to a pretty flower arrangement at the small table on her side of the bed with all of her favorite flowers from Longbourn's gardens. It was surely Jane's thoughtful doing. Underneath the flower arrangement were letters, correspondence that had arrived for Elizabeth during her travels. Elizabeth walked over to absentmindedly flip through them. Two were from Charlotte. Elizabeth looked at the writing on the envelope of the letter at the bottom of the pile, and her stomach dropped. She sunk down, landing in a seated position on the bed, holding the letter tightly in both her hands. Her name and address were written in a tight, neat script that was familiar to her. But what could Mr. Darcy possibly mean by sending her a letter, through the post, without permission? Her heart was pounding loudly in her ears. Cautiously, she unfolded the letter.

Author's Note: I feel almost as mean as Caroline Bingley with this ending!