The next morning was bright, cold and the fresh smell from the previous night's rain lingered. After a brisk walk which carried him twice around the market town and to a prominence from which he could see several miles round Darcy's mood improved. When the bouncing carriage ride began he once more ignored the scenery, and his papers, to reread the letter.

Now Darcy began to feel some hope, it was a tentative thing to be sure. But — he had her affection and esteem. She wrote, "You are the man of all I have known I would most wish to marry." She regretted the necessity of her refusal.

Was it truly necessary? Darcy knew sometimes actions which appeared impossible or terrifying on their first suggestion might, after they had sat on the mind for a while, take on the flavor of the easy and appealing. Could that be the case here?

It was clear the main reason, the real reason, Elizabeth refused him was fear. Would that fear still be as strong in three months? Might familiarity with the idea of remarriage make it seem comfortable?

Besides Elizabeth was the bravest woman he knew. If any person could bring themselves to face the horrid phantasms the mind could conjure, it would be she. For a second Darcy felt certain that if he showed her that his affections were unchanged, she would eventually come to accept him.

And yet — to think her mind would change, and that those fears would recede — to ignore the clear meaning of Elizabeth's words, when she said it was impossible for her to marry; that smacked of foolishness and disrespect. He could not know whether her anxiety would ever dissipate. Besides, to think in the manner he had, to consider whether she could overcome those fears only in so far as they impacted him was precisely the self-centered attitude he wished to overcome.

He loved Elizabeth. The letter only strengthened his affection, it added to his intense admiration of her strength and brightness, and showed him her vulnerability. He felt a rush of tenderness, and an intense need to see her happy and well.

Elizabeth's happiness was what mattered. Never his own.

But, she was not happy that she had refused him.

Elizabeth would approach him at dinner parties with a light in her eyes, and a ready joke. He remembered her satisfaction, the first evening they met when he listened to her arguments. He recalled the way she would laugh at his jokes, and their happy camaraderie. Darcy really believed she would be happy if they married.

He needed to show her she still had that choice. He could be patient, and he could show Elizabeth his continued affection. He could let her see more of his character so she might come to trust herself to him.

In the end though, it must be Elizabeth's choice.

Darcy felt sadness as the horses pulled to a stop in front of Pemberley's marble columns. He had hardly gotten over the shock of his rejection, and at moments he'd see Elizabeth's face as she turned to run again and be sure it was hopeless. He would feel certain she would always be too frightened to accept him, and that even if she could overcome those fears she would not really wish to marry him.

He desperately hoped somehow in the end they might share a future together. He wanted to show Pemberley to her. He wanted to see her in it, wanted to watch her get lost during her walks among the endless trails in the park. He wanted to see her eyes as she admired the paintings and sculptures in the galleries. He wanted to make her laugh.

Darcy wanted his neighbors to meet her — and to know she was his; he wanted to see others admire her, and come to understand how though her social standing was lower, he was the lucky one. He wanted to hear what she would say about his neighbors. To hear her wry observations on their eccentricities, and to watch her come to know their virtues.

Elizabeth was always present in Darcy's mind. He'd discuss the household accounts with Mrs. Reynolds, and wonder what painless economies she might find in them. He'd discuss a tenant issue with his steward, and remember some problem Elizabeth had asked him for advice on. He'd watch Georgiana play, and remember his delight at Elizabeth's playing — and then he'd look forward to introducing the two. He felt certain they would love each other.

When he spoke with Georgiana he often mentioned Elizabeth, or Mrs. Elizabeth when he remembered himself. But never Mrs. Collins, Darcy had committed to never use Collins in relation to Elizabeth again.

Pemberley was beautiful in the winter. The sunlight gleamed off the level expanses of white snow-covered fields, edged by the darker color of the hedges which separated them; the park had a forest of hundred foot tall trees with snow laden branches; the house was resplendent with Christmas decorations and the eternally nostalgic sound of carols and Christmas guests.

Colonel Fitzwilliam usually spent a week with Darcy and Georgiana in December before he went to Matlock for his parent's celebration. Upon his arrival, it quickly became clear to him Darcy's manner was not as it normally was. The two were close, having been only two years apart in age, and often together as children. While Darcy tried to hide it, and perhaps succeeded with his sister, it was impossible to conceal his agitation, and sometimes depressed feelings from his cousin.

So one night Colonel Fitzwilliam pulled Darcy into the library, after Georgiana had retired for the night, and settling onto a comfortable leather sofa with deep buttons, put one of Darcy's best bottles of brandy on the table between the two, and, after he poured each of them an overfull tumbler, pushed one into Darcy's hands, and said "Now Darcy, what has bothered you so these past weeks?"

When there was no immediate reply Colonel Fitzwilliam prodded, "I daresay it must be about a woman. Perhaps that pretty Elizabeth Collins you have written and spoken so much about? Eh, Darcy?"

Darcy nodded somberly, and took a swig from his glass.

"Hah!" Colonel Fitzwilliam slapped a hand on his thigh before taking a further swallow from his glass, "it was about time some dress caught your eye. But what is the problem? If you feel so bad about it two weeks after you left her, you should just marry the woman. Damn her connections and all. There's no chance any of us but Aunt Catherine will cut you over it. And that would be a mixed curse at worst."

Colonel Fitzwilliam laughed slightly at his joke, and his face grew worried as Darcy continued to collect his thoughts, "Though — in that case I would need to make our annual trip to visit her alone. Perhaps you should not marry this Mrs. Elizabeth."

Darcy gulped back the rest of his tumbler, and exhaled heavily as he set it on the table, "You assume it is a matter of my choice."

After a few seconds Colonel Fitzwilliam's eyes widened, "By Jove, you mean to tell me she refused you? Why? Every story you told me of her indicates she likes you, and, well — you are not a poor catch."

The discussion reminded Darcy of how he felt during those minutes in her study when he had no idea why she had ran from him. He half-filled his tumbler again, and drank the burning liquid in one swallow, not savoring the expensive liquor at all. "Yes, she refused me."

"Despite how she had behaved, I daresay she rather led you on. You should —"

"No! It's not like that at all, let me explain."

Darcy poured out the entire story of his relationship with Elizabeth. He felt it would be a violation of her confidence to describe precisely how Mr. Collins had harmed her, but beyond that he told his cousin everything.

As Darcy finished speaking Colonel Fitzwilliam leaned back into the couch, and pushed his legs forward while holding his glass contemplatively in front of him. "Well. Well. I now can understand your manner. Sounds like a fine woman, I daresay, and I hope to meet her one day." He shook his head, "I do not know what to say of comfort or strategy you have not thought of already. I can say this though, your Mrs. Elizabeth certainly is not going mad."

"Oh." Darcy leaned towards his cousin in interest.

"Aye." Colonel Fitzwilliam did not speak for some minutes, instead he slowly swirled the liquid around in his glass, and stared at it with a stiff expression. Eventually he looked up and seemed almost surprised to find his cousin watching him intently. Colonel Fitzwilliam quickly swallowed the remaining brandy, and said, "You see sometimes when a person goes through a terrifying event it impresses itself upon the mind and never lets go. This often happens to soldiers."

Darcy felt a sympathetic chill go through him as his cousin paused again to pour himself more brandy. "I never speak of my battles — I hate to bring up the memories — but at Bussaco my bugle player was struck by a cannonball not ten feet from me."

Colonel Fitzwilliam fell silent, and drank more. He shook himself, "At the time I just cursed, and as the bugle was undamaged I took it from his hands and pulled a man off the line who I knew could play, and ordered him to serve instead. But afterwards —" Colonel Fitzwilliam paused to drink half of what was in his class. "The boy was fifteen, he was the fifth son of a cottager who still lives on my father's estate, I knew his parents, and had seen him as a boy — the look of surprise on his dead face as I grabbed the bugle from his grip haunted me every night for weeks."

They both were silent again, Colonel Fitzwilliam staring once more into his alcohol. "When the Regiment was rotated home, something like what you say your Mrs. Elizabeth experienced happened to me. I was taking my walk in Hyde Park and there was a sharp crack, I believe a work team dropped a heavy piece of marble, and it startled me. I cannot remember any of it, but when I came back to my senses a person who'd watched me swore I spent five minutes yelling at those walking the park to form a neat line and hold their fire until the French came fifty yards closer."

Darcy blinked in surprise, "I had no idea."

"Well. We usually prefer not to talk about it."

The two sat grimly in silence for some minutes. They sat comfortably on expensively upholstered seats, with a warm fire blazing, and surrounded by Darcy's thousands of books. Yet something of the terror of a battlefield was present. Eventually Darcy broke the silence, "I must find some opportunity to speak to her of what you told me."

His cousin nodded, "That likely would be best, it is an unsettling experience even if you know others who have gone through it. To go through it when you have no idea what it means; that must be really terrifying." Colonel Fitzwilliam drained what was left of his glass and after a few minutes stood unsteadily, "It is time for me to sleep, but I do sincerely wish you the best of luck. You deserve it. And so I think does your lady."

A few days after Colonel Fitzwilliam left for his parents' house Darcy received a letter in Bingley's scrawl. Half the letter was a combination of unimportant comments on Netherfield, and comments which Bingley thought were important on Jane's angelic perfection; the other half was about Elizabeth.

Bingley wrote:

It seems to be my turn to provide information about the feelings of a lady which were conveyed to me by her sister. I am hardly sure I should intrude myself into your affairs the way that I asked you to intrude into mine. I know you are a private person, who wishes to make such decisions on your own without consulting the feelings of your friends. But my dear Jane thinks I should write this letter. She has told me about a conversation she had with her sister which made her quite sure that, while Lizzy will not say so directly, she hopes you ask again and will give a positive response if you do.

For my part I am not a man who can tell what a lady such as yours thinks. But when I do bring up your name she is certainly affected, and she speaks of you in the warmest terms. I daresay I've always thought highly of you Darcy, but she is a far stronger defender of your virtues than I. I would not dream to tell one such as you what to do, but I hope we shall one day be brothers.

C. Bingley

Darcy did not like that his affairs, and his rejection, had been widely discussed — but the content of the letter still left him elated. It was written in a far neater hand than Bingley generally used, and at least one line had been crossed out and corrected in a neat feminine hand. It seemed Miss Bennett had been rather directly involved in the letter's composition.

Darcy needed to write a response. What he wrote would be passed on to Elizabeth, and if Jane was correct, and she did desire him to renew his proposals, she likely felt anxiety that he had been put off permanently. But — though he might like to, and gave the idea some thought, he did not feel he could renew his addresses by letter.

He had hurt Elizabeth with his first proposal, and could not bear to offer another unless he saw in her eyes that she was eager for him to do so. And, he was scared she would refuse him once more. He wished to keep some hope at least till he saw Elizabeth again.

The question sat with Darcy for several days, and he tore up several pages of paper as he attempted to find words to convey the exact message he wished. As he knew he must send something Darcy gave up his attempt to find the perfect words, and settled on a short paragraph which he placed at the bottom of a letter he immediately sent to Bingley:

Please tell Elizabeth her letter only increased my great esteem and affection for her. I eagerly look forward to seeing her, and hope for us both to be very happy when we speak next.

Darcy was not at all pleased with the message, and felt certain his intention — to state that he wished to offer for her again, but would not unless she appeared to wish it — would be completely lost when Bingley attempted to convey it.

Two weeks after posting his letter a response arrived from Bingley, which included the following:

I showed your last letter to Elizabeth. I judged your message to her might mean more (and be clearer) directly from your hand, rather than through the medium of my words. She colored very prettily, and smiled a great deal after she read it. She sat with your letter and thought for several minutes, and told me I must in my next letter to you say that she very much looked forward to seeing and speaking with you again, and wished to very warmly thank you for your kind message.

The message was as encouraging as one mediated through a letter from Bingley could be. And even more than he had after Bingley's first letter Darcy felt for the next day and a half as if he floated on a cloud. He quickly penned a reply, in which he asked after Elizabeth's well-being again, and included another small message for her. She replied in a like manner, again through Bingley, whose correspondence became rather more frequent than was his usual pattern over the next months.

So passed the end of the winter, and the start of spring. A fortnight before Bingley's wedding Darcy set off to Netherfield, with a great deal of hope in his heart. He could not feel certain until he had heard his lady directly say yes to him, but there was good reason for hope.

The carriage ride from Pemberley to Netherfield seemed endless. Every mile marker left hundreds more to be crossed before he could see her. Georgiana chattered more than normal, and asked many questions about Hertfordshire and its society.

The second night of the trip, despite the inn having an excellent bed in its best suite, Darcy barely slept because his mind was too full of the thought that tomorrow he would be sure to see Elizabeth. His dreams were filled with her smiles and laughter, her light figure and bouncing curls.

They started very early the next morning. Darcy eagerly stared out the window for the entire trip as he sought landmarks: here the road to Meryton broke off from the road to London; here was the second to last market town before Meryton. Darcy exclaimed when he saw Oakham Mount in the distance, and the intensity of Darcy's eagerness came to its highest point when the road took them past the fields of Longbourn. He could barely see the red bricks of the manor house and for a second wished to tap his cane on the roof of the carriage so he could exit and run to the house where his heart lived.

Darcy's enthusiasm waned as the carriage now took him away from who he wished to be with. They pulled into Netherfield's drive two hours after noon. Bingley was yet at Longbourn. He had left a note which informed them, upon decipherment, there was to be an assembly ball that night should Darcy and Georgiana wish to attend.

Georgiana was now sixteen, and this was not a big London affair, so Darcy felt no compunctions about allowing his sister to attend, and there was never any question that they wished to attend.

After a quick meal Darcy bathed and dressed with far more than his usual care. Bingley had returned from Longbourn upon hearing the Darcys had arrived, and finished dressing for the ball shortly after Darcy. He immediately joined Darcy, who sipped at his second glass of port to calm his nerves. Darcy's pleasure at seeing his friend after a long absence was muted by his anxiety.

Bingley beamed as he clapped Darcy on the back, "My dear chap I am so terribly glad to see you here. We've all eagerly awaited you." Bingley gave Darcy a knowing look and added, "I daresay the Longbourn party is very eager to see you."

Darcy felt too nervous, and was too pleased by Bingley's reassurance, to be properly annoyed by his presumption. Bingley had a definite air of enjoying Darcy's uncertain manner. After a few minutes Georgiana came down, dressed in a pretty blue ball gown.

Bingley greeted her with a smile and deep bow, "Georgie you are looking more like a lady than ever."

Georgiana replied with a curtsy, "I am much obliged for your compliment." Then she giggled, "I'm very eager to meet your bride and her family."

Bingley was the only one to speak during the carriage ride to the assembly hall. Both Darcy and Georgiana were too nervous to speak — though for different reasons. This would be Georgiana's first ball not at Pemberley, and she thought she was likely to meet her future sister. Darcy's mind lingered on the last times he had seen Elizabeth — her eyes as she ran away from him, and her retreating form as he called to her the morning she handed him the letter.

Though Bingley took some delight in Darcy's nervousness, he also attempted to relax his friend with a steady stream of the gossip from the surrounding countryside; Elizabeth's name, of course, was liberally mixed in.

Miss Bingley had returned to London shortly after Darcy left. She did not want to watch Bingley's happy courtship of Jane. Thus no one acted to ensure the Netherfield party was fashionably late, and Darcy arrived some twenty minutes before dancing began. He found a spot near the entry and stood next to Georgiana like a dour statue except when he looked hopefully towards the door every time there was the noise of a new party entering.

Bingley stood a few feet away and repeatedly flashed insolent grins at Darcy which showed him greatly amused by Darcy's behavior. Darcy knew he was behaving like a lovesick fool, but that was no surprise since he was a lovesick fool. Endless minutes passed, and then more minutes passed and the first dance began. To pass the time Darcy tried to plan his words, and in what manner he should behave. How could he best show Elizabeth he still cared for her but wished to make no demands? She must feel at least as nervous as he. How might he calm and comfort her?

And five or ten minutes after the dance started she arrived.

The Bennet family tumbled through the entrance with Lydia eagerly coming in first, and then Kitty and Mrs. Bennet followed by Jane and her. For a moment Darcy could observe her form as Elizabeth looked first to her right and then towards the center of the room before she turned towards him. Their eyes caught and Darcy felt a jolt go through him.

Elizabeth's lips were slightly parted and her eyes were wide; nervous light flutters ascended from the pit of Darcy's stomach as, without breaking eye contact, she walked to him.