It had not been a matter of if Lizzie and James would marry. That they should be together always was unquestionable, since the day he was seven and she was five and he had presented her with a bouquet of daffodils and said, "Miss Lizzie, will you be my wife?"

He had asked her again, of course, seventeen years later, after he passed his bar examinations and became a lawyer. Lizzie would have married him the next day if he'd allowed for it, but James was prudent and thoughtful and wanted to do things right; he wanted to set up a house and have an income before he took a wife. Lizzie was put out, but she also knew that this was the way he was. She, for all the world, would not change him.

James was an unusual sort of man, in that he did not mind having a wife like Lizzie. It was acknowledged that they were joint partners, that finances were discussed openly, that decisions were made together. Lizzie spoke frankly, and so did James, and though they disagreed, they respected one another. In this way, Lizzie considered her marriage not a cession of her independence but rather a fulfillment of her soul, a merging with her better half.

They lived half a day's journey from Meryton, which proved to be a manageable distance from Mrs. Bennet, but an inconvenient one from the rest of their relations. But Lizzie would not have cared if they lived on a deserted island in the Indies, because James made her inexpressibly happy. Jane came three years after their marriage - a vibrant redhead, much like her father, with her mother's stubborn personality - and no father had ever cared for a daughter as much as James did for little Jane.

Their lives were not perfect, as it happens. James and Lizzie had known each other too long not to quarrel. Nights were spent apart, but usually by dawn, one or the other appeared at the bedroom door, begging forgiveness that was readily accepted.

They made a point to travel when they could. James had taken a liking to the Gardiners especially among Lizzie's relations and they often visited them, as they did that July of 1810.

One evening during that visit, Mrs. Gardiner had guests - something that gregarious James usually enjoyed, but he begged off on account of a previous engagement with a friend from his university days. Lizzie found it strange to be without him - indeed, his time at university was the only significant time they had spent apart - but she, like her husband, enjoyed company and passed the evening making friends and internally making fun of those she could not make friends.

Later in the evening, Lizzie climbed into bed beside her husband, snuggling close.

"And how was Mrs. Gardiner's social event?" asked said husband, stroking her hair.

Lizzie propped up on an arm to consider him. "Not awful."

James grinned impishly. "Not awful? High praise indeed, Mistress Cynic."

Lizzie hit him playfully. "Most of my aunt's friends are awful. But there was a certain gentleman...he seemed less worse than the rest."

"A certain gentleman? Ought I be worried?"

Lizzie rolled her eyes. "Oh, no, I'm afraid I'm destined to waste out the rest of my days with you alone, my love."

"Don't become overrun with excitement, wife," laughed James.

"The pleasure is all mine, husband."

"And this certain gentleman who was less worse than the rest?"

"His name is Mr. Darcy," said Lizzie. "Aunt Marie was friends with his mother when she was a girl. I met him, long ago, after his mother had died. Briefly, of course."

"And?"

"He was most standoffish," Lizzie admitted. "Rather unsociable and awkward. I pitied him. He's still a bit aloof. But...he seems decent. His has not been an easy lot."

"Darcy? They own Pemberley, do they not? In Derbyshire?"

"I don't recall the name of the house, but I suppose it's in Derbyshire, for Aunt Marie grew up there."

"I wouldn't pity him," James said stoutly. "He's got to have ten thousand a year, at the least."

"For shame, you know as well as any that money does not buy one's felicity," Lizzie said, annoyed at James's instant judgment of Mr. Darcy.

"Yes, but we all lose parents," James pointed out. "You, of all people, would know that. Yet you don't have a lavish house and ten thousand a year to console you."

"And you think these things ought to console Mr. Darcy?"

"I'm saying he has a deal of money and a commendable position in society," said James. "I think he ought to stop being quizzical and start using it to better the world in which he lives."

"I'm going to see if Jane's asleep," Lizzie said suddenly, weary of arguing about Mr. Darcy, a man they barely knew. She sprang from the bed to find her shawl.

James grasped her hand quickly. As if he could read her mind, he said, "This is a silly conversation, my dear; we'll never see the fellow again, you know."

"Yes, but you do not need to insult him," Lizzie said petulantly. "I met him, not you. It is my judgment to make."

James smiled easily. "As you say. Now will you come back to bed?"

When he smiled in that particular way, it was difficult for Lizzie to stay angry with him. She bounded back into bed and nestled into his embrace.

"You are probably correct," she whispered. "We leave for the Collins' tomorrow, after all."

"Heaven forbid!" laughed James. "I'd rather not be reminded. And if I have to hear one more time about the endless virtues of his patroness, Lady What's-her-name! I swear, my love, I'm taking Jane and leaving you alone there."

Their ensuing argument about the obnoxious husband of Lizzie's friend Charlotte ended in kisses, and Lizzie fell asleep with her hand splayed protectively across her husband's chest.

And so Lizzie and James left for Kent the next day, their first visit to the parsonage where the recently married Collins' had made their home.