Darcy punched his pillow to fluff it again. He could not sleep. The bed in Georgiana's guest room was comfortable, but Darcy's mind was too full of plans and worries. When he'd seen Elizabeth again all of the misery and loneliness had dissolved. Her form had glowed bright in his eye and he had been home again. He belonged where she was.

Ever since he'd left her, Darcy had been lethargic and empty. He'd gone home to Pemberley and sat in his office staring at the land he had desperately defended. It no longer mattered to him. He simply didn't care anymore. Protecting the estate, reducing his debts, living the life he had chosen — an empty series of meaningless motions he would endlessly act out until he at last died.

Then he received Bingley's letter about Georgiana. He could protect his sister at the cost of his dignity. Wickham had never understood — those he cared for mattered far more than family name or honor. Of course he would. He would see Elizabeth again.

It had been as though he was struck by a lightning bolt. Everything changed, and he knew what mattered most to him in life was her.

She'd refused him, but Elizabeth's words and manner proclaimed that she still loved him. Darcy could be almost inhumanly patient. So long as he had her love, he could endure any wait. However long it took for her to trust their bond again, for it to grow stronger and tighter than ever before, he would wait.

But how should he act tomorrow?

Darcy's planning was interrupted when he heard from the wall a hushed anxious whisper. "No. No — Fitzwilliam is in the next room, he might hear."

The bed in the next room creaked and Georgiana giggled and shrieked out, "Stop that!" She then added in a hushed voice, "I'm serious — I would kill myself with shame if my brother heard us."

"Do not worry," Wickham spoke in a confident voice. "I had the same concern myself, so I had a servant stand in the guestroom this afternoon, and we tested what sounds would transmit through the walls."

Georgiana didn't whisper, but her voice was still worried, "Are you certain Fitzwilliam cannot hear anything?"

"Completely." There was definitely a smirk in Wickham's voice. "Please — little George really wants to play."

He was going to kill Wickham.

He was actually going to kill him. What was wrong with his brother? To plan this. By the time Darcy decided he should bang on the wall, it was too late to avoid mortal embarrassment.

This was the most uncomfortable Darcy had ever been. He'd thought he had become immune to embarrassment.

He had not.

At last the two stopped moving. Darcy sighed in relief.

Tomorrow morning he would leave the house.

He could not. Georgiana would demand to know why.

The bed in the other room creaked again, and with Georgiana giggled. "Look! Little George is standing up again!"

MDVMDVMDV

Early the next day the residents of Bingley's house called upon those of Wickham's.

The bags under Darcy's eyes that Elizabeth had seen the previous day had not dissipated. He sat in the corner of the drawing room wan and listless but stood and bowed with a smile that transformed his appearance as soon as he caught sight of her. "Miss Elizabeth, you look very well this morning — I am delighted to see you. You as well, Bingley."

Elizabeth asked with a concerned frown, "Mr. Darcy, are you well? You do not look as though you slept well." Elizabeth blushed after asking the question. She had tossed and turned for an hour thinking about him and whether she had been right to refuse his offer of marriage. Had he been unable to sleep because he was thinking about her?

Darcy went pale and looked towards Mr. Wickham who smirked. "I slept very well — I have never slept better. It was a sound sleep from the instant my head touched the pillow."

Georgiana blushed and said, "I'm glad to hear that — you have enjoyed the accommodations then? I'm so pleased to entertain you!"

"Oh yes — this is a fine little house. I'm delighted to stay with you, Georgie."

Mr. Wickham grinned and said, "And I am happy to host you in my house. If anything — noises, creaks, anything bothered you, please tell me."

Georgiana elbowed her husband, and Darcy said evenly, "No, I slept as well as I do in my own chambers at Pemberley."

"I am delighted to hear it." Mr. Wickham now looked to Elizabeth with a charming smile, "Miss Bennet, can I say that you look even handsomer and more ravishing than ever before? The way you reworked that straw bonnet — you are a true artist. A lovely artist."

"No —" Elizabeth gave Wickham a false smile. "'Tis too much praise. I will not let you say it."

"Then since the lovely goddess commands it, I shall not say it."

Georgiana giggled, while Darcy appeared as though he wished to snarl at Wickham.

"Fitzwilliam," Georgiana said, "you must let me show you about the town. We shall walk around and see the sights. You've only been here the once when you first brought me here last summer. I have ever so much more to show you. Lizzy, Mrs. Bingley, you all must come with us too. I do not want us to be parted."

Jane said, "It is a warm day, and I thought we might adopt such a scheme. I told my servants to be ready to set out a picnic in the park when we are done touring the town."

The town was picturesque and had worn cobblestone streets. The buildings were a mix of modern brick and antique timber frames, and many of the houses were remarkably pretty. Georgiana had Darcy's arm and eagerly pointed out her favorite shops and told little stories about where she had bought kid gloves or how Wickham had surprised her with a gift from that shop.

Darcy was distracted. The last had been by far the worst night of his life, but if he left, even with a sufficient excuse so Georgiana did not realize that he had heard them, Wickham would know that he had won. Darcy didn't want that.

When they passed the town's chandler, Darcy's eyes brightened. While the sounds had never bothered him, some travelers used pieces of wax to block up their ears so that they could sleep more easily in busy inns.

"Aha!"

Darcy let go of Georgiana's arm and said, "I have a purchase to make — I'll not be long. Go along, go along — I'll meet you again when I'm done — at the harbor park."

"No, Fitzwilliam. I wish to see. Please tell me. What do you want to buy?"

Darcy's eyes darted back and forth. When they lit on Elizabeth, she smiled back at him and shrugged. She wondered what purchase he could make at a candle-maker's shop that he'd desperately want to hide.

"Nothing. It's nothing important — it shall be boring — I would not wish to be hurried."

"Ohhhh. I understand." Georgiana grabbed Wickham's arm and said, "We shall go to the park — do not be too long."

Darcy frowned as his sister walked away. She would not act so nonchalant if she had guessed what he planned to purchase and why. What did Georgie think he was going to buy?

He pushed the door open, ringing the bell, and the candlemaker came out from the back with a tradesman's deferential smile. "Sir, what might I do for you?"

Darcy explained his order.

"Yes, I can prepare something for you, but to work best it should be molded into your ear while the wax is as hot as it can be without burning you; it will take time. I am very busy today. Come back tomorrow, and I shall have plenty of time."

"No." The door rang behind him, but instead of turning around Darcy begged, "I'll pay you any sum. I need them prepared now."

"Alright sir, alright. I'll make your ear plugs. It will be four shillings."

Darcy exclaimed in shock, "Four shillings."

It had been Elizabeth who had entered the shop, and she warmly giggled at Darcy's horror at the price.

The chandler replied with an annoyed voice, "You claimed you would pay any sum — if you wish it done now, you shall pay that."

Too embarrassed by the situation to bargain in front of Elizabeth, Darcy pulled the coins from his purse.

Elizabeth said in a sweet voice. "Poor Georgiana. That is not at all what she guessed you were to purchase. Why ever do you desperately need ear plugs? Is the sound from the surf bothering you? The Wickhams' house is set a little inland. I find the waves very relaxing."

"No… no, it is nothing of the sort. I mean yes — the surf bothers me."

"Well then what is the real reason you need them? Do not look so mulish — I shall hound you until you tell me."

Darcy replied in a wild whisper, "I heard them. I heard them. He made sure I would."

Elizabeth shook her head in confusion. "Forgive me, but I do not understand you. What did you hear?"

"Them!"

"Doing what?" Elizabeth's eyebrows rose to the ceiling as she deduced the answer.

Oh.

Elizabeth blushed crimson and saw that Darcy looked even more embarrassed. Poor Mr. Darcy, to hear his baby sister and Mr. Wickham. No wonder he had looked crazed this morning when she asked how he had slept.

The chandler had heated and softened two pieces of beeswax cut from a candle and gruffly ordered Darcy to sit. Darcy did so, not looking at Elizabeth. The man pressed one of the softened pieces of wax into Darcy's left ear. Elizabeth brightly said, "Sir, you must do a very good job with these ear plugs. They are a matter of great importance."

"I know my business, little Miss. Don't accuse me of possibly doing a poor job." Then still holding the piece in place with his left hand, he pushed the second into Darcy's other ear. While he did his work, the man muttered about gentry who had ridiculous demands and then accused him of doing a poor job. Elizabeth sat and alternated between watching Darcy while the wax molds hardened and admiring the walls of candles.

After a minute the pieces of wax were pulled from Darcy's ears, and with a critical look the chandler carved off little bits to make them neater. He wrapped the pieces in brown paper and handed them to Darcy, who placed them in his coat pocket. "Now you, ma'am, is there anything you wish me to do for you — or are you too concerned I shall make a mess of the job?"

Elizabeth shook her head. "I was only keeping Mr. Darcy company."

"So you only entered my shop to insult me and waste my time? Delightful. Now, I shall return to my real work."

"Wait." Elizabeth turned to Darcy. "Georgiana thinks you are buying her and Wickham a gift and that is why you sent her off."

Darcy groaned and covered his eyes with his hand. He asked the chandler, "What could I purchase from you which would be an appropriate gift for a young wife?"

The man replied with a flat glare that suggested he despised Darcy, "Candles. A great many candles."

Elizabeth bit her lip to keep from laughing. Darcy's eyes brightened, and he pulled a miniature painting from his chest pocket. He showed it to Elizabeth; it was a painting of a large beautiful house with endless rows of windows and a front of marble columns.

Darcy answered Elizabeth's unasked question, "Pemberley."

Elizabeth's face brightened. "You wish to have a wax figure made of it — that shall make a fine gift for Georgiana."

"I know." Darcy said to the chandler, "Could you make a wax model of this building?"

"No. I'm a maker and seller of candles. Not rich women's decorative toys."

"What if I paid —"

"No, no, no. A thousand times no. I would not even know how to make it. I don't play with wax like an overgrown child. I make candles. There is a man down the street who can help you. Now get out."

The instant they were back in the street, Elizabeth started to laugh and laugh. "I've never met a more irritable man. I did not know candle making was such a serious business."

Darcy laughed with Elizabeth. "And I thought he appeared deferential when I first entered the store."

Elizabeth laughed again. "Not he. Your perception of character failed you this time. Are you satisfied? Will these block the sound of your sister and her darling husband —"

"Don't say anything more." An impish smile hovered around Elizabeth's lips. Darcy shrugged, "These must work, for I shall throw myself in the ocean if I am made to endure another such night."

"That is a good plan — the water certainly would stop the sound. How, however, do you intend to breathe and sleep?"

"At the least I will take a room at an inn or beg Bingley to put me up. But if I do that, I would need to explain to Georgie, why."

The two went to what they correctly guessed was the shop of the person who could make a wax miniature on commission. The artist was far friendlier, making a sketch from Darcy's miniature and promising that he would have the model prepared within a week's time.

Elizabeth admired the painting. So that was the house which Darcy had grown up in and which commanded his estate. "It is beautiful."

"Yes. It Is. But it is only a house. This is how it looked during my father's time."

"It must still be beautiful — to be the master of such an estate. That must be something indeed. A great responsibility. You have so many tenants and servants under your protection."

Darcy wanted to say that it would be a much happier burden with her. But he had promised not to ceaselessly make love to her. "Promise me you shall visit someday soon. I want you to see her. You shall fall in love and never wish to leave."

Elizabeth turned her luminous eyes on him. "I look forward to seeing your Pemberley."

Once they were done, Darcy and Elizabeth walked arm in arm to the harbor park. The Bingleys' servants had spread out a blanket and picnic. Georgiana and Wickham were happily chatting with Jane and Bingley when the two strolled up.

Bingley called out, "It has been a great while — Lizzy, Ramsgate isn't such a large town — however did you two get lost?"

Darcy replied, "The candle maker was unwilling to make what I hoped, but he told me who I could speak to."

"Ha! Likely excuse."

It was a pleasant meal, and Elizabeth was happy and smiling as she talked to Darcy and Georgiana. She even lost a little of her antipathy to Wickham and allowed herself to laugh at his jokes. Each time she did she looked at Darcy and raised her eyebrows, daring him to be jealous of his brother-in-law. Darcy would grin back, and her cheeks would redden.

Darcy watched her. He never would have imagined that he could be grateful for last night, but laughing together dissolved part of the tension between them. She was as beautiful and bright as ever. Patience, he needed to show much patience. But it was hard to sink back into the moment and just enjoy Elizabeth's presence again.

He needed to at least explain that he could afford to marry her.

Darcy fell silent and ignored the conversation. He had always used the money as a shield to guard himself from his feelings. He told himself that money meant he could not marry her and that he needed to deprive himself.

It had been an excuse to not ask what really mattered to him.

Elizabeth touched Darcy lightly on the shoulder and smiled at him. He shook himself and attended to the conversation. After the meal they walked along the sand past the gathered piles of driftwood.

Each couple separated from the others, and they were strung out along the beach, like an open necklace with only three pearls. Elizabeth and Darcy were furthest back, walking slowly and taking more time to appreciate the view as they hoped to talk without being a spectacle.

Elizabeth leaned heavily on Darcy's arm to keep herself steady on top of the shifting sand. They both knew she did not truly need his support, but he enjoyed holding her up, and Elizabeth enjoyed leaning on Darcy's strong arms.

They spoke on inconsequential topics until Darcy abruptly said, "We could afford to marry. I do not need to marry an heiress for the money. My finances are much better than is generally believed."

"You told me yourself you have a debt of ninety thousand pounds. You do not even keep a carriage. I know you came to Jane's wedding by post. I asked you not to make love to me, and this is why. You — I do not know what you mean to accomplish, but I'll not let you pretend."

"The pretense —" Darcy tightened his lips and said in a clipped voice, "It is meaningless to state how large a debt is without providing a context for that number, an accounting of assets. Over the past twelve months my estates provided an income of almost fourteen thousand. My debts require only a third of my income to service. I am a wealthy man, I live the way I do only because I wish to eliminate those debts quickly, not because it is impossible for me to spend more."

Elizabeth stared at him. She frowned, and the fine skin of her forehead wrinkled in thought. They continued to walk along the seashore. The surf whooshed in and out, with a low roar each time a wave crashed.

Darcy had barely any money. He was well connected and the master of a beautiful estate but impoverished. That was how she had always understood him. His behavior was governed by a desperate need to avoid bankruptcy.

"You lied to me." Her voice was low and angry. "Meaningless without context! You lied. You let me assume what the context was. That is a lie. You kissed me. You kissed me and then said you could not marry me because you were in debt. Because you needed the money. Because… because —"

Elizabeth couldn't speak and ground her teeth together.

"Elizabeth —"

"Don't!" A seagull poking at the sand to hunt for crabs startled and flapped weakly before it settled again. "Don't defend yourself. It will only anger me further."

Nothing was said.

Her feet sank into the sand with each step. At last Elizabeth looked sideways to briefly take in Darcy's profile. His eyes were on the ground picking out each step. He caught her gaze and looked towards her. "I am not a perfect man."

Darcy's voice was flat. Elizabeth felt a surge of sympathy for him — she could hardly understand.

What was his true situation?

The interest rates by law could not be more than five percent. That would mean his debt would cost between four and five thousand in interest charges each year. That left at least eight thousand a year.

Good God! That was near twice Bingley's income. If Mama ever had any idea….

"I don't… I don't understand. That is an enormous amount. Why lie to me? Why does money concern you at all? With so much income, even Miss Bingley's dowry could not have been a great addition."

Darcy frowned as he contemplated Elizabeth's question.

He had lied to her. Damn, damn, damn.

What he told Elizabeth was not completely untrue. He'd be forced to sell land if his uncle refused to accept the marriage and cut off support. That had been his real fear all along.

He didn't care any longer.

He could lose all the damned land, and the house too if Elizabeth would be with him. There was something giddy about the absence of that old weight.

"Nevermind! Do not tell me. I do not want to hear what new lie you are contemplating." Elizabeth released Darcy's arm and ran forward. She stumbled through the sand and quickly reached Georgiana and Wickham.

Darcy stopped walking and stared at her figure with a sodden expression.

Elizabeth called out when she came within a few paces, "Georgie, I have a question."

Elizabeth took Wickham's other arm, but she could think of no question that would excuse her joining them. The frothy waves ebbed and flowed; the calling of the gulls was melancholy. Mr. Wickham chuckled. "Ha! How did my dear brother offend you?"

When they returned to Bingley and Jane's house that afternoon, Elizabeth went to her dressing room to change. She had stayed near Mr. Wickham, because Darcy probably would not try to speak to her in his presence.

He hadn't.

Darcy's guilty, dejected frown sapped at Elizabeth's anger. Each time she considered speaking to him again, the frustration returned. Ha! How could he look that miserable when his net income was eight thousand a year. Eccentric miser. Disgusting miser. He was the greedy creature Wickham claimed him to be.

Why he would not even buy a new coat, and this one had already been quite old when he wore it in Hertfordshire. He did not love her; he loved money.

He should stop looking miserable.

How could he be rich? It somehow changed her every impression of him. It was choice not necessity that made him act that way.

They had decided that Darcy, Georgiana, and Wickham would dine with the Bingleys. Elizabeth changed into a pretty evening dress that left her collarbones bare. She went to the window of her room. The windowsill had been painted a smooth green, and Elizabeth ran her fingers over it.

Darcy sat in the garden. He was seated at her table, in her lounge chair, and he stared, like she had so many times, over the flower beds and at the pounding surf. He had taken off his beaver hat and set it on the table next to him. The wind ruffled his dark hair. His long legs stretched out in front of him, with the feet hanging out over the end of the chair.

Emotion crawled up Elizabeth's throat. Affection and tenderness. He was handsome and dear to her heart. That was the same blue tail coat he always used for ordinary circumstances. She knew its image well. The elbows and seat were shiny from too much use. Most of his cravats were cotton, and the white silk one had a slight stain which could not quite be removed.

He worked so hard to clear his debts. It meant something different when a gentleman cut his expenses to the bone when it was not necessary. It was so like him: he had sworn to himself that he would clear those hated debts left by his father as speedily as possible, and he then focused every sinew of his being on doing so. No wonder he was rich now. He had struggled for it, and he would continue to struggle until his oath was complete.

And yet, his basic humanity remained. He had spent hundreds of pounds to help the apprentice children on his estate. Elizabeth was sure he always made sure old servants were pensioned off adequately and that any tenant who needed a doctor was attended. That was who he was.

He would be a fine father. His daughters would never lack a dowry because he could not be bothered to economize.

She loved him, and she trusted him. She had wanted to test and torment Darcy by dangling herself before him and leaving him in anxiety. He had earned her anger, and he knew it. But that would be wrong, and it hurt her as much as Darcy. If he had so much money, there was no material reason that would keep them apart.

Sudden happiness weakened Elizabeth's knees. Amazingly, this whole twisted romance betwixt them would end happily. She would go downstairs, smile wider than she ever had smiled before, and tell him: Yes, I love you, my Fitzwilliam.

Nervous anxiety came to Elizabeth, and when she reached her door instead of opening it she turned around and paced. Was this change too sudden — should she trust herself? Was she forgetting something? She would not be selfish and hurt Darcy for anything.

But he claimed to know his mind, and if he had the money, what harm would she do him? Miss Bingley's voice from the night of the ball at Netherfield, the night when Darcy fled from her the first time, came to Elizabeth's ears: He depends on his uncle. He could not marry against his wishes.

Darcy could ignore his uncle. He was rich enough to please himself.

What could his uncle do to him?

Darcy was still deeply in debt. He had been forced to borrow twenty thousand pounds from Bingley because his uncle refused to help him.

What if almost all of Darcy's loans were called in at the same time?

He would be forced to sell part of Pemberley.

Darcy had never lied to her. He needed to marry a woman his uncle approved of. That was what he meant when he said he no longer cared. He had decided she meant more to him than keeping his estate intact.

Darcy's behavior today and yesterday showed none of the wavering that had been present before. He had chosen her. At last he chose her.

She could not let him. He loved his land; it would tear him apart to lose any of it. She could not take it from him.

Elizabeth pressed her back against the wall and slid down to the hardwood floor. They could not marry. She had hoped — but it was impossible. His land was what mattered most to him. She was not selfish, not like that.

No, no, no.

Elizabeth blubbered. Wrenching sobs made it impossible to breathe.

Jane entered the room and knelt down pulling Elizabeth into her arms. "Oh, Lizzy, Lizzy."

Elizabeth clutched at her sister for comfort. She would hurt him when he realized she would not marry him. Oh, oh — could she even do it?

Darcy had been strong before. He had resisted every temptation. She would do no less. He was her model.

Jane said, "I feared this would happen. We shall not dine with him. I suppose he must stay in Ramsgate to be near his sister… Tomorrow I'll write to Charlotte to see if she —"

"No! No, no, no." Elizabeth spoke through her tears, "You can't send me off. You can't. We are at least to be friends."

"Lizzy, you are crying. With your feelings for him, if he shall not do the right thing and make an offer, we must keep you —"

"He did — yesterday he did. I refused him. It was me."

"What?" Jane blinked. "But you —"

"I was angry and scared he might change his mind again. But I can't marry him, he… he would regret it forever if we married."

"It would be impossible for any man to regret marrying you. He loves you, and you still love him."

"No, he would. And I would hate myself for doing it to him. I won't be selfish again. Please, help me wipe my tears off, I must see him. Quickly. We quarreled, and I don't want him to think I'm still angry."

Jane sighed but helped Elizabeth wash the tears off, and then she patted rouge into her sister's face.

Elizabeth went downstairs. Her eyes were still red, but her face was clean. She immediately went outside and sat next to Darcy and greeted him with a friendly smile.