More than once did Elizabeth, in her ramble within the park, unexpectedly meet Mr Darcy.
Naturally, the first meeting was neither unexpected nor unwelcome, but she took care to inform him at first that it was a favourite haunt of hers just to ensure there were no misunderstandings. The rules of propriety were a bit silly and often depended on organized subterfuge. Agreeing to meet together with any regularity would be improper. However, when a gentleman happened to encounter a lady of his acquaintance, it would be rude not to walk with her. Thus, her informing him of her habits served two purposes. It allowed him to choose how often he wanted to meet since he obviously had far greater control over his schedule. It also asserted that he was welcome to join her or not without confusion or disappointment. It was a clumsy system, but sufficient for her purposes.
The first day, after appropriate greetings, they walked on somewhat awkwardly (though smooth as still water compared to their earlier interactions). Of course, simply having Elizabeth cease trying to draw blood with every interaction counted as a substantial improvement.
They seemed reluctant to address the sentence that had been interrupted by her friends the previous day, but Elizabeth decided to mostly ignore it and allow the gentleman to decide for himself whether to finish or abandon the discussion.
She found their conversation slightly awkward. He asked a few unconnected questions–about her pleasure in being at Hunsford, her love of solitary walks, and her opinion of Mr and Mrs Collins's happiness. She answered readily enough and repaid the courtesy with a few questions about his life and travels.
As they approached the parsonage they paused in a small grove where they were unlikely to be observed.
Elizabeth asked gently, "I believe you were interrupted in our last encounter. If I remember correctly, you referenced my first thesis about the parallels between you and Jane. Would you care to finish the sentence?"
He smiled nervously. "May we agree that your thesis seems to be mostly—or perhaps entirely—correct?"
"How can I object to my own pet theory?" she asked with a nervous laugh.
He chuckled with similar nervousness. "Well then, expanding on that idea… allow me to ask a question within that context?"
"Feel free."
Darcy gave her a smile that she found quite endearing. "Answer me this… who is your best friend in the world?"
"Jane, of course."
He smiled even bigger (and more handsomely). "Well! Make the inference."
She thought about it a second, then gasped, but could not properly answer. Then she smiled like the rising of a thousand suns and laughed. "I suppose you have me there, Mr Darcy. We must become the best of friends else my thesis would be disproven."
"We cannot have that," he said with a matching grin, then he took her gloved hand and placed a gentle kiss on it. It was not the least bit romantic—more the sort of gesture you would see between friends of much longer standing than the twelve hours they had been reconciled—but it was sufficient to put the acquaintance on a better footing.
Elizabeth returned to the parsonage while Darcy returned to Rosings, both with a lighter step.
The second and third days proceeded apace, and the newfound friendship deepened. They spoke of anything and everything, and Elizabeth wondered at the fact that she had previously considered him the most taciturn man of her acquaintance (though her father managed a close second—or perhaps even a tie).
The gentleman's description of his estate, along with surprisingly accurate guesses of what parts she would favour left her wondering if she might see the place one day. Her aunt had spoken of visiting the Lakes and a few questions to Darcy confirmed that Pemberley was more or less on the way. Even more surprising to the gentleman was the discovery that her aunt had grown up in the nearest village to Pemberley.
Darcy asked, "Was your aunt known to my family?"
"No… she says you ran in very different circles. She did see your parents in the village from time to time, but not often and they attended a different parish, so they were not overly familiar."
"A pity," he said with a surprising sigh, and then he brightened, "but nothing says we cannot meet now."
Elizabeth tried not to read too much into it, but it seemed as if the gentleman planned for their friendship to survive beyond Rosings, which was a nice surprise.
She managed to ask him a few of his observations about Longbourn, which he reluctantly answered. It seemed that its income was about half to two thirds of what it should be—but there was nothing she could do about it.
On their fourth chance meeting she found the gentleman carrying a picnic basket.
"I took the liberty of bringing some of your favourites. I hope you do not mind," he said with a grin just short of wolffish.
She lifted the cover and saw that he had indeed both identified and procured a plethora of pastries that were indeed her favourites. Quite suspiciously, there was not a single thing she did not care for. With a laugh, he took her hand and dragged her down a disused path. It was mostly hidden, primarily because it was nigh-on impassable, but it came out at a small but beautiful lake.
At that point, they had beat the rules of propriety nearly to death, but since she felt perfectly safe with her new friend of all of a week, Elizabeth was not the least bit concerned.
As they broke out the pastries and tea from a flask, Darcy said, "I fear I will have to return to London on Saturday. I hope I might encounter you there?"
"You know perfectly well you are welcome to call," she said, and then added with a laugh, "a week ago, I would have thought you far too proud to appear at a tradesman's house in Cheapside. I am happy to be proven wrong."
He laughed, "How often does that happen?"
"More often now that we are friends," she said with a matching laugh.
They spent another hour tucked away in their little private lake, oblivious to the world and all its machinations, both wondering exactly how their nascent friendship might play out.
For her part, she had never had a male friend, and she found the experience somewhat startling. It was curious to find that she had someone she felt in her bones she could rely on in case of need. The gentleman volunteering to assist Jane to make up for his past interference did his case no harm either.
For the gentleman's part, he had a great deal to think over. Everything he thought he knew about the lady had been challenged over the past week. He was loathe to give up the relative privacy of their strolls but was also aware such blatant sabotage of the rules of propriety could not last long, and if his aunt ever heard about their meetings there would be the devil to pay, for both them and possibly the Collins family.
The next day found Elizabeth traversing her accustomed path wondering when she would meet her friend again. They had met on average about every other day. Sometimes Lady Catherine had demands on her nephew that precluded his leisure, most of which Elizabeth suspected were pretence, but Mr Darcy was nothing if not dutiful.
She was perusing a letter from Mary when she saw on looking up that Colonel Fitzwilliam was meeting her. Putting away the letter immediately, she greeted him. "I did not know before that you ever walked this way."
"I have been making the tour of the park," he replied, "as I generally do every year, and intend to close it with a call at the Parsonage. Are you going much farther?"
"No, I should have turned in a moment."
And accordingly she did turn, and they walked towards the Parsonage together. A week earlier she would have found the colonel's company vastly preferable to Mr Darcy's, but the sentiment had changed considerably. She certainly liked the colonel, but like Mr Bingley, she was beginning to suspect she had mostly plumbed the depths of their friendship after a fortnight.
"Do you certainly leave Kent on Saturday?" said she.
"Yes–if Darcy does not put it off again. But I am at his disposal. He arranges the business just as he pleases."
Elizabeth laughed slightly, but since she had no idea if the colonel knew of her newfound friendship, and she was not particularly enthusiastic about spreading their private business all about, she decided to reply with a teasing note.
"And if not able to please himself in the arrangement, he has at least pleasure in the great power of choice. I do not know anybody who seems more to enjoy the power of doing what he likes than Mr Darcy."
"He likes to have his own way very well," replied Colonel Fitzwilliam. "But so we all do. It is only that he has better means of having it than many others, because he is rich, and many others are poor. I speak feelingly. A younger son, you know, must be inured to self-denial and dependence."
Elizabeth tried her best not to snort at the ridiculousness of the assertion and managed fairly well. They then had one of their usual teasing interchanges about how much deprivation the second son of an earl must accustom himself to, and the ongoing price for such a creature, which must be upwards of £50,000.
They spoke a bit of Miss Darcy, but some brittleness in the colonel's response to a teasing inquiry about how much trouble the lady caused made her assume that Miss Darcy, being of an age with Kitty and Lydia, might not be quite as sensible as one would hope. She let the matter drop, assuming if Mr Darcy wanted her to know anything about his sister, he would tell her.
They somehow got on the subject of Mr Bingley, much to Elizabeth's displeasure. She did not quite know how to handle the colonel's assertion that Mr Darcy congratulated himself on having lately saved a friend from the inconveniences of a most imprudent marriage. She had mostly forgiven the man for his interference, and though the rejection and Jane's four months of misery still carried a sting, she was even angrier about him spreading the rumour to his cousin.
She came about an inch from telling the colonel that he was in the wrong business, and a fishwife would be more appropriate, but then calmed down and decided it would be best to quietly mention to Mr Darcy that he should tell the colonel to keep his gossip to himself. However, in the previous week she had become accustomed to saying what she thought and felt without censure, and the need to stuff her thoughts back down her throat gave her a headache.
She told the colonel she might have walked too far. Mr Darcy would never fall for such a blatant falsehood, but the colonel still had the typical gentleman's presumptions about the delicacy of women and accepted it readily enough.
Later in the afternoon as the parsonage guests prepared to visit Rosings, Elizabeth started thinking about her carefree days with Mr Darcy in the lanes of Rosings and contrasting it to the stifling atmosphere she was likely to encounter listening to Lady Catherine blather on, not to mention refraining from chastising the colonel over his gossip, which she presumed would not go well in the Rosings parlour. She eventually decided that she was just not up to it. There was no doubt she would have the far more congenial company of Mr Darcy the following day, and she did not wish to spoil the anticipation by spending an evening pretending she was barely acquainted with him. It was just too much. She had enough faith in her friend to believe he would not unduly suffer, but just in case she pressed Charlotte to let everyone know she only had a mild headache and demurred a visit in deference to Lady Catherine's sensibilities. The gentleman would certainly understand the message.
When the rest of the party departed, she sat down to reread the latest letter from Jane. Jane was still in poor spirits, but Elizabeth could see that she was rallying. That made perfect sense. Elizabeth had forgiven Mr Darcy almost immediately when she worked out that Mr Bingley was probably a bad candidate for husband anyway, but Jane's tender heart might take more than a week to get over the indignation.
Elizabeth was anxious for the next chapter to begin. She was to leave Rosings soon, and even considered cutting her visit short after Mr Darcy left (though not short enough to be suspicious).
While settling this point, she was suddenly roused by the sound of the door-bell, and her spirits were a little fluttered by the idea of its being Colonel Fitzwilliam himself, who had once before called late in the evening, and might now come to inquire particularly after her. But this idea was soon banished, and her spirits were very differently affected, when, to her utter amazement, she saw Mr Darcy walk into the room. In an hurried manner he immediately began an inquiry after her health, imputing his visit to a wish of hearing that she were better.