"Good afternoon, Elizabeth"

I knew I was pushing my luck using her given name, but it seemed better than either of her despised surnames, and considering the depth of the hole I had dug for myself, I needed to tread carefully.

Elizabeth looked over at me in very clear annoyance. Her mask was in place sufficient to hide all the deeper emotions, but annoyance seemed one that she not averse to showing. She appeared to have been entirely satisfied with my absence the two days after our previous altercation. Her adieu was the type of statement that wars might be fought over. It seemed the ultimate irony that my ungentlemanly behavior and lack of basic good sense a year ago now seemed likely to ruin the lives of at least several people, possibly forever. She looked as if she was satisfied that I had been absent two more days, but would be even more satisfied if I were absent two months or forever. I could imagine with her entirely justified displeasure with Bingley, she wanted her sister to encounter me even less.

She replied with a hard edge to her voice, "Mr. Darcy, I thought all of our business was concluded satisfactorily."

I replied carefully, "Perhaps you were satisfied, but I was not."

She looked at me again, and said, "I was quite satisfied up to around a minute ago, and in five minutes time I will be once again. I remember I once said that there were no two people in the room with less to say to each other, and I do not see that anything has changed aside from your dogged persistence."

I carefully examined her countenance again, and saw nothing but stony silence and more annoyance. The fact that she was not even willing to pretend to civility anymore was not auspicious.

When I paused in my reply, she turned to go, saying, "I have things to do Mr. Darcy, so I trust you can find your way back to Rosings."

Once again unable to come up with anything intelligent, I said, "What will you be doing Mrs. Elizabeth, if you do not mind my asking?"

She paused momentarily and said, "I do mind, as it is not your concern; but I imagine telling you will do no harm. I am married to the worst parson in England, but I am an excellent parson's wife. I have parishioners to visit. I ignore those who disdain being visited by a woman, but there are widows and pensioners who treasure my visits. I have a curate to deliver sermons but he does not have time to visit everyone since he does not have a living. Today I am visiting the widow Hastings, and bringing some preserves to Sargent MacDonald, who has… taught me some useful things and offers me… certain assistance on a daily basis."

I suspect I blanched at what a Sargent might teach a young lady who defended herself with fire irons and knives. Avoiding that particular thought, I asked, "Do those visits make you happy, or at least content?"

She looked at me in some confusion at the pedestrian nature of the conversation, and said, "Misery loves company, sir. But I must take my leave before I become any more maudlin. Goodbye, Mr. Darcy."

With that, she started spreading the last of her grain. I was becoming somewhat accustomed to having her say goodbye with the finality of a hangman's noose, but I had not come this far to be turned aside again.

"Miss Elizabeth, wait! Please!"

She stopped momentarily, but did not face me again.

With one part of my mind I thought I had one last desperate hope to reach her in some small way and possibly start scaling the wall she had built around herself. Another part of my mind knew I was much too stubborn to give up so easily. I had given up one time too many already, and would not be so easily dissuaded in future.

I answered carefully, "I would like one last chance to help you. I have been these two days working on your problem, and I have learned a few things that may be of use."

She made no reply, so I continued.

"Before that though, I owe you an apology… well, actually I owe you many apologies. I am afraid I have been neither a gentleman nor a friend to you, and I would like to try to remedy that. Elizabeth, please! I genuinely would like to help you. Will you at least hear me out?"

Elizabeth stood stock still for several moments, neither looking at me nor moving away. I could not tell if she was taking my offer seriously, trying to get her fiery temper under control, or doing something completely unanticipated. At long last, she answered, "If I hear you out will you finally leave me in peace?"

"You have my word. I know I have given you no good cause to believe me, but you have my word for what it is worth."

I did not think my word was worth all that much to her, but I had to try something.

She at last replied, "Very well. I will hear you out, but not now and not here."

I let out a breath I had not realized I was holding, and said, "I thank you for giving me a chance to redeem myself. I know I have a long way to go before I manage to achieve any level of trust whatsoever, but I will do my best. I agree to your terms which are entirely sensible. I am actually perfectly sanguine about being in your presence and do not care who knows about it, but it would not be ideal for you to be seen with me before you accept my help. I am at your disposal."

Elizabeth thought for a moment, and said, "I will be busy the rest of the afternoon. I would invite you to supper, but I am certain my menu will not be to your standards. Perhaps midday tomorrow?"

Feeling like I had made at least a little bit of progress, I thought he might be able to at least put the tiniest bit of humor in the situation, so I foolishly said, "I am not as fastidious as you may think. What is on the menu?"

Once again I saw a frown appear and disappear almost too fast to see. I seemed to be sticking my foot in my mouth more often than not, so I said, "I am sorry. Did that make you uncomfortable in some way?"

She blew out a breath and said, "Do not worry. It just reminded me of something."

I asked, "Would you share it?"

Elizabeth looked at me with the tiniest hint of either mischievousness or malice, and said, "That was the first thing I ever heard about you… your fastidiousness. Mr. Bingley said he would not be as fastidious as you for a kingdom at the first assembly you attended, because you would not dance with any of the Meryton ladies. That was just before you…"

All of a sudden, the rest of that ill‑fated conversation came back into my mind as if I had participated in it last night instead of over a year ago, and my heart dropped through my shoes. If she heard that, she must have heard… Now I remembered her words from two days ago about handsome enough. They had not sunk in as repetitions of my own words back to me. What a fool I was.

She apparently decided to quit rubbing salt in the wound, as she stopped speaking mid‑word, and said, "My apologies, Mr. Darcy. You are trying to be civil so I will quit harping about that assembly."

I was at that point I am sure I was as red as my cousin's Calvary coat, and I very carefully said, "I now remember what I said after that, and I owe you a thousand apologies for it, though that be insufficient. Did that first insult lay the foundation for your dislike of me?"

She just looked at the ground, and said, "Do not concern yourself, sir. You simply echoed what my former mother said, so it was not news to me. It did however make it quite easy to believe all the things Wickham said about you, probably half lies, but all easy enough to believe. Consider it forgotten."

I replied in quite some alarm, "Do not excuse my abhorrent behavior, Mrs. Elizabeth! I deserve whatever censure you dish out, and more besides. Did you truly dislike me when we were in Hertfordshire?"

She could not look at me, but she at last nodded her head and said, "Yes, I did. I still do."

Once again I wanted to crawl in a hole and die, but said, "I am afraid, that is yet another of the many things I must apologize for. It was rude, unkind and most assuredly untrue. I had not even looked at you, and it was not long before I believed you are the handsomest woman of my acquaintance."

She just shrugged and said, "Little good it did me! In the end, it really matters not, but I accept your apology and will not bring it up again."

At that moment I thought he had a lot more apologizing to do, but hoped to simply not step in any more holes for a few minutes. Wanting to change the subject, I asked as carefully as I could, "What is on the menu for supper?"

She seemed to be satisfied with no longer discussing the past, and said, "Rosemary chicken and potatoes."

Shuffling my feet a bit, I sheepishly said, "If that was a genuine offer for supper and not just an excuse to be rid of me until tomorrow, I accept with gratitude. If you prefer to wait, I will agree to that as well. I am truly at your disposal."

Elizabeth examined my countenance for a moment, not showing any hint of what she was thinking. Finally, she simply nodded her head.

A moment later I was quite startled when she abruptly dropped from sight so fast I could scarcely see the movement, and the next thing I knew she was back with a chicken grasped in her hand. She expertly wrung its neck and then took a few steps to a chopping block. Within seconds, she had a knife in her hand that I had seen not the slightest hint of, and the chicken's head was off and tossed over the fence to the pig along with a few more inedible bits. A minute later she had expertly gutted it, throwing the entrails into a stone bowl. She started plucking it while I stood frozen in surprise.

A few minutes later, she pointed to a small kitchen garden and said with the barest hint of impertinence, "Since you are a gentleman farmer, perhaps you can manage to dig up three potatoes over there. The spade is by the fence, and the rosemary is in the far corner."

Happy to have something to do outside of her glare, I hopped to it. I did not feel this was the exact time to tell her I was no stranger to the spade, and I was more than an idle farmer. By the time I came back, she was done with the chicken.

In my usual unwise fashion, I asked, "Why does the cook not do that?"

She looked back at me with no expression whatsoever that I could detect, and said, "I have no cook. You must trust me not to poison you."

I was perplexed by that, but once again tried to engage her in a bit of teasing, I said, "Are you likely to poison me?"

She just shrugged and said, "Not likely. The knife is more reliable."

From her countenance I still could not tell if it was teasing or simply a rational evaluation of killing methods, and decided the subject was best closed for the moment. I had to remember that she had told me straight out that she had never liked me, not ten minutes before. Right now I thought I would perfectly well kill to get just one of her teasing smiles directed at me; or really at anybody. However, I had to reign in my ambition. A baby did not run its first day, particularly when it had crawled into the fire beforehand. For the moment I was as satisfied with my position as I had any right to be. After all, she had only told me to leave her sight forever a half dozen times so far today.

I did think that I could not walk on eggshells forever, so I asked, "May I ask why there is no cook? I thought this was a good living."

She answered simply, as if discussing the contents of her workbasket, "I have no servants at all. I did before Collins became ill, but I discharged them all with a severance and good references."

Curiously, I asked, "If it is not prying too much, will you tell me why?"

She seemed more annoyed at the need to explain herself than with the lack of servants, and said, "Because my father did not make Collins settle a farthing on me. When he dies, I will have only what I have saved so will probably enter service of some kind. Each shilling I save might be the shilling that keeps me from starving or buys medicine or coach fare to leave if things become difficult. That is why I refuse to pay someone to do something I can perfectly well do myself. I thought I had one or two years to save some reserves. Now, there is a chance I will be effectively mistress of Longbourn, but the chances are just as good that I will be dead or trying to keep two baby girls from starving instead of just myself."

She paused and continued, "I have one companion, Mrs. Hewes. She worked downstairs at Rosings for thirty years, but when she could not do her work anymore, she was cast out with no pension. She is teaching me how to cook and clean efficiently, and I give her a roof over her head and bread on her table. We are content."

She looked at me again with her usual stone face. I thought she probably expected some censure from me or at least disappointment. I naturally did not feel inclined to oblige her, and simply said, "A very sensible argument, but I have no intention of allowing that fate."

She simply shrugged, and said, "Six o'clock"

As she turned around to leave, I asked, "Will you object if I set up a pension for Mrs. Hewes since my aunt seems to have neglected to?"

She replied, "I believe she would appreciate that, but she will probably continue to live with me at least for a time."

"Naturally"

She looked at me for the first time in recent memory as if he might not be a monster, and said, "Thank you, Mr. Darcy. Six o'clock. We do not dress for supper. Please be discreet."

Once again, she had thanked me for doing the most basic duties of a gentleman, and she had not even bothered asking my aunt; probably surmising it was a lost cause. I thought her opinion must be so low that I would have a very long hill to climb to gain her esteem, if it could even be done, but at least I had made a start; and if nothing else, I could be stubborn when it suited me.