Elizabeth puzzled over the words the rest of the way to Longbourn. It seemed impossible to her that a man of Mr Darcy's consequence could take solace and a renewal of hope from her words.

Was he hoping for a love match himself? Did he take their conversation to mean that he might find such a thing in the ballrooms of London's high society? It was possible, of course, but she could not think that she had misspoken in stating the percentages were small. Mr Darcy had to have been in society for many years. He would have by now realised his chances at a genuine love match were slight. How could her words renew his hope at the possibility? He was aware that they did not move in the same circles. Painfully so.

Perhaps it was not himself he spoke of. He had mentioned his sister. Miss Darcy would not suffer from lack of connections and wealth. Conceivably, Elizabeth had renewed his hope that his sister might wish for and find felicity in marriage.

Elizabeth threw her hands up in despair at herself. It did not truly matter; Mr Darcy's or his sister's future matches were of no significance to her. It gnawed at her though. He was the most puzzling man of her acquaintance and Meryton did not have anyone as sophisticated and complex amongst its inhabitants as him. She was, as an avid studier of character, intrigued by him.

Her Papa had nearly written him off as an ill manner gentleman of considerable fortune. Mr Darcy's position within society was such that Mr Bennet professed to her he felt no concern that the gentleman would be interested in any of his daughters. Or that his wife might sway the gentleman in that regard. He had indulged Elizabeth's displeasure at Mr Darcy's unfavourable comment, then after time had passed and she had not let it alone pointed out that her injured vanity was leading her to make rash assumptions. He condemned the comment slighting his daughter but reminded her that she had been the cause of Mr Darcy's poor impression on society becoming immovable. Elizabeth had told her mother of his remark which he had not meant to be over heard. That action had all but guaranteed that the man's reputation was tarnished due to Mrs Bennet's propensity for gossip. Elizabeth had not liked her father's reprimand but after some reflection, could admit that she had played no small part if she had done so unwittingly and thus could not be held blameless.

After she reported to him the conversation at Netherfield of accomplished women, Mr Bennet had spent some moments considering the words before declaring Mr Darcy had more sense than previously accredited.

When Elizabeth had argued that Mr Darcy was showing a laughable amount of discernment in claiming what was considered accomplished, Mr Bennet had only smiled, then laughed. Then to Elizabeth's mind, sadly shook his head at her.

"I fear, my Lizzy, that I have still much to teach you. Yet I cannot bear to believe that my teaching might engender losing you. No, perhaps it is not so bad that your education is lacking in this area."

Elizabeth had demanded clarity from her father, but he had stubbornly refused. None the less she had puzzled over his words and tried to find the connections between them and the conversation she had related that had prompted them. Now she had yet another puzzling conversation to think on, only this one made less sense than the one she had had with her father.

Elizabeth knew that her education was not lacking. Her father had indulged her whims and fancies and taught her those topics usually reserved for gentlemen and sons. How could her father, the author of her education think that it was lacking?

Elizabeth knew she did not reach the standard of accomplishment that Miss Bingley and Mr Darcy had discussed. She was an avid reader and strove to improve herself through her reading, but she could not sing or play well. Or to the standard Miss Bingley alluded to. She could speak and read French and understand a smattering of Italian, but that was hardly a thorough knowledge of modern languages. The Latin and Greek her father had taught her, Elizabeth knew were not considered accomplishments and not worthy of note, nor was her understanding of mathematics.

She could not draw, and she could not paint a table. Any efforts to do so were hastily banished to the attics, and after ruining more than one attempt, Elizabeth had given it up entirely as an occupation. Her embroidery was passible, but she found she preferred it only when there was no book to claim her attention. Her manner of address and air of walking she had nothing with which she could reliably judge. Her mother called her impertinent and wild. Neither of these things would stand her in good stead with society. It barely stood her in good stead with Miss Bingley who keenly harboured Elizabeth's faults for use to demean her in company.

In truth, Elizabeth knew herself to be woefully short of the mark by which Mr Darcy searched for a wife. Both in accomplishments and in beauty. Jane was much more beautiful than she and Mr Darcy had allowed her only to be pretty. Elizabeth had to clamp down on her bitter thoughts that she was only tolerable. Her inability to let that comment lie was a source of frustration to her. She had not realised that she was so vain and disliked intensely the comparisons it drew between herself and Miss Bingley.

While Elizabeth felt she could accept that it was her lot in life not to be what Mr Darcy was seeking, it did give her pause. She had assumed that she would find a gentleman that would accept and love her for who she was. Her conversation with Mr Darcy had, however, made her question that assumption. If Mr Darcy was still looking for a match and not willing to compromise, would any gentleman? Would she be always passed over in favour of another? Elizabeth sighed. Her feet had finally taken her home. She crunched over the gravel of the garden walk and slipped up the stairs on near silent feet. In her room, she replaced her soiled gown and tidied her hair before joining her family.

Elizabeth took a seat in the morning parlour ignoring her mother's sniff of disapproval at her late entry. She exchanged a small smile with Jane who was sitting in the large window using the light to embroider by. Kitty and Lydia were giggling as they trimmed bonnets while Mary had her nose in a book. It was normal. It was as it ever was. It was suddenly not enough.

Elizabeth stood again moving towards the door.

"Where are you going, Lizzy?" Her mother demanded.

"I have left my book in Papa's book-room Mama, I was just going to retrieve it."

Mrs Bennet sniffed and turned away disinterested.

Elizabeth slipped from the room and traversed the hall to her father's book-room. A soft knock and an instruction to enter followed.

Slipping around the door, she paused, leaning on the solid oak. Her father watched her over his glasses, his ledgers spread across his desk.

"Lizzy?"

Elizabeth left her sanctuary of solid oak and approached the desk. "Mr Darcy came across me a top of the Mount watching the sunrise."

"Did he." Mr Bennet laid his pen down and removed his glasses. Leaning back in his chair he regarded his daughter carefully. "This meeting was an accident?"

"Yes! of course, Papa."

Mr Bennet hummed non-committedly. "You were observed? You have come in here in some agitation to tell me that I shall expect him to arrive and ask for your hand, to quell rumours of compromise?"

"No! Father, no. I would never do such a thing."

"Then, Lizzy, I am at a loss as to why you told me you met Mr Darcy at sunrise, or why you are so clearly agitated about the meeting if nothing is amiss."

Elizabeth sank into the soft leather chair facing her father's desk. She was determined to explain before her Papa thought the worst of her. "He escorted me back via the lanes to the junction where he turned for Netherfield. I walked on his arm from the Mount to where we separated. There was nothing more. Perhaps a chaperone would have dispelled any rumours, but I did not perceive we were observed and we met no one. Papa, it was not an arranged meeting."

"Very well, I believe you."

"We spoke," Elizabeth said looking earnestly at her father. Wishing him to know everything so he would not later discover it and think poorly of her.

"Was the topic unsuitable?"

"No, he asked if I liked roses." Elizabeth's puzzlement at the question shone through again. "We spoke of society, of his younger sister and his hopes that she might find felicity in marriage."

"Then it seems that you have nothing more than a polite, if bland, conversation with the gentleman to relay. So, tell me, Lizzy, what is it that has you so unsettled."

"He said that I had given him hope. But I cannot see how. I revealed, foolishly, professing to want to marry for love rather than connections and wealth, and recognised the folly of such a statement to him myself. How can I have given him hope Papa? Why should Mr Darcy think that my wish to marry for love would give him greater chances of doing so himself? He will marry in his circle for wealth and connections as you said. What is it to him my wishes for marriage? And indeed, what is it to me his wishes for his own? Our conversation was the first where we did not disagree, where he did not seem to look to find fault. He was for the first time amiable but…"

Mr Bennet sighed heavily, interrupting Elizabeth's uncharacteristic ramble. "Lizzy, no man looks at a woman to find fault alone. Where ever you got this foolish notion, it is simply not true. Why would a man look at a lady if he found no pleasure in it? Why would he simply not ignore her? Does Mr Darcy look at Miss Bingley? Or Lydia and Kitty?"

Elizabeth felt herself still. The agitation that caused her to fidget in her chair fled, leaving her silent and shocked. She felt the realisations at her father's words sink into her consciousness. She heard the ideas and connections she had made shatter asunder and the new possibilities reform.

"Papa?" Elizabeth asked weakly, her eyes seeking his. Seeking reassurance that he could not be suggesting what he was.

His eyes were warm, his demeanour soft. His words, inconceivable.

"My dear Lizzy, your education in the behaviours of gentlemen who wish perhaps to become your suitors is lacking. You have taken every opportunity to malign Mr Darcy from the first, and I have been happy to allow you to with very little correction. I cannot bear to think of losing you Lizzy, but I would be a worse father than I am if I did not correct this erroneous assumption you have. Mr Darcy does not look at you to find fault. He does not speak to you of your wishes regarding matrimony, disguised as a conversation about his sister- who is not of marrying age because he is disinterested. My dear he is trying to get to know you. Take it from an old scholarly man who once had trouble in society and speaking to gentlewomen."