Elizabeth was presented with a letter the following morning, one that contained information entirely unexpected to her. Mr. Bingley visited Gracechurch Street, and he asked for the privilege of calling on Jane with regularity. This permission was granted by Jane and Mr. Gardiner, although Jane was uneasy about Mr. Bingley's capricious nature. Jane's new worldview made Elizabeth heartbroken, for she had always been so quick to notice the good in people. Now, with the evidence that Miss Bingley and Mrs. Hurst had concealed her call from Mr. Bingley, she doubted and reconsidered if those she had considered friends were truly good or acting in their own self-interest. Elizabeth wondered if, even in the happy circumstances, Jane had lost some of the gentle kindness that had served as a sharp contrast to Elizabeth's often sardonic attitude.

Elizabeth went out of doors so she might walk and consider what she had read. As she turned down the path into Rosings' formal gardens, she came upon Mr. Darcy. She no longer was surprised when she found Mr. Darcy out walking in the morning, for it seemed his habits were similar to hers. He was reading a letter, and she decided, given the nature of the letters he often read, that she ought to leave him alone. She was about to retreat without a greeting, but when he looked up and saw her, it was too late. She told him that she would leave him to his reading, but he surprised her when he said that he wished to inform her of the letter and its contents.

"Sir, I would never presume in such a way that you should need to tell me what is in your private letters." Elizabeth stepped back and entered a curtsy, but Darcy grasped her hand to urge her to rise.

"It is not from my mother, but Mr. Bingley. He tells me that he has called on your sister." He watched as astonishment, surprise, and joy crossed Elizabeth's face before she calmed her expression.

"Jane wrote something similar," Elizabeth confessed.

Darcy puzzled over the turns her mien had taken a moment before, for why should she have been astonished at his news if her sister had written her of the same.

"And what is your opinion of their reacquaintance?" she asked boldly.

"It is not my place to have an opinion on such a matter," he replied as he offered her his arm so they might walk together.

Elizabeth took his arm, and as they strolled down the path, she could smell the sweet scent of flowers in the air, while the sun warmed her skin. She was unable to contentedly admire the scenery, as she was completely preoccupied with the man whose arm she held. She wondered how much she had misjudged him. She would have thought him entirely opposed to a union between Mr. Bingley and her sister, but perhaps he had not been a party to their separation. After all, he certainly could not stay at Netherfield when his hosts were departing and closing the house. Then again, lack of interference did not mean he approved of the match. It only meant he was not one to be officious in his friend's affairs.

The hum of a bee made them temporarily halt their progress. The bee hovered near Elizabeth's bonnet, drawn to the bright yellow ribbon, so she remained still to prevent being stung. "I should dress with more care in the future," she said without hardly moving her lips, "now that Mr. Collins has bees. Yellow was a most foolish choice."

"It is a honeybee," Mr. Darcy said. "They rarely sting unless threatened."

"I do not trust bees of any sort not to sting. I stepped on a hive when I was a child and was swarmed."

"You should not go attacking Mr. Collins' hives and you shall be well," said Mr. Darcy. "You likely stepped on a wasps' nest. They often nest in holes."

"I do not care," said Elizabeth. "It is a yellow insect that flies."

"I shall draw it away," said Mr. Darcy. He wandered to a nearby patch of vibrant blooms and carefully plucked one. He brought it near to the bee, which found the flower much more interesting than Elizabeth's bonnet. It crawled onto the flower and he brought both the insect and the flower back to where he had got the flower, sitting it gently on the grass.

"My hero," Elizabeth said with only slight exaggeration.

"I find it quite singular that a lady so fond of walking would be frightened of bees," said Darcy.

"I typically wear peppermint oil to repel such insects," said Elizabeth, "and while I enjoy walking, I will keep an eye on where I step. The insects typically build their nests in areas that are hidden from the elements, away from beaten paths and fields. I am currently out of peppermint oil and had planned to purchase some on our next trip into the village."

"Rosings has a still room. I can see if there is peppermint oil to be had," offered Darcy.

"I should not like to trouble you or Lady Catherine so," said Elizabeth.

"Nonsense. Lady Catherine loves to be of use, and it should be useful to me as well. I knew that peppermint oil repelled insects, but hardly ever remember to wear it. I ought to do so." Darcy smiled at Elizabeth, and she once again found herself lost in his chocolate eyes.

"Thank you." Upon realising her inattentiveness and diverting her gaze from him, she started walking again.

They walked a while further, but they were intercepted by Mr. Collins, who was returning from Rosings, no doubt seeking final approval on the changes to his sermon for that night or perhaps for Easter. He spoke about how gallant Mr Darcy was in escorting Elizabeth, the beauty of the gardens — praising Lady Catherine more than the Lord or nature in doing so — and speculated that the gardens of Pemberley must surely be near as elegant. Elizabeth was embarrassed beyond belief as her relation continued to speak, trying to flatter her ladyship and unknowingly insulting Mr Darcy with his comparisons. Mr Darcy was cold and distant during the exchange, and it reminded her of the reserved and lofty manner he had displayed in Hertfordshire. Elizabeth supposed that this must be the mien that Mr. Darcy adopted when offended or discomforted, which she supposed explained why he had displayed it most often when around her family.

Mr. Darcy surrendered Elizabeth to the company of Mr. Collins and returned towards Rosings. She would have much rather walked back with Mr. Darcy, for he was much better company, even when silent. Indeed, just about anything would be preferable to the constant speech of Mr. Collins about the condescension of Lady Catherine and her nephews.

After returning to the parsonage, Elizabeth said she had a headache and asked to be excused to her room in order to rest, so she would not miss church that evening. Although she was well in body, her mind was burdened with too much to consider. She felt utterly foolish in how she had misjudged Mr. Darcy. She realised now that his stiffness was not a sign of disdain, but instead an indication of unease. He could be both charming and helpful, when the situation called for it. How surprising had been his manners during their walks for the last several days!

She wondered what she might have thought of Mr. Darcy if he had shown this side of himself from the first. If she was honest with herself, she knew what she would have thought. She was already becoming aware of Mr. Darcy's good looks. She had thought of him as handsome before, yet the frown on his face usually diminished his looks. His features were softened and his cheeks were filled with dimples when he smiled, creating a beautiful sight.

She shook her head. She should not think of him that way. He was engaged, and it was pointless to admire him, as he would never be anything more than a casual acquaintance to her.


Dearest Fitzwilliam,

I shall begin as I have most of these other letters and wish you a happy birthday and a most pleasant year. I imagine that your father, when you are home, is teaching you to help more about the estate. I hope you remember that the tenants and servants are the reason that Pemberley exists and thrives. We can never forget what we owe to them, for they do the work that pays the majority of our income. We must always be mindful of the effect our decisions have on many people.

I'm sure you'll do your best to make the right choices when decisions come up, but we can't always predict the results. However, if we try to keep priorities in line, we can often mitigate the worst of missteps. I have always tried to discern who was impacted the most by any particular decision. If it is a choice of more significance to me than anyone else, I can be selfish and make the choice that best suits my purposes. In most cases, we must weigh the costs and the benefits.

For example, let us say that a maid leaves her position for whatever purpose. The other maids may become overwhelmed with the extra work if the position is left unfilled. It may also mean that our family needs to wait a little longer in having tasks completed or that we are unable to host guests as often. If the wrong person is hired, it can cost more in time and money to fix any broken items or redo work. Therefore, it is prudent to balance these impacts, not for my own sake but for that of the servants.

However, if the decision is personal, you should consider yourself first. Let us say that in a few years, you wish to take up lodgings separate from the family home, as many young men do. You need not consider if Richard and Henry are pleased with your choice of dwelling, for they shall not be residing there. You should not consider if the location is considered fashionable or what society things, but if the street is noisy and if the rooms are comfortable. Others may give their opinion and you ought to give them consideration if their thoughts have merit. For example, let us say that your Uncle Francis says the lodgings you are considering have been recently broken into and it would be best to go elsewhere. You ought to listen to him. His reason and purpose are sound and he cares for your safety.

As the future master of Pemberley, you will need to make choices every day. Weigh your options, but do not believe you can please everyone. Often there is no way to make everyone happy with any particular choice. Very frequently, the option is pleasant to none, but harms no one either. You must certainly be prepared to be unpopular at times when you must make such choices.

I love you, my dear boy, and I know your father shall teach you well.

Love,

Mamma

Darcy wondered if his mother had known the sort of man he would become. It seemed like she had some insight into him, or maybe she just knew his father and speculated that he would be alike.

Thinking back, his father had not allowed him to begin taking over any part of caring for the tenants until he had been finished with Eton and even then, very infrequently. It had been difficult, he supposed, to hand over important work and decisions to one inexperienced and who would undoubtedly make mistakes. Yet, when Pemberley had become Darcy's, it had been a steep learning curve to climb as a result. It would have been better if he had benefited from his father's assistance in fixing errors while he was able to guide him, instead of having only the help of a steward.

He was uncertain if his father would have changed his approach if he had been given this letter at sixteen, but he thought that he might have. His mother's opinion had always mattered a great deal to his father, and the fact that she had simply presumed that Darcy would begin to help with tenants would have had great influence.

It did not do to dwell on what could not be changed. Darcy replaced the letter and hid the box away. His valet would arrive shortly to dress him for services, where — if he was fortunate — he would see Elizabeth.