Darcy entered Netherfield Library in a daze and found Elizabeth Bennet inside. He did not know she was there. He was agitated, distracted, Georgiana's letter in his hand. He could not—Darcy could not—stay a minute more in the drawing room, idly conversing with Bingley, discussing the weather with Caroline, hearing the Bingley sisters mock another one of their neighbours—on Christmas Day, of all days. Not with Georgiana's words dancing in his mind.

Darcy could not nod politely, could not play their games, when his sister—oh Lord.

His head was spinning. The letter was evidence of Georgiana's heartbreak, of the fact that she still regretted this man—that she was still wounded, months after the attempted elopement.

Inside the library, Elizabeth looked up, surprised by his entrance; she nodded politely, then stood up to leave, but at the door she paused, hesitated, and—

"Mr Darcy. Are you quite all right?"

"Yes, yes, quite." Elizabeth's gaze did not waver. "I mean—no," Darcy continued—he should not—he ought not—but he could not pretend, not for a minute more. "I—I received a letter. My sister, she is unwell."

"Oh." Elizabeth's expression changed from warily polite to truly compassionate. "Mr Darcy, I am very sorry. Is Miss Darcy—Is she very sick? Do you know what ails her? Has a doctor been called?"

"No, it is—I—" Darcy hesitated, before sitting down rigidly on the nearest armchair. He remained there, wordlessly, for a moment. "I apologize for alarming you, Miss Bennet," he said at last. "I misspoke. Georgiana—my sister—is in perfect health. But her spirits are down. Dreadfully so, I fear."

Elizabeth hesitated again, before sitting on the sofa at his right. "I see. Still, I am sorry. Miss Darcy is young though. I suppose—I do not know what caused her melancholy, but surely, she will rally..."

"Yes. Yes. I certainly hope so."

There was a part of Darcy, the one that was not thinking about Georgiana, that was very conscious that they were alone—he and Elizabeth—in the semi-obscurity of the library. It was midmorning on the 25 of December, eleven had barely rung, but still, the skies were dark, winter was grey and bleary, the ferocious winds that had trapped them all inside yesterday still at play, if beginning to show some sign of lassitude.

Had they ever spoken alone in a room, he and Elizabeth, just the two of them, in such an intimate setting? Perhaps it was the first time, and so it was because Darcy had avoided the situation at all costs. Bingley was supposed to rent Netherfield at the beginning of the year, but events, and his own undecided spirit, had kept him in London longer than expected. Thus, it was only at the end of October that, at last, their party had settled near Longbourn. There they mingled with the local society, and often so, to Darcy's discreet exasperation.

A few days ago, Jane Bennet, one of their neighbours, had come to visit Bingley's sisters on a horse, despite the biting cold. Miss Bennet had fallen ill while still in Netherfield, and her sister Elizabeth had come to stay and take care of her.

To Darcy, the visit had been an unexpected trial.

In the weeks that preceded, he had already noticed a preference, a penchant, on his part. Darcy looked at Elizabeth Bennet a great deal; he listened to her conversations; he felt…different when she was in the vicinity—and during Elizabeth's stay in Netherfield, things had taken a turn for the worse, Darcy's penchant becoming a serious inclination, almost an obsession. Then the storm had come—high, furious winds, and a biting weather that froze the muddy slush and made travel impossible.

Thus, the Bennet sisters were to stay and celebrate Christmas in Netherfield with them. Bingley was overjoyed, Elizabeth not quite so—certainly, she wanted to be with her family on this highly symbolic day. Jane seemed serenely pleased, and Darcy—Darcy highly felt the danger of Elizabeth's constant presence.

He avoided company, he avoided her—certainly, Elizabeth had felt his regard, and he did not want to raise expectations. Thus, he was hardly polite—and he was not the only one. Caroline also was in a dark mood. Bingley's sister had done her duty in inviting her guests to stay, but she had done it most unwillingly. She was colder than ever to Elizabeth, and now, even to Jane—Darcy knew it was partly because of him, because of his regard for—

And then, Georgiana's letter, and—

It seemed like a dam had broken.

"My sister suffered a disappointment, Miss Bennet," he explained. "A sentimental one," he added, although it was hardly necessary. "It was but last summer, and Georgiana has a tender heart. She is—Her letter… She tries to pretend she is better, but I see it—"

"She is your sister. You know her."

"I do. I raised her, after our parents… We were very close. We are very close, I do hope."

A strange expression played on Elizabeth's face, followed by a softness that was not there before, with a hint of—surprise, mayhap?

"She suffers acutely, I fear," Darcy continued. He had risen and was now pacing the room. She is— She and I, we feel deeply on certain matters." And here it was again, Elizabeth's half-hidden expression of surprise. "But what really unsettled me, is that she tried to… In her letter, she tried to find excuses for this…for this man, for this dastardly… Forgive me," Darcy breathed, after a short pause. "This is still a sore point."

"And so it should be," Elizabeth said with unexpected warmth. "Please, do not apologize, sir. If someone hurt my sister, I would also struggle to remain calm. And—Miss Darcy, she was… Isn't she barely fifteen?"

"Indeed."

"This is unforgivable," Elizabeth continued, quiet and stern. "A man playing with the affections of so young a lady."

"Yes," Darcy said. He stopped walking. Their eyes met. "I thank you."

Elizabeth gave a small laugh. "I cannot imagine why."

"Here you were, hiding in the library, for a moment of peace and quiet." He could not say more without directly disparaging their hostess. "And I…" Darcy shook his head. "I am sorry." He began to pace the room again. "You have sisters, Miss Bennet. Young ones. Have they ever had their heart broken? Tell me they healed; tell me they forgot all about it and were merry again."

To his surprise, Elizabeth did not reply at once.

"I… Perhaps it is my duty to give you a polite and reassuring answer, Mr Darcy," she said at last. "But—do you wish to hear the truth?"

"Please."

"Kitty—my sister Catherine—had her heart broken many times. Each time, it was mended the week after… A miracle, really."

Darcy smiled. "Very convenient."

"I must say, none of my other sisters suffered a serious disappointment—not yet—I hope not ever, but… Mr Darcy, I do believe the strength of our reactions not to be a matter of age but of character. You said—" Elizabeth seemed hesitant again. "You said you felt deeply, as did your sister. Sadly, this may be the crux of the matter. Miss Darcy is fifteen, but perhaps she would react as strongly if she were thirty... I am sorry, this is not what you wanted to hear."

"Perhaps not. But it has the ring of truth."

"My sister…" Elizabeth sighed. "I always fear… I wonder… I love Jane dearly…"

Darcy only nodded.

"She is discreet, but—as you said—her emotions are strong. I fear—if a…a bad man, like the one who played with your sister's feelings… If an unscrupulous gentleman made light of her heart, I do not know how she would react. She would love wholeheartedly, and wholeheartedly be hurt. She is too good," Elizabeth added with a smile. "I am the mean, cynical one."

"Oh yes. You seem rather heartless."

Elizabeth gave a surprised laugh that Darcy answered with a wry smile. "The way you talk about your sister Jane," he continued, still smiling, "reveals the depth of your coldness and your cruelty."

"'Cruelty' would be too harsh a word," Elizabeth said with a small smile. "But… You met my father. He has, sometimes, a bitter view of the world, and he influenced me unduly, I fear. Sometimes I am dissatisfied with the world."

"Yes," Darcy said, somewhat distractedly. "I see."

He walked to the window, torn by contradictory impressions. He was, himself, much dissatisfied with the world. When your parents died young and 'well-meaning' relatives tried to take advantage of the two orphans who had been left behind; when your childhood friend, George Wickham, betrayed you and your sister in the most atrocious way; when the sister of your closest friend tried everything to 'catch' you, just because you were the heir of Pemberley…

But then, there was so much more. There was the kindness of Georgiana, the beauty of Pemberley in the spring.

There was the way Darcy felt, when—

"It is my turn to apologize, Mr Darcy," Elizabeth said behind him. "This is hardly talk for a Christmas day. I blame the weather, and this grey mist that will not lift."

"On the opposite," Darcy said, turning to her. "These are very appropriate subjects. Despair, the quest for light, the return of hope… Isn't this what we are celebrating today?"

Elizabeth's smile was bright and unexpected.

"True. And well said, Mr Darcy."

He took a few steps toward the sofa. "But I am surprised, Miss Bennet. Rare would be the young ladies in your situation—in a society setting, I mean—to admit that they have a cynical side. Young women never admit that they are, as you say, dissatisfied with the world. Most would, on the opposite, explain how passionate they are—believing in the goodness of humanity, the highest ideals…"

Elizabeth gave a small smile. "So no one ever doubts the purity of their intentions. Do you believe them?"

"Some, I suppose. But not all young ladies can be idealists, can they? There must be some diversity of character, even among well-bred young women."

"Thus, a few of them must be lying. But…"

Elizabeth's gaze went to the window, where outside the winds were still blowing, and the clouds seemed to be smothering the view. "Despite the…the hopelessness of the weather…I will be like your lying ladies in London, Mr Darcy, and claim…" She shook her head. "I do have ideals. I suppose I do have, indeed, a passionate character. But I… I just hope I am right, and that…" Her smile was fragile. "That the grey will lift, and that joy and kindness can win the day."

Something hurt in Darcy's chest.

"Miss Bennet," he began. "I—"

And then the door opened, and a servant politely summoned them for lunch.

**

The meal was awful.

Christmas lunch, and it was a nightmare. Perhaps Caroline had heard that Darcy and Elizabeth had been cloistered alone in the library for a while. Perhaps she was only now understanding, as Darcy was, that Bingley's attentions to Jane Bennet were too marked to be easily dismissed, and that Bingley's heart might have been seriously captured by the eldest Bennet daughter.

Whatever the reason, Miss Caroline Bingley was furious, and she did not hide it well.

How Darcy longed for the peaceful Christmases in Pemberley in the sole company of his sister. Those were quiet, affectionate celebrations. Darcy had fond memories of luminous winter skies—or cold bouts of rain—but the weather did not matter when he and Georgiana were clustered by the fire, sharing happy memories of their parents, laughing together at the sweet anecdotes of their childhood, and, as Georgiana was getting older, speaking of books, of London, and the many attractions there. After a while, brother and sister fell silent, ensconced in the comfortable armchairs. They read together, while the cook kept the tea tray filled with delicious Christmas biscuits.

A moment of affection and beauty to be contrasted with Caroline's venom today.

Bingley did his best to deflect his sister's pointed barbs, and after a while, even Mrs Hurst seemed confused by her sister's degree of animosity, casting a few discreet glances at Darcy to see how he was reacting to such a revelation of her sister's character.

And Mrs Hurst was right to be worried, Darcy thought. In truth, the consequences of Caroline's behaviour were even more serious than she imagined.

Darcy never had the intention to wed Caroline Bingley. He was only civil to her—and sometimes barely so—for Bingley's sake. But here, on Christmas day, a witness to her acrimony…

He felt as if the world was divided into two camps.

The camp of those who thought rank and money were so important, so essential, that you could do anything, say anything to those you considered below you. The camp of those who thought your so-called superiority gave you the permission to be humiliating—on Christmas day—to two young ladies whose sole crime was to have a few unfortunate relations. The camp of those who would do anything, even trampling others, to attain their goals.

And then there were… People who walked three miles in winter because they wanted to be at their sister's side. People who were unfailingly polite, to everyone, whatever the provocation. People who wanted to protect the ones they loved, who were clever and kind but barely hid a passionate streak, who—

"…young ladies," Caroline was saying, "young ladies who believe their so-called beauty gives them the right to simper around and try to draw in gentlemen of means…" She was looking right at Jane, who seemed too stricken to reply. "Young ladies who will go as far as faking an illness to worm their way inside other people's homes…"

A stunned silence followed. For a moment there, it seemed like the incident was quite unreal—yes, there was a split second, where no one could believe that Caroline could have gone quite that far—

"Enough, Caroline," Bingley protested, horrified, while Darcy said, at the same time,

"Enough, Miss Bingley."

Elizabeth was looking at Darcy with astonishment. Mrs Hurst threw a quick glance at her sister's glass of wine, a glass that, indeed, had been refilled too many times—but it was no excuse. Tears appeared in Jane Bennet's eyes. Darcy saw Elizabeth taking her sister's hand in hers, squeezing it affectionately…

In for a penny, in for a pound. Darcy continued, his voice cold,

"I, for one, am happy that we have guests today, if only to bring some elegance and amiability to a household that so clearly lacks both."

Caroline remained petrified.

"I understand we have been trespassing on your generous hospitality, Miss Bingley, and I apologize," Elizabeth intervened, after another short pause. "Please know that we will be gone as soon as we may. This afternoon, if at all possible."

A tactful, respectful answer. Under much provocation—while, with Elizabeth's known wit, she would have been capable of a much more biting reply.

But perhaps she remembered it was Christmas, or that she was still under Miss Bingley's roof...or perhaps she did not want to stoop to Caroline's level…whatever the reason, Darcy loved her even more for it…

(Love?)

Caroline looked at them all, then she rose, turned on her heels, and left the room.

**

Darcy felt feverish.

The incident had signed, of course, the end of their Netherfield party. Darcy could not stay in Bingley's home after such a display—after his own shameful speech. Yes, shameful. He knew he was in the wrong; he had no right to correct someone else's sister; he should have let the master of the house handle it. But still, he could not bring himself to regret his words.

Regretfully, the roads had still been deemed too bad for him to leave now. The Bennet sisters had been told the same, but the carriage would be ready for tomorrow, and, at last, they would all be able to depart.

It was all arranged. Caroline was having 'the worst headache,' and would take her dinner in her room. The next morning, Elizabeth and Jane would be conveyed to Longbourn early, and Darcy—Darcy would find his way to the nearest inn; from there, certainly, he would arrange his journey back to Pemberley, but first…

He was barely able to think.

He had to talk to her again—

He had to tell her—

Jane Bennet had taken to her room, and Bingley was in his study, pretending to work, while surely wondering if Jane had been so mortally offended as to never condescend to speak to him again. But Darcy could not spare a thought about it; he could not wonder about the real depth of Bingley's feelings for Jane Bennet, or the real depth of Jane Bennet's feelings for his friend—although perhaps he should, considering what Elizabeth had shared about her sister's character—

No, his thoughts were otherwise occupied.

His heart was pounding. He had been in the first 'camp,' he realized with shame. He had fallen in love—yes, in love—with an affectionate, clever, delightful woman, and instead of recognizing it as the miracle that it was, he had been weighing and judging her. Dissing her relations, perhaps not aloud, but in the confines of his heart. Instead of praising the fates, he had feared the reactions of his family; he had made petty calculations, belittling her connections, worrying about the reactions of others, calculating what such a union would bring him, what it would cost…

And Elizabeth, certainly, had seen him hesitating. She has understood, surely, that Darcy had let worldly considerations influence what ought to have been simple, what ought to have been right…

He had been the one bringing cynicism and darkness to Christmas. But Caroline—Caroline!— had shown him the way.

At last, Darcy found Elizabeth in the library—again.

"Miss Bennet," he began when he saw her—Elizabeth was hiding in earnest this time. She had chosen a discreet armchair in a corner, half concealed from view by a screen. She did not even have a book in hand—she appeared deep in thought, her eyes turned to the floor.

She rose when she saw him.

"Mr Darcy…"

Her voice died, so Darcy continued, "Miss Bennet, first, I want to apologize for my outburst at the table—I am afraid I made things worse…"

"Perhaps you did," Elizabeth replied with emotion. "But I cannot fault you for it. It was—My sister and I really appreciated— Your intervention made us feel less alone. Oh," she said, almost in a cry, "I wish we could be gone!"

"You soon will be. Tomorrow, the roads will be free…"

Elizabeth nodded. "This is not how Christmas should feel," she added, her voice strangled. "See, Mr Darcy, we are back to our discussion of this morning…"

"You are right. Christmas is a time for—To be surrounded by those who are dear to you," was Darcy's reply, his voice terribly unsteady, and Elizabeth looked up at him with wonder. "And this is why… Miss Bennet, I—This will not come as much of a surprise, I am sure, but I—I cannot leave without… I would be honoured if you would consent to be my wife."

The utter shock on Elizabeth's face made clear that Darcy's declaration came, on the opposite, very much as a surprise.

"I—" She tried for an answer, then remained speechless, to Darcy's own astonishment.

"You did not know," he whispered, after a moment. "You did not see… My high opinion… My regard for you."

"I did not, sir," Elizabeth replied after a pause. "On the contrary, I believed that you heartily disliked me. Not—Not this morning, perhaps, not after our conversation. There I thought we parted rather better friends than before, but…"

"You did not—" Darcy laughed, briefly. "I thought—I was trying to hide it, but I was in constant fear that—" He looked at Elizabeth, studying her expression, and paled. "You are going to refuse my suit."

Such a possibility had not even entered Darcy's head. He had thought he had feared everyone else's reaction, but never hers, and all of a sudden…

Was he cold? It felt very cold in this dark, empty room.

He had dreamed of a future, and this future was crumbling in front of him. He had thought he had her, he thought she would be his joy and pride, and now—

Elizabeth seemed in a state of dismay comparable to his. She took a few steps toward the silent fireplace, then gave a dry, short laugh.

"Is there a third possibility?" She hesitated. "Between acceptance and refusal? I do not know you enough, Mr Darcy, to tie my destiny to yours. But… I must admit, this morning's discussion changed my opinion of you on so many aspects. I see now that I was wrong about…" She shook her head. "In short, your declaration honours me, sir, but… It comes—it comes so early, in what feels is but the true beginning of our acquaintance, that I wonder…"

She paused. Darcy remained impassive, his thoughts whirling.

Elizabeth must have read something on his face and misunderstood his expression because she added quickly.

"I forget myself. Of course, I owe you a definite answer and not those unworthy hesitations. I apologize, Mr Darcy, and here it comes. I am flattered, but—"

"No!" Mr Darcy interrupted in a hurried whisper—again, quite rudely—before saying, "I beg you, Miss Bennet, do not continue." Elizabeth fell silent. "You were ready to give me a chance, weren't you? Please, please. I beg you, do not take it back."

"I—" She blushed. "This is such a strange day."

Darcy gave a strangled laugh. "So it is."

Elizabeth took a few steps.

"But… Why? I hope my question does not sound—senseless, but you must understand, that I am...quite bewildered. Is there… We hardly talked, or so it seems to me..."

"We did not, not that often," Darcy admitted. "But… Even just the pleasure of hearing you…" He shook his head. "I shall not remind you of all the opportunities we had to share the same room, or to be part of the same conversation, even if we did not always speak directly. If it was just for my part, or if I thought you wanted to hear it, I would gladly recall all the wonders I found in your conversation, but… Instead, I shall say…" He shook his head. "We have talked much about the spirit of Christmas, you and I, today, have we not?"

"We did."

"You said this morning that you were… a cynic, that you had, sometimes, a melancholy way to look at the world. And I believe you, of course—you know yourself best. But do you remember that you hoped… That the grey would lift, and that joy and kindness could win the day? Joy and kindness," he repeated, his voice hoarse. "This is what I hear—this is what I see when I look at you."

Elizabeth remained silent, but her cheeks were very red.

"Well, Mr Darcy," she said. "You certainly know how to talk to women."

"I do believe that Bingley would disagree with your opinion."

"Sometimes the people closest to us are the worst judges."

"Or perhaps he is right, and I only know how to speak to you."

This last reply did not help Elizabeth's composure, and some moments passed before she finally whispered,

"Very well, Mr Darcy. I am giving you a chance, as you say, or… Shall I name it differently? Let us say, I wish I could know more of you—I wish we could know more of each other... And then, in a few weeks, if you still, if you feel like renewing your addresses…" Her voice fell very low. "We could reach a decision then."

A silence. "Thank you," Darcy murmured.

Time passed. Darcy wanted to speak more, but—emotion choked him. Elizabeth was still very red and avoided his gaze.

"Look, Miss Bennet," he murmured, after a while. "The skies."

And was it magic, or just a trick of fate? Had the weather change happened gradually while they were talking, or perhaps while Darcy was looking for Elizabeth and did not pay attention? The winds had abated, the sun was peeking out, and you could almost see a patch of blue sky.

"I do believe if you order the carriage later this afternoon, you and your sister will be able to leave even tonight." Darcy's voice was still unsteady. "And, with your permission… I was going to settle at the inn, and I could… I could stay. I could visit," he added, "at Longbourn, if you, if you allowed it…"

And yes, perhaps it was magic after all, and the whole of Netherfield had been under a spell, which was lifted when the clouds parted, but the household now seemed to wake up—there was some noise in the corridor, someone coming their way—perhaps a servant, or Bingley looking for them. Their eyes met, Elizabeth seemingly as moved as Darcy was. She was yet to give him an answer but their time was running out, so she just held her hand to him—Darcy took it, kissed it briefly, and then more passionately, he held it, keeping it for a mere moment against his heart, before he had to let go because the door opened…

And a few hours later they were gone, and the sun was out—because it was Christmas, after all, and the skies had remembered.