The candles burned low on the Darcys' dining table as dessert was carefully placed in front of the guests. They were an intimate party, and the Darcys' decision for an informal dinner created a pretty picture of friendship. They altogether were seated in the shape of a diamond, and conversation flowed easily between the guests. Doctor Colborn riddled the evening with exciting tales of his travels to the Indies to study Eastern medicine and quips of his patients' self-diagnosed ailments.

The Colborn family had made a comfortable living in medicine for many generations and were well-respected in all of Derbyshire, including Pemberley's own household. Mr. Darcy remembered the late Doctor Colborn as a frequent guest in the Darcys' home as his mother's health worsened. The young Doctor Colborn was the very image of his father in temperament and kindness.

And yet, Mr. Darcy could barely suffer through each course.

His initial suspicions of Doctor Colborn's regard for Miss Elizabeth grew until the green monster of jealousy fairly simmered beneath his skin. Mr. Darcy had hoped to charm Elizabeth with easy conversation and thoughtful manners, but he slowly sunk further into himself as dinner progressed.

He cursed this habit and his lackluster skill in conversation. Mr. Darcy could easily command any gentleman's club or business meeting with his serious demeanor and brow, but he remained powerless in a room of mixed company. Especially when said mixed company included his beloved.

Elizabeth matched Doctor Colborn in both wit and energy, for she rather felt beholden to his fastidious care of her uncle the past several days. Yet her eyes were drawn to Mr. Darcy more often than not this evening. She wondered at the downward turn of his shoulders and countenance. She was so hoping to spend the evening speaking with him. Her only hope now was to find an opportunity to speak with him after dinner.

Georgiana would have none of it. Her eyes fairly burned into her brother to draw Elizabeth's attention towards him, but he failed to look anywhere but his Bakewell tart – and Miss Elizabeth. This simply would not do!

"Doctor Colborn!" Georgiana exclaimed loudly, drawing the eye of everyone around the table. "Do you prefer gooseberry or raspberry jam in your tarts?"

Colborn blinked owlishly, wondering what such a question had to do with his latest tale of Mrs. Greyson's belief that 3 raw quail eggs daily would prevent wrinkles. Her brother's eyebrows were raised in suspicion.

Georgiana, undeterred yet blushing profusely, continued, "It is only I find jams so telling of one's character. I'd love to hear your thoughts."

Elizabeth snorted and then coughed as delicately as possible to smooth her gaffe.

"I suppose you have the right of it, Miss Darcy. That reminds me of my time in France when…"

And thus a new tale began, but this time, Georgiana was the object of Doctor Colborn's attention. Georgiana asked more questions than her brother knew her capable of. As plates cleared, the party retired to the drawing room. All were determined to keep the party close and forego the tradition of separating the sexes.

Elizabeth and Darcy were drawn to one another like moths to a flame. They settled themselves near the window farthest from the room, next to the piano. They stared at one another for several moments, each too frightened and full of thoughts to speak.

Elizabeth, in her natural way, broke the silence with wit, "And what jam do you prefer, Mr. Darcy?" Her arched eyebrow was directed at him.

Darcy smiled, softer than she had ever seen him.

"Currant"

Elizabeth wrinkled her nose; she always thought currants too tart for her taste.

"Miss Bennet," Mr. Darcy started, paused, then attempted to speak again. She naturally beat him to it, eager for a chance to take Georgiana's advice and speak to him. At the very least, Elizabeth could express her improved opinion and her gratitude once more.

"Mr. Darcy, perhaps we might visit the meadow tomorrow again just as we did this morning. I do wish to take in the sights once more" Her eyes roved over his features beseechingly. Had his dark hair always curled just so at the nape of his neck? She suddenly felt a rush of desire to run her hands through the curls. She blanched at her thoughts.

Fitzwilliam was torn. Though he was enchanted with her in the meadow, as he often was no matter her location, he knew he risked too much bringing her there again. Mr. Darcy's tongue rolled behind his teeth, remembering the abrupt fervor that came upon him to declare his feelings again. No, he would not take her to the Darcy meadow once more. Not as Georgiana's pitying glances, Doctor Colborn's obvious attraction, and his guests' imminent departure threatened to undo him.

Mr. Darcy blinked down at her and realized he articulated nothing for several seconds.

"Or the gardens…." Elizabeth beseeched quietly.

"I am unfortunately occupied tomorrow Miss Bennet. I must check in on a neighboring estate." Darcy searched for more, as he was a terrible fabricator, "There is a dispute regarding property lines."

Elizabeth, sensing his bluff, sharpened her gaze on him, chin aloft.

"Property lines?"

"Indeed, madam. Property lines"

She remembered herself. Her features closed, and she sank to the barest of curtsies before moving to sit on the settee next to Georgiana. She did not look at him again that evening.

Elizabeth's agitated gait wore a pattern into the Persian rug in her room. So, he was avoiding her? Her brain raked through their previous discussions of the past several days, trying to determine a lapse in her conduct or her speech. She found nothing yet critiqued every encounter.

Eliza knew she was ignoring the glaring fact of the proposal and her subsequent rejection. But she thought the past few days eased the ache that had grown in her since that fateful day in the rain. She hoped, perhaps in vain, that it soothed any pain she had caused him as well.

And now he rejected her! The thought gave her grave pause in the center of the room. Ah, so this is how it felt. The turbulent storm of injustice, longing, and anger waged in the center of the chest. And beyond the storm, a deep sense of unworthiness. And through it all, he sat down and wrote her a letter.

Blinking back tears, she now felt as if she understood him more in that moment than ever before. She settled herself in bed and scrubbed at her face angrily, the way she used to when she was a young girl, and her mother punished her for her obstinance.

She determined that she would rise early for breakfast, in the hopes of catching him before he avoided her company. Inspired by this second plan, Elizabeth settled into the luxurious pillows.

But Elizabeth could not sleep. Huffing in frustration, she ripped the covers from her person and headed for the library she saw during their tour. How could that have only been this morning? Only a novel could cure her insomnia.

Elizabeth padded softly throughout the estate, her eyes wide on the dark corners and long hallways. The walls danced with shadows created by her candle, and the shadows reminded her of how she was so recently rejected. Crossed in love, indeed

Opening the door, she gasped breathlessly. She remembered the library from her tour but had not yet had the opportunity to enter. If her papa could see these shelves now, he'd weep.

Stepping further into the room, her attention was drawn to the fireplace smoldering. Why would a fireplace not be snuffed at this late hour?

And there, seated before the fire, brooding with an empty tumbler in hand, sat Mr. Darcy.

She rocked against the door in shock, and the thud echoed throughout the room. Fitzwilliam started in his chair, rising quickly to determine the intruder of his solitude. And there, standing in the doorway, was Miss Elizabeth.

Her chest rose and fell rapidly. Her chest? And Mr. Darcy's eyes scanned upon her person, noting first her slippered feet, then her dressing gown that she clutched to her chest, and finally, the white lace trim at her neck. Mr. Darcy reared back a step at the state of her undress.

He had retired to the library once their guest left. He bitterly regretted his refusal of Elizabeth's request to walk out together as soon as her presence left him. As he drank one of his finest whiskeys as the night marched on, he ruminated on a plan. By the time he was on his third glass, Mr. Darcy was thoroughly dejected from any hope of winning his love's favor.

Elizabeth's head swirled with the impropriety of the moment. If they were to be discovered, her reputation would be in shambles. However, her days at Pemberley were numbered, and she did not know when this privacy would be afforded to them again. Her consciousness was at war.

"Miss Elizabeth" his voice reverberated around the room. She started at his severe tone.

"I am sorry to have disturbed you, Mr. Darcy. I will go at once"

"I was just leaving…"

"Forgive my intrusion, sir…"

"Why are you here?" And Mr. Darcy's directness stabbed at her confidence. He was not usually so blunt–unless—she noticed the tumbler, abandoned on the table at her entrance. She could scarcely imagine Mr. Darcy in his cups.

"I couldn't sleep" She breathed as he inched closer to her.

"Nor I" he murmured. She was enchanting. He ached to wind her unbound hair in his hands. He felt as enamored with her now as he did in the meadow. From the first moment of their acquaintance, actually. His head failed to clear, and they were in danger.

He stepped closer even still, afraid to startle her. He noticed her breaths quickened even further. He blinked rapidly, trying to clear the fogginess. The back of his head niggled with warnings of propriety and honor. He acknowledged the outcome of marriage if they were discovered, but he failed to find the issue with such a future.

He was an arm's length away from her. She looked like a queen in this library, regardless of the disheveled state she was in. He had been warring with himself for days, ignoring every whisper in his soul that she belonged here. In Pemberley. With him.

His very own Mrs. Darcy.

Mrs. Darcy.

Elizabeth reeled back from him. Her hand grappled to find purchase with the handle. Mr. Darcy was not himself. Of that, she was certain. And yet she was drawn into the rare openness of his expression and the uncharacteristic shadow along his jawline. His eyes were unabashedly staring as he whispered softly to himself. Too softly to hear, though her ears strained.

She could feel her passions rising to meet him. He wielded such power over her. From the very first moment of their acquaintance, Eliza battled with his hold over her own self. She ignored how she fawned over his faults, analyzed his weaknesses, and relayed her findings to her acquaintances. But here, in the library at Pemberley, she could deny his sway no longer.

Her feelings slammed beneath her breast. She was certain–now more than ever–the strength of her feelings. Her love–

No. She slapped her hands over her mouth, aghast.

And her sudden movement was enough to clear Darcy's mind. She's scared of me. What an oaf he was! Lording over her with his height and closeness. She accused him of his ungentlemanly behavior once before, and his actions tonight were proof of the accuracy of her assessment.

All the work of the last few days–unraveled due to his ardor. He moved several paces away from her and turned his back, ignoring the ache in his body to bring her as close to his person as possible.

"Mr. Darcy, I know what you must think of me wandering the halls at this hour in all my state, but I was only looking for a book." She rushed to defend herself, hurt by his removal. He said nothing.

"And instead I found you" she breathed in wonder. Now it was her turn in this merry dance, and she glided to him.

He paid no heed to her explanation. "Might I remind you of the consequences of this tete-a-tete if we are discovered? A most abhorrent future you would find yourself in, madam." He was colder than he had been since his arrival in Longbourn. He was desperate to control himself, and his turmoil gave way to haughtiness.

But she knew him better now. He was not himself, she repeated confidently. She slowly registered his words.

"Mr. Darcy, you are mistaken if you think I find the past few days here abhorrent."

He steadied himself against the chair he stood behind as a barrier between them. His head racked for answers. The implications of her statement eluded him.

Seeing her words miss their desired target, Elizabeth rallied once more, "I am glad for this happenstance, however. I must speak with you."

"Perhaps in the morning…"

"So you are free once more tomorrow?"

He flushed. Of course, his meadow nymph missed nothing. He refused to parley, for he was too addled to match her skills in conversation. He would misstep again. Mr. Darcy moved back to the fireplace, leaning his hand against the mantle.

She waited for him.

"Forgive me, Elizabeth, for struggling in your presence." Mr. Darcy spoke listlessly to the fire as if Elizabeth was not even in the room.

Her mouth opened, but no words issued forth. Elizabeth Bennet was rarely speechless, but his declaration–his name in her mouth–rendered her mute. Finally, she began again.

"Mr. Darcy, I must speak to you."

He ignored her completely. "I will leave you at once" His body refused to cooperate with his demands. He must leave her in this library. For her own sake.

"Mr. Darcy! I must speak with you" She said with more urgency.

"Tomorrow" he stated resolutely and made haste to the door before she lured him further.

Her hand darted out, unconsciously, but he was so stubborn. The effect was immediate. Mr. Darcy stilled, his face carved into stone, like the bust in the foyer she studied this morning.

Perhaps she needed to speak to him of her uncle, or her accommodations, or even his sister. But even as he grappled with ideas, he knew instinctively what she wished to address. He knew her as well.

She began, though her voice quivered gracelessly. "I wish to apologize for my behavior that day" There were no words needed to illuminate just which day she was referring to, "I was–surprised, and I was inconsiderate to you."

He moved to interrupt or to remove her hand. Elizabeth was unsure of his motivations, but she persisted, "I was wrong, as I understand now. If my words have brought you any grief these past few months, I am sorry for it. And I hope we can part here as friends."

Mr. Darcy turned to face her, and her hand dropped uselessly to her side. As he began, he found he could not stop, "You have nothing to apologize for, Miss Elizabeth. It is my own folly that led to such a reaction. Had my behavior been more civil or had I thought better of your family? Or perhaps believed in Miss Bennet's shy behavior, so like my sister's. Had I thought more of others and warned your village of Mr. Wickham? Perhaps I would have received a more gentle rejection."

He smiled at her, but there was no joy upon his countenance. Her eyes filled with tears at his speech.

"Perhaps you would not have received a rejection at all, Mr. Darcy" She whispered quietly.

"What did you say?" Mr. Darcy demanded, bringing himself closer to her. Something in his chest that had flickered these past few days, burned to life at her admission.

Elizabeth found no more courage within her. She had already been too bold. Elizabeth reminded herself sternly that she was in the library unchaperoned with the Master of Pemberley in the dead of night. Any more revelations about her feelings best be kept to herself.

Mr. Darcy stretched shaking hands towards her, and she paused for the barest of moments before realizing his intent. And so their hands met and held one another.

"Miss Elizabeth" She wanted him to use her Christian name again.

"Miss Elizabeth, if I knew–if I had any hope…" Mr. Darcy stammered to get his words out, and he remembered himself as a small child, hiding behind his mother's skirts in the presence of anyone unfamiliar. He pressed on, for her eyes glowed upon him, eyes swimming with tears and some emotion he dared not speculate. Elizabeth had never looked at him in such a manner. The fire in his chest reached a crescendo.

"You must ask me to stop if I am too forward."

She looked upon him, waiting breathlessly.

He pulled her closer, propriety be damned in this library tonight. "Elizabeth," her mouth opened wordlessly at her name once more between them, "I would like the honor of proving to you that I can be a gentleman worthy of your affections. You have changed me. Allow me to make amends for my poor behavior, and I promise you–I promise–that I can care for you and all those you hold dear."

"Mr. Darcy–there is no lack" she hastened to assure him, but he shushed her.

"And one day, when you are certain of me, I will ask you again."

Elizabeth Bennet's tears spilled down her cheeks, and Fitzwilliam Darcy wiped them away with the barest of touches. She began to speak, eager to convince him of her newfound affections and her pride in his character, when a noise resounded beyond the door.

Startled, they broke apart. Darcy urged her to the bookcase farthest from the door, effectively obscuring her from any visitors in the library.

He rushed to the door with a candle, breathed deeply to gain composure, and peered into the hallway. He waited several breaths and even stepped into the hall to find the source of the noise, but he found nothing.

Mr. Darcy stepped inside, "There is no one"

She sighed in relief and drew herself back to him.

"But we must retire. It is not proper, and I am dishonoring your aunt and uncle with the liberties I've taken tonight." His tone was direct. The Master of Pemberley had returned, but below the surface, he simmered with emotion.

"You should return first, and I will wait here for a length of time, and then retire to my chambers."

She nodded mutely, too overwhelmed to argue. Mr. Darcy was right, though it pained her.

He bowed deeply to her, but Elizabeth rushed to him and recklessly took her hands in his and kissed his knuckles. She turned red and hastened to exit.

"Miss Elizabeth?" He called after her, weakened by her departure.

"Would you still like to walk to the meadow again tomorrow morning?" He hoped he did not appear too desperate.

She beamed and nodded eagerly, and then she was gone.

He waited 15 minutes, certain Miss Elizabeth would be tucked safely into her room again and extinguished the flames. Heading up the staircase, he marveled at the events of the evening, though guilt pricked his consciousness at his impropriety. He would not take such liberties again until they had a formal understanding.

Mr. Darcy could barely contain his grin at the possibility of such an understanding one day.

"Mrs. Darcy" he breathed into the hallway, and the walls sighed back, patiently awaiting a new mistress. He entered his room and slept better than he had since the events at Ramsgate.

Unbeknownst, however, to either party, was a witness to their staggered departures. Mrs. Gardiner pursed her lips at her niece's behavior and vowed to get to the bottom of the liaison at first light.