Darcy stared in wonder, tried to think, started to speak, then sputtered a few times, and finally blurted, "Are you saying what I think you are saying?"

"If you think I am saying I love you, then, YES, I am—much to my astonishment."

"And mine," he replied with no idea what to say next.

They stared at each other in confused wonder for a while, and Darcy finally said, "I would really like to kiss you, but —"

"But you are confused… amazed… perhaps afraid of breaking something fragile —"

"All that and more. I… I… well… I want to get this right, and I do not want to be precipitous."

"Nor do I, because my concerns remain unchanged, and my decisions are harder than ever."

"Perhaps …" he said gently, consciously looking at her face, "… you are just not accustomed to thinking we should be making big decisions together."

"Is that how you see your life proceeding?"

"It is, but the idea is new… frightening… and dare I say… modern?"

"For me as well, and that makes… my… I cannot think of the word —"

He slowly and carefully leaned down, and with the iron-willed discipline of a gentleman, resisted her lips and placed a gentle kiss on her forehead, then leaned back to see her staring in wonder and fright.

"We have all the time in the world to get it right. You have had a bigger change than I, and far less time to accustom yourself. Might I suggest we take the time to relieve your anxiety?"

She looked like she might prefer to resume the idea of kissing but was too frightened to proceed.

He continued, "Mayhap, you could answer some questions?"

She nodded mutely.

"How? Why? When? I suspect you understand my journey well enough, though I am happy to explain, but I am amazed by yours. Your last man in the world rant, as you call it, is not so far in the past."

"Perhaps that was the last gasp of my mind reaching for… for… well —"

She seemed to lose her thoughts, and considering the amount of brandy both had consumed, Darcy had no idea if they were approaching in vino veritas or nap time.

She finally sighed. "I will dispute that my change is greater than yours."

"How so?"

"The Greeks, Romans, Plato, Shakespeare—they all say hate and love are two sides of the same coin. All I had to do was flip it over… or you could quote the wisest of modern philosophers."

"Who is?"

"Madeline Gardiner."

Darcy laughed. "I have only just met her, and conditions for that meeting were far from ideal, but I am perfectly ready to accept your judgement."

Elizabeth chuckled ruefully. "Over the winter, she endured months of Jane's moping, and was not in the least small way prepared to add any churlishness from me on my way through. She observed that I could not possibly despise you quite so thoroughly if I did not admire you a bit."

"How did you take that thought?"

"Why ask when you know the answer?"

He chuckled. "Yes, I doubt you would have accepted it any more readily than I."

"Precisely… she will be ever so smug."

"She can be as smug as she likes, so long as she expresses her self-satisfaction at Pemberley."

"Let us not get ahead of ourselves."

Gentle Darcy asked, "Can you answer any of my earlier queries?"

"Tell me about your journey first, as I still find it perplexing beyond measure. Tell me even if you have already done so."

"I shall be happy to …" Tutor Darcy replied, "… for the first time, by the way."

"I cannot fix on the hour, or the spot, or the look, or the words, which laid the foundation. It is too long ago. I was in the middle before I knew that I had begun."

"Understandable enough, I suppose. My beauty you had early withstood, and as for my manners–my behaviour to you was at least always bordering on the uncivil, and I never spoke to you without rather wishing to give you pain than not. Now be sincere; did you admire me for my ?"

"I suppose I did. I admired your impertinence, your intelligence, your beauty, your wit, and your refusal to afford me the consequence I thought was my due."

She joined him in laughter for a moment, then he became thoughtful.

"I suppose you could consider my feelings something like a wagon on a gentle slope. At the assembly, it pains me to say I barely noticed you, and my behaviour was atrocious, as we have canvassed already. By the dinner at Lucas Lodge, I was the inattentive driver, just barely noticing I was starting to roll downhill, though nowhere near fast enough to cause concern. When you refused Sir Williams dance suggestion, I vacillated between disappointment at missing a ready-made excuse for dancing with you, and my admiration of the fact that a lady with a mother like yours had the strength of your convictions sufficient to decline."

"I suppose it never occurred to you that I already disliked you."

"Naturally! At the time, I was so eaten up with pride the thought never occurred to me—I was otherwise engaged. Miss Bingley came along and yammered in my ear about what a terrible way it was to spend an evening, and I told her I had been meditating on the very great pleasure which a pair of fine eyes in the face of a pretty woman can bestow. She started relentlessly teasing me about my future engagement, how Mrs Bennet would always be at Pemberley, and nearly any other objection she could dream up in a manner that I am certain she thought witty."

"Is that why she was so nasty to me when I came to tend Jane?"

"Partially—but then again, I have since realized that nastiness is just her nature. I did not understand it then."

Elizabeth harrumphed, and he continued.

"By the time you left Netherfield, I was looking around and somewhat concerned about my speed, but like any good four-in-hand man, I thought I had plenty of time to slow down and sufficient skill to do so at the right moment, so I could just enjoy the thrill of the ride. I did, however, start becoming concerned about raising expectations —"

"Hence the half-hour in the library? Putting me in my place, eh?" she asked with a frown.

He frowned as well but could not deny it.

"The night of the ball, I was looking around at the swiftly passing scenery in alarm, so I yanked the brake with all my might. Unfortunately, Bingley was following too closely so he ran into me and crashed, never to be seen again."

Elizabeth could not resist laughing at such a ridiculous scenario, and Darcy thought he had just barely evaded his own disaster.

"After that, I kept pulling the brake in London, and the coach lumbered along, gradually slowing. It may well have stopped if I had not encountered you at Rosings, but I suddenly found the road far steeper, as if I crossed directly from the flat roads of Hertfordshire to a mountain pass in Derbyshire."

"So naturally, you yanked the brake even harder?"

"In effect, yes. I yanked the brake, and when the handle broke off, I held a log against the wheel until it started smoking. I eventually found myself out of control about ready to well and truly panic—when my poor wagon ended up smashed to smithereens right next to Anne's, with all my vaunted pride buried underneath."

"I suppose the old saying about eavesdroppers never hearing any good of themselves proved true."

"Yes, but it was the beginning of my reformation. I learned a lot about myself that day, and I did not care for much of what I discovered. The Darcy of last autumn did not notice Miss Bingley's meanness, because my own behaviour was not noticeably different, but I find the comparison painful now."

"I would dispute that. Miss Bingley is intrinsically cruel while you are just shy and awkward."

Thoughtful Darcy looked like he might swoon. "Nobody has ever advanced that theory before."

"Not my fault if nobody else stated the obvious."

He chuckled, and they both were thoughtful for a few minutes.

Elizabeth finally said, "You are not so bad at this analogy business when you put your back into it. I might even admit to admiring your skill."

He laughed, but gently chided, "Your turn."

"Mine is far less complicated."

"Pray, continue."

"To match your style, I would say that my wagon had been sitting on level ground, moving at about the same rate as the pyramids, and it had not budged an inch from fifteen to twenty. I never had the vaguest hint of even a slight, thin sort of inclination."

"Go on."

"As always, my wagon was just sitting there minding its own business one day, when Anne's phaeton smashed into it, sending my poor wagon and me tumbling down a steep ravine."

Not knowing if she was speaking metaphorically, literally, or both, Darcy just squeezed her hands encouragingly.

"After that, I spent a month desperately grabbing every tree branch, bush, or rock I could find to save myself from an imprudent marriage. Right when things seemed the bleakest, and I was dead certain I was seconds away from splatting on the cold-hard-rocky ground; I suddenly and much to my astonishment splashed into a nice warm lake, and found myself surrounded by playful dolphins and otters, near a floating table with pie and brandy."

Astonished Darcy was staring in wonder, so she gave a short laugh. "It did not hurt to find Poseidon himself present to greet me."

Darcy laughed uproariously, and she joined in, though whether they were celebrating the quality of her narrative, or simply a release of the tension so they could stop walking on eggshells (or laying around in eggshells in her case) was hard to tell.

Impertinent Darcy jumped up from the chair, took a knee on the floor, and bowed like a savage in a novel worshiping his idol.

"You are the undisputed master of storytelling, My Queen! I am unworthy?"

She magnanimously replied, "Come, sit here to attend me, and I shall dub you Sir Darcy the Impertinent and bestow my favour and accolades for your heroic deeds."

They burst out laughing even harder, with Elizabeth wondering why she did not really feel the expected pain in her legs.

Neither could really say when or why their mutual decisions occurred. The next thing she noticed was that their plan to refrain from kissing seemed to be an utter failure. They met in the middle, he still with his knees on the floor but one arm on her mattress, while she was leaning forward from her pillows and supporting herself through the obvious expedient of grabbing him by the neck.

Their first kiss was as nothing she had ever experienced in her life. It was both more intense even than the pain of her accident, while simultaneously more sublime than his many carefully worded declarations of love. What she remembered most was the taste, though that was certainly more metaphorical than actual. She always thought that first kiss had the heady combination of the sweet taste and smell of hot chocolate, the kick in the teeth of a strong cup of coffee, and the mellow afterglow of a good shot of brandy. Naturally, only one of the three was an actual shared taste, but why quibble.

The kiss went on for some time. Neither participant could guess exactly how long, save they both thought it was just right—neither too long nor too short. They explored what both were certain were just the very tips of sensation, longing, hope, comfort, and the somewhat frightening: passion.

At long last, they separated, smiled shyly, and returned to their corners—she in her pillows, and he in his chair.

She found herself slightly bashful, more confused, entirely curious about why that kiss had not hurt her leg and side, but mostly content in a way she had not been in a very long time, if ever.

Sir Darcy the Impertinent grinned like a schoolboy. "So much for the no-kissing rule."

She laughed along with him, but soon found herself becoming increasingly pensive.

Philosophical Darcy stepped into the breach.

"Elizabeth, I can see the worry about your open decision starting to creep in. Will you allow me to address the concerns you expressed a few weeks ago?"

She laughed, though with slightly less glee than she had felt just a minute before.

"I suppose Industrious Darcy has a list over on that desk just for that purpose?"

He chuckled and reached across to kiss her on the forehead again. "I have no need for such paltry devices."

"Are you denying the existence of such a list?"

"Not in the least. I do have one, as you well know. I have been using it to study and plan. I simply do not need it to speak to you."

"You have the floor," she replied nervously.

"If you will allow me the persona of Punctilious Darcy for the moment?"

She giggled and had a sneaking suspicion the brandy might be behind it. "Are we back to the syllable game. If so, you could do… ah… Methodical?"

"Systematic"

"Fastidious"

"Ah… that would indicate Bingley was right back in that first assembly."

"When he would not be so fastidious as you for a kingdom," she said, ruefully wondering what would have happened if he had just danced with her back then. Would they have come together eventually, or would she have just been another insignificant country girl to cross his path?

"Bingley was right more than I gave him credit for. He also said he never met such welcoming people in his life."

"Ah, well," she replied, not especially wishing to revisit that time. "Pray, continue with your list."

He sat up straight and became Lecturer Darcy, which she found quite amusing.

"I suppose we have solved the problem of you needing to marry a man you do not love."

"We have if I agree to marry you, but my concerns remain. I admit the fear of becoming my mother haunts me. I could not bear the idea of living my life thinking myself inadequate."

He took her hand, kissed her knuckles, and got down to business.

"Let us take your disaster scenarios one by one, and address them working from minor to major, shall we?"

She nodded.

"There is the possibility you will never be able to dance. In that case, I would run around the room beating my chest in celebration over being done with the miserable chore at least until our daughters come out in society, and then start working on you to eliminate balls altogether."

She laughed gaily, wondering how this wonderful man could turn consternation into laughter so easily when the rest of the world considered him the most taciturn man they ever met.

"Working our way up. Let us suppose you cannot ride, when Pemberley is far too large to see more than a fraction on foot."

"That is not hypothetical. I was not really a horsewoman before, but in case you had not noticed, the leg that goes through the pommel is presently broken to bits and will likely never be strong enough."

Not dissuaded, he continued in one long-fast run-on sentence.

"Allow me to rephrase. Let us suppose you cannot ride astride with a split skirt like Georgiana does in Pemberley because side-saddles are the invention of either the devil or Reverend Fordyce and no girl of any sense whatsoever would use one."

That send her into gales of laughter, and she wondered if he knew about Mary's previous obsession and added it just for her amusement. Considering he had received about five times as many words on paper from Mary as Elizabeth had heard in her life, it seemed likely.

"All right. I will accept the premise."

He leaned in a foot from her face to whisper as if the answer were a great secret. "In such a case, you obviously would use my mother's phaeton until I get you your own, so long as you promise not to kill anybody with it."

She laughed again. "I never would. They make a terrible weapon."

"Naturally, if you find that equipage too slow, you may always get a curricle."

She was still laughing, and finally just waived her hand in surrender. "You win that round, good sir."

He then became Serious Darcy and took her hand again (a habit she had no desire to curtail).

"For the worse case where you cannot walk at all, or even lose your leg, we can use a combination of wheeled chairs, ground floor apartments, large footmen, that sort of thing. I admit you will find it distressing, but we will cope. Your reduction in clothing budget alone will pay for the footmen. You cannot imagine I would abandon you if that happened after we were married, so if it happens before—well, life is full of risks, and we will deal with them as they come."

She thought he was making far too light of the issue but had to admit that what he said was true, and she could manage to do her duties without her legs if it came down to it. If she was not in love, she would choose an easier life without any social requirements at all, but she felt certain Darcy was not all that social to start with, and he was right. They could manage.

Of course, that thought left her wondering how she had come to think of themselves as a couple, but she could not quite wrap her mind around any other idea.

"I can see you are saving the worst for last: Childbirth, invalidism, or death."

He took both her hands and felt them shaking.

"If you are willing to risk those, I am as well, and you can be assured that I have had a great deal of time to both think about it and ask experts. For example, if you lose your leg, or never walk again, it makes childbirth difficult and complicated, but not necessarily impossible. As you well know, childbirth is already difficult and dangerous, and either condition would make it more so. We could decide, but you should know something that would go into our calculations, which we would make together."

She looked into his eyes but could not manage any words.

"Let us assume the worst—you become bedridden and cannot have children but linger to haunt me for decades."

The absurdity and scariness of the proposition was enough to break her out of the circle of anxiety she had been falling into, as she suspected was his design.

"Even in that case, I would happily spend however many years we have together getting the most out of every day. It is an unlikely scenario, but the fact is that even if I had married you a month ago, there are a thousand things that could have happened to give the same result. We all live one carriage accident, spooked horse, fever, ague, or difficult childbirth from disaster all our lives. That is life, and I would choose to brave it with the woman I love over any inconveniences."

"But children?"

"What about them? Pemberley is not entailed, and do you honestly believe that among five Bennet daughters and one Darcy, I cannot find a single second-son nephew worthy of inheriting. I am unconcerned. The worst that might happen is a nephew having to take the Darcy name—hardly the end of the world."

She stared at him in startlement. He had just voiced the fears that plagued her nightmares forever and dissected them one by one like a carriage maker fixing a broken axle. He neither belittled her fears (like her father), nor exaggerated them (like her mother), nor ignored them (like Jane before she met her heathen-savage warrior), nor let them defeat him (like his cousin Anne), nor complained to the world about the unfairness of it all (like Lady Catherine).

He did what a man did. He had staked his claim, and then worked diligently to assure it. What more could she possibly ask?

She leaned forward and beckoned him to join her in their traditional kissing spot for a long, lingering, sweet kiss, that probably confused the poor man no end.

Then she leaned back in her pillows, exhausted to the bone by the great deal that had been accomplished in such a short time.

"William, if I am alive when you deliver me to the nearest church, I will happily marry you. I would even allow my cousin the honours. I love you too much to allow us to be defeated. I will become your wife without fear."

The happiness which this reply produced, was such as he had probably never felt before; and he expressed himself on the occasion as sensibly and as warmly as a man violently in love can be supposed to do.

He was still at it when exhaustion caught up with her and she fell back into the pillow, instantly dead to the world, with a contented smile on her face.