Until He Gets It Right

by Rhaye5

Reliving his fateful proposal to Elizabeth Bennet at Hunsford Cottage over and over, Mr. Darcy must confront his flaws, learn true humility, and discover the meaning of love. Through years of repeated days, Darcy saves damsels, helps the needy, and grapples with pride—learning that true love takes more than just getting it right.

16. Chapter 15 Hints of Memory, Whispers of

Chapter 15 Hints of Memory, Whispers of Wisdom

A dog's bark pierced the silence first, sharp and insistent in the distance, carried by the low groan of wind slipping through the slightly open window. Darcy stirred at the familiar sound, blinking against the dim light of dawn.

The clock chimed six, each note deliberate, marking the start of yet another Thursday. One. Two. Three. Four. Five. Six.

Darcy sat up, exhaling deeply as he rubbed his temples. The day stretched before him like an unending road, yet the faintest flicker of hope lingered after Georgiana's latest letter. Perhaps today would bring more change.

He rose with purpose, dressed swiftly, and moved to his writing desk. Taking up his pen, he began his daily ritual of writing to Georgiana. Breakfast passed as expected, with Lady Catherine dominating the conversation. Anne, with her now familiar flashes of memory, subtly maneuvered Fitzwilliam into agreeing to take her for a drive. Darcy observed her with quiet amusement and a pang of gratitude.

"Do enjoy yourself, Anne," Darcy remarked dryly as they departed.

She gave him a faint smile, the briefest flicker of understanding passing between them.

Darcy rode out to save Violet as he always did. The little girl's laughter as he caught her softened the sharp edges of his endless frustration. Though she had no memory until the moment she fell, her bright cheerfulness and playful banter gave him a fleeting sense of purpose.

Returning her to the Bendrick cottage, he delivered his usual reassurances to Mrs. Bendrick, promising to return later with supplies for little Thomas.

By the time he returned to Rosings, the sun hung lower in the sky, and a strange tension settled over him. He didn't head for the drawing room or his study but instead made his way to his sitting room.

The scene he found was both familiar and different. Anne and Fitzwilliam were seated comfortably, Anne in her usual chair with a book resting on her lap, Fitzwilliam lounging casually, his cravat slightly loosened. Yet the air between them felt heavier, charged with something unspoken.

Darcy entered, his boots making a deliberate sound against the floor as he approached. "Are not the two of you cozy," he remarked, his tone half-jesting, though his gaze was fixed on Anne.

Fitzwilliam raised a brow but said nothing, leaning back further in his chair as if content to let the moment play out.

Anne closed her book slowly, placing it on the table beside her. "I told him," she said, her voice measured but carrying an undercurrent of defiance.

Darcy froze, his jaw tightening. "Told him?"

"What I could recall," Anne clarified. "About... the days repeating. He doesn't believe me."

Darcy's gaze flickered to Fitzwilliam, whose expression was one of bemused skepticism.

"I thought it was some elaborate jest," Fitzwilliam admitted, his tone light but his eyes searching. "Anne insists otherwise, but forgive me, Darcy, it's a bit far-fetched, don't you think? Repeating days? Memories that come and go?"

Darcy sighed, rubbing his temple. He looked back at Anne, his frustration barely concealed. "And you thought telling him would help how?"

Anne met his gaze, unflinching. "Because he needs to understand why you've been... different. Why I've been different. Fitzwilliam is not a fool, Darcy, and if we're to make any progress, perhaps it's time we stopped pretending everything is normal."

Fitzwilliam straightened slightly, his demeanor shifting. "Progress? Toward what, exactly?"

Darcy turned away, staring out the window. "Toward ending this day," he said quietly.

The room fell silent, save for the faint rustling of the wind outside. Fitzwilliam exchanged a glance with Anne, who looked as though she wanted to say more but held back.

Finally, Fitzwilliam spoke, his tone more serious. "If you truly believe this, Darcy, then what's the plan? How do we end it?"

Darcy didn't answer immediately, his thoughts a tangled web of uncertainty. "I don't know," he admitted at last, his voice heavy with the weight of the endless days.

Fitzwilliam leaned forward, his elbows resting on his knees, and studied Darcy with uncharacteristic seriousness. "Let me say I believe you for a moment," he began cautiously. "Anne told me what she recalls—flashes of memories, bits and pieces that don't fully make sense to her. Is that how it is for you?"

Darcy shook his head, his gaze distant. "No," he said firmly. "I remember everything. Every single day, every single moment. It's as clear to me now as any day I've lived outside of this... loop." He paused, his voice dropping. "Yet no one else does."

Fitzwilliam frowned, his brows furrowing in thought. "Not even Anne?"

Darcy glanced at Anne, whose face betrayed a mix of curiosity and quiet empathy. "Anne's memories are fragmented," he explained. "She doesn't retain full awareness. She... senses things, recalls flashes, but nothing like what I experience."

"And everyone else does not?" Fitzwilliam pressed.

Darcy hesitated, then added, "There is... one exception." He did not want to talk about Georgianna's thing it was too new and still he was not sure about her recollection, he was going to test it on tonight's letter.

Fitzwilliam's brows shot up. "One exception?"

"A little girl," Darcy admitted, almost reluctantly. "Her name is Violet. She's the eldest daughter of one of Rosings' tenant families. I rescue her every morning from a tree she insists on climbing."

Fitzwilliam blinked, leaning back in his chair. "You rescue her? Every morning?"

Darcy allowed himself a faint smile, tinged with weariness. "Every single morning. She climbs the same tree, slips from the same branch, and I'm always there to catch her. When I scold her, she promises not to do it again, but..."

"She doesn't remember," Anne interjected, understanding dawning in her expression.

Darcy nodded. "Not until the moment she falls. Then, for a time, she recalls everything—me catching her, the day repeating."

Fitzwilliam rubbed his chin thoughtfully. "That's... peculiar, to say the least. A child and Anne? What makes the two of you different?"

"I don't know," Darcy admitted, his frustration evident. "Perhaps it's nothing. Perhaps it's everything."

Anne spoke softly, her voice hesitant but resolute. "Perhaps Violet is a sign, Fitzwilliam. If she can remember, even in part, maybe there's a way to break this."

Darcy turned to her, his expression skeptical. "And what would that way be?"

Anne shrugged, her hands clasping tightly in her lap. "I don't know. But if Violet remembers when you save her, maybe it's connected to something you're meant to do. Someone you're meant to save."

Fitzwilliam's gaze sharpened, shifting between Darcy and Anne. "If this loop of yours is about saving people, perhaps it's not just the little girl or Anne. Maybe it's Miss. Elizabeth. Or maybe... it's you."

Darcy stiffened at the suggestion, his jaw tightening. The idea that this relentless repetition might be meant for him, to change him, unsettled him more than he cared to admit. "Speculation is pointless," he said curtly. "I've spent countless days trying to make sense of it, and nothing has worked."

Anne held his gaze, her tone unwavering. "Then we keep trying."

"Wait," he said, his voice sharpening. "Why did Anne ask me to ride with her this morning? Was it part of one of these 'fuzzy memories' she has?"

Darcy's tone was clipped, irritation simmering beneath his composed exterior. "Anne insisted on the ride because she has fragments of memories from this day, just as Violet does. She knew if you took your usual walk this morning, you'd run into Elizabeth Bennet."

Fitzwilliam raised an eyebrow, his skepticism plain. "And why would that matter?"

Anne leaned forward, her expression earnest. "Because, Richard, you upset her."

"I upset her?" Fitzwilliam asked, clearly baffled. "How? What could I have possibly said?"

Darcy's jaw tightened. "You think you're helping me, Richard. You don't realize what you're doing."

Fitzwilliam's smirk faltered. "Go on, then. Enlighten me."

Darcy exhaled, pacing briefly before turning back to face his cousin. "On that walk, Elizabeth asks about you and your family. In the course of your usual gregarious chatter, you decide to extol my virtues. You think you're painting me as a loyal friend, but you reveal something I confided in you in strictest confidence: that I intervened to save Bingley from an imprudent match."

Fitzwilliam blinked, his brow furrowing. "Bingley? And... Miss Elizabeth?"

Darcy nodded sharply. "No. Not Elizabeth but Elizabeth quickly deduces that her sister Jane is the woman I separated Bingley from. It devastates her. By the time she returns to Hunsford, she has a headache—or so Mrs. Collins always says—and she refuses to come to tea. Every single time."

Fitzwilliam ran a hand through his hair, his expression troubled. "I thought I was showing you in a good light, Darcy. Loyalty, integrity, all that. I didn't realize..."

"You didn't realize you were exposing my private actions to the very person it would wound most," Darcy said tersely.

Anne watched them both carefully. "And that's why I invited you to ride with me, Richard. To prevent you from saying something that would upset Miss Bennet. You didn't know what you were doing, but I... I felt it. Like a shadow of a memory."

Fitzwilliam rubbed his temples, his voice quieter now. "Strange. I don't remember that walk... not fully. But now that you mention it..." He trailed off, his eyes narrowing as he struggled to piece together the foggy memory.

"What is it?" Darcy demanded, stepping closer.

"There are flashes," Fitzwilliam admitted, his voice hesitant. "A conversation about my need to marry well because I'm a second son. Then Elizabeth mentions something about you liking to have your own way. And... yes, I said something about you being a loyal friend." He paused, his expression growing grim. "I can hear myself talking about you saving Bingley from a poor match. I didn't think much of it at the time, but now..."

Darcy's frustration softened into something more resigned. "Now you understand."

Fitzwilliam let out a long sigh, leaning back in his chair. "I was trying to help you, Darcy. I truly thought I was making her see the best of you."

Darcy shook his head, his voice low. "I don't need your help if it means driving her further away."

Anne raised an eyebrow at Darcy, a knowing glint in her otherwise subdued expression. "But now we know. And tomorrow, we'll do better. Won't we, Richard?"

Fitzwilliam smirked, leaning back in his chair. "If I remember."

Anne's smile turned mischievous. "And if you don't, I'll just remind you again."

Darcy, who had remained quiet, suddenly tensed as Anne turned her attention back to him. "But, Darcy," she asked carefully, her voice softer, "if you objected to Miss Bennet being with Bingley, how could you offer for Miss Elizabeth?"

Fitzwilliam's head snapped up, his smirk replaced with wide-eyed astonishment. "You proposed?!"

Darcy sighed, running a hand through his hair. "Yes, I did."

"When?" Fitzwilliam demanded, leaning forward, his tone a mixture of disbelief and curiosity.

Darcy hesitated, his gaze falling to the floor. "The first day this all started."

Anne tilted her head, her expression thoughtful. "You mean the day Elizabeth first missed tea?"

"Yes," Darcy admitted, his voice tinged with regret. "I had thought... I don't know what I thought. Perhaps that her absence meant she was alone, that she wanted solitude and that I might approach her without interruption. I believed that if I declared myself, if I poured out everything I felt, we could—" He broke off, shaking his head.

Fitzwilliam stared at him, incredulous. "And? What happened?"

Darcy let out a bitter laugh. "Instead of the happiness I'd foolishly imagined, we fought. She accused me of separating her sister from Bingley. And of mistreating Wickham."

"Wickham?" Fitzwilliam repeated, his brows furrowing. "What could she possibly know about him?"

"Only lies," Darcy said darkly. "Lies that he's spread to anyone willing to listen."

Anne frowned. "And Miss Bennet believed him?"

"She did," Darcy said simply. "And when I tried to explain myself, she would hear none of it. She said I behaved in a manner that no gentleman would and rejected me outright."

Fitzwilliam let out a low whistle, leaning back in his chair. "Well, that explains the brooding."

Darcy shot him a sharp look, but Fitzwilliam held up a hand. "I'm not mocking, cousin. I'm just... processing. That's a lot to unpack."

Anne's voice was soft but firm. "And you've been carrying this every day since? Reliving it, trying to fix it?"

Darcy's shoulders slumped, his expression weary. "At first, I tried. I tried everything I could think of. But nothing worked. She hates me."

"Darcy," Anne said, her tone almost scolding. "We've already established, with my flashes of memory, that she doesn't hate you. She's confused by you."

Fitzwilliam leaned forward, his gaze intent. "I'm not surprised, cousin. You're shy, but instead of letting that show, you use your status as a shield. The mask you wear in public frightens people. Yet when you're comfortable, you're a great guy."

Darcy frowned, but Fitzwilliam continued, his tone turning teasing. "The moment you're uncomfortable, though? Withdrawn and cold as ice. Most people associate it with haughtiness and disdain." He paused, raising an eyebrow. "And while disdain is often accurate, I'm not so sure about the haughtiness. Not all of us can be paragons like you."

Anne chimed in with a small smile. "So, we need to get you to drop your mask around her. Let her see the man we know."

Darcy raised an eyebrow. "That's easier said than done, Anne."

Fitzwilliam leaned back, crossing his arms. "We've got work to do, then." His grin returned, wry and playful. "And apparently an endless amount of time to do so."

Darcy's gaze flicked between them, skepticism and hope warring on his face. "But if she can't remember, can I really change her opinion in one day? You've seen how she looks at me—when she looks at me at all. I've tried before, countless times. It doesn't work."

Anne leaned forward, her expression earnest. "You've tried on your own, Darcy. You've been carrying this burden alone. But now, you have us. We'll figure it out together."

Fitzwilliam nodded, his teasing demeanor softening. "She's right. We'll help you. And maybe, just maybe, tomorrow will be different."

Darcy hesitated for a long moment, then gave the faintest of nods. "Very well. We'll try."

John arrived promptly, his coat dusty from the ride but his expression steady as ever. Darcy met him just outside the house, taking the small package of medicines intended for Anne and tucking away the vial for little Thomas. He slipped his sister's letter into his coat pocket, saving it for later.

"Thank you, John," Darcy said with a nod. "Ensure the horses are well-rested for tomorrow's journey."

"Yes, sir," John replied before heading toward the stables.

Darcy returned inside, handing over Anne's medicine to a waiting maid. Fitzwilliam, leaning casually against the doorframe of Darcy's sitting room, quirked an eyebrow. "Medicine runs now, cousin? I thought your efforts were reserved for estate matters and brooding."

Anne entered the room just in time to catch Fitzwilliam's jest. "He's been doing far more than brooding, Richard," she said, her voice calm but tinged with a faint smile.

Fitzwilliam straightened, intrigued. "Oh? Care to enlighten me?"

Darcy sighed but didn't object as Anne answered. "Beside rescuing Violet from her daily mischief, he's been helping the Bendrick family. Their little boy, Thomas, has been quite ill."

"Really?" Fitzwilliam looked genuinely impressed. "And how exactly did you know what to bring them? You're not exactly an expert on children's ailments, Darcy."

Anne tilted her head, her expression serene. "That's where Elizabeth Bennet comes in. Through Mrs. Collins, we discovered Miss Bennet's knowledge of herbs and remedies. She even advised me on... certain matters."

"What matters?" Fitzwilliam asked, his curiosity piqued.

Anne gave him a pointed look, her cheeks faintly pink. "Lady concerns, Richard. Surely you don't need more detail than that."

Fitzwilliam blinked, then chuckled. "Say no more." He turned back to Darcy. "So, Miss Bennet has been helping you indirectly? I must say, I'm impressed."

Darcy nodded, though his gaze turned distant. "She's been... indispensable."

Anne stepped forward, her tone light yet insistent. "We're going to tea now, Fitzwilliam and I. Why don't you join us, Darcy?"

Darcy hesitated, his hand brushing against his coat pocket. "I'm not ready yet. I need to read Georgiana's letter."

Fitzwilliam frowned thoughtfully. "If everyone forgets the day when it resets, aren't Georgiana's letters always the same?"

Darcy paused, considering the question. "No," he admitted slowly. "They've changed. But then, so have mine. That must be why."

Anne nodded encouragingly. "Then deliver your medicine and read your letter. And come to tea after. You can't avoid Elizabeth forever."

Darcy gave a noncommittal hum as his cousins left the room. Once alone, he opened the letter from Georgiana, his fingers smoothing the familiar paper.

Her words brought a faint smile to his face as he read her updates on the house in Mayfair and her excitement for their upcoming visit. She spoke of her walks in the park and how much she missed him. But as Darcy's eyes scanned the letter, his breath caught.

Georgiana had written about the Bendrick family, mentioning how proud she was of him for helping the little boy. Darcy's mind reeled—he hadn't written about them that morning.

Could she be like Anne, remembering fragments of his past letters without realizing it?

His heart quickened as a spark of hope ignited within him. Things were changing. Subtly, but undeniably, they were changing. For the first time in what felt like an eternity, Darcy allowed himself to believe that perhaps the cycle could be broken.

Darcy sat up, exhaling deeply as he rubbed his temples. The day stretched before him like an unending road, yet the faintest flicker of hope lingered after Georgiana's latest letter. Perhaps today would bring more change.

He rose with purpose, dressed swiftly, and moved to his writing desk. Taking up his pen, he began his daily ritual of writing to Georgiana.

Darcy sealed the letter and called for John, who appeared promptly. "Take this to Mayfair," Darcy instructed. "Deliver it to Georgiana. Then collect the medicines from Gardiner Imports and return to Mayfair to pick up reply letter from Georgianne before coming back here."

John nodded without question, taking the letter and leaving swiftly.

Darcy moved through the rest of his morning routine with efficiency and made his way to breakfast, where Lady Catherine, Anne, and Fitzwilliam were already seated.

"Good morning, Anne," Darcy said, inclining his head toward his cousin.

Anne looked up, a faint smile on her lips. "Good morning, Fitzwilliam." Her tone carried an odd undercurrent, as if she knew something he didn't—or rather, as if she half-remembered something.

Darcy studied her closely as he took his seat. "You seem thoughtful today."

Anne nodded, stirring her tea. "The dreams were clearer last night," she said softly, so only he could hear. "I recall more now—fragments, mostly. But they're... vivid."

Darcy's pulse quickened. "That is encouraging," he murmured, before turning his attention to Fitzwilliam.

Fitzwilliam appeared his usual self—lighthearted and talkative—though Darcy noted the faintest hint of something in his cousin's demeanor.

Breakfast unfolded as expected until the sharp clatter of a silver serving tray interrupted the routine tranquility.

All eyes turned toward the footman, whose face was pale as he bent to gather the fallen items.

"I-I beg your pardon, your ladyship," the man stammered.

Lady Catherine's sharp intake of breath made the room tense. "What is the meaning of this?" she demanded, her voice cutting.

Before she could unleash further scorn, Fitzwilliam chuckled softly, drawing her attention. "Come now, Aunt. Even the best of us has clumsy moments. Shall we chalk it up to the influence of Rosings' grandeur?"

Darcy's gaze snapped to Fitzwilliam as his cousin's expression shifted mid-sentence, his brow furrowing as if caught in a sudden memory. Fitzwilliam blinked, his usual confidence faltering for an instant.

"What is it?" Darcy pressed, his voice low but firm.

Fitzwilliam hesitated, then shook his head as though trying to clear it. "It's nothing. Just... déjà vu."

Anne leaned forward slightly, her voice measured. "Not nothing, Richard. You remembered something, didn't you?"

Fitzwilliam frowned, his gaze darting between Darcy and Anne. "It's like a flash—a strange familiarity. I knew exactly what Aunt Catherine was going to say, down to her tone."

Darcy exhaled slowly, his heart pounding. "And yet, you've no recollection of it before now?"

Fitzwilliam shook his head again. "No, not until just now. What are you implying, Darcy?"

Darcy's expression was grave. "It means we are making progress."

Anne nodded solemnly, her eyes meeting Darcy's. "It seems more pieces are falling into place. Now we must ensure they continue to do so."

Darcy rose from his chair, brushing imaginary dust from his sleeves as he glanced toward Fitzwilliam and Anne. "I have to go," he announced, his tone brisk but carrying a note of urgency.

"To rescue the tenant's child from a tree, right?" Fitzwilliam said, leaning back with a smirk.

Darcy froze mid-step, his gaze snapping to Fitzwilliam. "So you are remembering more," he said, his voice laced with a mix of curiosity and hope.

Fitzwilliam nodded slowly, his expression thoughtful. "Yes. It's strange—fragments mostly. But this... the tree, the child—I know it's coming. And Anne has been stopping me from walking because—"

Anne interrupted smoothly, her voice calm but carrying a teasing note. "Because you stick your foot in it, Richard. Every time."

Fitzwilliam laughed, though there was a hint of sheepishness in his tone. "Well, I'll remember not to do that today. Thank you for the reminder. No need for us to go for a drive, I can go for my walk without you. I can extol Darcy's virtues without mentioning Bingley. Apparently, that's a sore subject."

"No, I think I need to watch you, I do not need to rest this morning, Richard." Anne's eyes sparkled with amusement, though her voice remained thoughtful. "That is something we should discuss further."

Darcy, "Are you sure Anne I know you have not been feeling well every morning and I have been grateful that you have stopped Richard from putting his foot in his mouth."

Isn't it odd? I've been feeling better—much better. I know it's the tea you are getting for me, but I haven't taken it yet today. I didn't start taking it until we were in this loop and yet though I will take it tonight and yet... the effects linger for this morning."

Darcy paused at the doorway, his hand resting on the frame as he considered her words. "Another strange mystery," he mused, though his tone carried no small amount of satisfaction.

Anne gave him a small smile. "I think I'll still go for the drive. Whatever the reason for my improvement, I feel well enough to enjoy the air."

Fitzwilliam raised a brow. "And Elizabeth, I'm sure. Is this some subtle matchmaking attempt on your part, Anne?"

She didn't answer directly, instead tilting her head with an enigmatic smile. "Perhaps. Or perhaps it's an opportunity to shift the conversation without old missteps."

Darcy adjusted his coat, already turning toward the door. "Yes, well, I must be off. Violet will be hurt if I delay."

Fitzwilliam chuckled. "Off to play the hero again? What a noble life you lead these days, cousin."

Darcy ignored the quip but allowed himself the faintest of smirks. "I'll see you both in my sitting room when I get back," he said over his shoulder before striding out, his thoughts already racing ahead to Violet's rescue and the ever-turning wheels of the day.

Darcy approached the familiar tree with the same sense of urgency that had driven him every morning since he had discovered Violet's precarious habit. Sure enough, the little girl was clinging to the branch, her arms stretched out for balance as the wood beneath her wobbled ominously.

"Violet!" Darcy called, his voice stern as he urged his horse closer.

She glanced down at him, her face lighting up with a mix of relief and delight. "Mr. Darcy! You're here again!"

"Indeed, I am," he muttered, guiding his horse beneath her just as she lost her footing. With practiced ease, he caught her, steadying her against him. "I thought I told you not to climb this tree."

Violet blinked at him, her brows furrowing in thought. "I don't remember that until I fall."

Darcy sighed, his irritation melting as her small hands gripped his coat for balance. "One day, Violet, I hope you'll remember before you fall."

She giggled, her sunny demeanor shining through. "But then you wouldn't have to rescue me, and how would everyone know you're a good gentleman?"

Her words struck him harder than he expected, a bittersweet warmth spreading through his chest. "Perhaps," he said softly, "being a good gentleman is about more than rescuing you from this tree."

"But you're still my hero," Violet added matter-of-factly.

Darcy swallowed the lump in his throat as he dismounted and set her down carefully on the ground. "Come along, then. Let's get you home."

They walked together toward the cottage, Violet skipping beside him. When they reached the door, Mrs. Bendrick greeted them, her face etched with both gratitude and weariness.

"Thank you, Mr. Darcy," she said, ushering Violet inside. "She's a handful, but we're grateful for your help."

Darcy nodded, his gaze drifting toward little Thomas, who lay in a cot by the hearth, his small chest rising and falling with labored breaths.

"I'll bring medicine for Thomas this evening," Darcy promised, his voice steady.

Mrs. Bendrick's eyes softened, and she nodded. "You've been a blessing to this family, sir. Thank you."

As Darcy turned to leave, Violet tugged at his coat, her voice lowering to a conspiratorial whisper. "Mr. Darcy, maybe you should let someone else bring the medicine tonight."

He frowned, crouching slightly to meet her gaze. "And why would I do that, Violet?"

She hesitated, then gave him a look that was far too knowing for her age. "Because you need to be at tea."

Darcy's brow furrowed as he straightened. "I'm not sure about that."

Violet crossed her arms, her expression serious. "Trust me, Mr. Darcy. Sometimes heroes need to do more than just save the day."

Her words lingered with him as he mounted his horse and rode back to Rosings, the familiar routine unfolding as it always did. Yet this time, there was an odd sense of disquiet. Could Violet be right? Should he be at tea tonight?

And if he was, would it even make a difference?

Darcy entered his sitting room, his boots still dusty from the ride back to Rosings. To his surprise, Anne and Fitzwilliam were already there, seated comfortably, their expressions a mixture of triumph and exasperation.

"We saw Miss. Elizabeth," Fitzwilliam began, leaning back in his chair with a self-satisfied grin. "I think we managed to extol your virtues quite admirably this time."

Anne interjected quickly, her tone sharper. "We managed, Richard. You almost ruined it again by bringing up Wickham."

Fitzwilliam had the decency to look sheepish. "I didn't mean to—it just slipped out."

Anne fixed him with a pointed look. "You and Darcy both are too hot-headed when it comes to that man. Gentleness is required, Richard. A woman's touch, if you will."

Darcy frowned, his unease growing. "And how did she respond?"

Anne's expression softened. "Not as badly as before. She seemed thoughtful, less... combative. But it's clear she needs more time. You must tread carefully, Darcy."

Darcy hesitated, weighing their words. "I don't know if it's enough. Even if she's less hostile, it doesn't mean—"

"—that she hates you?" Anne interrupted. "Darcy, we've been through this. She doesn't hate you. She's trying to understand you, but you keep pulling away instead of showing her who you truly are."

Darcy exhaled heavily, running a hand through his hair. "It's not that simple."

Before Anne could retort, Darcy recounted his earlier conversation with Violet. "When I delivered her back to her mother, she told me something odd. She said I should let someone else take the medicine tonight—that I needed to be at tea."

Anne's eyes lit up with understanding. "There! You see? Even a child can see it—you need to be there tonight, Darcy."

Darcy's expression darkened with uncertainty. "But Georgiana's letter. It arrived with the medicine, and I haven't yet read it. What if—"

Anne cut him off, her voice firm but not unkind. "You can read it after tea. This is more important."

Darcy shook his head, still unconvinced. "What difference does it make? If Elizabeth can't remember—"

"Darcy," Anne said gently, leaning forward. "You've seen the changes. I've started remembering. Richard has flashes of memory. Georgiana is retaining fragments through her letters. Elizabeth may not consciously recall yet, but she's responding differently each time. You have to trust the process. You have to trust her."

Fitzwilliam crossed his arms, his usual levity replaced with rare seriousness. "Look, Darcy. I get it. You're scared—of rejection, of failure, of getting this all wrong again. But hiding here isn't going to fix anything."

Darcy's gaze flicked between them, his jaw tightening. He wanted to argue, to dismiss their optimism as misplaced. But deep down, he knew they were right.

Anne's voice softened. "Darcy, you've already come so far. Let her see the man you're becoming. Please, go to tea."

For a long moment, Darcy said nothing, the tension in the room palpable. Then, finally, he gave a reluctant nod.

"I'll go," he said quietly. "But I can't promise anything."

Anne smiled, a flicker of hope in her eyes. "That's all we're asking for. So tell me Darcy, what did you share with Miss Bennet when you were trying to win her?"

Darcy hesitated, caught off guard by Anne's sudden question. He shifted uncomfortably in his seat, glancing briefly at Fitzwilliam, who raised an eyebrow in silent curiosity.

"Well?" Anne pressed gently, her smile softening to encourage him. "Surely you must talk about more than Wickham or Bingley."

Darcy exhaled, leaning back slightly. "We've discussed literature... a little."

Anne's eyes sparkled with interest. "And?"

He cleared his throat, feeling exposed. "She's quite fond of Much Ado About Nothing. She admires the wit and spirit of Beatrice."

"Ah," Anne said knowingly. "And do you admire that as well?"

Darcy's lips twitched faintly. "I do. Though it sometimes feels as though she chAnnels Beatrice's sharpness when speaking with me."

Anne chuckled softly. "Perhaps she sees you as Benedick, then."

Fitzwilliam burst out laughing. "Oh, that's perfect! You and Miss Bennet trading barbs in a battle of wits. I can see it now!"

Darcy shot him a withering look but didn't deny it. "It's not quite as lighthearted as that. But yes, she challenges me—and I find I don't mind it as much as I once thought I would."

Anne's smile deepened. "And what else? Surely there's more."

Darcy hesitated again, his voice softening. "She has a keen interest in botany and herbal remedies. She told me about her garden at Longbourn—how she grows plants for their medicinal uses. It was... surprising."

"Surprising?" Anne echoed.

He nodded. "I didn't expect her to be so knowledgeable about such practical matters. It's... admirable."

Anne leaned forward, resting her chin on her hand. "So, you admire her intellect, her wit, her practicality. What else?"

Darcy met her gaze, his expression serious. "She cares deeply for her family. Even when they frustrate her, she defends them fiercely. There's a strength in that—a loyalty I can't help but respect."

Anne's smile softened further, but she said nothing, letting him continue.

"And she's unafraid to speak her mind," Darcy admitted, almost reluctantly. "Even when she challenges me—especially when she challenges me—it forces me to think differently."

Fitzwilliam whistled low. "Well, well. I never thought I'd see the day where someone made you question your perspective. Miss Bennet must be quite the woman."

"She is," Darcy said quietly, almost to himself.

Anne's voice was gentle. "Then let her see that you notice these things. Show her that you respect her mind, her heart, her spirit. If you can do that, Darcy, perhaps she'll start to see the man you truly are."

Darcy glanced down, his thoughts a tumult of hope and doubt. "We'll see," he murmured, more to himself than to them.

Darcy, feeling things are getting too tense tries to joke, "and how shall I do this with your mother in the room. Let us not forget she may have something to say about me trying to woo another woman in front of her that is not you Anne."

Anne smirked, her usual reserved demeanor giving way to a rare moment of levity. "Oh, I'm sure Mama would have many things to say about it. She would be scandalized by your audacity—if only because it wasn't her idea."

Fitzwilliam laughed heartily. "Darcy, I'd pay to see that. The great Lady Catherine de Bourgh, witnessing her precious nephew attempting to court a woman beneath her notice. It might just be the one thing to render her speechless."

"Or cause an uproar," Darcy added dryly, though a faint smile tugged at his lips. "I'd rather not become the subject of her latest diatribe, thank you. I think she already has a lifetime's worth of criticisms stored up for me."

Anne tilted her head, her amusement evident. "If you can manage to charm Miss Bennet, I daresay you can survive Mama's disapproval."

Darcy raised an eyebrow. "It's not Miss Bennet I'm worried about. Your mother has a way of commanding every conversation and turning it into a proclamation."

"Then perhaps," Fitzwilliam interjected, grinning mischievously, "the challenge isn't just winning over Miss Bennet but doing so under Lady Catherine's very nose. Think of it as a test of your resolve."

Anne laughed softly. "A test of wit and patience, more like. But you're clever enough to manage it, Darcy."

Darcy leaned back, folding his arms across his chest. "And how exactly am I to convey my respect and admiration for Miss Bennet while Lady Catherine sits across from us, dissecting every word?"

Anne's eyes sparkled with amusement. "Subtlety, cousin. Compliment Elizabeth's interests—her knowledge of herbs, for instance. Speak in a way that Mama won't think twice about but that Elizabeth will understand."

Fitzwilliam nodded sagely. "Yes, Darcy. Disguise your courtship as idle conversation. It's practically Shakespearean."

Darcy shook his head, his faint smile growing. "You're both incorrigible. But fine, I'll consider your advice."

Anne's voice turned playful. "Just don't fumble it, Darcy. Mama might not approve, but we do. And I, for one, would love to see Miss Bennet's sharp wit paired with your steady demeanor."

Darcy chuckled softly, the tension in the room easing. "We'll see. But if this goes poorly, I'm blaming the two of you."

Fitzwilliam clapped him on the back. "Fair enough, cousin. But something tells me you'll manage just fine."

Tea at Rosings began as it always did, with Lady Catherine seated at the head of the room like a queen holding court. Mr. Collins, ever eager to prove his loyalty, nodded and murmured his agreement with every pronouncement she made, no matter how trivial.

Darcy, seated near Anne, barely heard them. His attention was elsewhere, darting between Anne and Elizabeth. Anne had been unusually animated throughout the day, her determination to assist him both a source of hope and trepidation. And Elizabeth—her poised but wary demeanor as she entered the room was enough to set his heart racing.

The tea service progressed with its usual precision. The clink of porcelain, the gentle hum of polite conversation, and Lady Catherine's imperious commentary provided a familiar backdrop. Darcy waited, timing his opportunity carefully.

Anne caught his eye and gave him a subtle nod. It was now or never.

Darcy cleared his throat, drawing attention away from Mr. Collins' latest effusion about Lady Catherine's wisdom. "Miss Bennet," he began, his tone deliberately measured, "I understand you have a keen interest in herbal remedies. Is that correct?"

Elizabeth, surprised by the direct question, looked up from her teacup. Her dark eyes met his, their sharpness softened by curiosity. "I do, Mr. Darcy. My grandmother Gardiner taught me a great deal about their uses."

Darcy inclined his head, his voice warm but deliberate. "That is a rare and valuable skill. Recently, I've come to see how such knowledge can make a significant difference."

Elizabeth's brow furrowed slightly, her interest piqued. "I'm glad to hear it. Natural remedies often hold solutions where conventional means fail."

Anne seized the moment, her voice calm but insistent. "Miss Bennet was kind enough to offer me advice previously. I've found it most beneficial."

Lady Catherine's sharp gaze snapped to her daughter. "Advice, Anne? Surely you exaggerate. You have me to consult on such matters."

Anne's cheeks flushed, but she held her ground. "Of course, Mama. But Miss Bennet's perspective was... refreshing."

Elizabeth's lips twitched, a small smile barely concealed. Darcy caught the fleeting expression, and though it was faint, it felt like a victory.

The conversation meandered, with Lady Catherine reclaiming her throne as the dominant voice in the room. Darcy played his part, responding with polite indifference when addressed, but his focus remained on Elizabeth.

For her part, Elizabeth seemed to notice his attentiveness, her sharp eyes catching every subtle shift in his expression. She didn't smile often, but when she did, Darcy's heart lifted.

Anne, emboldened by her flashes of memory, leaned toward Elizabeth again, asking about the best teas for soothing discomfort. Their voices were low, almost conspiratorial, and Darcy strained to hear over Lady Catherine's proclamations about the proper way to prune rose bushes.

Elizabeth glanced at him once or twice during the exchange, her gaze unreadable but lingering a moment longer than it might have a week ago.

As tea concluded, Darcy rose from his seat. "Miss Bennet," he said, his voice steady despite the nervous energy coursing through him, "may I escort you back to the parsonage?"

Elizabeth hesitated, her gaze flicking to Mrs. Collins before returning to Darcy. Finally, she nodded. "Thank you, Mr. Darcy. That would be acceptable."

Outside, the evening air was cool and carried the faint scent of jasmine. The crunch of gravel beneath their shoes punctuated the silence as they walked.

Darcy spoke first, his tone gentle. "I wanted to thank you for your kindness toward Anne. She values your conversation greatly."

Elizabeth glanced at him, her expression thoughtful. "Miss de Bourgh is a lovely woman. I'm glad if I've been of any help."

The conversation turned to lighter topics—gardens, literature, and finally Shakespeare, which Darcy knew from past Thursdays to be her favorite. Elizabeth seemed at ease, her sharp edges softened by the pleasant exchange.

But as they neared the parsonage, Darcy's pulse quickened. He couldn't let the moment pass without making some effort.

"Miss Bennet," he began, his voice low, "I must speak plainly."

Elizabeth stopped, turning to face him. Her brow furrowed slightly, but she said nothing.

Darcy hesitated for only a moment before continuing. "You are... unlike anyone I have ever met. I admire your wit, your strength of character. I... I find myself drawn to you in a way I cannot deny."

Elizabeth's eyes widened, her expression a mixture of surprise and confusion. "Mr. Darcy, I—"

He pressed on, unable to stop himself. "I know I am not a man of many charms, but I hope you might consider—"

"Please, stop," Elizabeth interrupted, her voice gentle but firm. "Mr. Darcy, I am flattered, but I do not feel as you do. I must ask that you not continue."

Darcy felt the words like a blow, but he nodded, stepping back to give her space. "Forgive me," he said quietly. "I did not mean to make you uncomfortable."

Elizabeth gave a faint, apologetic smile before continuing to the parsonage. Darcy remained rooted in place, watching her disappear inside.

As he walked back to Rosings, Darcy's thoughts churned. He had been too eager, too impetuous. But he had seen something in Elizabeth's eyes—pity, perhaps, but not disdain.

It wasn't hatred.

Darcy entered his sitting room, the familiar sense of defeat weighing heavily on his shoulders. To his surprise, Anne and Fitzwilliam were already there, seated comfortably as though they had been waiting for him. Anne's gaze was calm but expectant, while Fitzwilliam leaned back in his chair, one brow raised in curiosity.

"Well?" Fitzwilliam prompted, a grin tugging at the corners of his mouth. "How did it go?"

Darcy exhaled sharply, his frustration evident. He loosened his cravat and moved to pour himself a glass of brandy. "She refused me."

Anne frowned slightly, though there was no surprise in her expression. "What exactly did you say, Darcy?"

Darcy hesitated, his fingers tightening around the glass. "I told her I admired her wit and strength of character. That I found myself drawn to her." He took a sip of his drink, his voice lowering. "And then I began to offer for her hand."

"You began to offer?" Fitzwilliam echoed, sitting up straighter. "You didn't even finish the proposal before she stopped you?"

"She was kind," Darcy admitted begrudgingly, "but firm. She asked me not to continue, and I respected her wishes."

Anne's expression softened with sympathy. "That doesn't sound like hatred, Fitzwilliam. It sounds like she was trying not to hurt you."

Darcy placed the glass down with more force than necessary. "It wasn't hatred," he agreed. "But it wasn't affection either. She doesn't feel as I do. She made that abundantly clear."

Fitzwilliam chuckled, though his tone was not unkind. "You've never been one to half-measure anything, cousin. You storm in with all your feelings laid bare, expecting her to match your intensity. It's no wonder she's overwhelmed."

"I did no such thing," Darcy said sharply, though even as he spoke, he felt the truth of Fitzwilliam's words.

Anne leaned forward, her voice gentle but insistent. "Darcy, you need to take a step back. Elizabeth isn't rejecting you—at least not completely. She's reacting to how you're presenting yourself."

"And how am I supposed to present myself, Anne?" Darcy asked, exasperated. "I've tried honesty. I've tried restraint. What else is there?"

"Patience," Anne replied softly. "And understanding. You know her better than she knows you, thanks to... well, the peculiarities of our situation. But she doesn't have that same advantage. You need to give her time."

Fitzwilliam nodded in agreement, his grin turning rueful. "Anne's right. You've got all the time in the world, apparently, so use it wisely. Build something with her—don't just rush in and expect her to leap into your arms."

Darcy sank into a chair, running a hand through his hair. "She must think me a fool."

"No," Anne said firmly. "She thinks you're passionate. Misguided, perhaps, but not a fool."

Fitzwilliam smirked. "Well, maybe a little bit of a fool. But only in the charming, tragic-hero sort of way."

Darcy shot him a glare, but Fitzwilliam only laughed.

Anne stood, smoothing her skirt as she regarded Darcy with a determined expression. "Tomorrow, you'll try again. But differently this time. No proposals, no confessions. Just conversation. Let her see you as more than the proud Mr. Darcy of Hertfordshire."

Darcy nodded slowly, the weight of the day pressing on him but a glimmer of resolve sparking to life. "Tomorrow," he agreed.

Fitzwilliam raised an imaginary glass. "To tomorrow, cousin. And may it be better than today."

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Thank you for all the comments sorry can't individually comment back but I appreciate them. Thoughts on Fitzwilliam's wake up?