This scene belongs at the beginning of chapter 48. Elizabeth has been invited to travel during the summer with her Aunt and Uncle Gardener. Their journey takes them near Pemberley and her Aunt decides she wants to tour the estate. Elizabeth tries to dissuade her, but Mrs. Gardener insists on seeing it. Elizabeth is relieved when she finds out that Darcy is not there, so she reluctantly goes with them. While on their tour Darcy unexpectedly arrives home and runs into Elizabeth. She is so embarrassed she can hardly face him, she assumed he never wanted to see her again. He, on the other hand is very glad to see her and almost instantly begins to show her how much he still loves her. He invites Elizabeth to meet his sister and to dine with them. He finds a way to see her every day that they plan to stay in Lampton. On their third day, Elizabeth stays back at the inn while the Gardeners go out so she can read some letters she has been expecting from Jane. Darcy comes to visit and finds her alone.

I am so thankful for everyone who is reading my chapters. I apologize for taking so long to post. This one was really hard for me. I re-wrote it several times, throwing out several ideas that just didn't fit. I'm finally happy with it so here it is. I had to tweek the details of the original just a bit to make it work so lets call this one cannon adjacent.

As always comments and corrections are welcome and very much appreciated.

Elizabeth had been a good deal disappointed in not finding a letter from Jane on their first arrival at Lambton; and this disappointment had been renewed on each of the mornings that had now been spent there; but on the third her repining was over, and her sister justified, by the receipt of two letters from her at once, on one of which was marked that it had been mis-sent elsewhere. Elizabeth was not surprised at it, as Jane had written the direction remarkably ill.

They had just been preparing to walk as the letters came in; and her uncle and aunt, leaving her to enjoy them in quiet, set off by themselves. Elizabeth was grateful for the opportunity to enjoy some much needed solitude. Though she enjoyed the Gardeners' company immensely, the inconveniences of prolonged travel compounded by the discomfort of cramped roadside accommodations had afforded her little privacy in the preceding fortnight. She set Jane's letters upon the writing table, taking a seat, before removing her bonnet and gloves. She would not only use this time alone to read Jane's letters, but also to reflect upon the events of their two days spent in Derbyshire; and to think of Darbyshire was to think of Mr. Darcy.

It still puzzled her to think he'd ever held a secret passion for her. And it was even stranger to imagine it possible he retained any such feeling, given the discomfort endured by both when they parted last April. But what other explanation could account for his behaviour? He must be in love with her to have afforded her so much consideration. His manners were so altered. Where she'd once found cold disinterest, she now found generosity, good humour, and an eagerness to please. His former censure was all but gone; there was no attempt to conceal his feelings, every look, every gesture on his part attested his intentions plainly. The pointed gazes she received from her aunt on these occasions told Elizabeth that she was not the only one to notice.

She no longer held the same contempt for him that she had when she left Hunsford. Her initial anger had been great, but once it had calmed, she was able to fully consider all that he had written in his letter. She easily dismissed her ill will regarding his dealings with Mr. Wickham; thinking him completely justified in his treatment of that gentleman. It was more difficult to forget the injury he had caused to Jane. But she thought it improbable that he would continue to disapprove of his friend's connection to one sister, while simultaneously aligning himself with the other. She paled at the memory of the venomous accusations she had made against his character, wondering if the change in his behaviour had resulted from her chastisement.

She pictured his look of approval when he saw Georgiana engaged in conversation with her. The gentle reassurance he had given his sister proved he welcomed and even encouraged their further acquaintance. She stifled a laugh when she recalled the look of sheer astonishment on his face when he had discovered her so unexpectedly at Pemberley. His embarrassment was equal to hers, but instead of retreating as she would have, he'd persevered. He pursued her onto the grounds and had behaved so amiably that he even requested an introduction to her companions.
But that was not the first time he had sought her. She remembered how puzzled she had been by his diligence in attending her on her walks through the lanes at Hunsford; it was not by accident that he happened to meet her there so frequently. Then she recalled how his piercing gaze had always seemed to be inexplicably drawn to her whenever she was in his presence. She had been so nettled by his attention at the Netherfield ball. She presumed he looked upon her with disdain, observing her for the sole purpose of delineating her faults. Suddenly she realized she had been mistaken. He had loved her even then. He'd wanted her long ago and wanted her still; not for wealth, consequence, or connection, but for herself. The notion of Mr. Darcy wanting her in all the ways a man desires a woman excited her. She did not yet know if she could love him in return, but she could not deny the physical attraction she felt. She had to admit she had always considered him handsome. She smiled to herself wondering what it would be like to be loved by a man so truly devoted to her. To be subjected to all his passion and pent-up desires. She was curious to feel his embrace, the touch of his lips on her skin as he explored her body. What would he do if they were alone, and she was his?

She closed her eyes and allowed her fancies to run freely through her mind. She imagined he was at her door, opening it to find her flushed and wanton, and entirely alone. He went to her directly, pressing his lips to her mouth, wrapping his strong arms about her, enveloping her in his warmth.

"My darling, how I have suffered for the want of you, sweet mercy I beg you madam, relieve my torment. Give your heart to me, give me everything that you are."

He held her face in his hands, his eyes pleading for the answer he most desperately wanted to hear.

"I will," she whispered. "I am yours."

He kissed her ardently, fisting one hand in her hair, holding her so tightly to him she could scarcely breath. He moved her further into the room, lifting her, he set her on the writing table. She ran her hands across his chest, feeling the beating of his heart, as she swept his coat off his shoulders. His waistcoat and neckcloth followed, falling to the floor as she worked to rid him of the encumbrances of clothing. Her eagerness was no match for his, he quickly unfastened the buttons of her gown, loosened the ties of her stays, and pulled impatiently at her shift to free her breasts. She leaned back feeling the balmy summer air caress her skin, as he kissed along the collum of her throat down to her exposed flesh. He sucked a nipple into his mouth, with reverence he circled his tongue and teased it to a hard point, forcing pleasure to ripple over her body and through her core.

She felt the tickle of his warm breath over her moistened skin as he murmured, his voice suffused with bewilderment, "-so beautiful."

Cupping her in his hand, he continued to stroke the tortured nipple with the pad of his thumb. Moving his mouth to her other breast he went on suckling and teasing until it too, was hard and so wonderfully sensitive that she was helpless, unable to stop herself from whimpering his name. He was driving her mad. He pressed his hips into her and she felt the strength of his arousal grating against the molten heat between her thighs. Her body ached for him, her need growing greater by the moment.
"You can't imagine how I've wanted you, how many times I have pictured this moment, longing to touch you, waiting to hear your soft moans as I pleasure you."
He kissed her mouth, thrusting his tongue inside to taste her. His hand slid under her skirts, slowly he caressed up her thigh until his fingers brushed over her sex. He stroked a finger along her seam discovering the wetness there.

"Oh Lizzy," he sighed as his fingers circled her slick entrance spreading her wetness along her folds. His thumb rubbed gently over her bud, and she moaned with pleasure. He moved down her body to kneel before her. He spread her legs, his eyes fixed on her dripping sex with a look so full of longing and desire she thought her heart would break for him. He licked his lips hungerly as he inhaled her scent, then his tongue swept slowly over her entrance and up to her bud. He licked and laved, and savoured, all the while groaning his approval.

"You taste so much sweeter than I ever could have imagined."

She was moaning, quivering with each exquisite caress of his tongue. He went on and on, the unending pleasure building, ebbing and flowing in waves that threatened to break at any moment. Her fingers tangled in his hair as her body began to tense.

"Darcy, please," she panted, "I'm going to… I'm-"

Abruptly her illusion was shattered by a knock at the door. Startled by the interruption she paused, frozen by shock and embarrassment. Another knock sounded and she called out, her voice wavering-

"I'm coming, just a moment, please," she fetched Jane's letters from the table, using them to fan the heat from her face, attempting to disguise her mortification.

As she reached the door, it was opened by a servant, and Mr. Darcy appeared. Her flushed face and impetuous manner made him start. She simply stared at him, unable to move or speak. She felt her cheeks burn with shame, certain he could ascertain her thoughts and would know precisely what she had imagined a moment ago.

At length he said in a tone of gentleness and commiseration, "Miss Elizabeth, forgive my intrusion. You are ill. Let me call your maid. Is there nothing you could take to give you present relief? A glass of wine; Shall I get you one?"

"No, I thank you," she replied, endeavouring to recover herself. "There is nothing the matter with me. I am quite well."

She invited him to sit down, and again, there was silence until he inquired. "Where are your aunt and uncle; you are here alone?"

"They've just gone out walking. I meant to join them, but as we were about to leave the letters came. I have been long expecting word from my sister, this one was delayed, as you see, it has been mis-sent, I stayed behind so that I might read them."

He took in her current state of unease and, lacking any other cause, attributed it to a sense of urgency to read her letters. Wishing to relieve her suffering, he urged her not to delay on his account, he would not be offended if she wanted to read them now. She did as he asked. She did not want to be rude, but she was incapable of thinking of anything to say that would erase the awkwardness she felt between them.

She looked at the letters in her hand. The one mis-sent must be first attended to; it had been written five days ago. The beginning contained an account of all their little parties and engagements, with such news as the country afforded; but the latter half, which was dated a day later, and written in evident agitation, gave more important intelligence. It was to this effect-

"Since writing the above, dearest Lizzy, something has occurred of a most unexpected and serious nature; but I am afraid of alarming you—be assured that we are all well. What I have to say relates to poor Lydia. An express came at twelve last night, just as we were all gone to bed, from Colonel Forster, to inform us that she was gone off to Scotland with one of his officers; to own the truth, with Wickham! Imagine our surprise. To Kitty, however, it does not seem so wholly unexpected. I am very, very sorry. So imprudent a match on both sides! But I am willing to hope the best, and that his character has been misunderstood. Thoughtless and indiscreet I can easily believe him, but this step (and let us rejoice over it) marks nothing bad at heart. His choice is disinterested at least, for he must know my father can give her nothing. Our poor mother is sadly grieved. My father bears it better. How thankful am I, that we never let them know what has been said against him; we must forget it ourselves. They were off Saturday night about twelve, as is conjectured, but were not missed till yesterday morning at eight. The express was sent off directly. My dear Lizzy, they must have passed within ten miles of us. Colonel Forster gives us reason to expect him here soon. Lydia left a few lines for his wife, informing her of their intention. I must conclude, for I cannot be long from my poor mother. I am afraid you will not be able to make it out, but I hardly know what I have written."

Without allowing herself time for consideration, and scarcely knowing what she felt, Elizabeth, on finishing this letter, instantly seized the other, and opening it with the utmost impatience, read as follows: it had been written a day later than the conclusion of the first.

"By this time, my dearest sister, you have received my hurried letter; I wish this may be more intelligible, but though not confined for time, my head is so bewildered that I cannot answer for being coherent. Dearest Lizzy, I hardly know what I would write, but I have bad news for you, and it cannot be delayed. Imprudent as a marriage between Mr. Wickham and our poor Lydia would be, we are now anxious to be assured it has taken place, for there is but too much reason to fear they are not gone to Scotland. Colonel Forster came yesterday, having left Brighton the day before, not many hours after the express. Though Lydia's short letter to Mrs. F. gave them to understand that they were going to Gretna Green, something was dropped by Denny expressing his belief that W. never intended to go there, or to marry Lydia at all, which was repeated to Colonel F., who, instantly taking the alarm, set off from B., intending to trace their route. He did trace them easily to Clapham, but no farther; for on entering that place, they removed into a hackney-coach, and dismissed the chaise that brought them from Epsom. All that is known after this is, that they were seen to continue the London road. I know not what to think. After making every possible inquiry on that side London, Colonel F. came on into Hertfordshire, anxiously renewing them at all the turnpikes, and at the inns in Barnet and Hatfield, but without any success, —no such people had been seen to pass through.

With the kindest concern he came on to Longbourn, and broke his apprehensions to us in a manner most creditable to his heart. I am sincerely grieved for him and Mrs. F.; but no one can throw any blame on them. Our distress, my dear Lizzy, is very great. My father and mother believe the worst, but I cannot think so ill of him. Many circumstances might make it more eligible for them to be married privately in town than to pursue their first plan; and even if he could form such a design against a young woman of Lydia's connections, which is not likely, can I suppose her so lost to everything? Impossible! I grieve to find, however, that Colonel F. is not disposed to depend upon their marriage: he shook his head when I expressed my hopes, and said he feared W. was not a man to be trusted.

My poor mother is really ill, and keeps her room. Could she exert herself, it would be better, but this is not to be expected; and as to my father, I never in my life saw him so affected. Poor Kitty has anger for having concealed their attachment; but as it was a matter of confidence, one cannot wonder. I am truly glad, dearest Lizzy, that you have been spared something of these distressing scenes; but now, as the first shock is over, shall I own that I long for your return? I am not so selfish, however, as to press for it, if inconvenient.

Adieu!

I take up my pen again to do, what I have just told you I would not; but circumstances are such, that I cannot help earnestly begging you all to come here as soon as possible. I know my dear uncle and aunt so well, that I am not afraid of requesting it, though I have still something more to ask of the former. My father is going to London with Colonel Forster instantly, to try to discover her. What he means to do, I am sure I know not; but his excessive distress will not allow him to pursue any measure in the best and safest way, and Colonel Forster is obliged to be at Brighton again tomorrow evening. In such an exigence my uncle's advice and assistance would be everything in the world; he will immediately comprehend what I must feel, and I rely upon his goodness."

"Oh! where, where is my uncle?" cried Elizabeth, darting from her seat as she finished the letter, in eagerness to find him without losing a moment of time so precious. "I beg your pardon, but I must leave you. I must find Mr. Gardiner this moment on business that cannot be delayed; I have not an instant to lose."

"Good God! what is the matter?" cried he, with more feeling than politeness; then recollecting himself, "I will not detain you a minute; but let me, or let the servant, go after Mr. and Mrs. Gardiner. You are not well enough; you cannot go yourself."

Elizabeth hesitated; but her knees trembled under her, and she felt how little would be gained by her attempting to pursue them. Calling back the servant, therefore, she commissioned him, though in so breathless an accent as made her almost unintelligible, to fetch his master and mistress home instantly. On his quitting the room, she sat down, unable to support herself, and looking so miserably ill, that it was impossible for Darcy to leave her.

"It is dreadful news which I have just received from Longbourn." She burst into tears as she alluded to it, and for a few minutes could not speak another word. Darcy, in wretched suspense, could only say something indistinctly of his concern, and observe her in compassionate silence. At length she spoke again.

"I have just had a letter from Jane, with such dreadful news. It cannot be concealed from anyone. My youngest sister has left all her friends—has eloped; has thrown herself into the power of—of Mr. Wickham. They are gone off together from Brighton. You know him too well to doubt the rest. She has no money, no connections, nothing that can tempt him to—she is lost for ever."

Darcy was fixed in astonishment.

"When I consider," she added, in a yet more agitated voice, "that I might have prevented it! I who knew what he was. Had I but explained some part of it only—some part of what I learnt, to my own family! Had his character been known, this could not have happened. But it is all, all too late now."

"I am grieved, indeed," cried Darcy: "grieved—shocked. But is it certain, absolutely certain?"

"Oh, yes! They left Brighton together on Sunday night, and were traced almost to London, but not beyond: they are certainly not gone to Scotland."

"And what has been done, what has been attempted, to recover her?"

"My father has gone to London, and Jane has written to beg my uncle's immediate assistance, and we shall be off, I hope, in half an hour. But nothing can be done; I know very well that nothing can be done. How is such a man to be worked on? How are they even to be discovered? I have not the smallest hope. It is every way horrible!"

Darcy shook his head in silent acquiescence.

"When my eyes were opened to his real character, oh! had I known what I ought, what I dared to do! But I knew not—I was afraid of doing too much. Wretched, wretched mistake!"

Darcy made no answer. He seemed scarcely to hear her, and was walking up and down the room in earnest meditation; his brow contracted, his air gloomy. Elizabeth soon observed, and instantly understood it. Her power was sinking; everything must sink under such a proof of family weakness, such an assurance of the deepest disgrace. She could neither wonder nor condemn; but the belief of his self-conquest brought nothing consolatory to her bosom, afforded no palliation of her distress. It was, on the contrary, exactly calculated to make her understand her own wishes; and never had she so honestly felt that she could have loved him, as now, when all love must be vain.
But self, though it would intrude, could not engross her. Lydia—the humiliation, the misery she was bringing on them all—soon swallowed up every private care; and covering her face with her handkerchief, Elizabeth was soon lost to everything else; and, after a pause of several minutes, was only recalled to a sense of her situation by the voice of her companion, who, in a manner which, though it spoke compassion, spoke likewise restraint, said,—

"I am afraid you have been long desiring my absence, nor have I anything to plead in excuse of my stay, but real, though unavailing concern. Would to heaven that anything could be either said or done on my part, that might offer consolation to such distress! But I will not torment you with vain wishes, which may seem purposely to ask for your thanks. This unfortunate affair will, I fear, prevent my sister's having the pleasure of seeing you at Pemberley today."

"Oh, yes! Be so kind as to apologize for us to Miss Darcy. Say that urgent business calls us home immediately. Conceal the unhappy truth as long as it is possible. I know it cannot be long."

He readily assured her of his secrecy, again expressed his sorrow for her distress, wished it a happier conclusion than there was at present reason to hope, and, leaving his compliments for her relations, with only one serious parting look, went away.