Confessions, when I started writing this um...in the middle I sort of went off my outline but I liked it so well I kept going, so now um yeah I am off scripted but the goal is still the same, will this shorten or length the story um...not sure. Would love to know if you like one of my off scripts, see below and possible spoilers for more information. As always thank you so much for the comments they are so encouraging, again if you cant see the new chapters I am also posting on A03.

Chapter 23 Confessions of Rosings

Darcy watched as Elizabeth turned sharply on her heel and left the room, her posture rigid with tension. The sound of the door clicking shut echoed in the sudden silence, but even after she was gone, the weight of her words lingered in the air like an unresolved chord.

He exhaled slowly, running a hand through his hair. The confrontation had escalated too quickly—fury flaring between them like flint and steel. He had seen Elizabeth angry before, but never like this. Never with the kind of sharp, inward pain that had darkened her eyes just before she fled.

His hands curled into fists at his sides, and without thinking, he turned to Anne. "That was unnecessary." His voice was quiet, but firm.

Anne's expression did not shift. "Was it?"

Darcy took a step forward, his frustration mounting. "You accused her outright. She was overwhelmed—"

Anne held up a hand, silencing him. "As we all have been."

Darcy stopped short, his jaw tightening.

Anne's voice remained steady. "You are so quick to defend her, Darcy. So quick to excuse her temper, her sharp tongue, her unwillingness to see beyond her first impressions. But tell me, would you have made such allowances from anyone else?"

Darcy hesitated.

Anne arched a brow. "You see your faults in this situation, but do you see hers?"

Fitzwilliam leaned against the mantel, arms crossed. "Anne has a point," he murmured. "You've spent all this time trying to show Miss Bennet that she misjudged you. But what happens when you are the one who misjudged her?"

Darcy frowned. "I do not misjudge her. She is—" He stopped himself before he could say it, but Fitzwilliam smirked, filling in the words for him.

"Perfect?" His voice was laced with amusement, but his gaze held something else—understanding.

Darcy's jaw tightened. "I did not say that."

Fitzwilliam chuckled. "No, but you thought it. And therein lies the problem, cousin. No one is perfect."

Darcy said nothing, his silence betraying his reluctance to admit the truth.

Anne studied him for a long moment, then softened just slightly. "We are all flawed, Darcy. You and I. Richard. Elizabeth. You must see her clearly if you ever hope for her to see you in the same way."

Darcy stared at Anne, her words hanging in the air between them. He had braced himself for more resistance, for another sharp retort, but instead, her voice softened, her shoulders lowering just slightly.

"I should not have said it like that," Anne admitted, her fingers brushing over the edge of the desk. "My mother had already put me in a foul temper, and I took it out on Elizabeth. It was not entirely fair."

Darcy stared at Anne, her words hanging in the air between them. He had braced himself for more resistance, for another sharp retort, but instead, her voice softened, her shoulders lowering just slightly.

"I should not have said it like that," Anne admitted, her fingers brushing over the edge of the desk. "My mother had already put me in a foul temper, and I took it out on Elizabeth. It was not entirely fair."

Darcy's lips parted slightly, surprised at the admission, but before he could speak, Anne let out a slow breath, her gaze flickering between him and Fitzwilliam. "And perhaps… perhaps part of my frustration comes from guilt."

Fitzwilliam frowned. "Guilt?"

Anne hesitated, gripping the back of a chair. Her fingers tightened over the wood as if steadying herself. "Because—" She stopped, closing her eyes briefly before shaking her head. "Because part of me does not want this day to end."

A stunned silence followed. Fitzwilliam sat up straighter, his easy manner momentarily abandoned, and Darcy simply stared.

Anne's grip on the chair tightened. "Not all aspects, of course," she added hastily. "But you must admit, if Darcy had not been caught in this endless cycle, I would still be ill and under my mother's thumb. Violet would be hurt, and the Bendricks might have lost their son." Her voice grew quieter, more pensive. "In all the time we have been here, trapped in this one day, so much has changed. So much has improved."

She turned slightly, running a hand along the spines of the books stacked neatly on the desk. "Can either of you truly say that this has been entirely a curse?" she asked softly. "That this day has not, in some ways, been a gift?"

Neither man answered immediately.

Anne inhaled slowly, as if gathering her courage. "Think of what would have happened if tomorrow had come when it should have. Would I have ever gotten better? Would you, Darcy, have grown as you have?" She hesitated, glancing toward Fitzwilliam. "Would Richard—"

She cut herself off abruptly.

Darcy narrowed his eyes, studying her carefully, but Anne quickly turned away, her lips pressing together. He knew Anne well enough to recognize when she was concealing something.

Fitzwilliam, however, caught the implication and let out a slow exhale, rubbing the back of his neck. His usual humor was absent, replaced by something unreadable. "Anne…"

She did not look at him.

Darcy found himself at a loss. The thought had never once occurred to him—to any of them, he imagined. He had fought so desperately to escape this day, to set things right and move forward, that he had never considered that for some, Thursday had been a gift.

Anne turned back to them, a faint but wry smile curving her lips. "It is a terrible thing to admit, I know. And yet... I cannot deny it."

Fitzwilliam exhaled heavily, raking a hand through his hair. His usual glibness was absent, replaced by something quieter, something more vulnerable. He avoided Darcy's gaze at first, then let out a low chuckle, though there was no real humor in it.

"Well, if we're admitting terrible things," he said at last, "I suppose I have a confession of my own."

Darcy frowned. "Fitzwilliam—"

"No, let me say it." Fitzwilliam shook his head. "I know I've hinted at my frustration before, made it sound as if I was angry that you extended our stay because I had obligations elsewhere, because being a second son limits my choices." His lips pressed into a thin line. "But that wasn't entirely the truth."

Darcy's frown deepened. "Then what is the truth?"

Fitzwilliam hesitated for a moment before sighing. "The truth is... I wanted to stay."

Anne, who had been listening intently, suddenly stilled. "You wanted to stay?" she echoed carefully.

He nodded. "I told myself I was frustrated, that I was only here because of you, Darcy. But in reality... I didn't mind. Not entirely." His mouth twisted into a rueful smirk. "Perhaps I even welcomed it."

Darcy studied him, something unreadable in his expression. "Why?"

Fitzwilliam hesitated, his fingers curling slightly against his coat. "Because out there, beyond this day, I have to face reality. I have to leave here, return to my regiment, and accept the fact that—" He stopped abruptly, his jaw tightening before forcing himself to continue. "Accept the fact that I can never have what I want."

Silence fell between them, the weight of his words settling in the room.

Anne's sharp gaze softened, though there was something guarded in her expression. "You mean her, don't you?"

Fitzwilliam let out a small, bitter laugh. "I meant her. Past tense." His fingers curled into his palm before he forced them to relax. "It does not matter now. She is engaged, or married, she was to get married today."

Darcy stiffened. "Engaged, Married?"

Fitzwilliam nodded, his throat working as he swallowed hard. "Yes. I knew it the moment I saw my mother's letter—on Wednesday, before all of this began." He let out a heavy breath. "At first, I wanted to resent you for keeping me here. If we had left when we were supposed to, I might have been in London before the wedding. I might have... tried something." He scoffed at himself. "But no, she was likely engaged by then, and even if she had not been, it would not have changed anything. She was always going to choose the more secure path."

Anne's hands tightened in her lap. "And you have accepted that?"

Fitzwilliam hesitated before exhaling sharply. "I have had so many Thursdays to think it through, and I can no longer lie to myself. It was never me she truly wanted."

Darcy was silent for a long moment before he said, "She was the fool."

Fitzwilliam laughed, but it was a hollow sound. "Perhaps. Or perhaps she was simply practical."

A silence settled between them, but Anne's fingers remained curled tightly in her lap. She forced herself to unclench them. "And yet, you stayed."

Fitzwilliam glanced at her, a flicker of something unreadable in his gaze. "Yes."

Anne's heart pounded, but she willed herself to remain composed. "Because you wished to avoid the truth?"

Fitzwilliam hesitated before shaking his head. "Perhaps at first. But now?" He let out a slow breath. "Now, I wonder if the truth is not quite as devastating as I once thought."

Anne's breath caught.

He did not elaborate, but his gaze remained steady on hers for a moment longer than necessary. Then, shaking off whatever had passed between them, Fitzwilliam clapped Darcy on the shoulder with forced lightness.

"Enough of this. We are all getting far too sentimental for my liking," he said with an attempt at his usual levity. "Come now, cousin, surely you're tired of all this introspection. Don't you have a certain lady to win over?"

Darcy huffed a quiet laugh, shaking his head. "That, it seems, is easier said than done."

Anne smirked, though her mind was still reeling. "Then it is fortunate that we have nothing but time."

Fitzwilliam's smile faded just slightly, but he nodded. "Time indeed."

Once Fitzwilliam had left, Darcy turned to Anne. "You knew about her, didn't you?"

Anne, still watching the door where Fitzwilliam had exited, did not immediately respond.

Darcy crossed his arms. "Anne."

She sighed, finally meeting his gaze. "Yes."

Darcy exhaled sharply. "His mother knew she was engaged and chose not to tell him until it was too late?"

"She thought it best," Anne murmured. "That he remain here a little longer, that he not return home too soon. She did not want him to hear the news before it was unavoidable."

Darcy frowned, shaking his head. "And you agreed with that?"

Anne's lips pressed together. "What good would telling him sooner have done? It would not have changed the outcome. The only thing it would have done is force him to grieve in real time instead of allowing him—allowing us all—to sit in this liminal space for just a while longer."

Darcy studied her, something clicking into place. "You wanted him to stay."

Anne looked away, but she did not deny it.

Darcy's eyes narrowed. "Anne—"

"Do not, Darcy." Her voice was quiet, but firm. "Not everything is meant to be spoken aloud."

Darcy hesitated. He had known Anne his entire life, and in all that time, she had never expressed interest in anyone. But now...

"I am not blind, you know," Anne continued, a faint smile curving her lips, though it did not quite reach her eyes. "I know what I am. And I know what I am not. I have always known."

Darcy frowned. "And what is that supposed to mean?"

Anne inhaled deeply, then exhaled slowly. "I am not the sort of woman men look at twice. I am not the kind of woman who inspires grand passions or reckless devotion." She let out a small, humorless laugh. "But I am the kind of woman who listens. Who watches. Who understands far more than people give her credit for."

Darcy felt something twist in his chest.

Anne's voice softened. "He needs time, Darcy. And so do I."

Darcy studied her for a long moment, then finally nodded. "Then we shall give it to you."

Anne smiled—truly smiled this time. "Thank you."

Darcy smirked. "Though I do think we ought to do something to cheer him up."

Anne raised a brow. "And what do you suggest?"

Darcy's grin widened. "I leave that to you. You are, after all, far more cunning than I."

Anne laughed, shaking her head. "That, cousin, is the first intelligent thing you have said all day."

The moment of lightness settled between them, but then Anne's expression grew thoughtful. She traced the edge of the desk with her fingertips before glancing up at Darcy.

"I should not have lashed out at Elizabeth," she admitted, her voice measured. "I let my temper get the better of me. For that, I am sorry." She hesitated before adding, "But I do not regret what I said."

Darcy's jaw tightened slightly, but he did not immediately object.

Anne tilted her head. "You know I am right about some of it."

Darcy let out a slow breath, rolling his shoulders as if to ease a tension he could not quite name. "Perhaps," he said finally. "But I need time to process it."

Anne gave him a knowing look but did not press further. Instead, she inclined her head. "Then I hope you take that time wisely."

Darcy gave her a nod before turning toward the door. "Good night, Anne."

"Good night, Darcy."

Darcy stepped out of Anne's sitting room, the quiet click of the door behind him sounding far louder in the stillness of the corridor. He did not move immediately, instead standing there for a long moment, allowing the weight of the evening's conversation to settle over him.

Anne.

How had he never truly seen her before?

He had always thought of her as fragile, delicate in both body and disposition. She had been a pale, quiet figure seated beside Lady Catherine, forever silent while her mother spoke for her. A woman of little agency, little presence. A woman who had, in all their years of acquaintance, never once contradicted the path others had laid out for her.

Or so he had believed.

But here, in this strange, unrelenting Thursday, Anne had changed. No—Anne had not changed. He had merely failed to see who she had always been.

She was no longer the silent daughter of Rosings' mistress. She had grown into a woman who fought for what she wanted, who had seized control of her own life, despite the formidable shadow of Lady Catherine. He had watched her quietly take command of Rosings, saw her decisions shape its management, witnessed how she had turned fear into strength.

How had he not noticed before?

His steps carried him slowly down the corridor, his thoughts turning over this realization.

The truth was, Anne had always been intelligent. Reserved, yes, but not ignorant of the world around her. Even when she had been unwell, even when Lady Catherine had spoken over her, dismissed her, controlled her, there had been something in her eyes—a spark of understanding.

He thought back to the way she had taken over the accounts, the way she had handled her mother's outbursts with a calm, steady resolve. She had been managing Rosings for months now, though Lady Catherine, locked in her endless cycle of ignorance, remained oblivious to it.

But he saw it now.

Darcy exhaled, shaking his head slightly as he turned down another hallway.

Anne had once been a woman he pitied. A woman whose life had been laid out for her, a life of quiet suffering beneath Lady Catherine's thumb. He had accepted it as inevitable, had never once thought to question it.

But she had.

She had looked at the path set before her and refused it.

It was almost laughable, how blind he had been. All those years, he had assumed she was content with her role, resigned to her mother's will. But she had been waiting—for strength, for opportunity. And now, at last, she had taken it.

A rare, small smile tugged at the corner of his lips.

There was something deeply satisfying in seeing Anne de Bourgh prove them all wrong.

For so long, everyone—including himself—had underestimated her. They had seen only what they expected to see: a quiet, sickly young woman, unfit to take charge of anything. But she had seized control of her own future, and she had done so with a grace and determination that was entirely her own.

Darcy paused at the top of the stairs, looking down the long corridor leading to his chambers.

Anne was still fighting, still learning. And yet, he wondered…

If tomorrow finally came, would she have had enough time?

The thought unsettled him.

What would become of her once this endless day ended? Would she retain the strength she had built, or would time resume its natural course, forcing her back into the helpless figure her mother expected her to be?

No.

She would not allow that.

And neither would he.

For the first time, he realized—Anne did not need rescuing. She never had. All she had ever needed was time.

Darcy exhaled slowly, running a hand over his jaw.

She was right. This day—this strange, repeating day—had been a gift.

To her.

To him.

To them all.

But had it been long enough?

And then… Richard.

Even he had needed time.

Darcy's steps slowed as he reached his chambers, his hand resting on the door handle but not turning it. His thoughts refused to still. He had known Richard his whole life, had counted him as more than a cousin—a brother in all but blood. And yet, even now, he found himself wondering: how had he not noticed?

Richard had been interested in someone, had been hurt, and Darcy had been completely blind to it.

He exhaled sharply, frustration flickering in his chest—not at Richard, but at himself. How had he missed it? How had he, who prided himself on loyalty and duty, failed to see when his closest friend had needed him?

But then… when had he ever had the luxury of seeing?

Since his father's death, he had been drowning. Drowning in responsibilities, in expectations, in burdens that never seemed to lessen. Every time he thought he might tread water, another weight had been cast upon him.

Betrayals.

He swallowed hard, shoving the memories away. Betrayal from those he had once called friends—people who had stood in his father's house, drunk his family's wine, only to turn their backs when it suited them.

But not Richard.

Richard had always been there. Even when duty called him away, even when he was sent to war, even when death loomed too close, he had remained steady.

And Darcy had nearly lost him.

He still remembered the fear. The letters that arrived sporadically, sometimes weeks apart. The terrible, gnawing uncertainty. The knowledge that one day, a letter might come from someone else entirely—bearing Richard's final words instead of his teasing wit.

Even now, the thought made his chest tighten.

And yet, Richard had returned. And when he did, he had stepped back into Darcy's life as though nothing had changed, as though war had not nearly swallowed him whole.

But things had changed.

For both of them.

Darcy had been too wrapped up in his own struggles—first with Georgiana's near ruin, then Elizabeth's rejection, and then the madness of this repeating day—to notice that Richard, too, had suffered in silence. That he had carried his own burdens, his own disappointments.

His cousin had loved someone. Had hoped, even in his limited position, that love might triumph over wealth and status. And then, just like that, it had been taken from him.

Darcy closed his eyes briefly, exhaling through his nose. And he had missed it. Just as he had missed Anne's quiet strength.

His lips pressed into a thin line.

Richard and Anne.

They would do well together.

Richard had always been practical, level-headed despite his teasing nature. Anne was thoughtful, steady in a way that few people recognized. They understood one another in ways others did not.

But not yet.

Anne was right. Now was not the time.

She was still finding her footing, still discovering who she was without her mother's dominance looming over her. Richard, too, needed space—to come to terms with what he had lost and what he might still have.

Yes. They would do well together.

But not yet.

And then there was this—this endless Thursday.

A gift? A torment? A test? He no longer knew.

At first, he had believed it to be a punishment. A cruel irony, trapping him in the worst day of his life. But it was not the worst day, was it? Not anymore. Somewhere along the way, it had changed—he had changed.

And now… now it was supposed to be his chance.

But was it? Was it truly?

His fingers tightened at his sides as he crossed the room, his thoughts shifting, turning in a direction he had resisted for too long.

For months, nay years it seems, now, his admiration for Elizabeth had been like a fire—sudden, consuming, all-encompassing. He had resisted it at first, convinced himself that his attraction was only physical, that his mind was ruled by fleeting desire. But the more time he spent in her presence, the more he realized it was something deeper.

Her wit, her liveliness, her sharpness—all of it fascinated him. He had never met a woman who challenged him as she did, who met his words with such fearless honesty. Even when she was mistaken, she was resolute. Even when she was wounded, she was unyielding.

And yet…

How easily Elizabeth wielded her sharp tongue, her wit. How easily she had cut him down in that first proposal, not just rejecting him, but condemning him utterly.

And yet, he had deserved it, had he not?

Anne had said it tonight—had he ever truly considered Elizabeth's faults? Had he ever allowed himself to see them clearly?

She always assumed the worst of me, he thought.

Even after all this time, after all he had done to prove himself, Elizabeth still hesitated to believe in him. Even now, with all the Thursdays she had begun to remember, her instinct was still to assume that he was in the wrong, that he had to earn her good opinion while she never questioned her own judgments.

Yes, he had made mistakes. He had been proud, thoughtless, at times even arrogant. But was he alone in that?

Had she ever once considered that she might have been wrong about him?

He had seen glimmers of it today. He had watched the confusion in her eyes, the weight of self-reflection settling on her shoulders. But was it enough?

Could they truly be right for each other?

His chest tightened.

He had spent these endless Thursdays trying to change her opinion of him, believing that it was his duty to atone, to prove himself worthy. And yet, today, when Anne had turned the conversation on Elizabeth, she had been furious. Incensed at the mere suggestion that she might also bear responsibility for their predicament.

And why? Because she had never considered the possibility.

That realization should have angered him. Should have left him resentful.

Instead, it terrified him.

Because if she had never considered her own faults—if she was incapable of seeing them—then what did that mean for him?

Was he blind to them because he loved her?

Darcy clenched his jaw, his hands tightening around the arms of his chair.

For the first time in this Thursday, he questioned himself—not as a man seeking redemption, but as a man seeking clarity.

Had he convinced himself that his love for Elizabeth was well-placed simply because it had burned so fiercely?

Had he mistaken his desire for devotion?

His admiration for something deeper?

Was he blinded by love?

The thought was unbearable.

He had always prided himself on his ability to see the truth of things, to weigh reason over passion. But here, with Elizabeth Bennet, he had spent weeks consumed by feelings that he could no longer trust.

He had assumed that it was his responsibility to change—to become the man she could love.

But what if she was not the woman he thought her to be?

What if he had spent all this time trying to prove himself to someone who would never, could never, see him clearly?

The fire crackled in the hearth, but a coldness had settled over him.

For the first time since this day had begun repeating, he did not feel hope.

He felt fear.

Don't hate me for having Darcy doubt Elizabeth! Though I was going to have him have some doubt it wasn't going to be this dramatic. But the other part that is totally off script is Fitzwilliam story. SPOILERS POINT At first I was going to have Darcy and Anne help Fitzwilliam get the poor girl and he gets his HEA then I watched Sense and Sensibility and Colonel Brandon and Maryanne story got in my head as I was racking my brain to finish my story and then I was like Colonel thinks he's too old, Anne thinks she too sick...and well their new story is born but I am not sure if I can write it well with what little time I thought I had left of the story line. I am also debating about wanting to put Lady C on the list. Next chapter Elizabeth's point a view again at least for the start...