Thank you everyone for the comments, I really apricate them. I am glad you are liking the direction of the story...I hope you like this chapter as well.

Chapter 16 Something had Changed

The familiar sound of the clock chiming six woke Darcy as it always did. The faint groan of wind slipping through the slightly open window, the distant bark of a dog, and the subtle chill in the air—all signs that Thursday had begun again. He rose from bed, his movements precise and mechanical, sending John off with his usual instructions to deliver a letter to Georgiana, retrieve the daily medicine for Thomas, and bring back a reply.

After a brisk breakfast where Lady Catherine held court, Darcy exchanged the expected pleasantries with Anne, her knowing gaze giving away her growing awareness of the day's repetitions. Fitzwilliam, still adjusting to his flashes of memory, merely grinned and made his usual sly remarks.

As Darcy prepared to leave for the Bendrick farm, his coat already in hand, Anne and Fitzwilliam intercepted him in the grand hallway.

"And where are you off to in such a hurry, cousin?" Fitzwilliam asked, leaning casually against the banister, a playful glint in his eye.

Darcy sighed, already anticipating the response. "To rescue Violet, as always."

Anne smiled knowingly. "And while you're gallivanting about, Richard and I have plans of our own."

Darcy raised a brow, his curiosity piqued despite himself. "Plans?"

"To speak with Miss Bennet, of course," Anne said matter-of-factly. "We intend to remind her of your many virtues."

Fitzwilliam chuckled. "Not that I'm entirely sure what they are, but Anne here seems confident we'll think of something."

Darcy frowned, his tone skeptical. "And what exactly do you hope to achieve?"

Anne's smile softened, her determination clear. "You've tried courting her directly, Darcy, but perhaps you need some assistance. If she can see you through another's eyes—if she hears how you've been helping the Bendrick family, how you've changed—it might give her pause."

Fitzwilliam clapped Darcy on the shoulder. "Consider us your loyal heralds, singing your praises. Just... not too loudly, of course. Lady Catherine might overhear."

Darcy's lips twitched in the faintest hint of a smile. "And what, precisely, will you tell her?"

Anne tilted her head thoughtfully. "The truth, naturally. That you are dedicated, loyal, and capable of great kindness—even if you hide it beneath all that sternness."

Fitzwilliam grinned. "We'll omit the part where you brood endlessly in your study. No one needs to know that."

Darcy sighed, shaking his head. "Do as you wish. But don't push too hard. Elizabeth... she doesn't take well to being overwhelmed."

Anne's expression softened. "We know. Trust us, Darcy."

With that, Fitzwilliam straightened and offered Anne his arm. "Shall we, Anne? A certain someone awaits."

Anne took his arm with a small smile. "We shall."

Darcy watched them go, a strange mixture of hope and trepidation swelling in his chest. With a final glance at the clock, he set off for the Bendrick farm, his mind racing with possibilities. Would Anne and Fitzwilliam's efforts bear fruit? Would today bring even the smallest change?

As he mounted his horse and rode toward Violet's tree, Darcy couldn't help but feel that the pieces were slowly shifting, aligning themselves in ways he couldn't yet predict.

Darcy approached the familiar tree at a gallop, his eyes already trained on the branch where Violet always perched. Sure enough, she was there, her bright face turned toward him as he arrived. The moment unfolded as it had so many times before: a slip, a startled cry, and Darcy's outstretched arms catching her mid-fall.

As he steadied her, Violet looked up at him, her expression both grateful and urgent. "Thank you, Mr. Darcy," she said, her voice breathless but sure. Then, to his surprise, she added, "You have to leave now. Go find her."

Darcy blinked, momentarily taken aback. "Violet, you've just fallen from a tree. I'll walk you back to your mother as always, and—"

"No," Violet interrupted, her small hands gripping the fabric of his coat. Her eyes, bright and earnest, held a determination far beyond her years. "You don't need to walk me home today. I'll tell Mother about the medicine, and you can send John again. But you—" She hesitated, as if searching for the right words. "You have to go find her."

"Find her?" Darcy echoed, his brow furrowing.

"Miss Elizabeth," Violet said firmly, her tone leaving no room for argument. "You keep looking at her like you're waiting for something. Maybe today's the day you stop waiting."

Darcy stared at her, struck silent by the weight of her words. For a moment, the world around him seemed to still, the usual noise of the countryside fading into the background.

"Go on," Violet urged, giving him a gentle push. "You're always helping me. Now go help yourself."

A small smile tugged at the corners of Darcy's mouth, despite his confusion and hesitation. He set her down carefully and took a step back, still uncertain. "Are you sure you'll be all right?"

"I'm ten, Mr. Darcy," Violet said with a mischievous grin. "I think I can manage the walk to my own house."

Darcy nodded, his mind already racing. "Very well. Thank you, Violet."

"Don't thank me," she called as she began to skip down the path. "Just go!"

Darcy mounted his horse, the reins firm in his hands, and turned toward Rosings with renewed purpose. Violet's words echoed in his mind, and for the first time in what felt like an eternity, he felt a flicker of hope.

Today, perhaps, he wouldn't wait. Darcy rode through the shaded lanes of Rosings' grounds, his thoughts were a tangled mess of Violet's encouragement, Anne's determined optimism, and his own unrelenting doubts.

As he rounded a curve in the path, he heard familiar voices filtering through the rustling leaves. Slowing his horse, Darcy dismounted and tied the reins to a nearby branch, curiosity urging him forward. Quietly, he made his way toward the voices until the trio came into view: Fitzwilliam, Anne, and Elizabeth, walking together beneath the dappled sunlight.

"You see, Miss Bennet," Fitzwilliam was saying, his tone unusually earnest, "Darcy may not be the most sociable of men, but his loyalty and sense of duty are unparalleled. He once traveled halfway across England to ensure a tenant family had what they needed during a particularly harsh winter. Never spoke a word of it to anyone."

Elizabeth tilted her head, her expression equal parts intrigued and skeptical. "That is... surprising," she admitted. "I would not have expected such attentiveness from Mr. Darcy."

Anne smiled softly, her steps slow and deliberate. "Oh, Fitzwilliam has always been like that, though he hides it well. I remember when we were children, and he found a wounded bird near the stables. He spent hours tending to it, even convincing the stable master to help. Of course, he never told anyone—he would have been mortified by the attention—but the bird recovered and flew away one morning, thanks to him."

Elizabeth glanced at Anne, a flicker of something unreadable crossing her face. "I wouldn't have guessed such tenderness," she said quietly.

Darcy stepped forward then, his boots crunching softly on the gravel. All three turned toward him, surprise flashing in Elizabeth's eyes before she quickly composed herself. Fitzwilliam and Anne exchanged knowing glances but said nothing.

"Good morning," Darcy said, his voice steady despite the sudden tension in his chest. He inclined his head to Elizabeth. "Miss Bennet."

"Mr. Darcy," she replied, her tone polite but distant.

"Cousin," Anne said with a small smile. "We were just speaking of you."

"So I gathered," Darcy replied, his gaze flicking briefly to Elizabeth before settling on Fitzwilliam. "I trust I was not the subject of too much ridicule?"

Fitzwilliam grinned. "Not ridicule, no. I was merely extolling your virtues, as any good cousin should."

Darcy's lips twitched in what might have been the beginning of a smile. "How kind of you."

The four of them fell into step together, the conversation resuming with Anne gently guiding the topics. Darcy found himself watching Elizabeth out of the corner of his eye, noting the slight furrow of her brow as she considered Fitzwilliam's and Anne's words.

It wasn't hatred, he thought with a pang of hope. Perhaps confusion. Perhaps something he couldn't yet name. But not hatred.

Darcy felt the thought settle in his mind, a spark of courage igniting in his chest. This moment, walking beside her, felt as though it might offer a sliver of opportunity. He needed to push forward, to test the waters of understanding between them.

As the conversation shifted toward lighter topics—local scenery and the beauty of Rosings' grounds—Darcy seized the moment.

"Miss Bennet," he began, his voice carefully even, "I hope you find the walks here agreeable. The landscape is... quite different from what one might find near Longbourn, is it not?"

Elizabeth glanced at him, her expression thoughtful. "It is different, yes. Though I admit, I find charm in both. There's a wildness at Longbourn that I hold dear, though the formality of Rosings has its own appeal."

He nodded, taking in her words with care. "Wildness has its merits," he ventured, "but structure offers stability, a sense of order that one can depend upon. I find there is value in both."

Elizabeth tilted her head slightly, her curiosity piqued. "Do you now, Mr. Darcy? I would have thought you quite firmly in favor of structure alone."

Darcy allowed himself the faintest of smiles. "Perhaps my views are evolving."

Before he could say more, Anne, walking just ahead with Fitzwilliam, turned her head toward them. Her pale features were composed, but her sharp gaze rested knowingly on Darcy. "Miss Bennet," Anne said lightly, "you must allow me to show you the walled garden tomorrow. It has the most extraordinary collection of roses this season."

Elizabeth smiled, grateful for the shift in conversation. "That sounds delightful, Miss de Bourgh. I would very much like that."

Darcy pressed his lips together, frustration flickering briefly across his face. Anne's timely interjection had effectively stalled his attempt to deepen the moment.

As the group walked on, Fitzwilliam leaned toward Anne and murmured with a playful grin, "Well done, cousin."

Anne merely lifted her chin slightly, her demeanor serene but determined. She would allow her cousin no more missteps today.

Darcy, aware of the intervention, glanced at Anne and met her gaze briefly. There was no reproach in her eyes, only quiet encouragement.

The remainder of the walk was pleasant but uneventful, Darcy retreating into himself to regain his composure while Anne and Fitzwilliam steered the conversation toward safer topics. Elizabeth, meanwhile, remained thoughtful, her earlier confusion lingering but unspoken.

Darcy knew he had miscalculated again. The moment they returned to Rosings, he retreated to his sitting room, hoping for a moment of solitude to gather his thoughts. He wasn't surprised when Anne and Fitzwilliam followed shortly after, their expressions a mixture of concern and determination.

"Darcy," Anne began, settling herself in one of the armchairs, "you're trying too hard. You need to slow down."

Fitzwilliam leaned casually against the doorframe, his arms crossed but his tone light. "She doesn't even remember yesterday, cousin. You can't rush something like this."

Darcy, already tense, turned toward them with a sharp look. "Do you not understand?" he snapped, his voice rising slightly. "Do you not know how long I have lived this day?"

The room fell silent for a moment, Anne and Fitzwilliam exchanging a glance. Darcy exhaled, running a hand through his hair before pacing to the window.

"Every morning," he said, his tone more measured but still heavy with frustration, "I wake to the same chime of the clock, the same bark of the dog in the distance, the same wind rattling the same slightly open window. I've lived this Thursday more times than I can count. I've tried everything—every approach, every gesture, every word. Nothing changes. Nothing sticks. And now you tell me to slow down?"

Anne's voice was calm, but there was an edge of firmness to it. "Yes, Darcy, we're telling you to slow down. Because what you've been doing isn't working."

Fitzwilliam stepped forward, his tone gentler than usual. "Look, I get it. You're desperate to make progress, to break this cycle. But think about it—if you've tried everything, maybe what you need is to do less. Stop pushing so hard."

Darcy turned to face them, his frustration evident. "And what do you propose? That I sit idly by and hope she magically changes her opinion of me?"

Anne shook her head, her expression softening. "No. What I'm saying is that you can't force a connection. Elizabeth is... she's complicated, Darcy. She needs time to process, to understand. Even if she doesn't remember, you can still leave an impression. But it has to be genuine. Not rushed, not calculated. Just you."

Fitzwilliam smirked slightly. "Well said, Anne. And honestly, cousin, the 'just you' part is key. Stop acting like you're on a battlefield. She's not your enemy."

Darcy sighed, the weight of their words settling on him. He looked back out the window, his mind racing with possibilities.

"I don't know if I can do this," he admitted quietly.

Anne rose gracefully, crossing the room to place a hand on Darcy's arm. Her voice was soft but steady, imbued with quiet determination. "Yes, you can. And you will. But you need to trust us—and, more importantly, trust yourself. Take it one step at a time."

Darcy met her gaze, his frustration simmering just beneath the surface. "One step at a time? Anne, I've taken countless steps—countless wrong steps. I've tried everything."

Anne's expression softened, though her tone remained firm. "Darcy, think about what has already changed. I'm starting to remember pieces of this day. So is Fitzwilliam. What was different about how you approached us?"

Darcy frowned, his mind racing back over the endless repetitions. "I didn't push," he admitted reluctantly. "With you, I simply... listened. And with Fitzwilliam, I was honest. For once, I didn't try to control the outcome."

"Exactly," Anne said with a small smile. "You didn't push, and that's when things started to shift. You need to do the same with Elizabeth. Let her see the real you, but let her come to her own conclusions."

Fitzwilliam, who had been leaning against the doorframe, straightened and chimed in. "Anne's right. Think about it, cousin—when have you ever won someone over by charging at them full force? You're not a cavalryman, Darcy. Subtlety, patience—that's your new strategy."

Darcy exhaled, running a hand through his hair. "It's not easy. I've spent so long trying to undo my mistakes."

Anne gave Darcy's arm a reassuring squeeze. "She's coming to tea today, Darcy. You'll have another chance—but you have to slow down. Think. What did you do differently this morning?"

Darcy's jaw tightened as he considered her words. "I didn't push," he admitted reluctantly. "I let things unfold naturally. With Fitzwilliam and you, I... listened. I didn't try to control what you remembered or force an outcome."

"Exactly," Anne said with a small, encouraging smile. "That's what worked. Elizabeth needs the same approach. Let her see who you are without overwhelming her. Give her room to understand you."

Fitzwilliam, who had been lounging against the doorframe, straightened and gave a quick nod. "Anne's right. Charging in doesn't suit you, Darcy. Subtlety, patience—that's what you need now. Trust us. Trust yourself."

Darcy turned to his cousin, frustration flickering in his eyes. "Do you not understand how long I've been living this day? How many chances I've already squandered?"

Anne interrupted before Fitzwilliam could reply, her voice calm but firm. "We do understand, Darcy. But this is not about how many chances you've had—it's about what you're learning. Look at the progress you've made today. You've already planted the seeds for something different. Don't undo it by rushing."

Fitzwilliam grinned. "And hey, if you really think you'll flounder, Anne and I will handle the heavy lifting. We're excellent matchmakers, aren't we, Anne?"

Anne rolled her eyes but smiled faintly. "What Richard means is that you're not alone in this, Darcy. We're here to help. But you have to meet us halfway."

Darcy let out a long sigh, his tension easing slightly under their unwavering support. "She'll be here soon," he murmured, glancing toward the clock. "I don't even know where to begin."

Anne stepped back, her expression resolute. "Begin by listening, Darcy. Let her set the tone. You don't have to prove anything today—just be yourself."

"And keep the Wickham talk to a minimum," Fitzwilliam added with a wink. "That's not exactly a winning topic."

Darcy shook his head, a reluctant smile tugging at the corner of his lips. "Fine. I'll try it your way."

Anne nodded approvingly. "Good. Now go prepare yourself. You've got time to make this day different."

Darcy watched as they left the room, their confidence in him leaving him both heartened and apprehensive. Today would be another chance. And for the first time, he allowed himself to believe it might truly count.

The tea began much like any other, with Lady Catherine holding court at the center of the room, her voice commanding and relentless. Elizabeth, seated near Anne, attempted polite conversation, but each time her words began to take shape, Lady Catherine or Mr. Collins interrupted, diverting the attention back to themselves. Darcy, observing the scene from across the room, clenched his jaw, frustration simmering beneath his composed exterior.

Elizabeth's poise never wavered, though Darcy noticed the faintest flicker of irritation in her eyes as Lady Catherine embarked on yet another lecture about the proper way to manage an estate. Anne, sitting beside her, glanced occasionally toward Darcy, as if silently urging him to be patient.

When the tea finally concluded, Elizabeth rose to take her leave, offering polite thanks to Lady Catherine. As was customary, Darcy stepped forward, his heart pounding with anticipation.

"Miss Bennet," he said, inclining his head, "may I have the honor of escorting you back to the parsonage?"

Elizabeth hesitated for only a moment before nodding. "Thank you, Mr. Darcy. That would be most kind."

Before they could depart, Anne spoke up, her voice calm but tinged with determination. "Perhaps I could join you, Elizabeth. A bit of air might do me good."

Lady Catherine's sharp gaze snapped to her daughter. "Nonsense, Anne. You're far too delicate for an evening walk. Remain here where it is warm and safe."

Anne's lips pressed into a thin line, but she nodded, yielding to her mother's decree. Fitzwilliam stepped forward, clearing his throat. "I'll accompany them, then. Can't have Elizabeth walking alone with Darcy. What would the neighbors think?"

Elizabeth arched a brow, a hint of amusement in her expression, while Darcy shot his cousin a withering look.

Lady Catherine waved a dismissive hand. "Very well, Colonel. But do not keep Miss Bennet out too late. She's already had quite enough excitement for one day."

With that, the group departed, Darcy walking beside Elizabeth while Fitzwilliam lingered a few steps behind. The path was quiet, the cool evening air carrying the faint scent of roses from the nearby gardens.

Darcy glanced at Elizabeth, searching for the right words to say. She had been quiet at tea, her demeanor polite but reserved. He longed to bridge the gap between them, but every opening he considered seemed fraught with risk.

Fitzwilliam cleared his throat, the sound deliberates and faintly teasing. Darcy shot him a glare over his shoulder, but Elizabeth smiled faintly, her posture relaxing just a touch.

"You have a very devoted family, Mr. Darcy," she said at last, breaking the silence. "Colonel Fitzwilliam seems particularly fond of you."

Darcy hesitated, then inclined his head. "He is... unwavering in his support, though not always in the manner I might prefer."

Elizabeth's smile grew, though her gaze remained forward. "I can see that."

The rest of the walk passed in relative quiet, punctuated only by occasional remarks from Fitzwilliam, who seemed content to observe more than participate. Darcy's frustration lingered, but he knew better than to push. For now, he would take the progress he had made, small as it seemed, and hope that tomorrow would bring another chance to draw closer.

When they reached the parsonage, Elizabeth paused, her expression thoughtful. "Thank you for the escort, Mr. Darcy."

"The pleasure was mine, Miss Bennet," Darcy replied, bowing slightly.

Fitzwilliam offered a jaunty wave before the two men turned back toward Rosings. As they walked, Darcy's thoughts churned, his emotions a mixture of hope and regret.

"You're learning, Darcy," Fitzwilliam said after a moment, his tone surprisingly gentle. "Give it time."

As Darcy and Fitzwilliam returned to Rosings, the faint twilight casting long shadows across the estate, Darcy reached into his coat pocket and pulled out the letter from Georgiana. The familiar feel of the parchment, slightly crinkled from the journey, brought him a small measure of comfort.

"I'll leave you to that," Fitzwilliam said with a grin, nodding toward the letter. "Seems your sister knows how to lift your spirits better than anyone." He clapped Darcy on the shoulder and disappeared toward his chambers, leaving Darcy alone.

He made his way to his sitting room, settling into his favorite chair by the fire. Unfolding the letter, he took a steadying breath before reading.

Dearest Brother,

I received your last letter with immense joy, as always. Your words bring me comfort, though I wish I could offer you the same in return. I think of you often, imagining your days at Rosings. The estate sounds as grand as ever, though I do hope Lady Catherine isn't being too overbearing.

I must admit, I am curious about the things you've mentioned—your newfound efforts to help the tenants and your acquaintance with Miss Bennet. It seems she is quite remarkable, and though you've not said as much, I sense she has left an impression on you.

Fitzwilliam, do not hide your good deeds in shadows. Allow them to be seen, to speak for themselves. Sometimes, people need to know the full measure of one's heart before they can understand it. If Miss Bennet values kindness and honor as you say, then let her see those qualities in you. Tell her what you've done, not to boast but to share your intent.

Lastly, I cannot wait for Saturday when we might see each other again. Until then, write to me, brother. Your letters are my brightest joy. I miss you more than words can express.

Your loving sister,
Georgiana

Darcy's chest tightened as he reread her words, particularly the part about allowing his deeds to speak. Georgiana had always been insightful, her understanding of people far deeper than he gave her credit for.

He leaned back, staring at the flickering firelight. Perhaps she was right. He had spent so long trying to fix things silently, hoping actions alone would mend what was broken. But maybe Elizabeth needed to know, needed to understand the intent behind his efforts.

A flicker of hope ignited within him, fragile but persistent. Folding the letter carefully, he tucked it back into his pocket. Tomorrow, he decided, he would try to follow Georgiana's advice.

The morning sun streamed through the windows of Rosings, casting golden hues across the breakfast room. Darcy, Anne, and Fitzwilliam sat at one end of the long table, speaking in hushed tones as Lady Catherine presided over her meal from the head.

Darcy's gaze was sharp, his thoughts already spinning with possibilities. Georgiana's words from her letter echoed in his mind: Allow your deeds to speak. Share your intent. He'd mulled them over all night, weighing them against the advice Anne and Fitzwilliam had given him.

Anne broke the silence, her voice calm but purposeful. "So, what is the plan today, Fitzwilliam? What will you do differently?"

Darcy glanced at her, still unsure how much of her fragmented memories influenced her determination. "I was thinking of mentioning some of the work with the Bendricks or perhaps how I've reached out to Gardiner Imports for supplies. Georgiana suggested being forthright, letting her see more of who I am rather than what she assumes."

Fitzwilliam nodded thoughtfully, sipping his tea. "Not a bad idea. Elizabeth values honesty. But tread carefully. If it feels like you're boasting, she'll see right through it."

Darcy frowned, his brow furrowing. "I don't intend to boast."

"Good," Anne interjected with a faint smile. "Because that's the last thing you need. Elizabeth needs to see that you're genuine, that your actions are rooted in kindness rather than pride."

"But how do I approach it?" Darcy asked, his tone tinged with frustration. "It's not as though I can simply list all I've done and expect her to be impressed."

Fitzwilliam grinned. "Perhaps not a list, but you could weave it naturally into the conversation. Talk about the Bendricks if she brings up local families or health remedies. Mention Gardiner if the topic of her uncle arises. Let her draw the conclusions herself."

Anne nodded in agreement. "And for heaven's sake, don't rush into anything too personal. Give her time to warm to you."

Darcy hesitated, then gave a small nod. "Very well. I'll try to follow your advice."

"Good," Fitzwilliam said, his tone lightening. "And I'll keep my usual charm at the ready, just in case you need a bit of support."

Darcy shot him a wry look but said nothing. Anne, ever perceptive, tilted her head. "Before you leave to rescue Violet, let's review what went wrong yesterday. You pushed her too quickly, didn't you?"

"Yes," Darcy admitted, a hint of irritation creeping into his voice. "But she also seemed... unsettled. It wasn't hatred, but it was enough to make her wary of me."

"That's progress," Anne pointed out gently. "If she's not angry or cold, there's a chance to build something better today. Start small."

Darcy stood, brushing his coat into place. "I'll do my best. And you?"

Anne exchanged a glance with Fitzwilliam, who smirked. "We'll continue the charm offensive," he said. "Extolling your virtues, carefully omitting anything about Bingley or Wickham, of course."

Anne added with a sly smile, "And we'll ensure she arrives at tea without apprehension. You just focus on the walk."

Darcy gave them both a curt nod before stepping out. As he mounted his horse and set off to save Violet once again, a flicker of determination stirred within him. Today, he resolved, would be different.

Darcy slowed his horse as he approached the path where he knew Elizabeth often walked. In the distance, he saw Anne and Fitzwilliam standing with her, their conversation animated. For a moment, he hesitated, unsure if he should join them or hang back. But then he caught the sound of Anne's voice carrying through the air, and curiosity propelled him forward.

"...it's the tea I was telling you about," Anne was saying, her tone light but tinged with enthusiasm. "It's been such a relief to have something that truly helps. And Fitzwilliam—Darcy, I mean—he's been so thoughtful, ensuring that John picks up what I need from Gardiner Imports."

Elizabeth's brows lifted, her expression tinged with surprise. "Gardiner Imports? You mean my uncle's business?"

Anne smiled. "Yes, indeed. Your uncle's reputation precedes him. Darcy mentioned how efficient and reliable the service is. I imagine it's no small feat to maintain such high standards."

Darcy dismounted and walked toward them, his boots crunching softly against the gravel. Fitzwilliam noticed him first, offering a knowing grin. "Ah, here comes the man himself."

Elizabeth turned to see Darcy, her gaze sharp but not unfriendly. "Mr. Darcy, I was just hearing about your patronage of my uncle's business. I must admit, I'm surprised."

Darcy inclined his head, his expression reserved. "Your uncle's business is exemplary, Miss Bennet. I rely on Gardiner Imports not just for the tea that aids Anne, but for a variety of essentials. It is a privilege to support such excellence."

Elizabeth blinked, clearly taken aback by his praise. "I see. I suppose I always thought you..." She trailed off, catching herself.

"Thought I looked down upon tradesmen?" Darcy asked, his tone even but his gaze intent.

Elizabeth hesitated, her cheeks coloring slightly. "Perhaps," she admitted. "You've never seemed particularly... interested in matters of commerce."

Fitzwilliam chuckled, stepping into the conversation with practiced ease. "Oh, Darcy is full of surprises, Miss Bennet. He's not one to boast, but he values quality above all. And anyone who's anyone knows that Gardiner Imports provides the best of the best."

Elizabeth glanced at Fitzwilliam, then back at Darcy, her expression pensive. "I must confess, this is unexpected."

Anne, sensing the shift, added gently, "Mr. Darcy isn't as predictable as he seems at first, Miss Bennet. He has a way of surprising those who take the time to know him."

Darcy felt a flicker of warmth at Anne's defense but remained silent, letting the moment settle. Elizabeth's lips pressed together thoughtfully, and for a moment, he saw something in her eyes—curiosity, perhaps, or a tentative reevaluation.

"Well," Elizabeth said after a pause, her tone measured. "It seems there is much I do not know about you, Mr. Darcy."

Darcy inclined his head, his voice quiet. "I hope, Miss Bennet, that in time I might remedy that."

Elizabeth didn't respond immediately, but her expression softened ever so slightly. "Perhaps."

Fitzwilliam, "So, where were you this morning, cousin?"

Darcy shot Fitzwilliam a warning look, his lips pressing into a thin line. "I had some matters to attend to, as always."

Anne, ever perceptive, tilted her head with a knowing smile. "Matters involving a certain tree, perhaps?"

Darcy stiffened, his eyes darting toward her. "I don't know what you mean."

Anne ignored his protest and turned to Elizabeth, her tone light but purposeful. "Miss Bennet, you might find this interesting. This morning, Darcy rode out to help one of Rosings' tenants—a little girl named Violet who has a talent for finding trouble. She climbed a tree, as she often does, and Darcy had to help her down."

Elizabeth's brows lifted in surprise. "Truly? That seems... unexpected."

Fitzwilliam grinned, clearly delighted to join in. "Oh, it's quite the sight, I assure you. Our noble cousin swoops in like a storybook hero. Violet positively adores him—or so I gather from her constant smiles."

Darcy sighed, his discomfort evident. "She's a spirited child, but reckless. If I didn't intervene, she might seriously injure herself. It's hardly worth mentioning."

Elizabeth's expression softened, her initial surprise giving way to curiosity. "You make it sound as if this is not the first time you've come to her aid."

Darcy hesitated, then nodded. "She does seem drawn to that particular tree. And while I admire her courage, it often leads to... precarious situations."

Elizabeth's lips quirked upward. "It seems Violet is fortunate to have such a diligent protector. I must admit, Mr. Darcy, I wouldn't have guessed you were the type to concern yourself with such matters."

Anne chimed in, her voice warm. "He's always been like this—quietly taking care of those around him, often without them realizing it. Did you know, Miss Bennet, that at just twenty-two, he took over the management of Pemberley after his father's passing?"

Elizabeth turned her curious gaze to Darcy, her expression unreadable. "At twenty-two? That must have been a great burden to bear."

Darcy shifted uncomfortably, his instinct to brush off the praise battling with his resolve to heed Georgiana's advice and allow his actions to speak. "It was my duty," he said simply. "Pemberley was not just an estate—it was my family's legacy. Ensuring its prosperity and care was a responsibility I could not shirk."

Anne nodded, her voice warm. "And not just Pemberley. Rosing as well, in many ways. While my mother manages the estate in her own... particular style, Darcy has often stepped in to assist with matters that required a steady hand. He's always been someone you could depend on."

Fitzwilliam grinned, adding with mock solemnity, "Quite the paragon, isn't he? But it's true. Darcy's care for his tenants, his family, and his friends is unmatched—though he'd rather eat his own cravat than admit it aloud."

Elizabeth glanced at Darcy, her gaze searching. "I see. It would seem I've misjudged you, Mr. Darcy. Or perhaps you are full of surprises."

Darcy met her eyes, a flicker of warmth in his usually stoic demeanor. "Perhaps we all have facets that are not immediately apparent, Miss Bennet."

Anne smiled at Elizabeth. "Pemberley's tenants speak highly of him, you know. He ensures their well-being as if they were part of his family."

Elizabeth tilted her head, her expression thoughtful. "I see I shall have to reconsider some of my opinions."

Fitzwilliam clapped his hands together. "Then I'd say this walk is already a success. Shall we continue before Darcy's humility overwhelms us all?"

Elizabeth laughed softly, and Darcy allowed himself a rare moment of relief.

Elizabeth's laughter faded as they continued their walk, the rhythm of their steps falling into a comfortable silence. Darcy's thoughts swirled, caught between relief at the morning's success and the constant weight of uncertainty. Anne and Fitzwilliam had strategically drifted behind, leaving him alone with Elizabeth.

He stole a glance at her, hoping to discern her mood. She seemed pensive, her gaze fixed ahead on the rolling hill in the distance. The sunlight framed her face, but instead of the usual sparkle in her eyes, Darcy noticed a growing tension.

Her steps slowed, and her brow furrowed. She pressed a hand to her temple, her expression contorting as if she were battling an invisible force. Darcy frowned, his steps faltering as he turned fully toward her.

"Miss Bennet?" he asked cautiously.

Elizabeth halted altogether, her breathing quickening. Her other hand clenched at her side, her face shifting from confusion to something more visceral—pain, panic, and shame.

Darcy took a step closer, alarmed now. "Elizabeth, are you unwell? Shall I—"

But before he could finish, she let out a sharp gasp, her eyes squeezing shut as though trying to block out something unbearable. Her entire body trembled, and she staggered back a step.

"No... no, no," she muttered, her voice cracking. "Not again... I... oh, how could I?"

Darcy reached out instinctively, his hand brushing her arm to steady her. "Elizabeth, what's wrong? Please, tell me."

Her eyes flew open, wide with shock and raw emotion. She stared at him, her lips parted as if she wanted to speak but couldn't form the words. Tears welled in her eyes, her face pale and stricken.

"I've... I've said no," she whispered hoarsely, the words tumbling out as though dragged from her soul. "Again and again... and again. Always no. Always... oh, how cruel I've been!"

Darcy froze, his heart pounding as her words sank in. She remembered. Somehow, in this moment, she was remembering.

Elizabeth clutched her head, her knees threatening to give way. "I... I didn't understand. I thought... but now—" Her voice broke, and she swayed.

Darcy moved swiftly, his arms steadying her. "Elizabeth, please, calm yourself. What are you remembering? Tell me."

Her gaze met his, wide and haunted. "Everything," she choked out. "Everything, Mr. Darcy. Every time... every rejection. Over and over. I—"

Her voice faltered as tears slipped down her cheeks. Darcy's chest tightened, a strange mix of hope and anguish coursing through him.

"Elizabeth," he said softly, his voice firm but gentle, "you're overwhelmed. Take a moment. I'm here."

But her breaths came quicker, panic overtaking her. She shook her head violently, as though trying to dislodge the memories clawing at her mind.

"I need—" she began, but before she could finish, her knees buckled. Darcy caught her, his arms tightening around her as she collapsed against him.

"Elizabeth!" he exclaimed, his own heart racing now.

From behind, he heard Fitzwilliam's alarmed voice and Anne calling out, but he couldn't look away from Elizabeth's ashen face.

Her head rested against his shoulder, her breathing shallow but steady as her body finally stilled in his grasp. Darcy held her as if she were the most fragile thing in the world, his mind spinning with questions and a single, undeniable certainty:

Something had changed.

So...Elizabeth remembers...thoughts? How do you think it's going to go next?