Until He Gets It Right Chapter 17 A New Perspective, a pride and prejudice fanfic

I know last chapter I left you with a cliff hanger, and honestly I felt I was once again stuck in my writing because so far the story has been from Darcy point of view but I wanted you to have insight into Elizabeth's now that she is remembering so I made a choice from here on out we will be switching point of views...this chapter starts on the day she remembers and its from her perspective. I hope you enjoy it!

Chapter 17 A New Perspective

A rooster crowed sharply in the distance, breaking the stillness of the morning and pulling Elizabeth Bennet from the embrace of sleep. She blinked against the soft morning light filtering through the curtains, a faint chill in the air brushing her skin. A gust of wind rattled the panes, the sound sending an inexplicable shiver down her spine.

For a moment, she lay still, her thoughts clouded by the remnants of a dream that lingered just out of reach. The sensation of urgency, of something important slipping through her fingers, nagged at her. She tried to grasp at the fleeting threads of the dream, but they dissolved as quickly as they had come.

"What was it?" she murmured to herself, frowning.

But no matter how hard she tried, the answer eluded her. Sighing, she pushed the covers aside and swung her feet to the floor. The cool wood sent a shock up her legs, grounding her in the present.

Shaking off the disquieting feeling, she dressed for the day and made her way to the small breakfast table where the rest of the household was gathering.

Mariah Lucas greeted her with a cheery smile, already halfway through her bread and jam. Charlotte, practical and composed as ever, was pouring tea, her calm demeanor a stark contrast to Elizabeth's unsettled mood.

And then there was Mr. Collins.

Elizabeth's appetite wavered as she watched him. He shoveled food into his mouth with enthusiasm, speaking through mouthfuls about Lady Catherine's latest directives for the estate. The sight was both revolting and sadly familiar, yet six weeks of exposure had not been enough to desensitize her.

"Lady Catherine," Mr. Collins declared, spraying crumbs in his excitement, "has shown such remarkable wisdom in her suggestions for the vegetable garden. Truly, her insight knows no bounds!"

Elizabeth exchanged a glance with Charlotte, who managed to conceal her amusement with a polite nod. Mariah stifled a giggle behind her teacup.

After breakfast, Mr. Collins excused himself, donning his hat with an air of self-importance as he departed for Rosings to make his morning reports. Mariah retreated upstairs to pen a letter home, and Charlotte mentioned her plans to tend to the garden.

"What about you, Lizzy?" Charlotte asked, tying her bonnet beneath her chin.

Elizabeth glanced toward the window, where the bright morning sun beckoned. "I think I shall take a walk. The fresh air might do me some good."

Charlotte smiled knowingly. "Enjoy yourself. But do try not to wander too far. You know how Mr. Collins frets when you're late for tea."

Elizabeth laughed softly. "I shall endeavor to return in a timely manner, though I make no promises."

Wrapping her shawl around her shoulders, she stepped outside, the brisk morning breeze brushing against her cheeks. The nagging feeling from her dream had not completely faded, but she pushed it aside, focusing instead on the path ahead.

The countryside stretched before her, the vibrant greens of spring beginning to peek through winter's remnants. Elizabeth inhaled deeply, letting the air clear her mind. She had no particular destination in mind, but she relished the freedom of walking alone, unencumbered by conversation or expectation.

She thought of pulling out Jane's letter and re-pursuing it but the dream she had last night left a nagging feeling within her. As she was in contemplation, she saw Colonel Fitzwilliam and Miss. De Berg walking towards her.

"I did not know before that you ever walked this way." She greeted them both.

"I have been making the tour of the park," Colonel Fitzwilliam replied, "And Anne here thought to come with me to keep me out of trouble."

Elizabeth laughed, and indicated the direction they should walk. "Colonel, do you certainly leave Kent on Saturday?"

There was a slight hesitation on Fitzwilliam's part. "Yes-if things go as planned, I do hope we will leave on Saturday."

Elizabeth was not sure what to make of the hesitation, Anne sensing this took up the conversation in a different direction. "Miss. Bennet, I want to thank you for the advice you gave Mrs. Colin once about your herbal remedies. They have cause me to do my own research for my own condition. "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 steps faltered for a moment as her brows lifted in surprise. Gardiner Imports? she thought, her mind immediately jumping to her uncle's business. She looked at Anne, trying to keep her voice neutral. "Gardiner Imports? You mean my uncle's business?"

Anne smiled softly, her sincerity evident. "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."

Elizabeth felt a strange flutter in her chest, a mix of pride for her uncle and confusion at Darcy's involvement. Mr. Darcy? Supporting a tradesman's business? It was difficult to reconcile this information with the proud, aloof man she thought she knew.

As if summoned by her thoughts, Darcy's figure appeared in the distance, his tall frame unmistakable as he approached on horseback. He dismounted with an easy grace, his boots crunching softly against the gravel.

Fitzwilliam noticed him first, a knowing grin spreading across his face. "Ah, here comes the man himself."

Elizabeth turned, her sharp gaze meeting Darcy's. She wasn't sure what to expect—aloofness, perhaps, or a guarded indifference. But his expression, though reserved, was not unkind.

"Mr. Darcy," she began, her voice steady despite her swirling thoughts. "I was just hearing about your patronage of my uncle's business. I must admit, I'm surprised."

Darcy inclined his head, his tone as measured as ever. "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, momentarily at a loss for words. Excellence? Privilege? This was not the Darcy she had come to know—or rather, the Darcy she had believed him to be. The man who had insulted her family and her connections now spoke with genuine respect for her uncle's work.

"I see," she said carefully, her mind racing. "I suppose I always thought you..." She trailed off, catching herself. What are you doing, Elizabeth? You sound like a child grasping for an argument.

Darcy's gaze didn't waver. "Thought I looked down upon tradesmen?" he asked, his tone even but his eyes intent.

Her cheeks flushed slightly, caught between embarrassment and defiance. "Perhaps," she admitted. "You've never seemed particularly... interested in matters of commerce."

Fitzwilliam chuckled, stepping in with his usual 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's lips twitched at his playful tone, but her mind remained focused on Darcy. She glanced between the two men, then back at Darcy, her expression pensive. How much of him have I misunderstood? Or is this simply another facet of his arrogance—a need to secure the finest for his cousin?

"I must confess," she said finally, her voice softer, "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."

Elizabeth's lips pressed together thoughtfully, trying to make sense of this new portrayal of the man she thought she had figured out. Surprising? Was that even possible for Mr. Darcy? She caught a flicker of something in his gaze—was it discomfort? Gratitude? It was hard to tell.

"Well," Elizabeth said at last, her tone measured as she met his gaze, "it seems there is much I do not know about you, Mr. Darcy."

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

The quiet sincerity in his tone startled her. Elizabeth hesitated, unsure how to respond. He sounded almost... earnest. Was this another side of him I had overlooked, or was it merely another layer of his inscrutability?

"Perhaps," she said finally, her voice softer than she intended.

The air between them shifted, but before the moment could deepen, Fitzwilliam chimed in with his usual levity. "And where, dear cousin, have you been this morning? Another heroic mission, perhaps?"

Darcy shot him a sharp look, his lips tightening. "I had some matters to attend to, as always."

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

Elizabeth's brows lifted at Anne's comment, her interest piqued. She glanced at Darcy, whose posture stiffened immediately. "I don't know what you mean," he said, his tone clipped.

Anne ignored his protest and turned to Elizabeth with a conspiratorial smile. "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 surprise was evident, though she tried to hide it. "Truly? That seems... unexpected."

Fitzwilliam grinned, 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."

Elizabeth looked back at Darcy, her expression a mix of disbelief and intrigue. Darcy? A storybook hero? The image was so at odds with the man I thought I knew.

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

Elizabeth tilted her head, studying him. "You make it sound as if this is not the first time you've come to her aid."

Darcy hesitated, his discomfort deepening, but he 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 in amusement, though her mind raced. This didn't sound like the man who once slighted me at the Meryton assembly. Was this kindness a fleeting moment, or had I truly been mistaken in my judgment of him?

"It seems Violet is fortunate to have such a diligent protector," she said, her tone teasing but not unkind. "I must admit, Mr. Darcy, I wouldn't have guessed you were the type to concern yourself with such matters."

Darcy held her gaze, his expression unreadable. "Sometimes, Miss Bennet," he said quietly, "it is the smallest matters that require the greatest care."

The words lingered in the air, and Elizabeth found herself uncharacteristically at a loss for a reply. What am I to make of this man? she thought, her confusion deepening.

Elizabeth's mind churned as Anne spoke. He's always been like this—quietly taking care of those around him. The words rang with sincerity, but Elizabeth struggled to reconcile them with her own image of Mr. Darcy. Could this reserved, imposing man truly be so selfless?

"Did you know, Miss Bennet, that at just twenty-two, he took over the management of Pemberley after his father's passing?" Anne continued, her tone warm.

Elizabeth turned her gaze toward Darcy, studying him. Twenty-two? So young. And yet, he had taken on such a tremendous responsibility. How could I have dismissed him as simply arrogant when he clearly carried such weight?

"At twenty-two?" Elizabeth asked, her voice tinged with curiosity. "That must have been a great burden to bear."

Darcy shifted uncomfortably, and Elizabeth noted the flicker of unease in his expression. He doesn't enjoy praise, does he? He deflects it, hides behind his reserved exterior.

"It was my duty," Darcy replied simply, his tone measured. "Pemberley was not just an estate—it was my family's legacy. Ensuring its prosperity and care was a responsibility I could not shirk."

Elizabeth hesitated, his words challenging her assumptions. Duty. Legacy. Responsibility. How did I miss this side of him?

Anne nodded, her voice carrying a quiet admiration. "And not just Pemberley. Rosings 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."

Elizabeth's gaze flicked toward Darcy again, her thoughts tangled. Dependable? Caring? These are not qualities I associated with him. Have I been entirely blind?

Fitzwilliam grinned, his teasing tone breaking the 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 couldn't help the faint smile that tugged at her lips. "I see. It would seem I've misjudged you, Mr. Darcy. Or perhaps you are full of surprises."

Darcy met her gaze, and for the first time, Elizabeth noticed a flicker of something warmer in his expression. Was that vulnerability? Did he want me to see this side of him?

"Perhaps we all have facets that are not immediately apparent, Miss Bennet," he said quietly.

Elizabeth tilted her head, her curiosity deepening. "Perhaps," she replied, her voice soft.

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

Elizabeth felt a pang of something she couldn't quite identify—shame, perhaps, at how thoroughly she had judged him. "I see I shall have to reconsider some of my opinions."

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

Elizabeth laughed softly, the sound surprising even herself. A success? Perhaps. But my thoughts are no clearer than before.

As the group moved forward, Anne and Fitzwilliam strategically lagged behind, leaving Elizabeth walking alone with Darcy. The silence stretched between them, but for once, it felt less strained and more... contemplative.

Elizabeth glanced at Darcy from the corner of her eye. He's not the man I thought him to be. But who is he, truly? And why does this knowledge unsettle me so deeply?

Her steps faltered as a flicker of something unusual coursed through her—a sensation she couldn't quite place. A pressure built in her chest, and flashes of disconnected images danced in her mind.

Her brow furrowed as she pressed a hand to her temple. What is this? Why do I feel as though I've been here before?

"Miss Bennet?" Darcy's voice broke through her haze, cautious yet steady.

Elizabeth halted, her breathing quickening. The flashes intensified—conversations, emotions, a whirlwind of rejection and regret.

Her lips parted as a sharp gasp escaped her. "No... no, no," she murmured, her voice trembling. "Not again... I... oh, how could I?"

Darcy stepped closer, his concern evident. "Elizabeth, are you unwell? Shall I—"

Before he could finish, Elizabeth staggered back, her hands clutching her head. The words—over and over—each one cutting deeper. Always no. Always rejection. Always him.

Her eyes flew open, locking onto Darcy's. Tears welled up as her voice cracked. "I've... I've said no," she whispered hoarsely, her voice breaking under the weight of her realizations. "Again and again... and again. Always no. Always... oh, how cruel I've been!"

Darcy froze, his expression shifting from alarm to something else—understanding. "You remember," he said, his voice low and steady.

Elizabeth clutched her head, the memories suffocating her. "I didn't understand. I thought... but now—" Her voice broke entirely, and she swayed, the strength draining from her limbs.

Darcy caught her as her knees buckled, his arms wrapping around her protectively. "Elizabeth," he murmured, his tone both firm and tender. "You're overwhelmed. Take a moment. I'm here."

The tears came unbidden, slipping down her cheeks as she leaned into him, her body trembling. What have I done? What have I said? How could I have been so blind?

From behind, she vaguely heard Fitzwilliam and Anne's voices, but they felt distant, unimportant. All she could focus on was the man holding her steady, the weight of his presence grounding her even as her mind spiraled.

Something has changed, she thought, her tears soaking into his coat. But why do I feel as though everything has already happened before?

Elizabeth's world was a whirl of chaos, her mind spinning as she pieced together fragments of memory that made no sense and yet felt unbearably real. Darcy's arms cradled her as he carried her toward the parsonage, his stride steady despite the tremor she felt in his chest where her head rested. Her body was limp, but her mind roared, waves of emotions crashing over her, threatening to drown her.

I said no. Over and over. I hurt him again and again. The weight of her refusals pressed on her chest, her breaths shallow and uneven. She clutched at his coat unconsciously, her fingers trembling. Wickham, Jane, Bingley... oh, what have I done? What did I say?

Images swirled behind her closed eyelids—Darcy's face etched with pain as he spoke words she had never heard but somehow knew, their clarity cutting through her confusion.

"I can no longer bear the pain of unrequited love," he said softly, his voice breaking. "I have tried to forget you, I have tried to be better... but it is all for naught. I make one request of you, Miss Bennet—though you could never bring yourself to care for me as I have loved you, I beg you to care for my sister. The letter will explain everything."

Elizabeth squeezed her eyes tighter, a tear slipping down her cheek. A letter? Georgiana? What letter?

"I apologize for all the pain I have caused you," the memory of his voice echoed in her mind, achingly tender. "I love you more than words can express, and I pray that you find happiness."

She felt his touch in her memory, the ghostly warmth of his lips brushing her gloved hand. Her heart wrenched, the gesture both intimate and respectful. He loved me. Truly loved me. And what did I do? How did I answer him?

Darcy adjusted his hold on her as he approached the parsonage, his arms secure around her as though shielding her from the world. She opened her eyes briefly, catching the lines of his jaw set in grim determination, his gaze fixed ahead. The look in his eyes—it was not anger or even pity, but something deeper. Concern. Care.

I drove a good man to this. How blind I've been. How cruel. Her throat constricted, her words unable to break free.

Charlotte opened the door, her face a mask of alarm as Darcy carried Elizabeth inside. "What happened?" she asked, her voice sharp with worry.

"She felt faint during our walk," Darcy said simply, his tone calm but firm. "She needs rest."

Elizabeth heard the words as though through a fog. Charlotte's voice, Darcy's steady explanations—they were distant, mere echoes compared to the memories assaulting her.

"I have tried to forget you, I have tried to be better..."

She barely registered Darcy placing her on the settee, arranging the cushions with care. The scent of the parsonage—tea leaves and parchment—felt grounding yet suffocating. She wanted to speak, to explain herself, but the flood of memories and emotions rendered her silent.

Charlotte's hand rested lightly on her shoulder. "Elizabeth, are you all right?"

Elizabeth nodded weakly, her eyes glassy. Words wouldn't come. She couldn't begin to describe the storm raging within her. How could I tell them? Tell anyone? That I've rejected him not once but countless times? That I misjudged, misunderstood, and dismissed him at every turn? That I didn't see him for who he truly was until now—when it might be too late?

Darcy's voice broke through her spiraling thoughts. "She should have some quiet," he said softly. "I'll take my leave."

She looked up, meeting his gaze briefly. There was no reproach in his eyes, only a steady patience and... something else. Hope, perhaps? Or determination?

As he stepped back, his boots scuffing lightly against the floor, Elizabeth felt the void his absence would leave. She wanted to stop him, to say something—anything—but her lips wouldn't form the words.

Darcy inclined his head to Charlotte and exited the parsonage without another glance, the sound of the door closing behind him like the end of a symphony, leaving only silence in its wake.

Elizabeth curled into herself, her hands clasping tightly. The weight of all she had learned—of all she had remembered—pressed down on her. I drove him to this. I broke him. And now... what can I possibly do to make it right?

Tears slipped silently down her cheeks as she stared at the fading light through the window. The past felt unbearable, the present suffocating. And the future? She didn't know if she could face it.

"What was it?" she murmured to herself, frowning.

But no matter how hard she tried, the answer eluded her. Sighing, she pushed the covers aside and swung her feet to the floor. The cool wood sent a shock up her legs, grounding her in the present.

Shaking off the disquieting feeling, she dressed for the day and made her way to the small breakfast table where the rest of the household was gathering.

And then there was Mr. Collins.

Elizabeth had barely settled into her seat when a sharp, insistent pounding echoed from the front door. She frowned, her teacup pausing midway to her lips. It was unusual for visitors to arrive so early, and even less so with such urgency.

Mariah looked startled, setting her bread down as Charlotte rose from her seat, a flicker of concern crossing her face. Mr. Collins, however, wasted no time bustling toward the door, his gait a mix of pompous authority and eager servility.

"I shall attend to it!" he declared grandly, as though welcoming royalty.

Elizabeth exchanged a curious glance with Charlotte but said nothing, her unease from earlier returning in full force.

The door creaked open, and Mr. Collins's voice rang out, laced with obsequiousness. "Mr. Darcy! Colonel Fitzwilliam! Miss de Bourgh! What a most unexpected honor to have you grace our humble abode at this hour."

Elizabeth's brow furrowed as she set her cup down. Darcy? Here? With Anne and Colonel Fitzwilliam? The unusual combination of visitors was enough to pique her curiosity, but the urgency in their arrival stirred something deeper—an inexplicable apprehension.

Charlotte stepped into the hall, her voice calm but cautious. "Mr. Darcy, Colonel Fitzwilliam, Miss de Bourgh, is everything all right?"

Elizabeth rose and moved toward the hall, her curiosity outweighing her confusion. As she came into view, she froze.

Darcy stood at the threshold, his dark eyes scanning the room until they landed on her. His usual stoic demeanor was tinged with something she couldn't quite place—worry? Relief? Fitzwilliam, standing slightly behind him, looked uncharacteristically serious, his jovial air replaced by quiet concern. And Anne...Anne de Bourgh was pale, her delicate features tight with worry, her hands clasped before her as though to steady herself.

Elizabeth blinked, her confusion mounting. "Mr. Darcy, Colonel Fitzwilliam, Miss de Bourgh," she greeted, her voice steady despite her uncertainty. "What brings you here so early?"

Before anyone could answer, Mr. Collins interjected, his tone bordering on a reprimand. "Miss Bennet, it is not your place to inquire. Our esteemed guests—"

"Miss. Elizabeth," Darcy interrupted, his deep voice cutting through the awkward exchange. His gaze was intense, his expression inscrutable. "Are you... well?"

She blinked, taken aback by the directness of his question. "Well?" she repeated. "I... yes, of course. Why do you ask?"

Fitzwilliam cleared his throat, stepping forward with a small, disarming smile that didn't quite reach his eyes. "We were... concerned. Anne mentioned you seemed unwell during yesterday's walk."

"Unwell?" Elizabeth echoed, glancing between them. A faint sense of déjà vu flickered in her mind, but she quickly dismissed it. "I assure you, I am perfectly fine. Perhaps there was some misunderstanding."

Anne stepped forward, her voice soft but insistent. "Miss. Elizabeth, we—" She hesitated, her eyes darting to Darcy before continuing, "We wanted to be certain. Yesterday was... trying."

Elizabeth frowned, her mind racing. Yesterday? Her memories of the previous day were a blur, uneventful save for her usual walk, she had walked with Darcy but he had been silent the whole time, why he thought she was unwell or Anne said she was. "I don't understand," she said slowly.

Darcy exchanged a brief glance with Anne and Fitzwilliam, something unspoken passing between them.

Mr. Collins, sensing the tension but utterly oblivious to its source, clapped his hands together. "Of course, Miss Bennet is well! How could she not be in such distinguished company as yours, Mr. Darcy?"

Elizabeth barely registered his words, her focus fixed on Darcy. "What is this about?" she demanded, her tone sharper now.

Darcy took a step closer, his voice quieter but no less steady. "You... seemed overwhelmed yesterday. You don't remember?"

Elizabeth's confusion deepened. Overwhelmed? She searched her mind, grasping for something—anything—that might explain their behavior, but all she found were fragments of ordinary moments, none of which matched the gravity in Darcy's eyes.

"I'm sorry," she said finally, her voice softening. "I truly don't know what you're talking about."

Anne's expression tightened, and Fitzwilliam looked away, his jaw clenching briefly before he masked it with a forced smile. Darcy, however, held her gaze, his own unreadable.

"You don't remember," he murmured, more to himself than to her. His shoulders stiffened, the weight of something heavy settling on him once more.

Elizabeth felt a pang of frustration, both at her own lack of understanding and at their insistence that she should. "Mr. Darcy, if I have done something to concern you, I apologize. But I assure you, I am well."

For a moment, no one spoke. The tension in the room was thick, and Elizabeth's unease grew with every passing second.

Finally, Darcy straightened, his expression shuttered. "Very well, Miss Bennet. If you say you are well, then I will not press further."

Elizabeth felt a flicker of relief at his words, though the questions in her mind remained unanswered.

"We will leave you to your morning, then," Darcy continued, his tone formal but his gaze lingering on her for a moment longer than necessary.

Fitzwilliam inclined his head, his easy smile returning. "Perhaps we'll see you later, Miss Bennet."

Anne nodded as well, her eyes soft with unspoken concern. "Take care, Miss. Elizabeth."

With that, the three of them departed, leaving Elizabeth standing in the hall, her thoughts swirling. She turned back to Charlotte, who was watching her with quiet curiosity.

"What on earth was that about?" Elizabeth asked, more to herself than to anyone else.

Charlotte shook her head, her brow furrowed. "I don't know. But it seems they care for you more than they let on."

Elizabeth didn't respond. Instead, she turned her gaze toward the door, where Darcy's figure had disappeared moments before. The weight of his words lingered, and for reasons she couldn't explain, they unsettled her deeply.

Charlotte studied Elizabeth with quiet concern as they stood in the hall, the lingering tension from the unusual visit palpable between them. Mr. Collins, oblivious to any undercurrent, was already fussing over his coat and hat, preparing to leave for Rosings.

"Lady Catherine will be expecting me," he said pompously. "It is my duty to inform her of this morning's... remarkable occurrence."

Elizabeth stifled a sigh, biting back a sharp retort. Charlotte, ever practical, stepped in. "Yes, of course, Mr. Collins. Do let her ladyship know that all is well here," she said smoothly, ushering him toward the door.

Once he was gone, Charlotte turned to Mariah. "Mariah, my dear, didn't you want to finish that letter to your mother? It's the perfect quiet morning for writing."

Mariah nodded, her face brightening. "Oh, yes! I'll just head upstairs now."

As Mariah disappeared up the staircase, Charlotte turned back to Elizabeth, her gaze probing. "You're certain you're well?" she asked softly.

Elizabeth forced a smile, determined to ease her friend's worry. "Perfectly well, Charlotte. I assure you, there's no need to fuss over me. I think I'll go for a walk. The air will do me good."

Charlotte hesitated, clearly torn. Her hands fidgeted with the edge of her apron, her eyes searching Elizabeth's face for any sign of lingering unease. "If you're certain... But please, don't hesitate to return if you feel unwell."

"I'll be fine," Elizabeth said firmly, her tone leaving no room for argument.

Charlotte gave a small nod, though the crease in her brow remained. "Very well. I'll be in the garden if you need me."

With that, Charlotte turned toward the back door, her steps purposeful but her worry evident in the tightness of her movements.

Elizabeth, now alone in the hall, took a steadying breath. She pressed a hand to her temple, trying to shake the strange sense of disquiet that clung to her like morning mist. The memory of Darcy's intense gaze and Anne's soft concern lingered, mingling with the vague remnants of the dream she couldn't quite recall.

"It's nothing," she told herself firmly. "Just a morning of peculiar behavior from peculiar people."

Adjusting her bonnet, Elizabeth stepped out into the crisp morning air. She had no particular destination in mind, but the act of walking—the rhythm of her steps and the open expanse of the countryside—had always soothed her restless thoughts.

And today, of all days, she felt the need for clarity more than ever.

Elizabeth walked briskly, her boots crunching against the gravel path as she headed toward the distant hills. The cool morning breeze played with the ribbons of her bonnet, and she breathed deeply, hoping the fresh air would dispel the strange unease that clung to her.

But as she climbed the gentle slope, something stirred in her mind—a flicker of memory that wasn't quite memory. She kept seeing Darcy face from this morning and other times.

Darcy walking beside her, his deep voice soft yet sure as he spoke of Shakespeare's sonnets. The way his eyes, so often guarded, lit up when discussing literature. "Do you favor the comedies or the tragedies, Miss Bennet?" he had asked, his tone not challenging but genuinely curious.

Elizabeth blinked, shaking her head. When had he ever asked me that?

More images swirled, vivid yet disjointed. Darcy listening intently as she spoke of her interest in herbs, his brow furrowed in concentration as though committing every word to memory. "You have quite the knowledge, Miss Bennet. Have you ever considered sharing it more widely?"

She frowned, her pace slowing. That conversation had never happened—had it? And yet she could see it so clearly, feel the warmth of the sun on her face as they walked side by side, discussing remedies for ailments and the benefits of certain teas.

The memories came faster now, slipping through her thoughts like water through her fingers. Darcy speaking earnestly about a tenant child struggling with breathing problems, his voice tinged with concern. "I've sought advice, but nothing has worked. Perhaps you might have some insight, Miss Bennet?" And her reply—she had told him about her uncle's warehouse, Gardiner Imports, and the teas and oils they carried. She had recommended a blend for the child.

Elizabeth's steps faltered as another memory—or was it a dream?—took hold. Tea at Rosings, Anne de Bourgh seated beside her, her pale hands trembling slightly as she explained her ailments. "Darcy ensures I have the teas I need," Anne had said, her tone grateful. And Elizabeth—she had suggested blends and even written down instructions.

She pressed a hand to her temple, her heart quickening. None of this made sense. She knew these things had not happened, and yet they felt more real than any dream she had ever had.

The conversations, the glances, the subtle shifts in Darcy's demeanor—they were all there, vivid and unrelenting. His quiet moments of vulnerability, his tentative smiles, his earnestness when he spoke of helping others. She remembered them all. And yet, they couldn't have happened.

Could they?

Elizabeth's chest tightened as she reached the crest of the hill. The landscape stretched out before her, serene and untouched, but her mind was anything but calm. These memories—or whatever they were—weren't all bad.

Some, in fact, were... lovely.

Darcy walking beside her, not as the haughty man she had judged him to be, but as someone kinder, deeper, and entirely unexpected. How could this be? she wondered, her fingers clutching the edge of her shawl.

The faint dreamlike feeling from the morning returned, stronger now, as though teasing her with truths she couldn't grasp. Elizabeth's gaze swept over the horizon, her thoughts tumbling over one another.

What is happening to me? she thought, her heart aching with the weight of something she could not name.

Elizabeth stood atop the hill, her thoughts a turbulent sea. The strange, fragmented memories tugged at her heart, filling her with equal parts wonder and confusion. She turned her face to the breeze, closing her eyes for a moment, willing the world to make sense.

The steady sound of hoofbeats broke through her reverie, drawing her attention. She looked down the path and saw Mr. Darcy approaching, his tall figure astride a dark horse. He rode with the same commanding presence she had always associated with him, yet there was something different in his expression—something softer, almost hesitant, as his eyes locked onto hers.

Elizabeth's breath caught. Why is he here? she wondered, though the thought was quickly followed by a quieter, more unsettling one: Why does it feel like he's been searching for me?

Darcy dismounted with practiced ease, his boots landing softly on the grass. He took a few steps toward her, his hand resting lightly on the horse's reins. His usual composure was intact, yet Elizabeth noticed a flicker of uncertainty in his eyes, as though he were weighing every word before speaking.

Elizabeth broke the silence first, her voice soft but steady. "I don't understand, Mr. Darcy. I look at you, and it feels as though I should know more. As though we've spoken of things—important things—but I can't recall them. And yet... I feel them, somehow."

Darcy's throat tightened. Her words echoed his deepest fears and hopes all at once. He stepped closer, his voice measured, cautious. "Miss Bennet, what you're describing... it's something I can't fully explain. But you're not alone in this."

Elizabeth's brow furrowed, confusion clouding her expression. "Not alone? What do you mean? Are you saying you... remember things I don't?"

Darcy hesitated, his mind racing. The last time she had begun to recall fragments of their repeated days, the flood of memories had overwhelmed her to the point of collapse. He couldn't bear to see her in such distress again, and yet he couldn't bring himself to deny the truth.

"I do," he admitted quietly. "Miss Bennet, there have been... instances—conversations, moments—that we've shared. They're vivid in my memory, but I understand they may not be in yours."

Elizabeth's lips parted slightly, her breath catching. "How can that be? How can you know things about me—things we've never spoken of? This doesn't make sense, Mr. Darcy."

"I know it doesn't," Darcy said, his voice carrying a note of urgency. "And I wish I had an answer to give you. All I know is that... it feels as though something—someone—is giving us another chance. A chance to get things right."

Elizabeth's gaze searched his, her confusion mingling with something else—curiosity, perhaps even trust. "Another chance? For what?"

Darcy hesitated, the weight of the question pressing on him. "For understanding," he said finally. "For clarity. For... the truth."

Elizabeth's shoulders tensed, and she took a small step back, her expression guarded. "And the truth is what, Mr. Darcy? That you've lived these moments before? That you somehow know me better than I know myself?"

"Not better," Darcy said quickly, his voice softening. "But differently. Miss Bennet, I cannot claim to fully understand this—why it's happening, or how. But I swear to you, everything I've done... it's been to try to make amends."

Elizabeth tilted her head, her eyes narrowing slightly. "Amends? For what, exactly?"

Darcy's breath hitched. He had walked this path before, navigated these questions countless times, and yet the fear of misstepping again loomed large. "For misunderstandings," he said carefully. "For assumptions I should never have made. For... for the pain I caused you, even unintentionally."

Elizabeth's lips pressed into a thin line, her gaze unwavering. "You speak as though we've had some great quarrel, Mr. Darcy. But as far as I can recall, this is the longest conversation we've ever had."

Darcy flinched inwardly, her words cutting deeper than she likely intended. "I know," he said softly. "And yet... I feel as though I've known you far longer than a single day could allow."

Elizabeth's defenses faltered for a moment, her expression softening. "It's strange," she murmured. "I can't recall these moments you speak of, but I feel... I feel as though I should."

Darcy swallowed hard, his voice barely above a whisper. "I've been waiting for this—for you to feel even a fraction of what I remember. But I won't rush you, Miss Bennet. I only ask for your patience. And perhaps, your trust."

Elizabeth studied him carefully, the weight of his words settling over her. "I don't know if I can promise that, Mr. Darcy. This is... overwhelming."

"I understand," Darcy said quickly, his tone earnest. "And I will do whatever it takes to ease your mind. Just... allow me the chance."

Elizabeth's gaze lingered on him, and for the briefest of moments, the confusion in her eyes gave way to something gentler—something that might, in time, become trust.

"Perhaps," she said softly, echoing his earlier words.

Darcy inclined his head, his heart beating wildly in his chest. "Perhaps is more than I could have hoped for."

The wind picked up around them, rustling the leaves and carrying away the tension that had hung in the air moments before. Elizabeth glanced toward the horizon, her thoughts a tangle of emotions she could barely begin to unravel.

"Mr. Darcy," she said after a long pause, "if what you're saying is true... then I suppose we'll see if it reveals itself in time."

Darcy nodded, his expression resolute. "In time, Miss Bennet. All I ask is that you allow time to do its work."

For now, it was enough. But as they stood there, the weight of everything unsaid hung between them, leaving the question lingering in both their minds: Would this be the day things finally changed?

So...thoughts? What do you think of me switching it up now? Next chapter will be from Darcy's point of view. But we aren't going to go over the same stuff we are moving on, plus with Darcy point of view we will be tackling Anne, and Fitzwilliam's issues...and with Elizabeth's honestly I am only four chapters a head and I have some ideas to expand her point a views helps as well...anyways...as always I love your comments and feed back.