The second to last chapter, one more plus epilog and our journey is over for this story at least. I want to thank everyone sooo much for the support and love, it really means so much to me to read all your comments, I just hate private messaging people to answer them, but I really really do love them all.

Chapter 27 Almost perfect Day

The chimes of the clock stirred Darcy from sleep, their familiar toll reverberating through the quiet morning. Four. Five. Six. The echoes faded, leaving him adrift between dream and waking. But the dream—the dream lingered.

Elizabeth.

She was not indifferent to him. He had seen it in her eyes, in the softness that crept into her voice when they spoke, in the way she listened—truly listened—to his words. It was not yet love, no, but perhaps—just perhaps—it could be. And today, he meant to find out.

But first, he had work to do. If he wished to secure the morning alone with Elizabeth, he needed Anne and Fitzwilliam occupied elsewhere. He had spent enough of these endless Thursdays growing closer to them, relying on their support, bolstered by their friendship. Fitzwilliam—his cousin, his brother in all but blood. Anne—once a mere shadow of Lady Catherine's will, now a woman of quiet strength, learning to rule Rosings with a competence that rivaled his own early days at Pemberley. They had stood by him without question, unknowing of his predicament yet unfailingly constant. Today, he needed them to let him go, to give him room to fly alone.

And perhaps, in setting them a task, he would do more than that. He would give them a reason to see each other differently.

He rose swiftly, calling for Wentworth with practiced efficiency. His valet, accustomed to his master's exacting nature, had his attire prepared before a word was spoken. As Darcy dressed, his mind spun through the details of his plan. Anne, for all her competence, still hesitated to take her place fully as mistress of Rosings. But she could. She only needed confidence—and a proper challenge. A full tour of the tenants would serve perfectly.

Anne's excuse in the past had been that they would not remember her visits. But what of it? If anything, it worked in her favor. She could visit them today, and the next time they met, she could appear before them already knowing their needs, their struggles. She could take decisive action, make improvements, offer aid where needed—all with the air of a mistress who had long been invested in their well-being. It was an opportunity, not a hindrance.

And Fitzwilliam… Darcy had watched him carefully these many weeks. His cousin still carried the wounds of a lost attachment, but they were healing. More and more, Darcy had noticed the way Fitzwilliam looked at Anne—not with mere familial affection, but with something deeper. Settled admiration. Only Fitzwilliam himself had yet to recognize it. He had spent too many years thinking of Anne as a cousin, never allowing himself to truly see her. That, too, needed correcting.

Darcy finished his toilette and descended to breakfast, bracing himself for Lady Catherine's usual dictations. He endured them with polite disinterest, speaking only when necessary, nodding where expected. The conversation followed its customary path, Anne's frailty, the grandeur of Rosings, the supposed inevitability of his engagement—nothing unexpected. He allowed it to wash over him without effect.

When at last they were free from Lady Catherine's presence, Darcy led Anne and Fitzwilliam to the sitting room, closing the door firmly behind them.

"Anne," he began, his voice steady but coaxing, "it is time you paid the tenants a proper visit."

Anne's brow lifted slightly. "You know they will not recall my last visit."

"Precisely," he countered, settling into the chair opposite her. "Which means you may take full advantage. Let them see you as a mistress who anticipates their needs before they even voice them. Have a plan. See what must be done, what must be improved. They will not remember your presence, but they will remember your actions."

She hesitated, considering his words. Fitzwilliam, lounging by the mantel, watched the exchange with mild amusement.

"It is not a poor notion," the colonel admitted, though his tone was light. "A well-prepared mistress of Rosings would be far more effective than an infrequent visitor."

Anne's gaze flicked toward him, assessing. Darcy saw the moment her mind turned, not just on his words but on Fitzwilliam's presence beside her. Yes, Anne, look at him. See him properly.

Still, she did not yield immediately. "It is easy for you to say, Darcy. You took on Pemberley with purpose. You always knew what was expected of you."

Darcy's jaw tightened, the old wound of his father's passing still lingering in his mind. "I had no one," he said simply. "My father was gone. My steward—whom I trusted beyond measure—died within months. I had no choice but to rise to it alone. You, Anne, have not had to do this alone. You have us. You have Fitzwilliam. And you are more capable than you give yourself credit for."

Anne's lips pressed together, but she nodded, a flicker of something akin to determination lighting her expression. "Very well. I shall do it."

Darcy turned to Fitzwilliam. "You will accompany her."

Fitzwilliam raised a brow. "Oh? Am I being conscripted into Rosings affairs now?"

"You are the most charming of us," Darcy said dryly. "The tenants will be at ease with you there."

Fitzwilliam chuckled, but his gaze drifted toward Anne. "If the lady wishes it, I am at her service."

Anne met his eyes, and for a moment, something unspoken passed between them. Darcy watched it unfold, satisfaction curling through him. This was the way.

Anne inclined her head. "Then let us make a proper study of it."

Darcy rose, satisfied. "Excellent. I believe we are all in agreement then."

Fitzwilliam stretched lazily. "And what, may I ask, will you be doing while we are occupied with this noble venture?"

Darcy met his cousin's gaze evenly. "I have my own affairs to attend."

Fitzwilliam smirked but did not press further. Anne, however, tilted her head slightly. "Will it involve Miss Bennet?"

Darcy hesitated only a fraction before responding, "It may."

Anne smiled—truly smiled—and to his surprise, Fitzwilliam did not tease. Instead, his cousin merely nodded, as if he had expected nothing less.

And with that, the plan was set. First, they would rescue Violet. Then, they would go their separate ways—Anne and Fitzwilliam to Rosings' tenants, and Darcy, at last, to Elizabeth. Alone.

The morning sun had climbed higher by the time the three riders set off, hooves kicking up the damp earth as they rode toward the wooded copse where Violet was known to play. Darcy led the way, his gaze sharp, his pace quick. Anne and Fitzwilliam followed behind at a steadier speed, their voices carrying on the breeze.

Anne, though still hesitant with the reins, sat her horse with more confidence than she once had. Fitzwilliam rode beside her, watching over her progress as he always did, though she had little need of it now. They had done this many times before. Violet would be here—she was always here on Thursdays.

Darcy did not slow as he crested the rise, his sharp eyes already scanning the trees. There she was, perched high on a branch, stretching up on her toes to place a small nest back into the crook of a limb. Even from a distance, he could see it coming—the inevitable slip, the arms flailing for balance, the sharp gasp just before gravity took hold.

He spurred his horse forward and was beneath her just as she fell.

She landed in his arms without hesitation, as if she had always known he would catch her. He barely had to steady his horse as she settled against him, entirely unconcerned, her small hands gripping the lapels of his coat. She let out a small huff of breath, blinking up at him with unshaken certainty.

"Thank you, special Gentleman," she said, as though they had rehearsed this rescue a hundred times before.

Darcy merely shook his head. "You must be more careful, Violet."

"I am always careful," she replied lightly. Then, as if remembering her task, she turned toward Anne and Fitzwilliam, who had drawn to a stop a few paces away. "My lady," she greeted Anne with a cheerful nod, then turned to Fitzwilliam with an impish grin. "Colonel."

Anne, ever patient, looked her over with a practiced eye. "You are unharmed?"

"Of course, my lady. The special Gentleman would never let me fall. And you must not worry—today, you and the Colonel will visit the tenants, just as you should."

Fitzwilliam chuckled, tilting his head. "Is that an order, little general?"

Violet considered him, her small face thoughtful. "No, Colonel. But you will do for when you stay."

Darcy felt Fitzwilliam stiffen slightly beside him, though the man quickly covered it with a laugh. "Then I shall endeavor to be adequate."

Anne only smiled indulgently, shaking her head as if used to Violet's odd pronouncements. "You are full of wisdom today, Violet."

Violet turned back to Darcy, studying him with the same perceptive gaze that had always unsettled him. "And you, special Gentleman, are happy today. That is good. It is time."

He exhaled slowly. How did she always seem to know? These Thursdays had been a lesson in patience, in realization, in understanding what mattered. And now, today, she looked at him as though she could see the very depths of his heart.

Before he could respond, Violet suddenly turned toward the ridge, her face lighting with unmistakable recognition. "Oh! Look!"

Darcy followed her gaze. Cresting the hill, bathed in morning light, was Elizabeth.

His pulse quickened, his feet already moving as he stepped away from Fitzwilliam and Anne, toward the woman who had, without even knowing it, changed everything.

Violet sighed contentedly, watching as Elizabeth descended into the field. "There she is. The special Lady. Just in time."

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 sounds were all the same—after all, it was Thursday. But unlike other Thursdays, she had once again stayed up all night, lost in thought, in reflection.

Anne's quiet apologies had weighed on her, not because they were necessary, but because Elizabeth had seen the sincerity in them. They had talked, and without meaning to, Elizabeth had offered kindness, had comforted, had given advice as though she belonged in such a conversation. It was a small thing, but in those late-night hours, she had begun to understand how much she had changed.

And yet, despite all her musings, one question remained unanswered: what had Darcy seen in her? What had made him love her so ardently, so steadfastly, even when she had been so determined to dismiss him? She had spent too much time convincing herself that he must be mistaken, that he could not possibly love her when she was so unlike Jane, when she was only a poor gentleman's daughter. She had built those arguments to protect her heart, but in doing so, she had wounded his.

She had spent so long searching for faults in him, justifying her own resistance, that she had blinded herself to the truth. She had loved their debates, though she had always called them arguments. She had relived their moments together time and again, focusing on her worst behavior, but now, this morning, she forced herself to see the rest. He had listened to her. He had admired her. Even in his pride, even in his missteps, he had always looked at her as though she were someone worth knowing. And that frightened her more than anything.

Yesterday, she had avoided him. And yet, he had found her. He had not spoken much, but she had felt his presence, had seen the way he studied her, as if trying to understand something just beyond his reach. It was the same way he had looked at her in Meryton, when she had first suspected—wrongly, arrogantly—that he was only observing her to find fault. Now she knew better. He had been falling in love with her then. She had been too blind to see it.

She would have to ask him. She would have to know.

But first, she had to wake up.

With a deep breath, Elizabeth sat up, stretching away the stiffness of the sleepless night. Despite her restless thoughts, she felt renewed—more awake than she had in days. Perhaps that was the peculiar magic of these Thursdays. Or perhaps, it was simply the clarity of knowing what she needed to do.

She had to show him that she could change, just as he had. She had to prove—to herself, to him—that she was not too late.

Slipping out of bed, she moved with purpose, dressing quickly and brushing out her hair before pinning it into place. The morning was still early, but breakfast would be waiting, and Mr. Collins, no doubt, would be eager to dominate the conversation with his usual droning self-importance. Charlotte would smile patiently, Mariah would listen politely, and Elizabeth—Elizabeth would endure it, but for the first time in a long while, she would not let it weigh on her.

She stepped out of her room, ready to begin the day, her heart filled with something she had not allowed herself in some time: hope.

Breakfast passed in a blur of pleasantries and Mr. Collins' usual self-congratulatory musings. Elizabeth barely touched her food, her mind racing ahead to what was to come. She had no need for hesitation or second-guessing—she already knew where she was going.

The usually routine followed: Mr. Collins leaving promptly for Rosings, Mariah retreating upstairs to write her parents, and Charlotte getting ready to tend her garden.

Charlotte met her at the doorway as she stepped outside. For a moment, she studied Elizabeth with quiet understanding before reaching for her hand. "You know, you need not be afraid."

Elizabeth let out a short breath of laughter. "Afraid? Whatever do you mean?"

Charlotte tilted her head knowingly. "You have spent so much time convincing yourself that he is too proud, that you could never…" she trailed off, then squeezed Elizabeth's hand. "But you do not run toward a man you do not care for. And he does not look at you as he does if he has ceased to love you."

Elizabeth swallowed, her heart twisting at her friend's words. "And if I am too late?"

Charlotte gave her an encouraging smile. "Then you will face it, as you do everything—with courage. But I do not think you are. I think, perhaps, you are just in time."

A warmth spread through Elizabeth at those words, a mix of nerves and renewed determination. She nodded once, squeezed Charlotte's hand in return, then turned and ran.

Her feet barely touched the ground as she hurried toward the field, the fresh spring air filling her lungs, her heart pounding for reasons that had nothing to do with exertion. The thought of seeing Darcy again, of facing him without walls, without pretense, filled her with nervous energy. But for the first time, she did not wish to hide from it.

As she crested the hill, she saw them—Darcy, Fitzwilliam, Anne, and little Violet. They had all turned at the sound of her approach, their gazes settling on her with varying degrees of surprise and knowing amusement. She slowed her steps, catching her breath as she descended toward them, schooling her features into polite composure.

"Good morning," she greeted, dipping into a graceful curtsy.

Darcy dismounted first, bowing in return. "Miss Bennet."

Fitzwilliam and Anne followed suit, offering their own greetings, and she returned them with equal warmth.

"And how are you all this morning?" she asked lightly, though she found herself glancing instinctively toward Darcy.

"Quite well, Miss Bennet," Fitzwilliam replied, his eyes glinting with humor. "Though I fear our young general has been issuing commands again."

Violet, sitting atop Darcy's horse, grinned but remained unrepentant. "It is not a command, Colonel, merely a suggestion. My lady and the Colonel have important matters today."

Anne lifted a brow. "Do we?"

Violet nodded solemnly. "Yes, my lady. The tenants must be seen."

Fitzwilliam chuckled. "A wise child indeed."

Darcy reached up to lift Violet down, and as he set her on the ground, she looked between him and Elizabeth with knowing eyes. "And Mr. Darcy and Miss Bennet also have important matters. The folly is very nice for a picnic."

Darcy stilled. "And how would you know about a picnic, Violet?"

Violet giggled but only said, "Because, Mr. Darcy, you were going to take Miss Bennet somewhere nice."

Elizabeth felt a rush of warmth rise to her cheeks, but before she could respond, Violet leaned in conspiratorially and whispered, "Be happy, Mr. Darcy. It is time."

Fitzwilliam chuckled, lifting the child from the ground with ease. "Come along, little oracle, before you say too much."

Anne met Elizabeth's gaze, a flicker of amusement dancing in her eyes before she and Fitzwilliam turned toward the path, leading Violet away.

The moment they were alone, silence settled over them—not awkward, not uncertain, but waiting.

Darcy exhaled slowly, his eyes never leaving hers. "Shall we, Miss Bennet?"

Elizabeth nodded, the corner of her mouth curving upward. "Lead the way, Mr. Darcy."

Darcy turned toward his horse, untying a neatly secured blanket and a well-packed basket before loosening the reins and giving the animal a gentle pat on the neck. "Go to the stables, Benedict."

The stallion gave a slight toss of his head before turning and setting off at a steady pace, unhurried but assured in his direction. Elizabeth watched, eyebrows raising in appreciation. "I must say, that is quite impressive. He knows his way home without assistance?"

Darcy inclined his head. "He is well-trained. A reliable companion requires discipline, but also trust."

Elizabeth glanced after the retreating horse, then back at Darcy. "Benedict—is he named for the character in Much Ado About Nothing?"

A rare smile ghosted across Darcy's lips as he adjusted his grip on the basket. "A common assumption, but no. His name comes from the Latin Benedictus—blessed. He was the first foal I ever assisted in delivering, and he was breach. It was a difficult night, and I feared we would lose both him and the mare. When he survived, it seemed only fitting to name him so."

Elizabeth felt something warm settle in her chest at the quiet sentiment. "A most suitable name, then. And rather fitting in another way as well."

Darcy glanced at her curiously. "Oh?"

She cast him a teasing look. "He seems every bit as proud and headstrong as his master."

He exhaled, somewhere between a sigh and a chuckle. "Then I shall take that as a compliment."

They walked on, their steps falling into an easy rhythm, though neither spoke for a time. There was an oddness between them still—something not quite hesitation, but not yet comfort either. They had spent so much time in conflict, in misunderstanding, that the quiet now felt like uncharted ground.

When they reached the folly, Darcy set down the basket and unfolded the blanket with precise efficiency, smoothing out its edges before stepping aside to allow Elizabeth to choose a place to sit. She lowered herself with careful grace, folding her hands in her lap as he took his seat opposite her.

For a moment, they simply regarded one another, the weight of so much unsaid pressing lightly between them. And yet, the air was not heavy, nor was it tense. There was something else—something softer. Perhaps not yet ease, but the promise of it.

Elizabeth exhaled, a small, almost self-conscious smile playing at her lips. "Well, Mr. Darcy, we have reached our destination. I do hope you have provisions, or I fear this picnic may be rather short-lived."

Darcy, ever composed, lifted the basket and began to undo the clasps. "Miss Bennet, I assure you, I have made every effort to ensure our survival."

Elizabeth reached for the basket without hesitation, removing the items with practiced ease. She unwrapped the bread, placed the cheese upon a plate, and poured the tea—all without asking. Darcy watched, a faint smile playing at his lips as she handed him his cup just as he preferred it.

She caught the look and arched a brow. "After so many teas at Rosings, it is not difficult to observe your preferences, Mr. Darcy."

He inclined his head, the smile still lingering. "Indeed, that can often be the case."

That simple exchange broke the tension, easing them into conversation. For a moment, they spoke of nothing—of the fine weather, of the tenants Anne and Fitzwilliam had gone to see, of Rosings' gardens and their endless pruning. And then, at last, Elizabeth drew in a breath, steeling herself. "Mr. Darcy… I must say something."

He set his cup down, his gaze steady. "Yes?"

She hesitated but would not falter. "I owe you an apology. I have been… unkind. I have wounded you when you did not deserve it."

Darcy's expression softened, though he shook his head. "No, Miss Bennet, I must insist the greater fault is mine. My treatment of you almost from the moment we met was inexcusable, and then my words, what I supposed started all this, it was I that needed to apologies to you for so many things. You had every reason to be displeased with me. And beyond that, you could not remember most of the time. You were always at a disadvantage, always beginning anew. That was unfair to you."

She looked down briefly, then back at him. "No. It was my own stubbornness that led me to twist everything you said and did. Even before your words started this day, I sought faults in you where none existed. I convinced myself I knew you when, in truth, I did not."

He leaned forward slightly, his voice low. "Then we are both at fault. And yet, somehow, I find myself unwilling to allow you to take more of the blame, for it is mine alone to bear."

A wry smile touched her lips. "And I find I cannot allow you to do the same."

They regarded each other for a long moment, something unspoken passing between them. There was no grand declaration, no formal absolution, but something in the air had shifted. The past remained, but it no longer held them captive.

Darcy exhaled, a hint of amusement in his voice. "I believe we are at an impasse, Miss Bennet."

Elizabeth let out a quiet laugh. "So it would seem, Mr. Darcy. Perhaps we must simply accept that neither of us shall win this argument."

His eyes softened further. "Then, for once, I am content to concede."

Elizabeth smiled at those words, tilting her head thoughtfully before speaking. "May I ask an impertinent question, Mr. Darcy?"

He raised a brow in amusement. "I suspect you will ask it regardless."

She huffed a small laugh. "How long have you been reliving this day?"

Darcy's expression grew distant for a moment, as if weighing the weight of time itself. "I honestly do not know. It seems like forever."

Elizabeth studied him, considering all he must have endured. "And what did you do with yourself, all this time? Were you always—" she hesitated, feeling the question too personal, too intrusive.

Darcy, however, seemed to understand what she meant. Instead of allowing the moment to turn awkward, he simply answered, "For a time, I focused on learning new skills."

Elizabeth perked up at that. "New skills? What sort of skills does a gentleman with endless time acquire?"

Darcy leaned back slightly, a hint of self-deprecation in his tone. "I can now cook and bake reasonably well, though I doubt Mrs. Reynolds would approve of my methods. My trifle, however, is quite respectable. And I have developed a particular fondness for scones—making them, that is. Eating them was always a given."

Elizabeth laughed. "Mr. Darcy, a baker? That is something I should like to see."

"Perhaps one day, you shall," he replied, the corners of his mouth twitching. "Beyond that, I have read every book in Rosings' library—twice, some of them. I have improved my pianoforte playing considerably, though I do not expect I shall ever rival Georgiana. And I attempted sewing." He hesitated, then admitted, "A maid, Molly, was most helpful in teaching me."

Elizabeth gasped in exaggerated delight. "You sew, Mr. Darcy? Pray, tell me—are you now an accomplished woman?"

Darcy chuckled, shaking his head. "Hardly. My stitches are abominable. But I can mend a tear well enough, should the need arise."

Elizabeth tilted her head, as if assessing him anew. "I never imagined I would one day sit across from Fitzwilliam Darcy and discuss the merits of scone-making and needlework. This day is full of surprises."

"Time has a way of humbling a man," he said dryly. "At first, I studied only what I believed would be useful. But eventually, I realized I had nothing but time. Learning became a necessity rather than a choice."

Elizabeth considered this, then asked, "And yet, despite all of these accomplishments, you still wished to be at Pemberley?"

Darcy exhaled, glancing toward the horizon. "Yes. Rosings' library is larger than Bingley's, certainly, but nowhere near Pemberley's. I often wished I were there instead, surrounded by my own books. And yet, if I were, I would still be reading. Still be trapped. And I did not wish to be trapped. I wished to be free."

She watched him closely, seeing something vulnerable in that admission. "And now? Do you believe you will be free?"

Darcy met her gaze, something unreadable in his expression. "I believe I have hope."

Elizabeth, feeling a sudden wave of emotion she could not name, shifted slightly and drew in a steadying breath. To ease the weight of the moment, she asked, "Tell me about Pemberley. What is it truly like?"

Darcy's expression softened at the request. "Pemberley is… home. It is grand, yes, but never imposing, at least not to me. The house sits nestled against the hills, overlooking a river that winds through the estate. The woods stretch far beyond what the eye can see, and in the summer, the gardens are full of roses, jasmine, and wild lavender. But the library—that has always been my favorite place. The shelves are vast, reaching from floor to ceiling, and there is a window seat where the morning light spills over the pages as you read. It is a place of quiet, of refuge."

Elizabeth listened intently, picturing it in her mind. "It sounds beautiful. I can see why you miss it."

"I do," he admitted. "But there are moments here—unexpected moments—that I find myself treasuring as well."

She lowered her gaze briefly before looking back at him. "May I ask another impertinent question?"

Darcy smirked. "I suppose I should expect nothing less."

Elizabeth hesitated, then said, "Tell me about your family. You speak of Georgiana often, but what of your parents?"

His smile faded slightly, though not unpleasantly. "My father was a great man. Stern at times, but always just. I learned much from him, though I wish I had asked more before he passed. My mother was warm, full of laughter. She adored music and often played in the evenings. She and Georgiana share that gift. When she passed, the house felt quieter—emptier."

Elizabeth nodded, a quiet understanding passing between them. "It is difficult when the ones meant to guide us are no longer there."

"Indeed," he agreed. "And your own family?"

Elizabeth let out a small laugh. "A rather different picture, I assure you. My father is a man of wit, but he has long since removed himself from his responsibilities, finding amusement where he can rather than seeking to improve the lives of those in his charge. My mother, well… she is determined. And while I do not doubt her love for us, she often forgets to consider what we might truly need."

There was a slight tremor in her voice, just enough for Darcy to catch. "And your sisters?"

Elizabeth brightened. "I love them all, despite their faults. Jane is goodness itself, though I fear she is too trusting. Lydia and Kitty… well, they are often led astray by frivolity, and I worry for them. Even Mary, in all her solemnity, has yet to find her place in the world."

Darcy hesitated before asking, "And yet, you and Jane seem different. How is it that you turned out so well?"

Elizabeth smiled at that. "We had the Gardiners. Before they had children of their own, they practiced raising Jane and me. They took us to town, exposed us to books, art, and conversation beyond Meryton. When their own children arrived, they had less time, but by then, the lessons had already settled in us."

Darcy listened with interest. "Your aunt and uncle sound like remarkable people."

"They are," she agreed fondly. "If my mother were to hear me say it, she would scold me for putting them above my own parents, but the truth is, they saw us in a way my father and mother never did."

Darcy was silent for a moment before he said, "I believe that is what makes all the difference—being seen."

Elizabeth met his gaze, feeling the depth of his words settle around them. And for the first time in a long while, she felt truly understood.

She glanced at the sky and sighed. "It is getting late. We should return before Mr. Collins hunts us down for missing tea with your aunt."

Darcy smirked. "A fate best avoided, indeed."

As they gathered their things, Elizabeth hesitated before saying, "I—I had a good time today." The words felt insufficient, yet she could think of no better way to express them.

Darcy looked at her with something unreadable in his expression, then gave a small nod. "As did I."

They fell into step as they began their walk back, the silence between them no longer awkward but companionable. After a few moments, Elizabeth cast him a sidelong glance. "Perhaps one day, you might cook for me. And play as well."

Darcy chuckled. "Perhaps. But I do not play half as well as you do."

Elizabeth arched a brow, her teasing smile returning. "If you think I play well, then you must play very ill indeed."

His laugh was warm, unexpected. "I shall take that as a challenge."

As they neared the parsonage, a quiet understanding passed between them. Neither spoke of what had changed, but they both felt it. Hope, fragile yet certain, lingered in the air between them as he left her at the door with a final, lingering glance before turning away.

Elizabeth let that settle between them, feeling the weight of his words, the quiet sincerity beneath them. And for the first time, she realized she had hope as well.

Tea passed in the usual affair, with Lady Catherine dominating the conversation as expected. Charlotte, ever perceptive, once again steered the discussion in such a way that Anne and Elizabeth might speak freely. Darcy observed them both, taking in the subtle ease between them, though he noted Elizabeth kept most details of the picnic to herself. Anne, however, was not without attempts to pry information from her friend, though Elizabeth only offered vague responses and knowing smiles.

Once tea concluded, Anne and Fitzwilliam followed Darcy to his sitting room, eager for his report. Fitzwilliam leaned against the mantel, arms crossed with expectation, while Anne settled into a chair, watching Darcy with an amused expression.

"Well?" Fitzwilliam prompted. "We have suffered the trials of tenant visits, and you, cousin, spent the afternoon in far more pleasant company. Do not keep us in suspense."

Darcy merely shrugged, pouring himself a glass of port with deliberate ease. "It went well."

Anne scoffed lightly. "That is all you will say? After all the anticipation? Surely there is more to tell."

Darcy took a measured sip before responding, "I see no need to satisfy your curiosity beyond that."

Fitzwilliam let out a laugh. "Ah, so it did go well, then."

Darcy set down his glass and smoothly turned the conversation. "And what of your day? I imagine the tenants were most pleased with the attention."

Anne allowed the subject to shift, though not without a knowing glance. "It was enlightening. I must admit, seeing the estate through their eyes gives a far greater insight than I had anticipated. There is much to be done, but I feel better equipped to handle it."

Fitzwilliam nodded. "I was rather surprised myself. You have done well, Anne. Your attention to detail and concern for their needs were evident, and I daresay they were grateful for it."

A faint blush rose to Anne's cheeks at the praise, something Darcy did not fail to notice.

"Then I suppose it was a successful day for us all," Darcy said, his gaze flickering briefly between them.

Fitzwilliam stretched and glanced toward the clock. "Now the real question is—shall tomorrow be Friday?"

A brief silence followed, the weight of the question lingering in the air. Anne exhaled softly. "We shall see."

And with that, the evening drew to a close, each of them wondering what the next sunrise might bring.

So should Darcy show off his new acquired skills before this story ends or not? Would you like Mr. Darcy to cook you a meal? Leave your comments...if I get enough of them...I have a secret to reveal...I wrote this chapter and the next at the same time...if you beg nicely enough I will post it sooner than later...I was going to wait until I wrote the epilog but if enough people ask...lol.