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She sat drumming her fingers on the polished surface of her desk.

She was angry that the exercise in Bath had ended in failure, but she was rational enough to realize that her man could not be held completely accountable, for it had been necessary for him to coordinate the whole from his remote posting in Meryton.

She was satisfied that the murder could not be linked back to her, and even if the two hired men were apprehended, Wickham could make another attempt on Miss Bingley in London or even at her brother’s home near Meryton.

There was plenty of time. Wickham was now with his regiment in Brighton, and it was time to activate plans that would bring complete and final disgrace down upon the family of Elizabeth Bennet, thus ensuring that Darcy would never wish to have anything to do with her.

She took a sip of Madeira, seized her pen, and began to write.

Fitzwilliam Darcy, having dismissed his manservant, stood in his shirtsleeves looking out of the window in his bedchamber at Pemberley.

He never tired of the prospect of the wide lawns, the stream, and the grove of trees in the background.

However, this morning he was all but blind to the natural beauty before him.

All he could see was the face of Elizabeth Bennet.

Their sudden, startling meeting at Pemberley had unsettled them both.

Darcy’s careful efforts to get on with his life had been undone in a moment, and it was evident to him that her perceptions had been altered as well.

But how much? It was instantly clear to him that her unexpected appearance was a Heaven-sent opportunity to convince her that he had understood her reproofs and that he had made sincere efforts to address them.

But was it enough? Her uncle and aunt were delightful people and welcoming them to his home had been a genuine pleasure.

He had liked both on sight, and he shuddered at the recollection of his disparaging speech at the Hunsford parsonage.

Then there was Elizabeth herself. It was apparent that she, too, was making efforts towards cordiality—or that she felt sufficiently comfortable to allow the natural ease and friendliness of her manners to shine forth.

He had been deeply touched by her warmth to his sister.

Elizabeth had soon put the shy young Georgiana at her ease, and the pair of them had cemented their friendship over music.

Elizabeth Bennet had inflamed his senses once again, and he had slept very little the previous night.

He could call to memory the sweetness of her voice as she sang, the warmth of her gaze on him as she stood turning the pages for Georgiana, the smile that had seemed to be just for him as she looked at him from across the room.

Did he dare to hope? He saw the view from his window with sudden clarity, imagined driving with her through the woods, down the hill, and up to the house.

He imagined welcoming her as his wife, bringing her in, making her feel at home.

He imagined his days brightened by her lively humor, her intelligence, her kindness.

He imagined her with him in the wide bed that stood in this very room.

He imagined what his life might be if she loved him as he loved her.

Darcy struck the windowsill with his fist, and his decision was made in that moment. He rang for his valet, who appeared with a selection of waistcoats and coats, and almost before he knew what was happening, he found himself riding up the hill and taking the road to Lambton.

Elizabeth was alone in the parlor when he arrived at the inn. She stood and curtsied with a warm smile of welcome and gestured to a seat at the table. “Please, do sit down, sir. Aunt and Uncle have gone to visit the church, and I was just writing to my sisters. ”

“I fear I am interrupting you.” Darcy continued to stand, but he placed his hat on the table.

“Oh, no. I keep a sort of running letter open and write a little each day. When I have enough to be of interest, I will close the letter and send it off to them. It is something like a journal.”

Pulling the last shreds of his courage together, Darcy looked at her.

“I was wondering, Miss Bennet.” This was followed by an awkward pause until he realized she was smiling encouragement.

“Would you care to take a walk? There are some excellent views from the outskirts of the village, and it is a fine day.”

“I would enjoy that very much, Mr. Darcy.” He could drown himself in those dark eyes. “I will just run up and get my bonnet and pelisse, shall I? And ask Hannah to tell my aunt and uncle.”

He smiled at her and moved to open the door to the parlor. In what seemed like moments, they were strolling down Lambton’s charming main street. Elizabeth looked about her with interest. “Is that the famous horse chestnut tree on the green, by the smithy?”

“That is the very tree. Prized by generations of children for miles around.”

“And are we walking towards Pemberley?”

“No. Away from it. There are some good views in this direction of the Peaks and the moorlands in the distance.” The road eventually narrowed to a country lane, overhung on both sides in places by trees, and bordered by fences and hedgerows.

Darcy continued, accommodating his long stride to her shorter one, until they reached a fence with a stile.

“There.” He raised his arm to point out the distant view of rugged peaks and high moorlands.

“Breathtaking.”

He looked down at her with a smile. “I am glad it pleases you. It is one of my favorite prospects, and I often pause here to admire it on my way home.”

“I should like to walk on the moors someday. Though I understand it is important to have a guide who is familiar with them.”

“Perhaps one day we shall. I would be honored to serve as your guide. Miss Bennet . . .” Darcy looked at Elizabeth earnestly, and his carefully worded speech was forgotten, leaving his mind momentarily blank.

“Miss Bennet,” he began again. “I have not forgotten your words on the occasion of our last conversation at Hunsford.” He looked at her, and while she remained silent, he noted that a blush had colored her cheeks.

He went on, “I remember the turn of your countenance, your exact turn of phrase: Had I behaved in a more gentleman-like manner. All of that has stayed with me.” He drew in a breath and plunged ahead.

“I was given good principles as a child, but I was left to follow them in pride and conceit. I learned to think meanly of everyone in the world outside my own family and friends. Such I might have remained but for you. But by you I was properly humbled! I owe you everything.” He looked at her again, searching her face for any signs of anger or disdain, and when he did not find them, he went on.

“Attending to your reproofs will be the work of a lifetime, but in good conscience, I have made a beginning. Each morning I resolve to take more notice of the world and of my place in it--not above it. Miss Bennet, my affections and wishes are unchanged since April, but one word from you will silence me on this subject forever. Can you, will you, do me the honor of becoming my wife?”

Elizabeth stood very straight and still, just as he remembered her standing on that day in April.

Her face was devoid of expression. She seemed to be looking inward.

Darcy saw her swallow hard, watched her eyes fill with tears.

And then she smiled and held out her hand to him, and he realized that they were tears of happiness. “Yes!” she said. “Oh, yes!”

He covered the distance between them in a single stride, taking that small hand and covering it with kisses before folding her in his arms. Despite her bonnet, he managed to cradle her face in his two hands, kissing her gently at first, then more ardently, until she yielded her mouth to him.

It was gentle, pleading kiss, and her response gladdened his heart.

She leaned on his chest, and he whispered, “I love you, Elizabeth. I will love you forever. I promise you will never be sorry.”

They remained in this attitude, saying nothing, until the sound of cart wheels in the distance forced them to separate.

Darcy seated Elizabeth on the nearby stile, moving to stand near her, but not touching her.

The farmer, recognizing him, touched his cap as he drove by, soon disappearing in the direction of Lambton.

“What made you change your mind?” Darcy asked when they were alone again.

“It was a gradual thing. But it began almost as soon as I had read the letter you handed me at Rosings.” She paused and looked off into the distance.

“After I had read that letter several times, I began to think that I had never known myself until you showed me how stupidly I had allowed myself to be deceived by Wickham. My father had the right of him. He said, ‘With such stories of woe as these, who would read novels?’ I had allowed my annoyance with you after the assembly at Meryton to grow into real prejudice.”

“And what of your sister Jane?”

“I think Jane is as fond of Mr. Bingley as ever.” Elizabeth looked at Darcy and extended her hand, which he took.

“It is my hope that he will learn that she was in Town for those three months. Other than that, I can ask only that you look at them with fresh eyes when next you see them together. They deserve the opportunity to work out their own happiness. I believe you will do that.”

“You have my word that I will. And I will acquaint Bingley with the knowledge of your sister’s visit to town at the first opportunity. He is with his sister Caroline in Bath at present. She was injured in an attack by robbers a few weeks ago.”

“How dreadful. I had not heard. Are her injuries serious?”

“She is expected to make a complete recovery.”