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The evening had been a perfect glimpse into the life she might share with Mr. Darcy, one filled with good conversation, mutual respect, and perhaps, in time, genuine affection.

For the first time since their hasty engagement, Elizabeth had found herself truly contemplating a future as Mrs. Darcy without the shadow of obligation hanging over her.

And now her mother’s imminent arrival threatened to undo it all.

It was not that she was ashamed of her family.

Her father, despite his tendency towards ironic detachment, was a gentleman of education and refinement.

Jane was everything proper and lovely. But her mother, while kind at heart, was also rather, well, childish, with her nerves and matchmaking and complete lack of propriety.

She would surely horrify Mr. Darcy and provide those who gossiped about what had happened in the garden on Twelfth Night fresh grist for the mill.

How could she not? Elizabeth recalled all too vividly Mr. Darcy's fastidious nature, his exacting standards of behaviour.

He had a wonderful sense of humour, but one had to know the man to understand him.

Her mother never would, and it would only serve to confuse her and make her behave more inappropriately.

With a sigh, Elizabeth sank into the chair beside the fire, acknowledging the truth that had been growing within her over the past week: she had begun to care for Mr. Darcy. But she was still not quite ready to marry him.

And now she would not have the time to make a considered decision.

She still felt she had not seen Mr. Darcy, not as deeply as she felt necessary before making such an important decision.

She supposed she was waiting for some grand gesture, some way to know that he was willing to bare his soul to her.

It was ridiculous. But there it was.

She pressed her fingers to her temples, feeling a headache beginning to form.

Perhaps Mrs. Abernathy's letter would succeed in delaying her mother's arrival long enough for Elizabeth to at least prepare Mr. Darcy for what he would face.

Though how one prepared a man like Fitzwilliam Darcy for a woman like Frances Bennet was beyond her imagining.

A soft knock at her door interrupted her troubled reverie. "Lizzy? May I come in?" Arabella's voice called softly.

"Of course," Elizabeth replied, rising to open the door.

Arabella entered in her nightgown and wrapper, her hair in a loose braid over one shoulder. "I thought you might be distressed," she said simply. "And when that occurs, you ought not to be alone with your thoughts."

"You are a true friend," Elizabeth said, leading her to the small settee near the fire. "I confess I am quite overwhelmed at the thought of my mother's arrival."

"Mother will manage to delay her by at least a week," Arabella assured her. "She is most resourceful in such matters."

"Even a month would scarcely be sufficient to prepare Mr. Darcy," Elizabeth replied with a rueful smile. "You know how she is.”

"Mr. Darcy is not so easily deterred," Arabella observed, studying Elizabeth's troubled face. "He has faced far worse than an overenthusiastic mother, I would imagine."

Elizabeth groaned with frustration. "My mother will extol his wealth and consequence to his face. She will speculate about his annual income and question him about the number of carriages he maintains. She will praise me for having 'caught' him as though he were a particularly prized goose."

Despite the gravity of the situation, Arabella could not suppress a laugh at this description. "I beg your pardon," she said, seeing Elizabeth's expression. "It is just—the image of Mr. Darcy as a goose—"

Elizabeth found herself reluctantly smiling at the absurdity. "It is absurd, is it not? Yet I assure you, my mother looks at gentlemen in just that way, as something of financial value."

“At least she does not expect to cook him for dinner.”

“ Belle .”

Growing serious once more, Arabella took Elizabeth's hand in hers.

"Lizzy, Mr. Darcy is not some callow youth to be frightened off by a mother's enthusiasm for her daughter's prospects. He is a man of the world who has dealt with far more challenging social situations. Such as being caught holding a lady’s slipper.

" She shook her head. “I do not know how to say this in a way you can accept, Lizzy.

The way Mr. Darcy looks at you, the care he takes to ensure your comfort, the pride in his voice when he speaks of your opinions—these are not the actions of a man who would abandon his chosen bride over something so inconsequential as her mother's lack of restraint. "

"Jane's suitor Mr. Peterson thought otherwise," Elizabeth murmured.

“I have not heard that story.”

“It happened not long after you moved away.

Mr. Peterson was showing every inclination of an attachment until the evening he dined with the family at Longbourn.

Mamma speculated openly about the match and the gentleman's circumstances, and Papa simply allowed her to continue. Mr. Peterson departed early and sent a brief, polite note the following day, citing unexpected business that called him immediately to town. We never saw him again.”

Jane had not been in love, not yet. But she had been terribly embarrassed by Mamma and had begun hiding her feelings, even from Elizabeth.

"All I can say is that she is well rid of him, then.

He was unworthy of Jane," Arabella declared firmly.

"A man who truly cares for a woman does not reject her for circumstances beyond her control.

Besides, the situations are hardly comparable.

Your engagement to Mr. Darcy is already established and publicly acknowledged.

There would be considerable scandal should he withdraw now. "

"So I am protected by his fear of scandal?" Elizabeth asked, unable to keep the bitterness from her voice. "That is hardly reassuring."

"No, Lizzy," Arabella said gently. "You are protected by his genuine regard for you, which anyone with eyes can see. The social consequences merely provide additional assurance, which you seem to require."

Elizabeth sighed, wishing she could share her friend's confidence. "I hope you are right. Things have been changing between us. There has been a growing understanding. I would hate to see it destroyed by my mother's inability to moderate her behaviour."

“Lizzy, you like him. Just tell him you will marry him.”

"I promise I am not doing this to be difficult, but I need a little more time. Though my mother may well send him fleeing back to Pemberley before I can decide."

"She will not," Arabella assured her, rising to take her leave. "And even if she tries her worst, I suspect Mr. Darcy's determination to win your good opinion will prove stronger than any impulse to retreat."

After Arabella had gone, Elizabeth returned to her contemplation of the fire, her friend's words echoing in her mind. Was Mr. Darcy truly seeking to win her good opinion? And was his regard for her strong enough to withstand the assault of her mother's vulgarity?

She could only hope so, for she discovered, with a mixture of surprise and resignation, that she very much wished him to remain—not merely for the sake of her reputation, but for her happiness.

It was a startling realisation, one that had been coming upon her gradually and that would require considerable reflection.

But for now, as Elizabeth prepared for bed, she allowed herself to take comfort in the memory of Mr. Darcy's warm gaze across the dinner table, the way he had her tea prepared exactly as she preferred it, his promise to meet her at Lady Spencer’s musical evening on the morrow.

Whatever the future might hold, whatever chaos her mother might bring, tonight had shown her a glimpse of what life with Mr. Darcy might truly be like.