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Surely not! Had Mr Collins proposed to her? Certainly she would have remembered such an occurrence as that, for it would have been seared in her mind as the most revolting proposal she could have ever thought to receive.

She closed her eyes and tried to think harder of the moment, but her mind could not focus. Instead of seeing Mr Collins in her mind’s eye, she saw Mr Darcy.

“In vain have I struggled. It will not do. My feelings will not be repressed. You must allow me to tell you how ardently I admire and love you.”

No… that could not be right. She felt her heart beat rise as she began to remember.

She was in a room unfamiliar to her – a sitting room.

She was alone at the writing table beside the window reading a letter from Jane when the door opened and Mr Darcy was announced.

He looked stiff and austere, and as if he were going to be sick at any moment.

He paced the floor several lengths in silence, then the shocking words escaped his lips leaving her speechless.

Suddenly her mind went back to the dining room at Longbourn.

She sat at the table, the morning sunshine coming through the curtains and brightening the room in a way that felt out of place.

Mr Collins stood off to the side of the table, addressing her in such a form as to cause offense in nearly every sentence, yet he puffed out his chest as if the words he spoke must be taken in regard for the honor he was bestowing upon her in offering for her hand.

“My reasons for marrying are, first, that I think it a right thing for every clergyman in easy circumstances (like myself) to set the example of matrimony in his parish. Secondly, that I am convinced it will add very greatly to my happiness; and thirdly -- which perhaps I ought to have mentioned earlier, that it is the particular advice and recommendation of the very noble lady whom I have the honour of calling patroness.”

She then found herself back in the unfamiliar room with Mr Darcy.

She said heatedly, “In such cases as this, it is, I believe, the established mode to express a sense of obligation for the sentiments avowed, however unequally they may be returned.”

“And this is all the reply which I am to have the honour of expecting! I might, perhaps, wish to be informed why, with so little endeavour at civility, I am thus rejected. But it is of small importance.''

Elizabeth felt a knot form in her stomach as the two scenes fought back and forth in her mind.

She did not have a clear memory of either, but assumed they were true events.

If not, then certainly she would consider that she was going mad.

She could well accept that perhaps Mr Collins had proposed.

Her mother certainly wished for such an event to happen, and he had insisted on standing up with her for the first dance of the ball at Netherfield Park, as well as following her around most of the evening.

Every time she turned around, he was standing there.

In fact, she had agreed to dance with Mr Darcy only to get away from her father’s cousin for the length of the dance.

Mr Darcy… Fitzwilliam… her husband. Had she accepted his proposal after all?

Was that what she was now remembering? What wonderful words of love - You must allow me to tell you how ardently I admire and love you.

But she clearly remembered denying him. How then were they married?

What had occurred to warrant such harsh words after such a beautiful proposal?

What had happened in the time between the ball at Netherfield and the proposal that would have set her against him so adamantly?

She again closed her eyes as every interaction they had had before the ball played in her mind.

He had first insulted her. Then he asked her to dance at Lucas Lodge.

She had refused him. When Jane was taken ill and had to remain at Netherfield Park, she traversed the muddy lanes to see to her sister’s needs, and over the intervening days while at Netherfield Park had come across Mr Darcy several times.

He rarely spoke to her except in a tone that showed he was offended.

He argued with everything she said. At one point they sat silently in the library for a whole half an hour with not one word being said between the two.

Elizabeth remembered the stares as his eyes bore into hers.

She refused to look away. She would not be intimidated by such a man.

She now thought back to all the looks he had given her since she had awakened, and not once had she felt such harsh criticism from him.

In fact, if anything, she felt his eyes smile with mirth and affection when he looked at her.

Once, when he picked her up from the chair to take her over to the window, she thought for certain he would kiss her.

The thought sent chills up her back. Did she want him to kiss her?

She was so confused by all these memories flooding back into her mind that she was grateful for the interruption of the maid with a tray of tea. Her cheeks grew hot when she realized Mr Darcy was standing in the doorway, staring at her with an intensity she had not seen before.

After the maid left, he said, “Betsy said you wanted to speak with me?”

“Oh… right… I wanted… that is…” she sighed heavily and closed her eyes. “I am having trouble with some memories, and I fear if I do not gain some clarity, I will never have peace of mind again.” She motioned to the chair that sat opposite her own in front of the fireplace. “Would you sit with me?”

He nodded and walked over to the chair, sitting stiffly. “I hope I can help you clarify some of your memories, though perhaps your sister would be a better source of information than I would be.”

“I asked my sister before and she indicated that I should ask you if I had further questions, as she was not my confidant during the time in which I am remembering.”

“Oh, well then I hope I can be of help.” He poured her a cup of tea and fixed it just how she preferred it, with a touch of lemon and a bit of cream. He handed her the cup and saucer, then poured his own before settling back into the chair and crossing his legs. “Now, what are these memories?”

Elizabeth looked down at her lap, her hands worrying the knitted blanket draped over her legs.

“Well, I cannot say for certain if these are truly memories, or if my mind is playing tricks on me.” She looked up and he nodded for her to continue.

She breathed a sigh and closed her eyes, saying quickly, “Did my father’s cousin, Mr Collins, propose to me?

” Darcy’s tea cup rattled in his hand. It was certainly not the question he expected, but when she opened her eyes, he portrayed a calmness which she somehow knew he did not fully possess.

“I cannot give you the answer you desire, as it is not a conversation we have ever had in detail. Perhaps your sister would be a better source of information with regard to your life at Longbourn.”

She gave a small smile. “I suppose I will ask Jane then.” She lifted her tea cup to her lips and sipped, then returned it to the table and continued, saying, “I suppose you should be able to help with this second memory though. I have such strange and clipped remembrances of you proposing and my denying your hand, yet, clearly, since we are married, obviously I accepted you.”

“Not at first,” he said as he set the tea cup down on the table and leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees.

“My first proposal was given in a manner in which I justly deserved to be denied. I cannot say that your denial did not injure my heart, but it certainly caused me to examine my own character, and what I found was a man not worthy of your love.”

“I certainly never thought you admired me. You looked at me with derision every time we were in the same room.”

He gave a small smile. “You said as much to me when I proposed, and for my own part I could never see it, though my cousin has often said my scowling face does not adequately portray my true nature to those around me. I never looked at you with anything but admiration.” He reached for her hand, taking it gently in his own.

“Elizabeth, I deserved to be denied that first proposal. I wish you could remember my second proposal, for it is what is most important to my own memories. You forgave me my weaknesses and saw fit to end my torture and become my wife, despite those weaknesses.”

Elizabeth closed her eyes as he spoke, his fingers lightly rubbing along her knuckles.

Suddenly she had a memory of his hand holding hers as they walked along the path near Longbourn.

Was it possible she was now remembering his second proposal?

She knew she had to ask. “Mr Darcy… Fitzwilliam,” she swallowed, trying to find the words to express.

“I have such broken up memories, and often it is a smell or a simple touch,” she grasped their joined hands with her other hand, “that brings up such feelings in my chest. It is all so very confusing.” She looked up into his eyes that had not strayed from her own.

“Did you propose to me the second time on the path near Longbourn?”

He smiled and nodded. “Yes; after my friend and your sister were engaged, and after Lydia was married to Mr Wickham.”

She looked back down to their hands. “For the life of me, I cannot remember much of Mr Wickham. Did I know him well? I seem to only remember meeting him on the road in Meryton, and do not have any other memories of encountering him. Though, I suppose he was around my family often enough if my sister Lydia married him.”

He patted her hands, “That is a story for another day, as I am certain you will find the details quite distressing. I will just say that Mr Wickham hid his true nature from many. Unfortunately, Lydia was one of those, and she paid a high price for pursuing his attentions.” He let go of her hands and reached for his tea cup, sitting back in the chair as he said, “Is there something else I can help you clarify of your memories?”

She too reached for her tea cup, taking a sip before she tipped her head towards the bookshelf and asked, “Was it you who gave me the book of sonnets on the shelf over in the corner?”

He smiled, his eyes crinkling as he answered, “I gifted it to you on our first anniversary. We have often sat here beside this very fireplace or on the settee in the drawing room and read the pages of that book together.”

She smiled as she brought the tea cup to her lips.

Somehow, she found comfort in knowing that they had had a loving relationship, even if she did not remember it yet.

Could she grow to love the man who sat across from her?

That she could not say for certain, but she could say that with each day she grew ever more comfortable with his presence, and the thought of loving him, and being loved by him, brought peace to her soul.

For now she would take pleasure in their friendly conversations and hope that affection would grow from such a friendship as they were building with each new day.