This story was written for the March/April playground theme at A Happy Assembly, with comments, suggestions and assistance by JrTT.

In Sickness

That April was unusually wet.

The maids at Longbourn were accustomed to Miss Elizabeth's muddy hems and frayed petticoats. On very rare occasions, Sally or Polly would be impertinent enough to sigh over the state of her gowns. Their disrespect never fazed Lizzy. She had a vague notion of laundry being a long and involved chore. She realized she was making it more difficult for them. For their sakes, she did try to avoid mud puddles. Elizabeth liked Sally and Polly. She would hate for them to leave her father's employ over an abundance of dirty clothes.

When walking the groves at Rosings Park, Lizzy took her habitual care to avoid mud when she could, but the rain made it impossible. She came in every morning with her half-boots caked in mud, her hem not faring much better. Charlotte's maid, recommended by Lady Catherine de Bourgh herself, never uttered a word of annoyance or rolled her eyes at a guest. Still, Lizzy inwardly winced every time she caught the maid's eye.

Equally unflappable was Lady Catherine's nephew, Mr. Darcy. Pantaloons tucked into high boots, his aunt's maids never need worry about his clothes getting muddy. Still, dirt did not tremble at his consequence. When they walked together in the grove, Elizabeth would admire their shoes as they grew equally muddy. Sometimes, he was silent. At other times, he spoke. Elizabeth did not care to listen to his speeches. No doubt, everything Mr. Darcy said was only to reinforce his notions of his importance and superiority. No, Lizzy preferred his dirty shoes. She held his arm, let him choose the direction of their walk, and amused herself with his delusions of lofty dignity.

Her face downcast, a bonnet protecting her head, the first several drops of a morning shower went quite unnoticed by Elizabeth. It was the cold on the back of her neck that made her look up in confusion. Quickly, Mr. Darcy guided her beneath a tree. He pressed her back against the trunk.

"Miss Bennet," he said, "I fear the weather this morning has proved itself quite unpredictable."

She laughed. "Not so unpredictable, Mr. Darcy. The sky has been grey many days now."

He smiled, but Elizabeth thought he must be annoyed at having misjudged the weather. "So it has been," Mr. Darcy agreed. "I confess, I find it surprising you would choose to walk if you did not have the utmost faith that it would not rain."

Lizzy shrugged. "I do not mind the rain so much. I can run back to the parsonage."

"You cannot be serious."

She pushed off the tree. "I assure you, sir," Elizabeth replied, "I am entirely earnest. I have no intention of standing here until the weather chooses to obey my will. It is not far. In any case, I enjoy the rain."

"You will catch cold," he warned.

"I certainly shall," Lizzy replied, "if I stay here. Rain is one of the few times a young lady will run, and no one may say anything against her. Mind you," she added, "I will run without rain whenever I may. But even you cannot despise me for running home now." With that, she darted out from beneath the dubious safety of a leafy canopy, racing for the path that would lead her back to Charlotte's house. She and Mr. Darcy had been walking for some time before the rain began, but their pace had been slow and leisurely. Running, Elizabeth was sure she could make up that distance quickly.

Footsteps echoing her own alerted Lizzy to Mr. Darcy following behind. His long legs and sportsman's stamina allowed him to catch up to Elizabeth within moments. "I should like to see you back to the parsonage," he called.

"It is not necessary," Lizzy shouted back. Though she was in the habit of running, she was not in the habit of talking while she ran, or trying to make herself heard over an increasingly heavy storm. "It would be better for you to go directly to Rosings."

"I thank you," Mr. Darcy called, slowing his pace to match hers, "for the concern, but I would prefer to know you have not slipped in the mud or turned an ankle."

With an inward huff, Lizzy ran faster. If Mr. Darcy accompanied her to the parsonage, she would have to demand he come in out of the rain. He had already taken up much of her morning. He must be as eager to be free of her as she was to be rid of him. "Your attentiveness is commendable," Lizzy answered, "but my boots are sturdy and the ground is not very slippery." There, she had given him credit for the attempt to be a gentleman. He could not desire anything more than that.

He said, "Even so," and she found that not worth a response.

They ran until Lizzy was out of breath. The distance was farther than she had first thought. Ducking beneath the protection of another tree, Elizabeth held her hand to her chest and gasped.

"Miss Bennet!" the infuriating man called, following her into the shelter of the trees. He was not out of breath. "Are you certain you can make it back?"

"I need only to catch my breath," she answered. "Go on."

He stared at her, lips parted, face flushed with exertion and anger. It was really beyond the pale, she thought, that he could dare look for fault in her now. Her gown was soaked through and dirty, her chest heaving, her face wet with rain and sweat. He could not find any of those things unreasonable, given their situation! He was not any drier, for all of his importance.

"I certainly shall not," he replied after a long moment.

Arguing with him was a senseless endeavor. He would have his own way, that much was clear. Though she had expected him to wish to flee as soon as he could, Elizabeth supposed it was in character for him to be so relentless. Once he had made up his mind, Mr. Darcy was not the sort to rescind. She did not bend to his will, but he was probably so used to having his own way that he did not even hear her protests for what they were.

When she was recovered, Elizabeth resumed her run to the parsonage, Mr. Darcy at her heels. They were close now, and soon tumbled through the door, all mud and puddles. Neither of them wasted any time in pulling off their sodden hats, gloves and coats. The maid was not so unflappable now, with her arms full of dripping clothing. The commotion was enough that Charlotte soon appeared, crying Lizzy's name.

Elizabeth smiled sheepishly at her friend. Charlotte's eyes soon wandered to her companion. "Mr. Darcy!" Charlotte curtseyed. Mr. Darcy, drier for having discarded his great coat, but still disheveled, bowed. Elizabeth bit her lip to keep from laughing at the sight.

"As you see," Elizabeth said, "Mr. Darcy and I were caught in the rain."

"Elizabeth," Charlotte said lowly, "go upstairs and change your gown." Elizabeth, having already determined her great need for a fresh gown, disappeared up the stairs. Mr. Darcy, she left to Charlotte. Though he had accompanied Elizabeth into the house, Charlotte was the hostess. Seeing to a guest should be her duty. Charlotte could not provide much for his comfort. A cup of tea and a place by the fire, perhaps. He would have been better served to run to Rosings, as Lizzy suggested. He would have dry clothes there.

Once refreshed, Elizabeth skipped merrily down the steps, ready to regale Charlotte of her adventure running through the rain. Women like Charlotte, so practical, stayed indoors when the sky was grey. As she predicted, Mr. Darcy sat by the fire with a cup of tea. The entire ordeal would still seem miserable to him, sitting in a near stranger's house in damp, dirty clothes. Lizzy, dry and comfortable, considered the whole episode delightful now. She accepted a cup of tea from Charlotte and settled herself nearer to Mr. Darcy, so that he might assist her in telling the tale.

Any of one her sisters, had Elizabeth been telling a story about their mishaps, would have liberally added comments throughout her tale. Bits of conversation would have been remembered differently, or the number of times someone else slipped would be exaggerated. Mr. Darcy listened quietly, as attentive as Charlotte, his eyes never leaving her.

The following two days brought a rejected proposal, a revelatory letter and Elizabeth's grudging acceptance that she probably should have been able to tell Mr. Darcy was besotted with her.

Colonel Fitzwilliam sat beside her at church. That was unexpected. Firstly, because Lady Catherine's nephews had always sat in her pew. But more to the point, "I thought you and Mr. Darcy had left the country yesterday."

The service was still on-going, so the colonel needed to whisper, "Our plans have been postponed yet again. My cousin has caught a cold."

Elizabeth, who could easily attribute such a thing to running in the rain and sitting afterwards in a parlor without changing one's clothes, scanned the church for Mr. Darcy. Lady Catherine and her daughter were the only occupants of the de Bourgh pew. "I am sorry to hear it," she said. "Is it very bad?"

The colonel shrugged. "I think not," he replied, "but bad enough that traveling to Town would be unbearable. For myself, more so than him."

In spite of herself, Lizzy smiled. She felt terrible that he was ill, she really did. Looking at the whole episode from her new perspective, she understood his actions much better. He had thought she risked coming to the grove on an overcast day in order to see him. He had refused to abandon her and run to Rosings out of a sincere desire to protect her. He had sat and listened to her tell stories for the simple joy of hearing her talk about the two of them experiencing something together. How certain he must have felt! And then to have been so rudely rejected, accused of misdeeds that were far beneath him. How bitter his disappointment must have grown! To top it off, now he had caught ill for his efforts.

Still, the colonel felt Mr. Darcy fit to be mocked. It was strange to think of him this way, as someone whose family teased him. "Is Mr. Darcy a difficult patient?" she wondered.

Colonel Fitzwilliam sighed theatrically. "He's a very active sort of person, you know, and active people are very dreadful when they have to be still."

Elizabeth wrinkled her nose, grinning impishly. "Mr. Bingley said something like that once, that Mr. Darcy was awful in his own house on a Sunday night."

"Sundays," the colonel said, nodding, "or when traveling by carriage. Or when ill. Now he is ill on a Sunday, which is doubly bad, but less doubly bad than being ill in a carriage, which he would have been yesterday, had we left as planned."

"I suppose Miss de Bourgh nurses him," Lizzy said softly. "Her mother should insist upon it, if they are to be married." She looked to Miss de Bourgh, wondering about that girl's feelings. Did she care a jot about Mr. Darcy? Had she any idea how little Mr. Darcy cared for the mother's machinations? She was sure there was no official understanding between them. Mr. Darcy, who cared so much about family pride, would not have broken a standing engagement to propose marriage to Elizabeth.

The colonel laughed. "Miss Bennet! The things you say! I admit my aunt is keen on the match, but dear Anne, a nurse? We would have two patients before the day was out!"

"The things I say?" she protested, "Colonel Fitzwilliam, you should watch the things you say, or you are liable to make your family very cross."

"I do rely on their goodwill," he answered. "I would be unlucky to cross any of them." Soberly, he added, "They are not a bad sort, really — Darcy and Anne. You find Darcy wanting, I know, and Anne is quiet in company. To you, her character must remain a great mystery. I've no intention of telling you what to think, yet, I assure you, they can both withstand a bit of teasing."

Elizabeth shook her head. Mimicking the tones of Miss Bingley, she said with affected sternness, "Mr. Darcy is not to laughed at."

"More's the pity," Colonel Fitzwilliam answered. "He does so need it."

The service required them to open their prayer books then, and the whispered conversation came to an end.

After the service, Mr. and Mrs. Collins and their guests were invited to Rosings for tea. Elizabeth waited for Mr. Darcy to come down, but he did not appear. Too ill even for a brief visit, she wondered, or avoiding her? She inquired to Miss de Bourgh about her cousin's health, but the only answer Elizabeth received was a shrug.

Elizabeth played the instrument when requests for music were made, and she spoke with Colonel Fitzwilliam when Lady Catherine did not require him. Most of her thoughts, however, remained with Mr. Darcy. She caught herself looking to the ceiling on several occasions, wondering where above them his bedroom was. Could he hear her play the piano, or was the house too large for the music to travel? If he could hear it, did he know it was she? Did he find it soothing? Or did her presence in his aunt's house only make his resentment grow? His letter was charitable, but she knew he could not harbor only tender feelings for her. He must resent her.

On Tuesday, Elizabeth was caught in the rain again. This time, she walked home, alone. Arriving at the parsonage, soaked to the bone, she hastened upstairs to dry off and change her dress. Charlotte asked about what happened, but there was not much to tell.

On Wednesday, Elizabeth woke with a headache, a sore throat and a sense that some great error had corrected itself.

On Friday, Elizabeth wandered into the parlor well after breakfast.

"You missed Mr. Darcy," Charlotte chided.

"He was here?" Elizabeth asked in surprise.

"He was come to inquire after your health, Elizabeth," Charlotte replied.

"I cannot imagine why he would do such a thing," Elizabeth said. "Ours is a very trifling acquaintance."

"I do not believe Mr. Darcy shares that opinion."

Elizabeth shrugged. "We hold very few similar opinions, Mr. Darcy and myself. Why, the only thing we have in common is a propensity for muddy boots." There was a new arrangement of flowers on the table. Lizzy bent to admire them.

Though Elizabeth's body language clearly declared the subject over with, Charlotte could not help adding, "Feigning ignorance of his attachment will not protect you from Lady Catherine, Lizzy."

"I am not afraid of Lady Catherine any more than Mr. Darcy is attached to me," Elizabeth replied. "He visits here out of boredom. He inquired about me because one always inquires about the health of the household and you were unlucky enough to have an ill guest. I am better now. He will not wonder about me again."

Charlotte beseeched her, "Think about what you are doing. I am sure it seems very romantic, courting the favor of such a man, but you must start thinking practically about your future, Elizabeth. A man will not marry a girl he flirts with out of boredom. Either you are being sly or you have reason to think he will not marry you. If the former, I will ask no more if that is your wish. If the latter, you must stop this."

Half-diverted, half-vexed, Elizabeth replied, "There is nothing to stop. You think me delightful, so you think the rest of the world must as well. Mr. Darcy resents me. I do not blame him for it, but I do not intend to beg his forgiveness, either. I am quite at ease with his resentment."

"What have you done to him?"

A full confession was on her lips, but Elizabeth swallowed it. She had no wish to embarrass him by relating the failed proposal to anyone. "I made him ill," she said instead. "The day we were caught in the rain, do you remember? He insisted on returning here with me, rather than go onto Rosings where he would have a change of clothes. Sitting so long in his wet things made him ill."

Charlotte was shrewd. Elizabeth could see in her eyes that this version of events did not make sense to her. There were too many holes. Without knowledge of the proposal or delivery of his letter, Charlotte would think Elizabeth had not seen Mr. Darcy since the day they were caught in the rain. Why would she assume he was angry? Why were they out together in the rain in the first place, if not for an assignation?

Never the less, her friend had the grace to drop the subject.

Unfortunately, Elizabeth could not. "Did he happen to mention," she asked, "when he intended to leave Rosings? He and the colonel were to depart a se'nnight ago. Surely Colonel Fitzwilliam is more valuable to his regiment than such a long absence implies."

"He mentioned nothing of the kind," Charlotte said, trying to stop a knowing smile from appearing on her face, but largely failing.

"Charlotte!" Elizabeth protested. "I ask because I long to be rid of him! If I was counting the days I had left in his company, I would ask him for his plans, not you!"

"Of course, Lizzy," Charlotte said. "Please — be cautious."

Walking in the grove on Saturday morning, Elizabeth realized — she was not cautious. Oh, she had looked at the sky before she left. It was blue, and she did not fear a third occurrence of being rained on. But the grove was the place where she had formerly been in the habit of meeting with Mr. Darcy. He was still in the country, and if his visit at the parsonage was any indication, as hale as she. She should have thought to avoid him.

She had not.

So convinced of his resentment was she, Elizabeth assumed he would not dare appear in her favorite grove.

She was not cautious, but she was courageous, so with a deep breath, Elizabeth called to her surprising companion, "Good morning, sir!"

"Miss Elizabeth!" He went to meet her. "I had hoped you were well enough to resume your habit of walking each morning. I am glad to see you are."

"And yourself," Elizabeth asked, "have you made a full recovery?"

Mr. Darcy hesitated before saying, "Aye, very full."

"And at Rosings," she asked, "are your aunt and cousins in good health?"

"I thank you, yes," he replied.

Silence descended upon them. Elizabeth pursed her lips. His silences had always filled her with pique before, but now it was only awkward. "The weather appears to have taken a turn for the better," she tried.

"Yes," he said, looking upwards. "I have great hopes for the day."

Elizabeth looked towards the sky, as well. It was cloudless, but that could change quickly. With the weather they had been having, she almost expected it to become overcast within an hour or so. "I had not thought you so optimistic," she said.

"You have been loquacious on that score," he answered, "and you are correct — optimism was not a trait you ascribed my character."

She paled. "Must we speak of that?" Elizabeth asked. "Your cousin and yourself are likely to leave Rosings soon. I expect this will be the last we ever see one another. Let us speak of happier things, and part as friends if we can."

"No," Mr. Darcy said. "We must speak of it."

"That being the case," she applied, "tell me your opinion — should I acquaint my neighbors with Mr. Wickham's character? I will not mention Miss Darcy, of course. I ask because he has lately attached himself to a young lady, Miss King, on the account of her inheriting a large fortune. I had not thought poorly of him for picking favorites based on their inheritances," Elizabeth said, feeling more uncomfortable with each word, "but now I fear for her sake."

"Yes, I think that wise," Mr. Darcy replied. "Speak to shopkeepers first, if you can. He will have debts by now; they will corroborate your account of his nature. Gambling debts, too, I should imagine, though a gently bred lady can hardly investigate that."

"I am more resourceful than you may think," she said. Luckily, Lydia was close friends with Colonel Forster's wife. While the Bennet girls could not go around asking about gambling debts, the colonel could. A word to Harriet should do the job.

He smiled. "I have no doubt," he said softly.

Though he had been the one who wished to discuss the awful night of his proposal and her intemperate reaction, Mr. Darcy said nothing further.

She had acquitted him on the score of Mr. Wickham. She might as well acquit him on the other charge she had laid at his door. "Charlotte shares your opinion of Jane," she said, then quickly amended, "Which is to say, she knew Jane felt deeply for Mr. Bingley, but also thought Jane did not show her regard. If those who knew Jane best felt she was too circumspect with her feelings, it cannot be expected that a recent acquaintance could understand her. You were wrong to interfere, but if Jane had shown Mr. Bingley how she felt about him, he would have known better than to listen."

"It was never my intention to cause your sister or yourself pain," he answered. "I know it must mean very little. In cases such as this, the intent behind an action cannot erase the damage of its result."

'I am sorry to have occasioned pain to anyone,' she had told him, 'it has been most unconsciously done, however, and I hope will be of short duration.' Nothing about his manner betrayed pain now. How little those words must have meant to him while he was suffering! Though, Elizabeth reflected, she had thought his disappointment would last longer than a week.

"Do you think Jane has cause to hope?" Elizabeth asked. "Is it possible Mr. Bingley may still care for her?"

"My friend is not someone I would laude for his constancy," Mr. Darcy answered carefully. "It has been some weeks since I have seen him. I do not know how he feels about Miss Bennet now."

"Ask him," Elizabeth pleaded, "please, when you see him next. Jane is not so resilient as you. It has been months and she still feels the disappointment."

"I will ask," he affirmed, "if that is your wish. However, you must remember that a favorable answer is not guaranteed."

She nodded. "Thank you. A small chance for my sister's happiness is better than none."

They walked on in silence. Beneath their soles, mud squelched. Elizabeth looked down. His boots were caked in mud. had not offered her his arm, but she reached for it, grabbed on to him. Not all of the mud was wet and fresh. There was old mud, dry and flaky in some places. That his valet had not cleaned his boots seemed preposterous.

"Miss Bennet?" she heard him wonder. "You seem preoccupied."

"You have mud on your boots," she answered.

"Yes," Mr. Darcy agreed, "an unavoidable consequence of walking after a rain. If you examined your own shoes, I believe you would find them to be muddy as well."

She laughed. "Well, yes, of course, what I mean is, does it not bother you?"

"They are boots," he replied, perplexed. "I would be a poor sportsman indeed if I prized clean shoes above all else."

"Are you not fastidious, Mr. Darcy?"

"They are boots," he repeated.

"I thought your dignity above dirty boots," she replied.

"A man whose dignity requires clean boots sounds like a fellow I should not wish to hunt, fish or shoot with," he answered.

"You are being deliberately obtuse!" Elizabeth cried.

"I am a man with muddy shoes, who is not at all perturbed by it," he countered. "I am sorry that you are, though I cannot account for it."

"I find it surprising," she explained, "that a man of your stature does not insist upon his valet cleaning his boots between uses."

Mr. Darcy shrugged. "I trust my man to use his time well and accomplish what he sees fit to accomplish. When his master traipses about wet fields each day, wiping every speck of mud must strike him as a pointless endeavor. I find myself inclined to agree with him. These boots are for sport. I would not wear them in a sitting room, if that is your concern."

"People will see you with muddy boots."

"I do not find that people typically spend a lot of time examining my boots. If they do, I can safely say that you, Miss Bennet, are the first to bring it so vehemently to my attention. I am at a loss as to why you find it so significant."

"Because I find I do not know you at all, sir," Elizabeth answered. "I once thought my sketch of your character complete, but you have overthrown it entirely."

"That must work in my favor, then."

"I do not understand."

"Let me begin with a topic from some days ago, that you earlier stated you did not wish to speak of." Mr. Darcy waited for her to acknowledge it, then he continued, "I was very angry when I left the parsonage after the alluded event. I further had the bad luck to fall ill for some days afterwards, a time during which I had naught to do but stew in my own resentment." Elizabeth withdrew her hands from his arm. "I heard from my aunt that you had been caught in the rain yet again, and you fell ill as well. I was, by that time, very nearly recovered. The thought of you, ill, at your friend's house, without any of your family to care for you…it left me feeling…tender, towards you once again. I knew why you hated me. I found myself wondering, what must I do to make you love me?"

"Mr. Darcy!" she sputtered, shock and surprise churning about her belly.

"Is it false dignity and pride you find so repulsive? Shall I drop to my knees before you? Kiss the ground you've trod on?"

"No!" Elizabeth declared, horrified. "Mr. Darcy, please, this is entirely unnecessary."

"It is necessary, Miss Bennet," he entreated. "You think to-day should be the last we are ever in company together. I cannot bear it. A small chance must be better than to accept never seeing you again."

"We hardly know one another!" Elizabeth bit. "How can you expect me to love someone I do not know?" Elizabeth began to march towards the parsonage. "Ours is a trifling acquaintance. It would do you well to remember that."

"You must pay me the courtesy of hearing me out!" Mr. Darcy called after her.

She stopped walking. Stiffly, Elizabeth replied, "You demanded it of my justice to read your letter, and I did so. You can make no more demands of me, sir."

"Miss Bennet," he appealed desperately, "your words were deserved!"

She turned, "Deserved?"

"Being ill," he clarified, "with naught to do but stew in my own resentment soon taught me to turn that resentment upon myself. Almost from the first moments of our acquaintance, I have felt for you a passionate admiration. Do not pain me again by calling our acquaintance trifling. It has been anything but. I, in my arrogance, never questioned my own desirability as a partner. I assumed you would rejoice in any offer. I never paid you the courtesy of treating you as you deserved. I thought only of what my love for you would cost me."

Elizabeth was silent at such a speech.

"I ask you, Miss Bennet," he entreated, "what must I do?"

She stood, rooted to the spot. His desperation, his intensity had cast some sort of net over her. While she had no desire to encourage him, to continue on to the parsonage was impossible. He could move freely. The wet ground tried to claim his muddy boots as he stepped closer to her and closer still. He was so tall. Why must he be so tall?

He whispered, "May I kiss you?"

And even though she knew — knew — Mr. Darcy would take silence for assent, she could say nothing. His lips scarcely grazed hers, but the brief touch was enough to shock her out of inaction.

"Mr. Darcy!" Indignant, Elizabeth strode purposefully towards her cousin's house. "I have heard all I care to hear on this subject. I shall not entertain another word."

"Miss Bennet," he began again.

"You have no power over me," Elizabeth said, not slowing. "You cannot expect me to change my mind just because illness supplied you with many things to think on. There is nothing more to be said on the subject. I beg you to speak no more of it."

"Ho! Darcy! Miss Bennet!"

Elizabeth started at Colonel Fitzwilliam's greeting, momentarily afraid he had seen Mr. Darcy take liberties. But, she soon reflected, if he had, it was unlikely his greeting would be so jovial. With the presence of another man, Mr. Darcy would have to stop.

"Colonel Fitzwilliam," she called, waving. "Have you come to enjoy this fine morning?"

"Indeed," the colonel answered. "I had begun to despair of ever seeing the sun again!"

Elizabeth laughed and when Fitzwilliam offered his arm, she gratefully took it. They continued walking in the direction of the parsonage. "The rain has been persistent," she agreed. "Appallingly so, one might say."

"I had no notion your feelings about rain were so strong," Fitzwilliam said with eyebrows raised. "We must have rain sometimes. It is necessary."

"Oh, yes," Elizabeth agreed, "For some, I dare say it is. We all depend on farmers, and they depend upon the rain. For myself, however, I cannot abide a rain that will not cease! One shower will do, and then I think it best for those clouds to move on. There are other fields that may welcome them more."

"An interesting view, Miss Bennet," the colonel said cheerfully. "What say you, Darcy?"

"I am of a different mind entirely," Mr. Darcy said stiffly. "Crops require water to grow. One shower will not do. Many rains, over time, are necessary to allow the crops to flourish."

"You are lacking Miss Bennet's delightful creativity, cousin," Fitzwilliam said.

"Yet you must admit my understanding of agriculture to be the superior," Darcy replied.

"Indeed I do," his cousin answered. "Though I do not think it a fair contest. You will know more about fields and Miss Bennet will know more about whatever it is ladies know, ribbons and music, I suppose."

"You are too generous, Colonel!" Elizabeth said sweetly. "I thank you for allowing me the superior knowledge of ribbons. Why, just yesterday, I was trimming a hat with a lovely new ribbon procured for me by Mrs. Collins. I found, however, that it did not look well with my hat at all. I had to pull the entire thing to pieces. I shall not attempt to trim that same hat with that same ribbon again. I have already found they do not suit. What do you say to that, Mr. Darcy?"

"Ladies' hats often have feathers and fruit, as well as ribbons," Mr. Darcy observed. "Perhaps if you removed some of the items that obscured view of the hat, you might find the ribbon suits well."

"I appear to have walked into an argument of some duration," the colonel said laughingly. "Surely you are not in dispute over hats or ribbons or rain. You can have no reason to stoop to disguise in front of me! Unless," and here, his amusement grew, "this is a lovers' spat."

"Colonel Fitzwilliam!" Elizabeth cried, "No!"

Mr. Darcy said, "Yes."

The colonel did burst out laughing then. Mr. Darcy's expression grew more sour, if such a thing was possible. His cousin laughed harder. Finally, Mr. Darcy bowed, muttered, "Accept my wishes for a happy afternoon," and marched away, towards Rosings. Elizabeth bit her lip. Mr. Darcy was acting like a child, stalking away like that! Colonel Fitzwilliam's laughter was a bit extreme.

"That is enough of that," Elizabeth chided. "Mr. Darcy and I often argue and there is little diversion to be had of it."

Fitzwilliam, once he had regained his wits, said, "So it is true? You are lovers? I knew he was taken with you. That could hardly be missed!" Elizabeth, who had missed the signs of his admiration for months, flushed. The colonel continued, "You were very sly, Miss Bennet. I thought you sincerely disliked him!"

"I do dislike him," she huffed, "And we are not lovers. Among your family, staring at someone and not speaking to them at all may be considered a courtship, but I am of a differently mind entirely. He may wish to pay me attention, but I am not obliged to accept it."

"There are very few women who would say the same," Colonel Fitzwilliam mused.

"I have known women," Elizabeth admitted, "who preferred a comfortable establishment to a husband they could respect. I would not count myself among them."

"I have always found you to be a quick-witted, sensible young lady, Miss Bennet," the colonel said. "A prudent marriage for material comforts sounds sensible in some respects, I suppose, but to esteem your partner is wise in its own way. What misery must follow spending your life with someone you dislike!"

Elizabeth, who had observed her parents' marriage with dread, nodded. Mr. and Mrs. Bennet were ill-matched, lacking esteem, respect or anything to speak to one another about. A marriage of unequal minds and conflicting tempers was disagreeable.

"But you have roused my curiosity," the colonel continued. "You are a studier of character, I recall. Tell me, what sort of character would you esteem in a husband?"

Elizabeth laughed, for that question had plagued her since she came out in society. "I hardly know! I have never given my heart to any man. I cannot think of the perfect combination of temper and talent that would make me do so!"

"You must have some idea," he prompted.

She hesitated, thinking carefully. "I think it a husband's duty to increase his wife's knowledge of the world," she said slowly. "To wit, he must be naturally intelligent, enhanced by education and experience. He must respect my intelligence enough to guide me into greater understanding, without deciding for himself what a woman should or should not know."

"I fear you shall not find many men like that!" the colonel declared.

"I have not encountered one yet," she answered.

The colonel smiled, then said, "Go on."

"He must possess Christian charity," Elizabeth continued. "He must be generous to the poor and kind to servants."

"I should not think otherwise," Fitzwilliam said.

Thinking of her parents' regretful marriage, Elizabeth added, "He must take an interest in all of his children, in their education and their moral development. I am not so naive as to think he shall never be cross with me, but when he is, he must not show it to them."

"Very fair," the colonel approved. "Please, one more."

"Oh," she said, "I suppose he must be polite."

"Well!" Fitzwilliam declared, "it is no longer a wonder to me that you are fond of my cousin! If you wish to deny your understanding, I suppose I cannot fault you too much. Lady Catherine would be displeased to know of it. When you come into Kent as man and wife, it will be better for both of you to pretend you are strangers!"

"You are not half so clever as you think you are, Colonel," Elizabeth groused. "I will grant you Mr. Darcy is a man of the world, but he is also disdainful of those below him, ill-tempered and rude."

"You have already proven to me you know better," the colonel replied lightly, "so I shall not play this game anymore." When he left her at her cousin's door, Fitzwilliam told her, "If you have a message for me to give Darcy, I will be happy to deliver one."

"I have nothing to say to him," Elizabeth sniffed, disappearing into the house.

Sunday was the second day in a row without any rain. Monday dawned bright and cloudless. In high spirits, Elizabeth hitched up her skirts and ran through the fields that bordered her cousin's garden. She would be returning to Longbourn soon. She was happy at the thought of seeing Jane again, of climbing the stiles of home soon, of running her fingers over the spines of her father's beloved books and secreting borrowed tomes away. Rosings was beautiful and she loved the way the grass and trees smelled so vibrantly. The rain had had a glorious effect on the wild flora.

She dropped her skirts and slowed to a walk, letting her mind wander. Though she would not miss Rosings Park, Elizabeth did enjoy the opportunity to become acquainted with such a different landscape. Though she could never had made herself as happy here as Charlotte, she had grown fond of certain aspects of Kent.

Other parts of the landscape, she liked as little as ever. Mr. Darcy was still in the country, and rapidly walking towards her.

Elizabeth suppressed the urge to roll her eyes. She gave an agitated shake of the head before he came too close and said, "Good morning, Mr. Darcy," when he did.

He bowed. "Miss Bennet."

Elizabeth waited for him to make another impassioned, unwelcome speech and when he did not, resumed her walk. He fell into step beside her. Perhaps he had decided she was not worth the trouble. Though she knew from his letter that it was wounded vanity that began her dislike of him, if he decided now that his original assessment was best, she could only be relieved.

Unable to help herself, Elizabeth looked at his boots. They were clean. "Your valet wiped your boots," she observed.

Mr. Darcy chuckled. "The fields are no longer so muddy. He must have thought it safe to clean them."

She thought of her own boots, still caked with mud and the petticoats that gave Charlotte's maid palpitations. "I hope for his sake, he did not do so prematurely."

"You think it will rain again?"

"Each time I have thought I have seen the end of something" Elizabeth answered, "I have been mistaken."

"I presume you thought you had seen the last of myself on several occasions," Mr. Darcy said.

"You presume correctly," she replied grudgingly. "You keep pushing back your date of departure. I am shocked that your cousin is able to keep your schedule."

"Fitzwilliam is the son of an earl," Mr. Darcy reminded her. "With his connections, his career is only as taxing as he desires."

She heard the rain first. Her head protected by a bonnet and her arms protected by her pelisse, it was the sound of droppings hitting the leaves that made her realize: it had begun to rain again. Mr. Darcy wasted no time in seizing her hand and pulling her beneath the shade of a tree. Elizabeth, who had learned her lesson in running through the rain, made no attempt at escape. Feeling like a coward, she did, however, inch her way around the tree so that they stood on opposite sides of the trunk. She could not see him, only hear him breathe.

He made some poorly delivered joke about his valet's judgement.

"You do not know me," Elizabeth said suddenly.

"Miss Bennet?" he questioned.

"You do not know me," she repeated from the shelter of her side of the tree trunk. "I do not understand your character, and you do not understand mine. I hope you have already seen how foolish it is to claim you love me, but if you have not, there it is. You do not know me."

He said nothing.

Elizabeth sighed in relief and leaned back against the tree trunk. The rain persisted, but it appeared Mr. Darcy was less stubborn than the weather. She was glad of it. She would leave Kent soon. It was unlikely they would ever cross paths again. It gave her peace of mind to know he had given up. Elizabeth did not want to spend her life wondering if Mr. Darcy still thought of her.

She watched the rain for a few minutes, then closed her eyes. The sound of rain hitting the leaves, hitting the grass, was relaxing. From her dry shelter, it was a pleasant thing to listen to.

When she opened them, Mr. Darcy was before her. Had she been able to take a step back in surprise, Elizabeth would have. Instead, she flattened herself against the tree.

"You are mistaken," he said.

"Pardon?" she sputtered.

"In saying that I do not know you," he explained, "you are mistaken."

Frustrated, Elizabeth said, "You know things about me. It is not the same."

"How is it not?"

"You could not make me happy," she answered.

"If you cannot see the foolishness in claiming not to understand my character, while also claiming I could not make you happy, there it is."

"My apologies, sir," Elizabeth said, "I had not understood my happiness to be a concern of yours. I hope my confusion is understandable considering you have spent most of our conversations primarily concerned with your disgust at feeling anything towards myself at all."

"I have no greater concern than your happiness," Mr. Darcy insisted.

"Yet," she protested, "when I ask you to leave it be, you will not."

"That is because, and I beg it of your justice that you do not hear arrogance which I do not intend in these words, that is because I know I can make you happy."

It did sound arrogant. She was becoming tired. "And how is that, sir?"

Mr. Darcy smiled. "Because, Miss Bennet, I am determined to do it."

"You must know I feel no reciprocal inclination," she protested. It was true Elizabeth had thought little about Mr. Darcy's happiness, but in the past days, she had thought much about his health and comfort. He had dominated her thoughts to some degree or another since they were caught in the rain together. Or, if she was being entirely honest, since they had first met.

"Every moment I look upon you makes me happy," he said softly.

She laughed. "That will change quickly! My charms will fade soon enough."

"Impossible."

Elizabeth did roll her eyes then, and she did not care that he saw.

"Your laughter will not fade," he said. "Your sweetness will not fade. Greater knowledge of the world will only sharpen your wit. Greater experience among society worthy of you will encourage your fearlessness. You will not grow less opinionated with age."

Though Elizabeth had not thought herself insensible to the compliment of his attention, it was only now that she understood how closely he had been watching her. What Mr. Darcy liked about her were the very things she liked about herself.

A sudden clap of thunder startled her. Mr. Darcy removed his greatcoat and wrapped it around her shoulders before Elizabeth knew what he was about. On her slight frame, the hem of the coat touched the ground. She was encased in wool and the smell of him.

"I would not wish for you to catch a chill," Mr. Darcy said, tone commanding. "You have just gotten over your last illness."

"The same could be said for you," Elizabeth replied. Remembering his words from their last confrontation, she added, "I may not have my family at hand to care for me, but yours do not appear to be inclined to nurse an invalid. The colonel made sport of you when you were ill." Mr. Darcy shrugged. "When I applied to Miss de Bourgh about you, she shrugged."

Delighted, he asked, "You inquired about me?"

Elizabeth shrugged. "As I would for any acquaintance who had grown ill."

Mr. Darcy was undaunted by Elizabeth's dismissive tone. In fact, he appeared to take it as encouragement, "I have risen in your estimation, then."

"That much should have been clear days ago, sir," Elizabeth protested, "when we discussed your letter. Or did you think I would acquit you of injury against Mr. Wickham, accept that he was a most undeserving young man, and still hold you accountable for his poverty?"

"Forgive me, Miss Bennet," he said, eyes lit. "I accepted your justice without any thought that it must be accompanied by a growing fondness for myself."

Elizabeth, whose wit was celebrated by anyone with enough of their own to recognise it, was rarely trapped as neatly as Mr. Darcy had done. Though she wished to discourage him, she had betrayed her growing esteem. Esteem him, she did. The more she thought on him, the more clearly she could see his goodness. He had not Mr. Wickham's charm or Mr. Bingley's ease, but morality and charity required neither. As for herself, she could not deny respecting a man who so eminently deserved it.

Respect, however, was easier to give than a heart. "You run free with my words, sir," Elizabeth chided. "A rise in estimation is not necessarily accompanied by fondness."

"Your mind would demand that you respect any man you entertained a fondness for," Mr. Darcy replied.

Elizabeth raised an eyebrow. "You speak as though you think that a rare quality. Is that how I earned your approbation? You are enthralled by something as commonplace as a woman preferring to respect a man than not?"

His large palms found her shoulders. Mr. Darcy smoothed his heavy greatcoat over her arms. She had not felt a chill prior to his desire to warm her. "How you earned…?" he mused thoughtfully. "I hardly know. It has been so long. I cannot think of you without admiration. To disapprove of you would be strange indeed."

That was a strange thought! Elizabeth could hardly imagine a Mr. Darcy that did not dislike her! Herself, fond of him was equally peculiar. Had she ever liked him? She tried to think back to the Assembly when she had first encountered him. She had taken notice of him before he insulted her, but his hurtful words filled her mind. Elizabeth could not recall what impression, if any, he had made prior to that.

"Forgive me," Elizabeth said sweetness concealing a satirical edge, "but to be fond of you is strange."

"You admit," he said, "not impossible. Only, perhaps, something you had not considered."

"Not at all," she bandied back. "I have considered it at length. As I am determined to loathe you, it would be a great misfortune to develop a tender."

"Every life must know some misfortune, Miss Bennet. Should I be the source of your distress, let me assure you, I would go to any lengths to ensure you are rewarded for your fortitude."

"You are relentless, Mr. Darcy! But it is as I said at our last meeting. You have no power over me! You are unaccustomed to anyone's refusing you, but I will not be badgered into accepting your suit."

"It is true," he admitted, "that it is you who wields power over me. It was impolitic of me to tell you how I struggled against it. Any man, used to being his own master, would revolt against being held in thrall by a woman. As is proper, I have surrendered. Your triumph, however unintentional, was hard-won, Miss Bennet. I would ask you to reap the spoils."

Was he comparing falling in love to war? "That was hardly poetic."

"At this juncture, it would be presumptuous to claim your having even a slight inclination in my favor," Mr. Darcy said. "Poetry would certainly starve it away."

Elizabeth laughed. "Whereas your love is so stout and healthy even rejection nourishes it?"

Darcy only smiled. "It appears so."

She could not accept him. It was true that he had risen a great deal in her estimation. His letter had given her much to think on. His devotion, so strong it lead him to the sick room, was in his favor. Yet, Elizabeth did not know him well enough to seriously consider spending her life with him. She would not capitulate simply because he was a particularly relentless suitor. Though, she privately admitted, if one must have a particularly relentless suitor, it was very flattering when he was handsome, witty and rich.

Her former harshness had softened. Rather than rail at him as she once had, Elizabeth wanted to protect him. "Let us hope," she said, looking over his shoulder, into the driving rain, "we are its equals in health."

They were not.

Mr. Darcy's departure from Kent was delayed by a cold a second time, while Miss Bennet wrote her uncle to ask that he delay sending his man to fetch her, as she was too ill to leave Mrs. Collins's house.

That May was cloudy, but not unusually so, and they both found it better weather for courting.