Hertfordshire was loud. So loud.

Lizzy loved loud. Or so she told herself. So she had. Hadn't she?

She had, she was sure. So why now, returned to her rambunctious home, was she so desolate?

It was a stupid question to ask herself. She knew the answer. She had become too comfortable encompassed the quite companionship of the Darcys. She missed Georgiana's recitations and her French. She missed the way they would both rearrange the floral arrangements when people left the room and laugh when no one noticed. Most of all she missed how Georgie'd play the piano to match the mood of the book Lizzy was reading. She'd mentioned it in passing one night at dinner and Mary, bless her soul, had approached her and told her she'd be happy to try.

"I know I don't play as well as Miss Darcy, but I could try," She'd said, fidgeting with a loose ribbon she'd found laying on a shelf. "Kitty and Lydia always insist I need to play less somber music, but I can't seem to capture any other mood. Truly, you'd be helping me be more..." likable.

Lizzy kissed her cheek and then her forehead. Poor Mary was trying so hard, as she always did, and Elizabeth wanted to cry with gratitude. "I think I'd like that very much, Mary."

And she did, no matter how awful Mary's attempts at love lorn or excited or breezy pieces were. Laughing with Mary almost made her forget how much she missed Georgia and Mr. Darcy.

And Mr. Darcy.

She missed him very much.

She was ashamed of how much she missed him. Truly it was wrong. He had become a good friend, even with their occasional fights. She missed the way he would offer her his arm no matter how short the walk was and she missed the way he humored her when she just had to her opinion heard and how he understood her even when he didn't necessarily agree.

Being without him only made her realize how dear he was. She had once thought that only the deepest of loves would move her to marriage, but now it seemed as if it was this deepest love that would keep her from marrying. She loved him, but how could she have him? She was a gentleman's daughter in blood but less than wealthy. While he might not place as much value on such things, she knew what people would say about him if he'd ever decided to marry someone of her station – the insult it would bring to Georgie. He would never let that happen.

Granted those insults would depend wholly on his returning her affection, and she could not imagine how anything romantic could ever exist. It could have, she thought, even if neither ever acted on it. It could have existed quietly in the confines of their hearts to be dredged up on melancholy days when the mist was low and good friends scarce. It could have.

But it wouldn't. In what world could someone who had brought so much trouble to a man's doorstep then hope to garner his affection? Hers, Elizabeth supposed, as she could not stop hoping no matter how much she tried. She never understood what it meant for a heart to ache until now.

She was beginning to believe she'd lost Georgiana as well. She'd been home for what felt like a decade rather than weeks, and she had no word from the girl. She was well on her way to becoming the most wretched creature imaginable when the letter arrived. It read:

Dearest Lizzy,

How are you, my friend? I tried to wait for your letter saying you've settled back in at home, but I could not wait any longer. Lizzy, why have you yet to write me? Are things still not well at home? Please write to me, for I must know what you are about! I have gone from your constant companionship to being completely with out you, and it is dysmal! I feel like a drunkard going off the drink, though I beg you never tell my brother I've used such a comparison – the fit he would have!

O Lizzy, you cannot know how agonizingly slow time passes without you at Pemberley. On the best days I am able to read in the garden and remember that horrible set down you gave my brother over Midsummer Night's Dream. No matter how unceasingly he defended his point, I think he truly agreed with you by the end. He just did not want to admit that you'd swayed him.

My brother will be traveling to Hertfordshire soon, you know, so I am sure you will be seeing him very soon! I begged him to let me come along, but he says I must stay in Town with my cousin. I am afraid his visit may have something to do with Mr. Bingley who, as I understand it, is intent on returning to Netherfield to see your sister. He does not know the particulars of Jane's leaving Longbourn, but I would venture he suspects she left for her love of him, and he is determined to do right by her or some such nonsense. I believe my brother is intent on stopping him from seeing her and tending to some other business along the way.

I am sure he will call on you, but one can never speak when a room is full, so I thought it best to for warn you.

My cousin has come to bother me at my writing desk now, so I must make my goodbye. Write to me soon, sister of my heart!

Your devoted friend,

Georgiana Darcy

Elizabeth let a breath of relief escape her and sagged in her chair. The knot that had tied itself so intricately in her chest loosened a fraction. She'd not sent a letter because she wasn't sure if it would be welcome, but Georigiana – in all her good breeding – had been waiting for Lizzy to indicate things had settled enough at home for their correspondence to continue. Of course Lizzy should have been the first to write. How stupid she felt!

And Mr. Darcy…

Mr. Darcy was going to be in Hertfordshire. He was still trying to protect her family – to help her protect Jane. Such a good, good man.

A good man she would see again soon.

When he arrived at Longbourn two weeks after Lizzy had received the letter, Mr. Darcy appeared extremely stoic by the side of Mr. Bingley. He face softened only slightly when he gave Lizzy a smile before bowing to all the women in the room in proper greeting. Elizabeth found some sort of relief in that smile, but her chest felt tight heart was thrumming so unceasingly she was sure everyone must hear it.

Elizabeth turned her attention to Mr. Bingley who was staring at Jane like a child might stare at a long awaited toy. His affection was palpable and clearly superficial. He'd not seen her for months but now he looked at her as though he'd been courting her unceasingly. Jane's eyes were downturned, and she had her hands clasped tightly in front of her, her knuckles going white.

Mrs. Bennet, however, was thrilled at the appearance of the gentlemen. She was sure this was the time for Jane's triumph over a well-to-do man. She was desperate for it. She was afraid for Jane, truly. She was prettier than a pearl but not so young anymore. To engage a man's affection was to engage a man's security, and Jane was running out of time to do so.

As was the case, Mrs. Bennet made her daughters' excuses: "Oh, Kitty! Lydia! The dresses we've purchased to be made up. Run into Meryton, won't you, and see if they're finished. It'd be so nice for you girls to have them for the next assembly, especially since we've gotten Mary to agree to wear a nice color for once. Drag her from the pianoforte before you go. I want you to make sure she tries the dress on before you leave with it. I wont have her saying it's too ill fitting to wear, I just wont."

Kitty and Lydia, understanding their mother's intentions, scurried out of the room. Before Mrs. Bennet could think up more excuses for Mr. Darcy, Elizabeth, and herself, Mr. Bingley spoke up, "Actually, Mrs. Bennet, I was hoping to speak with Miss Bennet private," he turned his attention back to Jane, eyes shining, "If I may?"

"Oh yes!" Mrs. Bennet said, her voice breathy, from shock or elation Lizzy wasn't sure. "Yes, of course!" She rushed out of the room, calling for Lizzy to do the same.

Lizzy looked at her sister and saw her desperation to not be left with Mr. Bingley. If she didn't leave, though, no doubt her mother would be back to drag her away. Lizzy's shoulders sagged as she realized there was no way to help her sister, and she looked at Jane with as much silent apology as she could convey.

In that moment, seeing her sister so defeated at not being able to help her, Jane decided it was time to rely on herself for once. She wasn't Lizzy's responsibility. Jane squared her shoulders and gave her sister a nod of reassurance. "Mr. Darcy, won't you let Lizzy show you the garden? It is not so grand as yours, I'm sure, but we are proud of it."

Mr. Darcy looked as if he were going to find a reason to object, and Lizzy remember that Georgiana had said he was attempting to stop his friend's flimsy affection from hurting Jane again. Lizzy spoke quickly before Mr. Darcy could speak, "An excellent idea, Jane. Mr. Darcy?"

Mr. Darcy looked at Elizabeth as if she were mad, but when he nodded and followed her out of the room. She would not leave if she thought Jane were in any serious risk of more heartbreak. They walked in circles around the garden for a few minutes exchanging pleasantries before Elizabeth said, "She is not so weak as her past choices may make her seem, you know. I do not think she could be so easily swayed back in love."

"I do not think she is weak," Mr. Darcy said, lightly patting Lizzy's hand where it rested in the crook of his arm. "I believe my friend has pretty words, however, that can turn a tender heart. He is very sincere, you know. He really does believe he is in love when he says all those pretty things."

"Perhaps, but we know that believing something does not make it true, don't we Mr. Darcy."

"We do, yes."

"Someone aught to explain to him a love so easily dissuaded isn't love at all."

Mr. Darcy, feeling he was being chastised, was quick to defend himself. "I have tried, you know. To tell him he's too quick to believe his heart affected, I mean. It only serves to convince him he is a hero in some great romance and those who object are the villains attempting to dissuade true love."

Elizabeth looked like she might argue. Instead, she looked away from him and said, "I suppose you're right. I know I am often more tempted when I'm told no than when I'm left to my own."

"I suppose everyone feels the need to be contradictory once in a while."

"Yes," Lizzy agreed, "But one does not like to think of herself as such, does she? To realize I am the same to some extent – that I'm not special."

Mr. Darcy stopped walking for a moment and Elizabeth, arm hooked in his, stopped as well. His ears were slightly red, and she wondered if he perhaps wasn't as well as she'd thought and the exertion of their leisurely walk was too much. Before she could suggest they take a seat on the garden bench, he started walking again, tugging her along.

"I think you're very special," he said just when Lizzy thought the silence might go on forever.

She felt her face flush. "Oh? A good special, I hope."

"Yes," he said, "Quite good, I should say."

"Oh, quite good? I must thank you then, sir, for such a high compliment." Her voice was light and joking, but her heart was accelerating again, and her stomach twisting in anticipation of something she couldn't name.

Mr. Darcy stopped walking again and turned to face Elizabeth, moving to hold both of her hands in his. "Miss Elizabeth-" his voice seemed unsteady, and he paused to compose himself. He started again. "Elizabeth. I am not skilled with words. You know this. I have a head for numbers and matters of business. If I struggle to express my feelings..." He trailed off.

Elizabeth removed one of her hands from between his and laid it on his arm, steadying and comforting. "Take your time, sir. I will listen as long as you wish to speak."

His eyes searched her face for something. "Will you?"

"Yes."

"As long as I wish?"

She nodded and let out an amused huff, "Yes, as long as you wish."

He squeezed the hand that remained between his. "And if I never wish to stop speaking?"

"I know you to revel in your peace and quiet, Mr. Darcy. However, if you have suddenly taken a liking to oration, I suppose I must listen you until you lose interest."

"And if I wish to speak to you – to share my ideas with you, to tell you about my day, to discuss politics and literature and invention, to tell you all my thoughts and to listen to all of yours – would you still listen?" He was speaking with an urgency.

Each time Elizabeth thought her heart could not beat any faster without flying away, he proved her wrong. "It might take an awfully long time to convey so much, sir."

"A lifetime, I should think."

Elizabeth was sure she'd stopped breathing. "Might we have some time in silence too? Only, I worry you will lose your voice if you speak so much and then will have no need for me to listen."

"You may have whatever you wish, Elizabeth – silence, speech, music – if only you will marry me. I shall always wish to speak to you, even when I have nothing to say. So will you listen as long as I wish?"

Elizabeth took a shuddering breath, "Even after every difficulty my family has caused you?"

"Will you be my wife?"

"I will sir," she was sure there were tears collecting in her eyes. "For as long as you wish, I will be your wife. And when you are awfully vexed with me, or should you ever regret it, I will still be your wife because I – I love you. You shall never be rid of me now, fool man!"

Mr. Darcy looked almost faint with happiness. He kissed both her hands, then her wrists, then her hands once more before his ears began to turn red again. "I should talk to your father now."

Elizabeth took his arm and stood a little bit closer to him than she had before, and they walked back to the house. While Mr. Darcy spoke to her father, Elizabeth waited on the porch with bated breath. Jane found her there and sat beside her in silence for several minutes.

"What of Mr. Bingley, then?" Elizabeth asked as gently as she could manage.

"He proposed, and I sent him away," Jane said simply.

"Just like that?"

"As kindly as I could. I told him I had been terribly upset with how his affection simply changed. I told him I have forgiven him, but I cannot love a man I do not trust. He left as soon as he understood what I meant. You do not think I was too harsh, do you?"

"My sweetest sister, there is nothing harsh in protecting your heart."

Jane laid her head on Lizzy's shoulder. "And is that Mr. Darcy I heard Father speaking to in his study?"

"Listening at the door, Jane? My, you have changed," Lizzy joked.

Jane sat up straight and grabbed her sister's arm. "Do not tease me, Lizzy. Am I to wish you well?"

At this moment, the study door just inside opened, and the happy persons of Mr. Darcy and Mr. Bennet stepped out, still shaking hands.

"Yes Jane, I believe you are."

Epilogue –

The wedding of Mr. and Mrs. Darcy was quickly organized: bans read, friends informed, and license secured. Three months after engagement, family and friends gathered in the small Meryton church, and the two were married. No expense was spared on the wedding breakfast, and the Darcys accepted all well wishes gracefully and gratefully. As they were bidding their farewells, Elizabeth pulled Georgiana to her in horribly tight hug, but neither girl seemed to mind.

"You know, Georgie, you are quite like a sister," Lizzy said. "I think I shall keep you."

Georgie kissed her sister's cheek before turning to tell her brother goodbye. Then they were gone, riding toward Bath for a short, intimate wedding trip.

Georgiana and her cousin Fitzwilliam planned to stay at Netherfield until a week after Mr. and Mrs. Darcy's planned return to Pemberley. While Georgiana did not understand why they did not retire to her cousin's house in Town, it soon became apparent that Richard Fitzwilliam had plans of his own in Hertfordshire.

Apparently, Richard had become rather fond of Miss Bennet during her brief stint at Pemberley despite her often surly reception of everyone else, and he was determined to know her better. Jane was thoroughly embarrassed that someone who had seen her at her worst could seem so attentive to her. She quickly grew comfortable with him, and it wasn't but two months time before the two found themselves engaged.

Col. Fitzwilliam, obviously aware of his host's prior attachment, offered to remove himself and his cousin to an inn in Meryton when he had decided to court Miss Bennet. Bingley, however, insisted Fitzwilliam stay at Netherfield. Perhaps it was because Mr. Bingley had already gotten over his love for Jane, perhaps it was because he never loved her as he intensely as he seemed to think he did, perhaps it was because he was a genuinely genial fellow. No matter the case, he was quick in his felicitations to the couple.

That being said, Mr. Bingley was not wholly happy. That is not to say he was not happy for the couple, as he truly was. There was nothing he loved so much as love. He said as much to Miss Mary Bennet one night at an assembly when he found her sitting to the side as she often did, in a pretty blue dress he'd only ever seen her in at Darcy's wedding.

"Perhaps," she'd said seriously, "that is your problem. You are so in love with what you think love should be, that you do not know what love is."

Mr. Bingley sat for a minute, shocked and still. "Well then, what is love meant to be?"

"Why on earth would I know?" She asked, her face harsh and confused. She'd certainly never been in love, and she tried not to think about it.

Feeling chastised, "Well I don't know. You read a lot and seem to know a great deal. I just – I just though you would know."

"Well, I certainly don't read novels. Even if I did, I don't imagine books about love would be any better instruction."

"Why ever not? Surely that's what they're meant for."

"I certainly hope not. From what I've heard, those books contain all sorts of murder and debauchery. Is that what you want out of your eventual romance?"

"No!" Bingley said with extreme conviction.

Then Miss Mary Bennet did something Mr. Bingley had never seen her do before: she laughed. It wasn't a particularly graceful laugh, and he felt almost certain he was laughing at him rather than with him, but he smiled and laughed with her all the same. After all, Mr. Bingley was an amiable fellow, and he liked nothing more than to see people happy.

Mary, not used to having people laughing with her rather than at her, only laughed harder. When Mr. Bingley asked her to dance, her protests were only half hearted, and she found herself enjoying herself at an assembly for the first time in a long time – possibly ever. Talk of love was put away for the night but not forever. A stout friendship was formed between the two, to the confusion of most everyone. After the Fitzwilliam wedding, Mary left for Pemberly with the Darcys to keep Georgiana company when the newlyweds were absorbed in one another, and to also benefit from the same tutors Georgiana learned from.

Mr. Bingley was very lonely. It wasn't that there was no one he could speak to; he was still the charming man that everyone so loved to socialize with. He just missed his friend terribly. It was awful. He missed her blunt advise and how patiently she would listen as he described his day – how she would try to provide the words he was struggling to name. Worse still, he couldn't even write to her like he would other friends because she was a lady. With only his letters from Darcy as a means of hearing about Mary, Mr. Bingley decided to quit Netherfield and take up a room at Pemberly while he sought out a new arrangement in Derbyshire.

It became quickly apparent to everyone who saw Mr. Bingley with Mary that he stupidly in love with her, and he didn't even know it. There were no falsely sweet words and stolen moments; he was simply bursting with joy to be near her and horribly disappointed when he'd missed her. The Darcys were amused as they watched the odd romance play out. It wasn't many more months before the two realized what was happening (a story much to long to be documented here), and the topic of what love was was again brought up. The two were married just as soon as their license was procured.

Having three daughters married off in less than two years, Mrs. Bennet was was well pleased. However, she became reluctant to let her youngest daughters go courting. They were much too young, really, and with three sisters well married, there was no need to worry about what would happen to them should Mr. Bennet die before they were married. The girls still danced and socialized at assemblies, but with much less pressure from their mother. It was three years before Kitty married, and another year from then before Lydia married – Mr. Bennet still alive and as close to proud as he figured he could be.

I just really needed to end this story, so I'm sorry if it seems slapdash. Sorry if the Mary x Bingley bit in the epilogue was long. It was that or write a full one shot to get it out of my system, and I figured this was the more practical solution.