Elizabeth shivered as she lighted from the Bennets’ carriage in front of Netherfield on the last day of the year. The sun had not yet risen, but rays of light over the horizon glinted off a few white fluffy clouds high in the air. The crisp air was filled with the baying of hounds, the stamping and braying of horses, and a cold wind penetrated through her heavy winter coat and made her nose redden.

Bracing.

Most of the gentlemen were already gathered and mounted on the lawn in front of Netherfield. They sat on their horses, with gloved hands clinging to leather reins, as the horses stamped and stomped against the cold. Footmen circled about delivering crystal glasses of whiskey and porcelain cups of cocoa or coffee for warmth against the cold.

Almost two dozen men on horses waiting for a few stragglers. Tomorrow was the New Year, and Bingley was hosting a great hunt for the gentlemen of the neighborhood and a grand dinner afterwards for the ladies. Elizabeth had not needed to come so early, but she wanted to see Darcy off, before spending the day in conversation with the ladies who were descending upon the house.

As Elizabeth glanced around she saw that Georgiana was out as well, smilingly talking to Mr. Peake who sat on a grey gelding he had borrowed from Bingley’s stables. It surprised her how well he took to managing the horse. He could not have much opportunity to ride in London. Mr. Gardiner loved to fish and enjoyed shooting, but the fox hunt was too much of a young man’s game for him. But Mr. Peake had grown up in Derbyshire and worked on Darcy’s massive estate for five years before he took his position with her uncle.

Elizabeth’s eyes surveyed the lawn, seeking her prey.

There he was.

Darcy sat tall and splendid in his red hunting jacket with large gleaming buttons and knee-high boots. The white tights that clung to his muscular thighs gleamed like snow. His horse was a massive stallion who frightened Elizabeth at first, but she’d been introduced to the beast, and now she knew that he had a sweet temperament and enjoyed apples and bits of sugar. Darcy looked proud, stern, like the great gentleman and master he was. His eyes looked calmly over the men.

Then he looked at her.

His smile took her breath away. With the smallest motion of his legs he directed his horse towards her. The smile destroyed the impression of noble severity. It made her stomach flip in little fluttering circles. He only looked at her this way.

She hurried to meet him, her boots crunching on the hard ground.

Darcy took her hand and leaned low on his horse so that he could kiss her, the warm breath heating her through her thick gloves.

“Off to kill some poor fox?” Elizabeth smiled gaily at him. “What has he ever done to you?”

“One hopes it shall be a dame, so that we can reduce the horde of pests destroying the livestock of this country that much more.”

“Nay, nay — horrid notion. To plan to kill a woman.”

“A Lady Fox. But then she would be a whig.”

Elizabeth giggled and then groaned at the pun on the name of the famous politician. If he had not been sitting on his black snorting beast, she would have shoved him. “Not such a joke. No. No. Whiggishness is no excuse to kill foxes.”

“It is my pleasure to entertain you with such word play.”

“No! I do not give encouragement to such jokes.”

“Of course not, my dearest.”

Elizabeth flushed with happiness, though she could see from his eyes that he fully intended to use any other puns which crossed his mind. “Not that easily. You cannot call me my dearest and expect me to accede to everything—”

“Our life would become a dreadful bore if I could.”

“The pun is a vulgar form of humor, far beneath you.”

“It is poetry, rhyme. Rhythm — you admire the Bard. He uses puns oft. We have before discussed the farce in Midsummer Night’s Dream. You referred once to the character by the name of Bottom.”

“Horrid, shocking man — if I loved you not, I would be obliged to slap you.”

“Only for your benefit do I make such jests.”

“You are a strange benefactor—but I throw my hands in the air” — Elizabeth dramatically threw her hands into the air — “And I wash my hands of the matter. If the Bard uses puns, I cannot expect a mere mortal such as you to resist.”

“Nor will I expect a mere, mortal female such as you to resist the addition to my allure such humor gives.”

“Arrogant man.”

“You admire me for it.”

“Take care. I would be made miserable if you hurt yourself leaping some gate you ought not attempt.”

“Do not worry — you can ask Bingley — I am the soul of caution during the chase.”

Elizabeth raised her eyebrows skeptically.

“Perhaps not the soul of caution. I show some moderation.” He openly ogled her person. “I have too much eagerness for our wedding to let it be put off by a bad fall.”

“That thought I shall depend upon.”

The gamekeeper sounded his brass horn, and the hunt gathered into its formation, Darcy near the front. Everyone laughed and chattered. They all were splendid and handsome in their jackets upon the healthy horses. The hounds were released and they leapt around the kennelmaster. The horn was blown again in a tight taroo familiar even to Elizabeth. The hunt set off.

Georgiana walked near Elizabeth and they stood together, watching the clump of horsemen, with Darcy’s head sticking up above them all, descend down the carriageway to Netherfield, and then around a bend in the road which took them behind a tall hedge and hid them from the sight of the half dozen ladies who had come out so early. The top of Darcy’s cap bubbled up, barely above the line of the hedge as they rode along, and then the group turned down the road again, and even that disappeared.

Elizabeth looked at Georgiana. “Inside, Georgie. Too cold for us, the wiser sex, to stand round whilst the men hunt and freeze.”

“Oh no! It gets far colder in Derbyshire. You shall become used to that! I am almost comfortable at present.”

She looked at Elizabeth, as though she wished to say something, but then Georgiana bit her lip and shook her head and walked inside. They greeted and talked to the other women. Mrs. Goulding was there, and she had a kind word for Georgiana.

The women clumped themselves in the breakfast room to get rolls and coffee before retiring to the drawing room to wait out the exciting day of dangerous leaps that the men would enjoy. Elizabeth believed in Darcy’s caution and skill with a horse, but in the course of her girlhood, in just the narrow confines of her part of Hertfordshire, a half dozen men had killed themselves or been permanently injured during the hunt.

In London she had once listened to a strange philanthropist who railed against the barbarism of how the hunt cruelly hounded the poor foxes. He had been a ridiculous man who believed all ailments could be cured if men adopted a diet with no animal matter, not even milk or cheese. He had learned of such ideas when he met mystics who lived hundreds of years in India. Or so he claimed.

Elizabeth strongly doubted both the salutary effects of removing meat — everyone knew that led to weakness and a loss of strength as sure as too much meat led to fatness and gout — and she even more doubted that the mystics lived longer than the normal course allotted to a man.

Perhaps it was not nice to hunt foxes. Foxes were not nice animals. Elizabeth had seen what happened when one of the sly creatures gained entry to a henhouse. The true barbarism of the hunt was how it led foolhardy young men to take foolish risks to impress each other. Darcy was past thirty though, too old and too proud to play such games.

The conversation of the women moved to the drawing room and became excruciatingly dull. More women arrived, and Georgiana was kept in conversation by Jane and Mrs. Lucas, so Elizabeth had no need to keep an eye on her soon sister’s pleasure.

Every gathering of women turned into people obsessed with servant troubles, the incomes of their husbands, fashion and fripperies. Only smallish doses of such discussion could be enjoyed! Today Elizabeth could not entertain herself with them. Darcy was everywhere in her mind. His lips. Everywhere. His touch on her forearm, the way he stroked his hand softly over the little hairs of her forearm, bare from where the gloves bunched up fashionably around her wrists. Their hands fit perfectly. Him sitting high and proud on his great horse — the tallest man in the group. Picking up his niece and holding her aloft, swinging around the giggling happy little girl.

Elizabeth imagined him holding his son, her son, their son. A little boy with his eyes.

She was going distracted.

With a laugh Elizabeth realized she’d sat for the past fifteen minutes without saying a word, and a doubtless absurd lovesick face. She made an excuse to leave the room and wander to the library. With her mind so full of Darcy, it would be impossible to actually read a book, but Elizabeth was confident she could read at least two whole paragraphs before her mind drifted off to obsess in peace.

Bingley’s library had scanty pickings, though not nearly so bad as it had been in the months when he and Jane courted. Elizabeth had still read everything in the library, except Debrett’s Baronetage. A wedding gift from the baronet Bingley had purchased Netherfield from, with his own entry bookmarked. Not even boredom would drive Elizabeth to that level of desperation.

Elizabeth studied the gold embossed leather backs of the books. The editions were expensive and fresh. A proper library had books with a beaten, read, appearance. Jane was no great reader either. Once Bennet grew a little older, it would fall to Elizabeth to make a determined effort to entice him to emulate his grandfather. Else Bennet would grow to be one of those hail and well met country squires who only had hunts and entertainments on his mind.

If Bennet combined the good looks and good manners of his parents, he would do far better as such a country squire than as a scholar. Some men were called to great deeds of the intellect, while others preferred feasting their fellows. Bingley had not missed his calling. Though her brother-in-law held a clever mind beneath his easy charm.

Aha!

Elizabeth’s hand darted forth to grab a slightly used copy of Midsummer’s Night Dream. She had read it in part several times while at Netherfield. Along with Othello, it was the only Shakespeare in Bingley’s possession. The jealous Moor and Iago did not fit Elizabeth’s current mood at all. But he had referred to Midsummer’s Night, which made it precious.

With a laugh at that conceit, Elizabeth settled next to the frosty window. Despite no one being in the library at present the stove glowed to keep the room warm so that it would be comfortable later in the day when larger crowds of guests arrived. Before Elizabeth began to read, Georgiana entered the room. She hung near the door, not quite looking at Elizabeth.

“Enter, enter, dear. Bored as well?”

“No! Everyone is so easy and so kind.”

“They are Jane’s friends.”

“Unkind” — Georgiana looked at Elizabeth and gave her a little adorable smirk that Georgiana wore when she decided to be brave and tease Elizabeth back —  “to say they were boring.”

“I claimed to be bored — which is a fault of mine, not the conversation.”

“You are so like Fitzwilliam. He would not say such a thing to me, but he thinks it often” — Georgiana walked across the room and brushed her fingers over the spines of the books — “he said as much to me as you did about his behavior; my loss of reputation was an excuse to spend less time amongst others.”

“He only needs a person to push him to join, and then keep an eye on him so that he can be sent to bed when he gets tetchy. Bingley only managed half the task, but I am quite prepared to order him to his room.”

“I am yet astonished you can easily say such a thing about Fitzwilliam — or to him direct. He is so grand.”

“Do not tease him in quite my manner. There is a great deal of difference between how such a liberty will be perceived from a wife and how taken from a girl twelve years his junior — but you ought tease Fitzwilliam a little.”

“I will!” Georgiana replied with a smile.

The girl frowned and looked around. She had perched lightly on a floral pattern armchair next to Elizabeth’s. But Georgiana didn’t relax into the cushions, as though she half planned to leap up and flee the room. Without looking at Elizabeth, Georgiana said, “Midsummer’s Night Dream?”

“My dear sister, you sought me for a reason. It was not to comment upon my choice of reading.”

With a blush Georgiana laughed. “You are so wise. That is why I wanted to come to you to ask. You will know. I do find it difficult to speak of. You know.”

“Not yet. Your manner happily suggests you do not have a dire criticism of me, or some worse secret about Darcy to reveal before I innocently and helplessly am drawn into his Gothic web set at Pemberley.”

“No!”

“No?”

Georgiana smiled and relaxed into the joke. “Pemberley is bright and sunny. And even in the winter everything is crisp and cold. Entirely unlike a musty Gothic mansion. Also we have no curtains.”

“I need not fear what makes the door to shudder at night when all are abed?” Elizabeth laughed. “Nor a headless monk.”

“Well…the headless monk is really sweet. You should not fear him.”

Elizabeth laughed and clapped. “Bravo, bravo. A fine return.”

Georgiana shyly ducked her head.

“I have a suspicion of what you came to talk about. Might I venture a guess?”

Her friend’s wide eyes shot up to her. Georgiana nodded with her lips parted.

“You have a strong attachment for your old friend, the handsome and capable Mr. Peake, and you are confused and wish some advice from me.”

“How do you know!”

“You have been quite obvious. It is adorable. Anyone who pays attention to you must be aware of your preference.”

She blanched. “Even Mr. Peake?”

“That is a less certain matter. He is as fond of you as you of him. In such matters lovers oft have the least ability to see.”

“No! He cannot be. He likes me, a little, at least. He always was kind, even before...Wickham. And after… But he is too… He is kind by letting me talk to him, and letting me listen to him about everything. And he adores Anne.”

“I despise repeating myself, but” — Elizabeth patted Georgiana’s hand, and the girl’s wide eyes looked at her, searching for reassurance — “in such matters lovers oft have the least ability to see.”

“Do you really think so?”

“I am certain. The instant your name was mentioned he stood to attention and begged to know how you did. And after a separation of so many years.”

“He did?”

“Your real presence can only increase his affection. A man does not stand near a woman as much as he does you, if he does not care.”

Georgiana’s eyes were wide as she considered this.

Elizabeth grinned at her soon-to-be sister. Elizabeth was so happy that any affection between others simply enhanced her joy.

“But…I am not so attractive as many. Do you know how I could maybe…be a little prettier?” Georgiana sweetly looked at her hands. “Like you and Jane? I am too shamed to ask Jane, even though I know she would be helpful. Everything looks perfect upon her.”

“Not on me? My sweet dear, you need no advice of that sort. He likes you quite well as you appear today.”

“But…”

“I am only glad he found a woman who likes to listen to him. I assure you most women would not be interested in the details of import regulations, while I saw you nodding along quite intently and encouraging him the day past. That is art enough.”

“No! I was entirely unaffected! I swear. You should listen too. His work is so interesting! I adore listening to stories about it.”

Elizabeth bit her lip to keep from teasing Georgiana further. Nothing could be a clearer sign of true affection than happily listening to stories about keeping warehouses stocked and selling materials at the best prices, and how easiest to manage His Majesty’s custom agents.

“Don’t you listen to Mr. Gardiner talk about his business?”

“Beyond a general way, not often. He knows better than to flirt with women in such a manner.”

“Oh. But Mr. Peake is not flirting with me.”

It was time to offer some sage advice. “You will need to encourage him.”

“What?” Georgiana squeaked.

“Mr. Peake is not Wickham. He is a little shy himself, you know. Good with his profession, but not such a great social creature. And he is a tradesman. It would seem to him presumptuous to ask for your hand.”

“Ridiculous, there is no difference of that sort. Not any longer. I lowered my name such that he is above me. All of the advantage would be on my side.”

Elizabeth pursed her lips and looked at Georgiana.

“You don’t think — I know I have a great fortune. But… He is doing very well. Right? I do not understand business, but the stories he tells me makes me think his firm must show a good deal of profit.”

“I am certain his attachment is not of that sort. Though — let us be honest — the presence of a fortune never lessens the charms of a girl.”

“I am scared of making a mistake, after Wickham...I always depend upon Fitzwilliam for such decisions.”

“No — no.” Elizabeth frowned, a strange anxiety and terror of possessing an opinion entirely different from Darcy in her guts. It was strange after they argued so much that she now would be frightened of disagreeing with him. “Even if you do not think much of your just claims, any longer, your brother has a high opinion of them. He is likely to dislike such a match, simply because Mr. Peake is in trade, and educated for it, rather than educated to be a gentleman.”

“No! He would not oppose my happiness on such grounds. You know how sweet Fitzwilliam is — I am beneath any tradesman. I have repented. But I sinned. That sinning, and Anne, will always be with me.”

Elizabeth pursed her lips. She knew Darcy would not consider it in that manner.

“You must be mistaken. Mr. Peake could not like me so much.”

“He does not take time to talk to every pretty girl in his path.”

Georgiana frowned thoughtfully. And sweetly. She really was a pet, so worried about this.

“No thinking of this sort. You are well matched in temperament and mind, and there is a strong mutual affection which survived a separation of many years. That is what matters.”

Her friend bunched her hand up in a fist and resting her chin on it looked out the window at the clear, crisp morning. “You really think he admires me? A little, at least.”

“He does.”

They sat quietly. Elizabeth’s eye studied the familiar vista. The woods denuded of leaves. The wagon track leading around the house. The fields bare, waiting the sprouts of winter wheat to poke their heads above the ground. Half of the tall stone barn was visible from this window.

“But I want to know!” Georgiana exclaimed plaintively.

Elizabeth raised her eyebrows and Georgiana blushed.

“I sound rather childish, do I not?”

“Very sweet” — Elizabeth poked her friend — “Pay attention, and you will see — you must pursue your own path in this. Follow your heart and your head.”

“You still think Fitzwilliam would oppose such a match.” Georgiana shook her head. “He only hopes for me to be happy and he likes Mr. Peake.”

Elizabeth loved Darcy, and she believed he would accept his sister’s choice in the end. But such a match would make him unhappy. He knew the value of Pemberley too well, and he thought much too highly of his sister to think she had been lowered to the level where a man in trade — a man who had once been employed upon his estate — could be an equitable match.

“If…” Elizabeth swallowed. There was a strange feeling in her gut. Darcy would disapprove of what she planned to say. Elizabeth shoved that emotion away. Darcy loved her. He did not expect them to share all opinions, and he was no controlling ogre. “If he opposes the match, do not let him do more than make you hesitate.”

“I could never go against Fitzwilliam’s wishes!”

“It is your life, not your brother’s. You have the final guardianship of your own happiness. And, Georgiana, happiness is what you deserve.”

“You believe in me. It makes me braver. But I could never ignore Fitzwilliam’s wishes, not after what happened the last time.”

“You told me Wickham convinced you Darcy would be pleased if you married him.”

“I remember.” Georgiana flushed. “I could not have been really so foolish. I must have known.”

“You were fifteen. Do not underestimate your potential for foolishness at such an age.”

Georgiana rubbed her cheek. “No wonder you do not blame me for what I did then. A girl capable of believing that…” Georgiana shook her head and whistled in awed disgust.

“You are different today. Wise and sensible.”

“Never against Fitzwilliam’s wishes. Perhaps he will oppose… I am not who I was.”

“If he argues listen. But when you have better knowledge from your own reasoning, act on what you know. Your brother is only a man, he makes mistakes.”

“How could you marry him if you think that?”

“I love him — I expect him to listen to me.” Elizabeth smiled. “Mr. Peake listens to you?”

“Oh, yes! I can tell him anything. But he is wiser than me.”

“You do not think he is wiser in everything? If so, I fear you will be disappointed.”

Georgiana giggled. “Not everything.”

“I am glad you know. An unequal marriage is never a good thing.”

Georgiana bit her lips and grinned. Then she looked down. “But what if he is not fond of me in such a manner?”

“Then you will depend on my advice to make you prettier, and more forward. A man likes to know he is liked before he ventures on such a venture. Show him that. Bring him to ask you — ask him first if it comes to that necessity.”

“Surely not!”

“Would you not like to be so brave?”

“It would be ridiculous — you did not! Not with my brother?”

“No — I was a little forward to encourage him. A lady ought never simply wait. Your brother had made up his mind — well before I had determined my own. You shall find this a difficult matter to believe, but he was nervous. I gave him a little reassurance.”

“Lizzy, I am so glad you are to marry Fitzwilliam.”

“I am even happier.”

Georgiana grinned.

“Especially since you are to marry Mr. Peake so soon.” Elizabeth added smilingly, “It would not do to leave Fitzwilliam alone in Pemberley.”