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Chapter Text

THE CAT’S GUIDE TO COMPROMISE

LESSON ONE: know where you belong (know what matters)

~{♥}~

WHEN Elizabeth Bennet was eleven years of age, she rescued a feral tomcat through a potent combination of compassion and spite.

By sheer coincidence, the tomcat decided to die on the back steps of the Longbourn estate at the same time that Elizabeth emerged from a day spent hopping through trees and mud puddles.

Mama said that she was a filthy beast. Mama said that the tom was a filthy beast. Having decided that in that sense they were equal, Elizabeth ignored the scratches, the bites, her mother’s hysteria, and her father’s condescension to nurse the badly injured monster back to health. In return, the scarred, disdainful, solitary cat was unquestionably Hers.

In fear that he would start responding to Mama’s frequent exclamations of “monster”, Elizabeth named him “Tom”.

Elizabeth Bennet still had a lot to learn about cats.

~{♥}~

Jane Bennet was allergic to cats. Mary Bennet was not.

For smaller and greater reasons, the courses of several lives were changed.

~{♥}~

One fall day when Elizabeth was not quite one and twenty, Elizabeth turned to her sister as they tried to warm themselves under the bed covers. “Mary, there is no need to scratch my foot with your nails if I am too close to you.”

Mary gave her a look of dark unamusement. “I do not know what you think of my nails, but I am on the opposite corner of the bed. I would not dare risk you rolling on me in the night. As Mozart says, ‘Happy is the man who looks at everything on the right side.’”

“I am not,” said Elizabeth, “convinced that is the metaphor you are seeking.”

She winced. “It does seem that I must apologize for mistaking your claws for Tom’s. How did he get beneath the covers?”

Mary gave her an even blacker look and Elizabeth smiled sheepishly. Quickly seeking a different topic, she cast about and found a better idea. “What do you wish to play at the assembly, dearest?”

Mary arched an eyebrow in a way that Elizabeth found uncomfortably familiar. “Nothing, unless you agree to sing for me.”

Elizabeth immediately fell into a protective rage. “Did someone say something? Tell me. I will set them about immediately. You are a delightful performer and it is an honour to hear you at the pianoforte.”

Mary sighed and grasped Elizabeth’s hand beneath the blankets. “It is nothing like that and you cannot fight all of my battles. The new inhabitants of Netherfield will be there and I do not… I cannot…”

“Oh dearest,” said Elizabeth, pulling Mary into her arms, “you need do nothing that pains you.”

“Will you sing for me?” said Mary, her face buried in Elizabeth’s shoulder.

“You are a very strange creature by way of a sister,” said Elizabeth. “Always wanting me to play and sing before anybody and everybody!”

Elizabeth was relieved when Mary laughed into her shoulder. “You are one to speak to a black pot, Miss Kettle.”

“What are young ladies,” said Elizabeth with an affected haughtiness, “without a little hypocrisy to spice them?”

“And,” said Mary, wincing, “some truly fashionable claw marks beneath their dresses?”

Tom said nothing.

His claws spoke his thoughts much better than any words.

~{♥}~

Chapter Text

THE CAT’S GUIDE TO COMPROMISE

LESSON TWO: a cat does not compromise

~{♥}~

THE claw marks had nearly healed when Elizabeth arrived at the assembly house in Meryton. Longbourn was still in an uproar over the man who had let Netherfield and his large party he had brought down from London. Truthfully, Elizabeth heard little of it. Both Mary and Tom were more anxious than normal. Elizabeth was keenly aware that Tom dwelt in the house by grace of his good behaviour and that any discovered mischief would banish him to the barn, even after so many years.

It was not her mother she feared. After her initial rage, Mama had fallen completely in love with Tom and once Mama loved someone, she was a fierce and absolute partisan. Her younger sisters never cared for animals and Tom adopted Mary as an appendage to Elizabeth. As guilty as it made Elizabeth, Jane would never complain as long as Tom did not share her room.

No, it was her father who was angry with the cat invading his space. It was her father who had threatened Tom’s removal if he ever appeared in the library. This was made worse because Tom fully returned Papa’s distaste, permanently damaging Elizabeth’s relationship with her father and increasing her anxiety tenfold whenever Tom or her father were restless.

They could both be cruel, but only one of them was the Master of Longbourn.

Well, only one of them was the English-speaking Master of Longbourn.

Elizabeth had intercepted Tom three times this past week and bribed the housemaid to intercept him another six times. Elizabeth suspected that his anxiety mirrored Mary’s.

Mary, who Elizabeth could scarcely remove from the music room to eat. Mary, whose horrible time in London was never far removed from the idea of meeting strangers.

It was something of a relief that the assembly was finally arrived and soon the house could return to normal.

Elizabeth found herself in more demand for dances than she wanted, spending most of her time trying to keep within eye range of Mary, who was paler than Elizabeth would like. She was so occupied in being charming for her partner and watching for her sister that she nearly missed the entrance of the Netherfield party.

The cessation of the dancing forced her to turn towards the door and a queer cast of light created a shadow over one of the men who entered.

Elizabeth blinked as she stared at the stern disdainful man surveying the room. If he had been a cat, he would have been lashing his tail. The thought so disconcerted Elizabeth that she failed to respond to her partner’s gentle query as to her health.

Elizabeth had never thought of another human being as resembling an animal, but there was something about the light that gave the man a distinctly feral appearance. Elizabeth forced herself to smile and shake off the shiver that ran down the back of her neck.

She did not wish to know more about the party, still somewhat shaken by her vision. Of course, that meant that within the space of minutes she knew the light-haired, light-mannered man was Mr. Bingley. The two ladies who seemed unimpressed with their new community were his sisters. The uncomfortable cat was named Mr. Darcy.

Elizabeth knew that she needed to stop, but her occasional glimpses of Mr. Darcy provided such strange familiarity. She knew what those expressions meant. As he thoroughly offended everyone around him, Elizabeth was embarrassed by the depth of her empathy for his situation.

Fortunately, Elizabeth had more pressing issues. As the time for performance drew nearer, it became obvious she would need to speak with Mary. With that in mind, Elizabeth deftly avoided being trampled as she wove her way through the crush. A brief glimpse of Mary through the crowd had revealed Mary’s anxieties were rising to the surface. Elizabeth was determined to reach her and shield her before someone like Mrs. Long managed to send Mary into a spiralling panic.

She was within steps of Mary when two unfamiliar voices caused her to pause. Turning slightly, Elizabeth observed that Mr. Bingley and Mr. Darcy appeared to be having an argument. Jane was standing placidly to one side and Elizabeth realized that Jane had been partnered with one of the newcomers. This was of less concern than the argument, as the two men’s voices started to grow in volume. Elizabeth could see Mr. Darcy’s fur rising and wondered that Mr. Bingley did not think to retreat. If Tom had that expression, Elizabeth knew exactly what would be coming next.

Mr. Bingley finally grew loud enough that Elizabeth could not help but hear him. “-but there is one of her sisters sitting down just behind you, who is very pretty, and I dare say very agreeable. Do let me ask my partner to introduce you.”

“Which do you mean?” said Mr. Darcy.

He turned then and the coldness of his expression as he met her eye was exactly as painful as Elizabeth expected. When he turned back, Elizabeth felt icicles in his wake. She could see his invisible tail twitching, the coil of his muscles, and, in her heart of hearts, she knew the sense of what he was about to say.

Mr. Darcy’s voice was clear, cool, and as deliberate as a predator about to pounce. “She is tolerable, but not handsome enough to tempt me; I am in no humour at present to give consequence to young ladies who are slighted by other men. You had better return to your partner and enjoy her smiles, for you are wasting your time with me.”

Ah, thought Elizabeth with a great deal of amusement and a concealed amount of hurt, there comes the bite. She laughed then, more than a little ruefully, and only realized that she was frozen in place when Mary grabbed her hands.

“How dare he!”

Elizabeth blinked. She had never seen Mary so furious. “How dare he speak of you like that! How dare he lie like that!”

More than a little concerned, Elizabeth turned fully towards Mary. “Shh, darling, we need not think of him further.”

She placed Mary’s arm in the crook of her elbow as she shepherded her towards the edge of the room. “It even seems that we are to avoid a display tonight since the band seems to have no intention of stopping.”

“How could he lie like that? How could anyone lie like that?” Mary sounded more distressed than Elizabeth ever heard her before.

“Dearest,” said Elizabeth, “although I agree that your taste is the best in the world, I hope that you are willing to concede not all young men share their taste in women with younger sisters and tomcats.”

“They should,” said Mary.

“On that,” said Elizabeth, “we are in full agreement.”

~{♥}~

Elizabeth was able to convince Mary to spread the matter no further, if only to avoid making her sister ridiculous. Elizabeth had no desire to admit her true reasoning to Mary. As much as it publicly amused her and privately stung her, Elizabeth hoped that once Mr. Darcy settled in, his claws would sheathe themselves and he would be less likely to tear shreds from his neighbours.

She was unsure who had heard what at the assembly, but since she said nothing of his insult, no one spoke of it to her, which was as good as it never having existed.

That didn’t mean Elizabeth wished for the situation to repeat itself.

She was wary of her family’s visit to the Netherfield ladies. It had not surprised her that they seemed to be interested in Jane and disdainful of her mother and younger sisters. What surprised Elizabeth was the pointed attention the ladies paid to her.

By the time that Miss Bingley and Mrs. Hurst had arranged several suppers, Elizabeth had felt herself as frequently addressed as Jane. It was more than baffling and caused Elizabeth to spend even more time in company shielding and soothing Mary, who seemed to be becoming increasingly anxious.

It was not only the ladies who were of concern. While Elizabeth was unsure how to feel about Mr. Bingley’s marked preference for her older sister, his friend was constantly looking over at her and Mary. Since Mr. Darcy had already stated his opinion of Elizabeth’s charms, Elizabeth could only assume that he had taste enough to know that Mary was the best of all of them.

Mary did not need a stray cat.

To that end, Elizabeth made a pointed effort to keep herself and Mary in conversation as far from Mr. Darcy as possible. That he had a bad habit of appearing out of nowhere as she was having a surprisingly interesting conversation about pot roast with Mr. Hurst was an irritation she worked hard to avoid.

It would be one thing if he spoke, but he merely hovered as Elizabeth irritably tried to shepherd Mary away from him.

The problem reached its crisis during a party at Lucas Lodge.

Elizabeth was truly delighted to see Charlotte Lucas once she had been some minutes in the party. Her preoccupation with Mary made her a poor friend for the past weeks. She was comfortable that, at Lucas Lodge, Mary would have enough champions and escape routes that Elizabeth could afford some discussion with her oldest friend.

“Charlotte,” she said, “you must entertain me. I am wild for news of the world. Tell me, does Mrs. Long have a new bonnet? Did your mother startle the cows when she practiced her arias?”

Charlotte frowned. “You have been absent for some time, Eliza.”

“I have been a terrible friend,” Elizabeth said in all sincerity. “How can I make it up to you?”

Charlotte’s smile was a masterpiece of both reluctance and amusement. “I can never tell if it is your lack of awareness of your charm that grants it its potency or if I should be very grateful that you have not learned to wield it as a weapon.”

“I am insulted,” said Elizabeth, grinning. “My charm is the product of extensive training and discipline. No woman can resist me.”

Charlotte’s lips twitched. “And what of the men?”

Elizabeth gasped in shock. “I had forgotten them entirely!” She shook her head. “They will have to admire me from afar. I am entirely yours to command, my lady.”

“Then,” said Charlotte, “I will command you to have a word with your sister.”

Elizabeth was irritated that Charlotte so quickly destroyed her good cheer. “What has Lydia done now?”

“Not Lydia,” said Charlotte. “Jane.”

“Jane!” said Elizabeth.

“Jane,” said Charlotte.

Obviously seeing that Elizabeth was too stunned to contribute, Charlotte continued speaking. “She is progressing well, but she had best act quickly if she wishes to secure him.”

Elizabeth stared at Charlotte. “Secure who?”

“You have been pre-occupied,” Charlotte said. “I suppose you have not yet been introduced to Colonel Forster either then.”

“Jane is securing a Colonel?” said Elizabeth, now thoroughly confused.

“No,” said Charlotte, in a tone of infinite patience. “There is a regiment at Meryton. Colonel Forster commands the regiment. Jane commands the attention of Mr. Bingley. If either the Colonel or Jane had any sense, they would rein in those under their command sooner rather than later.”

“Jane has a great deal of sense,” said Elizabeth.

“Certainly more than Colonel Forster,” said Charlotte.

Elizabeth could feel a headache starting as she tried to untangle the major point of Charlotte’s conversation. “Why does Jane need or want to secure Mr. Bingley?”

Charlotte shrugged, “She seems to derive pleasure from his company and there are worse men she could engage. She will secure a future for all of you if she can bring him to the point.”

Elizabeth started. She had certainly noticed Mr. Bingley’s interest. She felt a brief pang that Jane’s much more reserved interest had not occurred to her until that moment. “It would not do, Charlotte. Surely, you can see it would not do. Jane may very well choose Mr. Bingley, but she would need time to see if they are truly a match.”

“I do not know if Jane herself would agree with you,” said Charlotte. “When she is secure of him, there will be more leisure for falling in love as much as she chooses.”

Elizabeth would have argued further, but the first part of Charlotte’s statement so disconcerted her that she scanned the crowd to locate her sister. Jane was with Mr. Bingley, and, to Elizabeth’s great surprise, was openly laughing and speaking with him. It was the greatest show of emotion Elizabeth had ever seen Jane publicly display.

How had Elizabeth missed this progress?

How had Elizabeth missed the serious affections of her sister?

Suddenly, nothing was of greater importance than determining the worthiness of the man her sister desired. Ignoring Charlotte, Elizabeth visually tracked Mr. Bingley as he finished his set with Jane and moved towards Mr. Darcy.

Elizabeth stared at Mr. Bingley and Mr. Darcy as they spoke to one another, trying to determine what Jane saw in Mr. Bingley. Both of them caught her eye and Elizabeth hurriedly turned back to her long-interrupted conversation with Charlotte.

“Do you think it wise,” said Charlotte, “to provoke the interest of such a man?”

Elizabeth frowned. “While Mr. Bingley is hardly to my taste, I believe that Jane is wise enough to know her own mind.”

Unsaid, Elizabeth thought, as long as he is worthy of her affections.

Charlotte frowned. “It is not Jane-”

“Do you play, Miss Elizabeth?”

The man needed a bell. Elizabeth was deeply unimpressed by the smug satisfaction on Mr. Darcy’s face, doubtless from having made her jump.

“She does,” said Charlotte, an unreadable expression on her face, “and I do believe that it is time for you to perform, Eliza.”

Elizabeth laughed. “If my vanity had taken a musical turn, you would be invaluable, Charlotte. As it is, I have promised that I will sing for Mary if she plays.”

“Oh no,” said Charlotte in a much more cheerful tone of voice, “since Mary is refreshing herself elsewhere, I do believe that it is your turn to provide us with solo entertainment.”

Giving up her protests as a bad business, Elizabeth shrugged and headed for the pianoforte. She was unsure why Mr. Darcy followed her. Perhaps he wished to sharpen his claws on her skills. While Elizabeth was an indifferent practitioner, Mary was not. The amount of practice she suffered for her sister and her natural love of music had combined to produce solid playing when she was allowed to use her strengths.

I have upended your schemes, Mr. Darcy, Elizabeth thought as she played and sang. I will not completely discredit my family with this performance.

It was therefore something of a surprise when Mr. Darcy started speaking after her second song. “Is someone else coming to relieve you?”

Surely, thought Elizabeth, more than a little piqued, my performance is not so terrible as that. Baring her teeth in a mockery of smile, Elizabeth did not deign to answer Mr. Darcy. She had already planned to exit after two pieces, but in the face of Mr. Darcy’s insult, her exit carried a little more force than she had planned. It was a truly unfortunate amount of force, being sufficient force to put herself into range of Sir William but insufficient force to carry her out of range of Mr. Darcy.

As Elizabeth had learned in her studies, when an unstoppable force meets an immovable object, bad things happen to the student who does not remember the rest of the lesson.

Sir William was certainly unstoppable. “My dear Miss Eliza, why are you not dancing? Mr. Darcy, you must allow me to present this young lady to you as a very desirable partner. You cannot refuse to dance, I am sure, when so much beauty is before you.”

Elizabeth felt a brief moment of sympathy for Mr. Darcy until she saw his expression. She would never have let Tom look at her so and she had no intention of indulging Mr. Darcy’s smug superiority.

“Miss Elizabeth,” said Mr. Darcy and bowed.

“Mr. Darcy,” said Elizabeth, “I apologize for the misunderstanding.”

Her smile grew and widened as luck, for once, was in her favour. There were certain predictable things that happened after she finished a solo song at Lucas Lodge. She was very grateful that Sir William had forgotten the pattern. “I am afraid that my next dance is already spoken for.”

Billy Lucas appeared in front of her, having escaped his nursemaid just as he did every gathering at the Lodge, and thrust out his chin with all the force of a confident five-year-old. “Lissy dance.”

“Lizzy dance,” agreed Elizabeth and happily exited from the impossible world of adult men.

~{♥}~

“You did not sing with me,” said Mary.

Elizabeth curled into her. “I am sorry, Mary, but you must consider me well punished.”

“I must?” said Mary.

Elizabeth raised her eyebrow. “How do you bribe Billy Lucas to dance with me every time I dare to sing by myself?”

Mary lifted her chin. “It is not nearly punishment enough when all I did was save you from that horrible…”

Mary turned away from Elizabeth, her back a straight line of tension.

“I truly do not understand,” said Elizabeth.

“That is the problem,” said Mary.

Elizabeth could not drag another word from her sister and was forced to fall into a restless, uneasy sleep.

Tom watched them both from the base of the bed, his eyes glowing in the light of the moon.

~{♥}~

Chapter Text

THE CAT’S GUIDE TO COMPROMISE

LESSON THREE: a cat reserves the right to change its mind

~{♥}~

THERE were two riding horses on the Longbourn estate.

There was a reason the second horse was seldom mentioned.

~{♥}~

Elizabeth hated riding.

She was always, always forced to ride the second horse.

Elizabeth had avoided riding for nearly a full year.

It was a combination of Mama, the Bingley sisters, and a cursed invitation to Netherfield by the Bingley sisters which broke that record.

When Elizabeth first heard the invitation, she was only paying half attention. It seemed a simple enough thing – send Jane by coach to visit the sisters of superiority for an afternoon and evening. Then she realized that she had missed some very important information.

It was going to rain.

Mama had a scheme.

Jane was not the only sister included in the invitation.

Mama’s schemes for forcing Jane to stay at Netherfield were bad enough. Why the Netherfield ladies had included Elizabeth in the invitation to provide company and why her mother was as determined that Elizabeth go to Netherfield as Jane was beyond comprehending.

“Truly,” Elizabeth said, “the coach horses cannot be spared?”

Her father raised an eyebrow. “They are wanted in the farm much oftener than I can get them.”

“But do you have them today, Papa?”

Her father smirked in obvious delight at the antics of his missish daughter.

Elizabeth could remember a time that those smirks were shared between them.

She wished that she didn’t.

Eventually, it was confirmed that the coach horses were on the farm and Elizabeth tried to find the inner strength to not run screaming from the house. She could do this. She could.

She took a deep breath. There were more important issues at stake in this visit. While Elizabeth had been convinced of Jane’s regard at the party at Lucas Lodge, she had since gone back and forth on whether or not she thought Jane cared for Mr. Bingley. While Jane was more open in his company than Elizabeth had seen her with anyone outside of family, she was prone to looking sad and distracted when Elizabeth came upon her unexpectedly.

It was deeply concerning and Elizabeth did not wish to think too deeply about how the death of their childhood relationship prevented her from forming deep confidences with Jane as a grown woman.

However it came about, Elizabeth was determined to protect her sister. A dinner with only the Bingley sisters might allow her to ask questions she could not ask in front of the gentlemen.

It was motivation enough.

Elizabeth sighed and made to prepare herself.

Once properly outfitted and mounted, Jane turned to her in concern. “Are you sure that you wish to ride him? He is-”

“Not a problem,” said Elizabeth with a forced smile. She remembered the time the horse had decided that he wanted to go to London rather than Oakham Mount. There were a lot of bramble bushes between Longbourn and London. “We understand one another.”

Elizabeth made sure that Jane was ahead of her and still in view before she kicked the horse into motion. As soon as she exited the estate, she leaned over so that she was parallel with the beast’s neck.

“I will turn you into a rug,” Elizabeth cooed into his ear. “I will sell you to Billy Lucas so that he can use you as an umbrella.”

She did not stop speaking until they finally reached Netherfield. So focused had she been on keeping the horse under control that she had not realized how much the storm had increased during their journey. She and Jane were both thoroughly soaked.

It was a testament to something that the Bingley sisters exited the house to greet them as a small army of groomsmen helped them descend the horses. Of course, her monster immediately reared as soon as he was a few steps out of her control.

“Rug,” Elizabeth grit out under her breath.

“That is quite the horse,” said Mrs. Hurst, eyebrow raised as she watched the beast attempt to eat the groomsman.

“Oh yes,” said Jane, her eyes lighting. “Lizzy is such a talented horsewoman.”

Her look of warm affection and pride made Elizabeth feel uncomfortably guilty.

“Does he have a name?” said Miss Bingley, obviously bored with the conversation.

Dear, sweet Jane replied in a tone of complete innocence, “His name is Virilitas.”

There was a very awkward moment of silence.

“My sister Lydia was reading Aristotle,” said Elizabeth. She sincerely hoped that both of the ladies were too well-bred to have read the actual material that Lydia had encountered. Fortunately, even if they understood the name, no one was willing to admit to knowing what it meant. This allowed everyone to enter the house in a thorough stalemate of manners.

Things did not improve from there.

“Oh yes,” said Jane, blossoming under the attention of Miss Bingley and Mrs. Hurst, “my uncle lives in Town.”

Elizabeth felt both guilty and irritated. It had not occurred to her that Jane was lonely. It also had not occurred to her that, due to Jane’s lack of companionship, Jane had the social preservation skills of a newly hatched songbird.

“Yes,” said Elizabeth, her teeth grinding so hard that she knew she would have a headache, “our dear uncle in Town.”

The fact that the two ladies had not offered them to change from their wet clothes and seemed to be intent on determining their low, low origins had undone any goodwill their relatively bland dinners had created.

Elizabeth felt a perverse desire to thwart them. “But which dear uncle do you mean, Jane? Our dear uncle Gardiner or our dear uncle Lord F-?”

Technically, Lord F- was more of a second cousin, twice removed, but he had insisted that Elizabeth call him uncle shortly before trying to pinch her bottom. He was, however, a genuine relation, which made Miss Bingley’s social climbing all the more hilarious.

Yes, thought Elizabeth, as Miss Bingley’s startled gaze met hers, I do not know if Jane truly wants your brother, but you shall not be the reason that she does not have him.

Mrs. Hurst interrupted their silent conversation in a very thoughtful tone of voice. “You are very fond of your family, are you not, Miss Elizabeth?”

“Of course,” said Elizabeth, feeling a bit bewildered. “They are family.”

The Bingley sisters exchanged a knowing look and Elizabeth felt even more deeply confused.

“Tell me,” said Miss Bingley, “what is your opinion of Trophonius?”

Elizabeth raised an eyebrow. “The demi-god or the horse?”

Miss Bingley’s eyes narrowed. Elizabeth was disturbingly reminded of the time when John Lucas had declared her his academic rival.

It had not ended well for Mr. Lucas.

Elizabeth set out a smile that was all teeth. It had been so long since she had been able to sharpen her tongue on someone who deserved the sharpening.

She felt a pinprick of conscience about not finding more information about Jane’s potential fancy, but she soothed herself with the knowledge that a Miss Bingley who was trying academic trivia was a Miss Bingley who wasn’t seeking the bloodlines of Uncle Phillips.

“My dear Miss Bingley,” said Elizabeth her voice sweet enough to be frightening, “please do tell me about your experiences with epic poetry.”

Later, Elizabeth would be deeply ashamed of herself. She knew her own strengths and weaknesses, but somehow she had forgotten the strengths and weaknesses of a most beloved sister.

Jane was sweet and gentle and delicate.

Elizabeth was none of those things.

This was why when Jane fainted in the middle of a debate about the benefits of exercise for well-bred ladies, Elizabeth immediately seized control of the situation. Within minutes, she had a servant send for the apothecary, another servant send for clothing from Longbourn and a third servant assist her in bringing Jane to a bedroom where she could rest and be treated.

It occurred to her afterwards that perhaps she should have allowed one of the Bingley sisters to provide orders in their own home, but she was too busy pressing wet cloths to Jane’s forehead to consider the matter further. Obviously the gentlemen returned at some point, because a strangely nervous servant approached her to ask if she wished to come down for dinner.

Whatever the look on Elizabeth’s face, the servant vanished, and the next time Elizabeth came to, a surprisingly kind-looking Mrs. Hurst was shaking her arm.

“You will do her no good if you become ill yourself. The apothecary will arrive in the morning.”

Elizabeth blinked. “Her fever-”

“-is broken,” said Mrs. Hurst. “Truly, you will be of more use if you rest.”

“I will rest here,” said Elizabeth.

Mrs. Hurst looked as if she would say something, but then shook her head. “I will call for the trundle to be set.”

If Elizabeth slept, she did not remember it.

The apothecary did nothing to relieve her worry. Jane was a great deal too ill to move and Elizabeth was not leaving without Jane. Elizabeth barely understood that they were to stay and that clothing had arrived from Longbourn. It was only when the apothecary threatened to have her confined to bed herself that she most reluctantly agreed to descend for breakfast.

She had changed in mindlessness, but her wits sharpened significantly when she descended the stairs and heard a mention of her own name. Elizabeth should have felt guilt over eavesdropping, but she was shamelessly curious about the strange behaviour of the Bingley sisters when it came to herself. Seeking to be the particular friend of Jane made perfect sense. Who could not love Jane! Elizabeth was honest enough to admit that, for all of the Bingley sisters’ airs, Elizabeth had been courteously rude to them for weeks. Why they had decided to continue inviting her to sweetly mock them week after week was entirely beyond her comprehension.

So, because she was neither sweet nor delicate, Elizabeth stilled outside the breakfast room and listened as Miss Bingley and Mrs. Hurst became fully visible and audible.

“-may say she is a good sister, but I cannot imagine why one would wish to be subject to her conversation.”

Mrs. Hurst shook her head, “You must admit that she is entertaining, Caro, and always without causing offense amongst the company. Our dinners would be quite dull without her, even if you have only scouted her to see why Mr. Darcy thinks her such a paragon of sisterhood.”

Elizabeth felt much as she imagined the wife of Lot did as she slowly turned into salt.

That was not one of the reasons she had suspected that the Bingley sisters had developed an interest in her. That Mrs. Hurst sounded almost fond of her was something she resolved to forget as soon as she thought it.

Feeling unwillingly ashamed, Elizabeth made her footsteps audible and cheerfully announced her intention to take a plate and return to Jane’s room.

Returning to the stairs, Elizabeth felt all the embarrassment of her unfair suspicions, based on a character sketch derived from first impressions. Miss Bingley and Mrs. Hurst may have been haughty and supercilious, but Elizabeth had been cruel, and if for no other reason than it had pleased her to believe them in a conspiracy against her. That they had not fully discerned her cruelty was no balm to her conscience.

Was Elizabeth not seeking to determine the worthiness of their brother for Jane? Could she truly fault them for doing the same in return?

Elizabeth thought of Miss Bingley. Well, perhaps she could still fault them for their rank hypocrisy.

Not being a creature born to disappointment and determined to think on the past only as it brought her pleasure, Elizabeth spent no more time on the sisters and instead spent the day in increasing anxiety as Jane grew worse rather than better.

She was so unwilling to leave the room that a servant brought her dinner and even the concerted efforts of Mrs. Hurst to have Elizabeth join the company in the parlour ceased by the time night fell.

Elizabeth was so tired and so close to distraught that she felt as if she imagined a presence lingering outside the door long after the household was abed.

“You shall not have her,” she said in as low a voice as she could manage. “I will not let you take her.”

As low as she thought her voice, it was enough to startle Jane into a brief period of wakefulness and she blinked up at Elizabeth, her eyes clouded and unseeing. Elizabeth leaned into the bed, her hand raised to determine the extent of Jane’s fever.

“Will you sing for me, Lizzy?” Jane coughed, her eyes half-shut as she leaned into Elizabeth’s hand. “You always sang such pretty songs before bed. I miss them.”

“Rest, darling,” said Elizabeth. “Of course I’ll sing for you.”

Elizabeth sang until her throat was hoarse and the strange shadow outside the door rose to its feet and vanished into the night.

~{♥}~

In the morning, Jane’s fever had broken.

~{♥}~

By dinner, Jane was still a great deal too ill to move, but she was well enough to insist that Elizabeth be removed from her room. Between the rock of Jane and the hard place of Mrs. Hurst, Elizabeth was forced to emerge into sociability.

At dinner, the sisters commented on the shocking nature of colds and how they disliked being ill themselves before moving on to more agreeable topics. In turn, at the proof of their indifference to their dear friend Jane, Elizabeth felt restored to all the enjoyment of her previous dislike. It made her much more cheerful. When the company retrenched to the drawing room to play cards, Elizabeth felt quite comfortable to decline the game since she only planned to be below for a short time.

“I am,” she said with a smile, as she idly grabbed a book from the table, “quite content to read for a few minutes. Please do not let me interrupt your picturesque setting!”

Miss Bingley looked as if she wished to say something, but it was Mr. Darcy who spoke first. “You will deny yourself all entertainment in the service of your sister?”

“I find much entertainment in reading,” said Elizabeth.

“But surely,” said Mr. Darcy, turning fully towards her, “a few minutes is insufficient to gain the sense of even the most trivial novel. To truly read, one most devote both time and concentration, which is not possible in an environment such as this.”

Especially not, Elizabeth thought, if you continue to interrupt my attempts.

“It is fortunate then,” said Elizabeth, “that the same minds that produced the genius that is the trivial novel were the same minds that produced the genius of its portability. One may be as conveniently interrupted while reading a novel in a sick room as in a drawing room.”

“Miss Eliza Bennet,” said Miss Bingley, “is a great reader and has no pleasure in anything else.”

Elizabeth was rather in awe of Miss Bingley. Her statement had the benefit of being both untrue and having nothing to do with the current conversation. It was a masterwork that she had previously only seen from her mother.

Before she could think of a reply, Mr. Bingley had obviously decided that this was less congenial than he would like. He left his seat and stood before Elizabeth, ensuring that his rather honest, open expression was foremost in her vision.

“In nursing your sister I am sure you have pleasure,” said Mr. Bingley, “and I hope it will be soon increased by seeing her quite well.”

Elizabeth found her first genuine smile of several days. Mr. Bingley could not have chosen a better address to make her think well of him. “Thank you,” she said. “It is my hope that the worst of it has passed. Jane is the best of women and I am proud to call her sister.”

Miss Bingley had a strangely predatory expression on her face. “While dear Jane is quite lovely, I believe that the best sister must always be your dear Georgiana, don’t you agree, Mr. Darcy?”

Well! The cat was not a stray after all!

As Elizabeth attempted to shuffle her view of Mr. Darcy, Mr. Darcy expressed cautious agreement that his sister was the best of sisters. Elizabeth did not begrudge him his mistake. It was the first time an expression of pride on his face made her think better of him.

Miss Bingley was not content to let a single agreement rest. “How I long to see her again! I never met with anybody who delighted me so much. Such a countenance, such manners! And so extremely accomplished for her age! Her performance on the pianoforte is exquisite.”

“It is amazing to me,” said Mr. Bingley, “how young ladies can have the patience to be so very accomplished as they all are.”

Mr. Bingley, decided Elizabeth, was either not a very smart man or not a very smart brother. The following conversation between Mr. Bingley, Miss Bingley, and Mr. Darcy reached such ridiculous heights of expectation for womanly perfection that Elizabeth could not help but wish to intervene.

Miss Bingley called out a final summative list, “Charles says that a young lady must paint tables, cover screens, and net purses. As Mr. Darcy says, that is the only the beginning of a truly accomplished woman. To deserve the name she must also have a thorough knowledge of music, singing, drawing, dancing, and the modern languages-”

As she paused to draw breath, Elizabeth saw her chance to strike.

“As someone who has been trained in all of these important talents,” said Elizabeth, “far be it from me to disagree with you, Miss Bingley.”

Elizabeth did not say that her knowledge was because she had attempted, rather poorly, to take on the task of educating her younger sisters once it had become obvious how ill-served Mary had been by their family’s lackadaisical approach to education. It was far more entertaining to watch Miss Bingley turn a peculiar shade of orange. Elizabeth cheerfully dispelled her resolve to be kinder almost as quickly as she had made it.

Mr. Darcy, of course, could not let her rest on her laurels. “To all this she must yet add something more substantial, in the improvement of her mind by extensive reading.”

He was so amazingly awkward, Elizabeth half-wished she could give him a string to torture with his claws. She knew she was kinder to him than he deserved and that was enough to decide her course of action.

“Well,” said Elizabeth, standing with her book, “it appears by all standards that I am truly a paragon amongst women. How surprised my mother will be when I tell her! I had best cede the field before someone decides that the true pinnacle of womanhood is the ability to breathe under water.”

There was an eruption of conversation behind her as Elizabeth returned to Jane, but she thought too poorly of most of them to care for their bad opinion.

“Oh my dear Jane,” she said as she smoothed a piece of hair back from her sleeping sister’s forehead, “I do hope that I have not injured your hopes with my quick tongue.”

“More importantly,” said Elizabeth, her voice softer than the breeze from the window, “I wish that I knew what hopes you hold.”

~{♥}~

In the morning, partially out of embarrassment at her own behaviour and partially out of a real concern for how to manage the situation, Elizabeth decided that she needed the judgment of her mother.

A note was dispatched and a reply was immediate. The carriage from Longbourn arrived with due haste and her mother and two of her sisters exited. While Mrs. Bennet greeted the Netherfield party, Mary and Lydia stormed past Mrs. Hurst, Miss Bingley, Mr. Bingley, and Mr. Darcy to where Elizabeth had been staring longingly towards the fields.

“Lizzy,” said Lydia, seizing her arm with some force, “You must come home! We need to have our lessons on Catullus.”

Elizabeth winced and prayed that none of the Netherfield party were attending to them.

“Lizzy,” said Mary, latching on to her other arm, “I finally have the sheet music for the duet. You must help me with the fingering.”

Before Elizabeth could reply or be torn apart by her siblings, Mrs. Bennet separated from the Netherfield party as well and stared at her critically. “What ever are you doing, Miss Lizzy? You do not look at all well.”

“She looks quite well for attending her sister,” said Mr. Bingley who was ever rising in Elizabeth’s estimation.

“Oh dear Jane,” said Mrs. Bennet. “She always looks well, even when she is not well.”

Coincidentally, this was almost the exact conclusion Mrs. Bennet reached after seeing Jane for herself. Jane was, according to Mrs. Bennet, beautifully sick or beautiful and sick or whatever it was that made her lovely but too ill to move. Elizabeth was not sick but also should not move and Mrs. Bennet would not be moved on that point despite the howls of Lydia and Mary.

The Netherfield party watched the entire affair as if it was a sports match and Elizabeth deeply resented all of them. She particularly resented the fact that Mrs. Bennet tried to distract Lydia by reminding her that she was going to ask Mr. Bingley about the ball that he had promised.

“But I don’t want a ball,” said Lydia, stomping her foot. “I want Lizzy to do the voices for the poems.”

On the slim hope that the party had not heard Lydia’s earlier exclamation and out of a deep desire that Lydia not discuss her favourite poems with her usual enthusiasm, Elizabeth hastily inserted herself into the conversation. “So poetry has driven away your desire for dancing, Lydia? I wonder who first discovered the efficacy of poetry in driving away love!”

“I still want to dance,” said Lydia, “but can’t I have poetry, too?”

“Oh Lydia,” said Elizabeth, “we will make a philosopher of you yet.”

Mrs. Bennet was so alarmed by this pronouncement that she convinced Lydia that she did indeed want dancing and, as it appeared that Mr. Bingley also wanted dancing, it was incumbent that a ball at Netherfield happen as soon as the cooks could prepare sufficient white soup.

Having ascertained herself of unmovable daughters, balls, and white soup, Mrs. Bennet considered her work done and dragged her most reluctant younger daughters back to the carriage.

“You are,” said Mr. Bingley, “er… a very close family?”

“Mr. Bingley,” said Elizabeth, thoroughly out of patience, “there is no family so close as six women who are forced to share a parlour on a Sunday afternoon.”

Having no desire for further conversation, Elizabeth returned to Jane, puzzling over the expression on Mrs. Hurst’s face as Elizabeth ascended the stairs. For a brief moment, Mrs. Hurst had almost looked envious.

~{♥}~

There was little to be said about the remainder of Elizabeth’s stay at Netherfield.

Mr. Hurst existed.

Miss Bingley wished to mend Mr. Darcy’s pen.

Mrs. Hurst kept seating Elizabeth between herself and Mr. Bingley, even when Jane was well enough to return below stairs.

Mr. Darcy was not at all interested in Miss Bingley’s pen mending, was interested in his sister, and was implacably resentful. Elizabeth was never quite sure where he was going to chew next and whether he was playing or actually ill-tempered. He did, however, based on the volume and frequency of his correspondence, appear to be an excellent master of his estate and deeply conscientious about his bills. Elizabeth had personally seen him ride into Meryton when it appeared that he had underpaid a local tradesman.

Jane did seem to like Mr. Bingley. Even unwell, she was animated and engaged and Mr. Bingley seemed interested. He also seemed interested in supper, the sky, loud noises, and the frequent walks Mrs. Hurst tried to arrange with him, her, and Elizabeth.

There was something strange in the whole situation. Elizabeth could not puzzle through it. She was grateful for the Netherfield library where she could escape all of them and reflect on her thoughts. Mr. Darcy had even been kind enough to grant her a full half-hour of silence when they met by chance in the room, something she could hardly believe considering their previous arguments.

It was with some relief that Elizabeth returned to Longbourn, more confused than when she had left.

~{♥}~

Elizabeth pulled the rat out from under her pillow with a sigh.

“Why,” she said to the glowing eyes at the end of the bed, “do you not share your gifts with some lady cat who could truly appreciate them?”

“Because he loves you,” said Mary sleepily.

“I need to meet someone who will love me with things that do not rot,” said Elizabeth.

~{♥}~

Chapter Text

THE CAT’S GUIDE TO COMPROMISE

LESSON FOUR: a cat does compromise

~{♥}~

Mr. Collins, cousin, entailed heir to the estate, and prospective suitor was perhaps the cruelest jest Mr. Bennet had ever played at the expense of his wife and daughters. Mr. Collins himself did not seem to be evil, but his peculiar mix of servility and self-importance was a dangerous combination with a household of nervous women who knew that the entail granted him great power over their futures.

“It is,” said Elizabeth to Charlotte, “particularly cruel because we did not know he was meant to arrive and had no preparation for his character or his desires. We cannot afford to offend him! He holds our home in the event of our father’s death. Then there is the idea that he seeks a bride from amongst the daughters of the man he will replace. That Papa could treat it so lightly…”

Charlotte had little to say in response, only wearing a thoughtful expression as she sat with Elizabeth outside Longbourn’s current chaos.

“I had best return,” said Elizabeth. “I do not know what I would do without you, Charlotte. I truly believe you would be comfortable even in the end of days.”

“I am not quite sure I have your faith in myself,” said Charlotte, “but the particulars depend on whether or not I shall have a garden of my own.”

“Dear Charlotte,” Elizabeth said, laughing as she returned to the house. “You shall overset the death that rides amongst us with your even rows of carrots.”

“No,” said Charlotte, a queer smile on her face, “it will be the roses that win me happiness, Eliza.”

Elizabeth had not wished to enter the house again and wished even less to do so when she saw that Mama was in conference with Mr. Collins. The expectant look Mr. Collins gave her as she stood in the doorway gave her a real fear of the subject of their conversation.

“Oh no,” said Mama, “my dear Lizzy, such a bright, laughing creature, she is! But I am afraid that she has other expectations, Mr. Collins. We had best look elsewhere.”

It was shockingly perceptive of her mother. Elizabeth had no idea why she had made such a statement and Elizabeth refused to think too hard about the almost cunning look in her mother’s eyes.

Of course, Mama overturned all of Elizabeth’s praise for her good sense by pulling Mr. Collins over to Kitty. Kitty made a noise somewhere between a wail and a screech and Elizabeth felt a headache starting at the base of her temples.

~{♥}~

“She didn’t even consider me,” said Mary, her back turned to Elizabeth.

“Did you wish her to?” said Elizabeth, smoothing Mary’s hair back from the blanket.

“No,” said Mary and then, her voice so quiet it might have been a breath of wind, “but she didn’t even consider me.”

~{♥}~

“Lizzy,” said Kitty the next morning over breakfast while Mr. Collins and their parents were still abed, “you are very good at getting away from men who want to propose to you. How do you do it?”

Elizabeth was so startled by the implications of that statement that she spoke without thinking. “Climbing trees, mostly.”

Kitty nodded gravely and Elizabeth had the awful sensation that she had done something very, very stupid.

This sensation did not leave her on her walk to town with all of her sisters and Mr. Collins to purchase some materials for their outfits for the Netherfield ball. Kitty was an energetic walker, but this day she was so fast that even Lydia had trouble keeping pace.

Mr. Collins was not a fast walker.

Not wanting to leave the burden of his entertainment entirely to Jane, Elizabeth nodded her way through an impossibly long half-hour of description of the glory of the chimney at Rosings. By the time they reached Meryton, Elizabeth was sure that she would see it in her nightmares.

Kitty and Lydia had stayed within distance of their sisters and mysteriously were suddenly of pace with the group when they entered the town proper. So it was a wall of Bennets and Mr. Collins that met Mr. Darcy and Mr. Bingley when they rode towards them.

Greetings were civilly exchanged and Mr. Bingley looked briefly at Elizabeth before turning to speak with Jane. Amused and slightly concerned, Elizabeth wondered if one of her conversations at Netherfield had made him fear her. She could only hope that it would not make him think worse of Jane. Mr. Darcy of course headed straight for her and Mary, and Elizabeth cast about for an escape.

Fortunately, Lydia was always useful for a distraction.

“La!” said Lydia, “there’s one of the officers and someone new with him. Kitty, is he an officer too?”

Kitty squinted in the direction Lydia was pointing. “I’m sure I don’t know. We only see them at Aunt Phillips. Why do you care anyways? You said they were all stupid, disagreeable fellows.”

Lydia sniffed. “None of them know anything about Catullus. A true gentleman knows poetry.”

Elizabeth very pointedly did not look at Mr. Darcy.

In fact, she was so pointedly not looking at Mr. Darcy, that she missed the approach of the two men. “Miss Kitty,” said the familiar looking one, “do allow me to introduce you to my friend Mr. Wickham. He has been with the corps not quite two weeks, but I do not believe we have had the pleasure of seeing you since he joined.”

The new man was very handsome and very personable and Elizabeth would have been much more engaged in his introduction if Mr. Darcy had not growled from directly behind her ear, setting the fine hairs of her neck on end.

Whether it was the growl or the impending introduction to Elizabeth, Mr. Wickham looked towards them and turned a startling chalk-white. Elizabeth could not see Mr. Darcy, but she could feel the loss of heat as he moved back from her body. She could certainly see how he stormed over to his horse and mounted, sending Mr. Bingley after him in a confused scamper.

She most definitely could see how he rode up beside her and looked down at her and Mary.

“Come,” said Mr. Darcy.

“I am afraid,” said Elizabeth, “that you have us at a disadvantage, Mr. Darcy. You have a horse and we have only our poor legs to carry us. Perhaps we shall see you later on more even footing.”

Mr. Darcy did not look amused. In fact, in the last vision Elizabeth had of his face, Mr. Darcy looked radiantly angry with her before he rode off into the distance.

Elizabeth frowned.

The conversation after the departure of Mr. Bingley and Mr. Darcy was understandably subdued, but sufficient intelligence was provided to understand that the two officers would be at Mrs. Phillips’ dinner the following evening. This prompted the sisters to introduce Mr. Collins to their aunt and his profusions of gratefulness and delight powered the speed of their walk all the way home again.

The officers were at the dinner and Elizabeth was the fortunate woman that Mr. Wickham chose to favour with his conversation. He had all the best part of beauty, a good figure, and a very pleasing address. He was also exclusively interested in telling a very long tale about how Mr. Darcy hadn’t paid some debt that was owed Mr. Wickham for some reason related to poor paperwork skills on the part of the late older Mr. Darcy. At least that was what Elizabeth thought he was telling because she had four sisters and enough grievances that she did not need to hear the whining of strangers.

Had Mr. Wickham tried some other approach he would perhaps have had more luck, but Elizabeth had watched Mr. Darcy ride out from Netherfield because he had missed a halfpence on a bill from one of the local tradesmen.

Mr. Wickham must have seen something in the way she looked at him, because the story came to a rather abrupt end. To Elizabeth’s amusement and concern, he bowed very elegantly and drifted off in search of a more eager ear.

It was the eager ear in combination with something he said that had Elizabeth thinking far more deeply than she normally did at one of her Aunt’s soirées. Elizabeth was so lost in thought worrying through the threads in her mind, that she didn’t hear the approach of her attorney uncle.

“You seem concerned, Lizzy,” said Uncle Phillips.

Elizabeth was so distracted that she spoke without the care she normally took in a public setting. “That new officer… He seems so obsessed with debts and the payment thereof. Has anyone looked into his dealings with the local tradesmen?”

Elizabeth was almost immediately hailed by one of Mrs. Long’s nieces and so did not see the thoughtful expression on her uncle’s face.

When she heard from Aunt Phillips that Mr. Wickham had been drummed out of the regiment for his behaviour in town, she had entirely forgotten the conversation. Within a week, she had entirely forgotten Mr. Wickham.

~{♥}~

As Elizabeth went on her morning walk about the grove, she noticed the arms dangling above her head.

“If you truly wish to avoid Mr. Collins, you had best climb higher,” said Elizabeth.

“I understand,” said Kitty and disappeared further up the tree.

~{♥}~

By the time of the Netherfield ball, Elizabeth was exhausted. Every member of the household seemed to be mutually murderous, save for dear Jane who seemed nearly incandescent as the ball approached.

All Elizabeth hoped for the ball was that Mary would be happy after their joint performance, that she was able to dance at least once with an agreeable partner, and that her family manage not to set fire to Netherfield.

It seemed a reasonable set of expectations.

Once she had actually arrived at the ball, Elizabeth was infinitely grateful to Charlotte Lucas. Not only had she contained Mama’s raptures over all her daughters’ expectations, she had kindly stood up with Mr. Collins when Kitty and Lydia had disappeared and Mary and Elizabeth hastily claimed the need for preparation for their duet. As the two of them attempted to disappear as well, Mrs. Hurst gave Elizabeth a puzzlingly warm welcome. Elizabeth thought very kindly of her for aiding Elizabeth and Mary in their subterfuge by allowing them to perform immediately.

“I could marry you,” said Mary, after they finished their well-received performance. “Then you wouldn’t have to live with a man and could stay at Longbourn forever.”

Elizabeth mentally sighed. Obviously, Mr. Collins had made both more and less of an impression than she would have wished.

“Mary,” said Elizabeth, “what did we learn when we were studying the common law of England?”

Mary looked mutinous. “I could change my name to Marcus.”

“Consanguinity,” said Elizabeth.

“Well why doesn’t it matter for horses?” said Mary.

“That,” said Elizabeth, “is a fascinating discussion that we are going to have somewhere that is not a crowded ballroom.”

And not, Elizabeth thought, somewhere where Mr. Darcy is trying to pretend that he isn’t staring at us.

Mary looked as if she would say more, but Elizabeth saw an opportunity and made her escape to one of Netherfield’s many balconies.

Unfortunately, it was already occupied by a very familiar leg dangling from the arch of a balustrade.

“Kitty,” said Elizabeth. “A balustrade is not a tree.”

“But it also keeps me away from Mr. Collins,” said Kitty.

It was hard to argue with an unarguable truth, so Elizabeth merely sighed. “If you must hide on a balustrade, make sure that your leg is not visible. It is not very ladylike.”

“I understand,” said Kitty and the leg disappeared into the darkness.

Elizabeth pinched the bridge of her nose and looked about surreptitiously to see who might have overheard them. She blinked. Why on earth was Mr. Darcy lurking behind a large planter?

Deciding that nothing she could do could make him think worse of her, Elizabeth held up her head and marched past him into the ballroom.

Unfortunately, her path to the punch passed directly by Lydia holding court to a group of officers with some very familiar, very Latin poetry.

“Oh dear,” said Lizzy.

“Lizzy!” said Lydia, immediately abandoning her paramours to latch on to her sister’s arm. Elizabeth moved so that they were out of hearing range of the men.

“Lydia,” said Elizabeth, “what did I tell you about poetry?”

“That if it is improper in Latin, I need to make sure that no one else understands Latin,” said Lydia.

“And they don’t,” she exclaimed. “They’re all stupid and horrible and none of them understand anything.”

“Lydia,” said Elizabeth, “what happens if you are improper?”

“You won’t make the voices for me when we do our lessons. It’s so boring when you don’t do the voices, Lizzy!” said Lydia.

“Then try not to be improper,” said Elizabeth.

“Is it improper if I insult them in Italian?” said Lydia.

“Only if they are opera singers,” said Elizabeth.

Elizabeth wasn’t sure that was the correct answer, but Lydia’s look of heartfelt delight was so dear that she couldn’t quite manage to reprimand her before she disappeared back into the crowd. There of course was Mr. Darcy, well within hearing distance. If she didn’t know better, she would think that he was following her.

It was a ridiculous thought. Elizabeth was shaking her head to rid herself of it, when Mr. Darcy appeared in front of her and asked her for a dance. Elizabeth looked behind her to see if some more eligible parti was standing over her shoulder, but it appeared that he in fact meant to dance with her.

Perhaps, thought Elizabeth, he wishes to debate the further virtues of womanhood.

Whatever her expectations, Mr. Darcy seemed to delight in overthrowing them.

Mr. Darcy started speaking almost as soon as the dance began. “You have a number of sisters, do you not?”

“Specifically,” said Elizabeth, “I have four.”

“Four,” said Mr. Darcy, frowning. “And you are the eldest?”

Elizabeth was not sure whether to be offended or amused. As she was as eager to laugh at herself as at anyone else, the conversation began to take on the promise of something truly absurd. “I would hope that you have not so soon forgotten my dear sister Jane, otherwise to be addressed as Miss Bennet. While she does look angelic, I do hope that I do not appear too many years her senior.”

“Obviously, I do not intend to include Miss Bennet,” said Mr. Darcy impatiently.

“Obviously,” said Elizabeth under her breath. Aloud, she said, “Yes, I am older than my remaining sisters.”

“And you have been responsible for their education?” said Mr. Darcy.

“That is,” said Elizabeth, truly taken aback, “an uncomfortably personal question. I might as well ask if you tell Mr. Bingley what he should do when he makes his most important life decisions.”

“I do,” said Mr. Darcy.

“Well,” said Elizabeth, attempting to recover her equanimity, “I do not pretend to possess equal frankness with yourself, Mr. Darcy. You may ask questions which I shall not choose to answer.”

Mr. Darcy showed not the slightest sign of discouragement, although he did change the subject as abruptly as he addressed the previous topic.

“Do you frequently take exercise on your estate?” said Mr. Darcy.

“There is a prettyish wilderness near Longbourn where I take a turn each morning,” said Elizabeth.

“And your sisters,” said Mr. Darcy, “do they join you on these walks?”

“We all take our exercise in different ways,” said Elizabeth, truly baffled as to his intentions.

Mr. Darcy lapsed into a rather grim silence and Elizabeth, while highly entertained, found herself no closer to understanding him than she had been previously. He seemed to take no pleasure in the dance, but he asked her for a second set almost as soon as they had finished the first.

Feeling quite alarmed, Elizabeth decided that she would rather forgo all dance for the evening than create the raised expectations that a second set with Mr. Darcy would bring.

Impossible man! Like a cat on the scent, he did not care what he knocked over on his way to his target.

“I am afraid,” said Elizabeth, “that the heat of the ballroom has overwhelmed me. I believe that I had best settle with a book until I am refreshed.”

“Do you normally bring a book to a ballroom?” said Mr. Darcy.

Elizabeth looked down at her outfit. Mr. Darcy looked down at her outfit.

A delicate pink started at the tips of Mr. Darcy’s ears.

“No,” said Elizabeth.

Taking advantage of his momentary confusion, Elizabeth slipped out of the ballroom and headed for the Netherfield library. Truthfully, she was exhausted of her family, of Mr. Darcy, of the endless herding of cats that seemed to be her life. A moment in a quiet room alone with her thoughts seemed a gift worth having.

It should not have surprised her that minutes after she had opened the door and settled into the window seat of the library, Mr. Darcy also appeared in the darkened room, closing the door behind him.

In hindsight, Elizabeth should also have realized that if a house with a large party full of guests well into their cups had a room that was darkened and closed it probably meant-

“Oh no,” whispered Elizabeth, as she heard the distinct clicking sound of a door being adjusted. She froze in place, unable to process the depth of what had just happened.

Mr. Darcy had no such similar compunction, striding towards the door with an almost manic determination. He rattled the door for half a minute and turned towards her.

“Locked,” said Mr. Darcy.

“I imagine,” said Elizabeth, “that they do not wish the guests to make free with the house.”

The light of the nearly full moon made Mr. Darcy appear to be made of stone or marble. “Well madame,” and his voice was soft and dark and threatening. “It appears that you have achieved your aim.”

“My aim to get a book?” said Elizabeth. “It is far too dark to read here.”

“You have effectively compromised me,” said Mr. Darcy.

“That is impossible,” said Elizabeth. “There must be another exit.”

After trying all of the walls, the bookshelves and the globe on the table, Elizabeth was forced to conclude that there was in fact only one entrance to the library.

“You could have helped me,” said Elizabeth, furious and frustrated.

Mr. Darcy had stood as still as a post as she looked through everything, his expression cold and hard. “You planned your attack well, madame. We neither of us shall leave here without scandal.”

Go gnaw on someone else, thought Elizabeth.

She eyed the library balcony longingly. It had fresh air, a beautiful oak tree, and no Mr. Darcy. She was not sure of the most ladylike behaviour when being unwillingly compromised by a tomcat, but she did not want to spend her last scandal-free moments in a library that was a great deal too dark in which to read.

Slowly, Elizabeth edged her way towards the balcony.

Slowly, Mr. Darcy matched her, pace for pace.

Once she was out on the balcony, Elizabeth half-expected him to stay within the library, but he kept getting closer and he had such a strange expression on his face-

There was a loud rattling of the door. “Is anyone in there?”

Elizabeth and Darcy exchanged a look of utter mutual understanding.

“No,” said Elizabeth. “That is not going to happen.”

She determinedly marched over to the edge of the balcony, climbed over the side, and leapt out to the branches of the large oak next to the balcony. In the light of the moon, her last vision as she nimbly clambered down the trunk was Mr. Darcy gaping at her progress.

It served him right, Elizabeth thought irritably. It would have been much easier for him to scale the tree than for her. She had no idea how she was going to explain her dress to her mother.

~{♥}~

Elizabeth Bennet had few expectations for her morning walk in the grove the day after the Netherfield ball. A pacing, cravatless Mr. Darcy was not one of them.

As soon as he saw her, he methodically ensured that his horse was tied and strode towards her with the determination of someone who was about to swallow a large spider. “I have been walking in the grove some time in the hope of meeting you.”

Elizabeth nervously started edging backwards towards the edge of the grove and the more open field beyond it.

Mr. Darcy almost looked hurt and Elizabeth almost felt sorry for him.

Fortunately for her peace of mind, he opened his mouth. “Your family is a disgrace. However, it is obvious that you have some talent and care in the management of your siblings. The Lord only knows what they would have become without your attempt at influence. For the purposes of children, this will suffice. Obviously, guidance will be provided – there will be no more climbing of trees, for one - but I expect that you will eventually learn and it cannot be changed now.”

He paused and looked at Elizabeth, obviously in some expectation of a reply.

“Are you,” said Elizabeth, blinking, “trying to obtain my services as a nursemaid?”

Mr. Darcy opened his mouth. Mr. Darcy closed his mouth. When Mr. Darcy opened his mouth again, Elizabeth thought he would have done better to keep it closed. “You have succeeded, madame. I am compromised and we will marry. It is cruel of you to jest in such a situation. While your wit is keen, you must learn to better exercise it once you are Mistress of Pemberley.”

He paused for breath and Elizabeth was too stunned to stop the eruption of words. “As to other matters, your affection for your sisters does you credit and I am sure that you have done as well as you could under the circumstances, but the behaviour of your family is intolerable. Your connections are intolerable. I am ashamed that I must attach to them. My family will not bear the degradation, but once we have ceased contact with Longbourn, I am sure that, in some years, some of them will consent to resume the connection. I will send for a special license that this might be done before the rumours spread and that I can spend as little time as possible in this situation before we return to Pemberley-”

Elizabeth could not allow this to continue. “I must refuse. This sacrifice is utterly unnecessary. Whatever you falsely think of my motivations, I will not let an accident create a lifetime of misery for both of us.”

Mr. Darcy started at that and Elizabeth wondered why he looked so surprised.

“Misery?” said Mr. Darcy. “Is this all the reply I am to receive to my addresses? Do you intend to draw us both into scandal because I have dared present my reservations, honestly and fairly?”

“We are ill-suited in all respects, Mr. Darcy,” said Elizabeth. “There will be no scandal because no one save the two of us knows that there was something to scandalize. You may believe that the impropriety was at my instigation, but here is as much proof as I can give that it was not. No one saw us together, no one saw me leave the room, and not even the servants have mentioned anything but that the great Mr. Darcy was accidentally locked in the library. I have done my work and you are safe from the degradation of my connection.”

For a man who had seemed so unhappy to be trapped, Mr. Darcy seemed equally unhappy to be freed. “And this is the manner in which you treat a gentleman who attempts to provide you consequence and protection from your own mistakes?”

Elizabeth knew that she should be angry, but his words solved a puzzle that she had never quite understood. Her voice when she spoke was the voice of one in the throes of a revelation. “Mr. Darcy, I do not believe that you have ever behaved in a gentlemanlike manner since the moment I met you.”

“No,” Elizabeth frowned, clarifying her thoughts to herself, “I do not mean that you are a rake. You just seem very determined to be displeased and to loudly proclaim your displeasure to the world. My understanding of gentlemen is that basic courtesy is a principle requirement.”

It was remarkably like Tom yowling at night and Elizabeth unconsciously addressed Darcy in the same tone of voice that she would use to address a yowling Tom. It did not occur to her that this was not a wise choice.

“I suppose,” said Mr. Darcy, “that you are relying on the information of your friend, Mr. Wickham.”

“Mr. Wickham?” Elizabeth frowned, trying to place the name. “You mean the disgraced officer who was removed from the regiment? He certainly was found of strange stories, if the rumours from town are to be believed, but I am not sure how he would be relevant here.”

Mr. Darcy stared at her.

Elizabeth stared back.

“He did not,” Mr. Darcy said slowly, “tell you some tale of my cruelty?”

“Should he have?” said Elizabeth, now thoroughly bewildered.

“Oh!” she said, in sudden understanding, “he did say something, but it was so obviously false, that I had completely put it out of my mind. As if you would ever cheat someone out of debts that were due.”

There was the strangest expression on Mr. Darcy’s face. Elizabeth had never seen anything like it and had no way of understanding what it meant.

“If not Mr. Wickham, then why do you not wish to marry me?”

Had the man even heard what she said, Elizabeth thought irritably. Listening was starting to move ever higher on her list of valuable traits in a partner. Obviously, she was going to have to appeal to his ego. “Mr. Darcy, I have no intention of reaching marriage by being compromised and you have made it very clear that you do not wish to be compromised either. Let us end this conversation before anyone realizes something is amiss.”

“You would be the Mistress of Pemberley,” said Mr. Darcy.

“I would also be your wife,” said Elizabeth, “and that is a far more important thing.”

She wished that he didn’t look quite so attractive with that stunned look on his face. It made her stomping march out of the woods much less effective.

~{♥}~

Having already determined that nobody needed to know about the awfulness with Mr. Darcy, Elizabeth was left with only one option to vent her feelings.

“That man!” said Elizabeth, shoving her face into her pillow. “How could one creature be so contrary!”

Tom lazily opened one of his eyes and reached out a paw to set a string running on her pelisse.

“He is not a cat,” hissed Elizabeth.

Tom smirked.

~{♥}~

Chapter Text

THE CAT’S GUIDE TO COMPROMISE

LESSON FIVE: learn to smell a rat

~{♥}~

ELIZABETH was both puzzled and startled by the wealth of invitations from Netherfield over the coming weeks. It was especially puzzling considering the small fire after the ball that no one would explain to her. Kitty in particular did not wish to discuss it and Elizabeth accepted that it was best if she did not know. Elizabeth also accepted that perhaps the Bingley sisters had a genuine affection for Jane, but she could not account for how she was so often included in their requests. Particularly since once she arrived at Netherfield, Jane was marched off by Mrs. Hurst and Miss Bingley and Elizabeth was often left to her own devices.

Her own devices consisted mostly of running into an equally confused Mr. Bingley, escaping to the Netherfield estate, and then wandering the grounds with Mr. Darcy, who appeared out of nowhere once she was out of sight of the house and reminded her of nothing so much as her cat when he was in need of attention.

Elizabeth told him as much when they were in the middle of one of the many arguments he seemed to enjoy instigating with her.

“You remind me of Tom.”

Mr. Darcy’s face was a storm cloud. “Your lover?”

Elizabeth stared at him in disbelief. “My cat.”

He blinked and Elizabeth couldn’t help laughing. “My goodness, Mr. Darcy, please pull in your claws.”

Elizabeth was grateful that he seemed to have put his awful proposal behind him, but, really, he was more inclined to lash out now that it was resolved that he was free than he had when he thought her a fortune hunter. Philosophically, Elizabeth wondered if that meant he was nearly ready to allow her to pet him.

Eyes widening, Elizabeth realized that perhaps the cat metaphor could be taken too far.

Mr. Darcy was clever and, when inclined to amuse, entertaining, but Elizabeth could not forget the words of his proposal. There had been no words of affection, attraction, or even respect. Even more importantly, no one who could not see the value of those she loved could have more than a superficial place in her life.

It was this thought that was foremost in her mind when she was walking in the grove outside Longbourn and spotted the leg dangling from a tree.

“Kitty,” said Elizabeth, “why are you in a tree?”

“Shh…” said Kitty. “If you come up here with me, maybe Mr. Collins will finish proposing to Charlotte Lucas.”

That was indeed incentive to climb the tree. It startled Elizabeth to realize that Kitty was absolutely correct. Mr. Collins was in fact proposing to Charlotte Lucas and it appeared very much as if she was accepting.

“How?” said Elizabeth.

“I’m too fast for him and I think she’s slow enough for him to catch,” said Kitty. “Thank you for telling me about the trees.”

“Please don’t mention it,” said Elizabeth. “Truly, don’t mention it.”

~{♥}~

“Why?” said Elizabeth as she held Charlotte’s hands in hers.

“Because you refuse to marry me and I will have my own garden,” said Charlotte.

“Please don't make a jest of this,” said Elizabeth.

“He is not a cruel man and I think I have as great a chance to be happy with him as I would with anyone.” Charlotte took a deep, shuddering breath, “Please be happy for me, Eliza. I do not know if I can be happy without your support.”

“All I have ever wanted is your happiness,” said Elizabeth. “If my support brings you happiness, then it is yours, always. It seems a poor gift though.”

“It is the only gift that has ever mattered,” said Charlotte.

~{♥}~

Elizabeth tried not to think of Charlotte’s imminent wedding and tried not to think of Mary’s unhappiness at her frequent absences and tried not to think about how she could not just ask Jane what Jane wanted her to do.

As long as Jane smiled when Elizabeth rode in the carriage with her to Netherfield, Elizabeth would mount the carriage even as the situation became increasingly complex and strange. She would persist even as the visits led to situations where she was forced to face down servants who obviously had their own opinions about her role at Netherfield.

Mr. Darcy’s valet was a large, grim man who seemed larger and grimmer whenever he looked at Elizabeth. Elizabeth could only imagine what Mr. Darcy had told him about her. Jane, Elizabeth thought through gritted teeth, this was for Jane.

“Would you be so kind,” said Elizabeth, “as to direct me to where the party is assembled?”

The man did not speak, merely pointing an arm in the direction of one of the innumerable hallways. Perhaps, thought Elizabeth, he was the ghost of Mr. Darcy’s manners.

Eventually, Elizabeth did find the women arranged in one of the drawing rooms. While Elizabeth was normally content to let them abandon her, she was feeling a real necessity to assess Jane’s desires and the behaviour of the Bingley sisters in regards to her own most beloved sister.

“Miss Eliza,” said Miss Bingley, “it is quite odd to see you without your petticoats six inches deep in mud. Are you playing at domestication for the day?”

Elizabeth laughed, truly delighted by Miss Bingley’s open hostility. “Not at all, Miss Bingley. As untamed as I am, I have come to learn the art of genteel conversation from your capable example. I am a most eager pupil.”

Seeing that Jane was looking truly alarmed, Elizabeth smiled more softly. “Truly, I had hoped to hear more of your time in Town. I understand that you are a fan of theater, Miss Bingley, Mrs. Hurst?”

Miss Bingley pointedly turned from Elizabeth to engage Jane in a long monologue about the importance of puce to staying au courant with the latest fashions. Mrs. Hurst equally pointedly turned towards Elizabeth and began to discuss her thoughts on the rebuilding of Drury Lane and whether there would ever be a tragedienne the equivalent of Mrs. Siddons.

The conversation flowed so rapidly and with such a great deal of animation that Elizabeth had never been entertained half so well in Netherfield previously. Her relief was great as she observed both the sisters and Jane. Miss Bingley did appear to enjoy Jane’s company and Mrs. Hurst was both wiser and more well-bred than Elizabeth had been able to previously experience. Jane took such pains with both of the sisters that Elizabeth could be in no doubt of her desire for their good opinion. The question remained; was that good opinion being offered?

Mrs. Hurst rose and Elizabeth rose with her.

“I do believe,” said Mrs. Hurst, “that a walk would be refreshing. Don’t you, Miss Elizabeth?”

Elizabeth was nearly out of the door before she realized she had been shepherded. As she left the room, Caroline’s voice carried out the door. “Take care that you do not vanish into the wilds of Hertfordshire. They seem to have a savage effect on those without sufficient breeding.”

“Never mind Caroline,” said Mrs. Hurst, taking Elizabeth by the arm, “I am quite determined to have you as a sister.”

Elizabeth looked over at her with such a wealth of feeling she could barely speak. This was everything she could have hoped for from her visit. To know that Mrs. Hurst supported Jane and would welcome her into the family! When Elizabeth could finally find the words, she looked over with all her heart in her eyes. “There is nothing that I value more than family. Those who do well by mine, do well by me, Mrs. Hurst.”

“Please,” said Mrs. Hurst, “you must call me Louisa.”

“You may have any choice you wish of my many names,” said Elizabeth, “but my sisters call me Lizzy.”

“Then, Lizzy,” said Louisa, “have I told you about Charles’, my apologies, Mr. Bingley’s talents with hounds and small children?”

She really was a most excellent sister, Elizabeth thought warmly. It was easy to see now what might attract Jane to Mr. Bingley. What reservations Elizabeth had about the changeability of his opinion would no doubt be set to rest once she had a better understanding of his person.

To that end, Elizabeth tried not to leave quite as quickly when she was forced into company with Mr. Bingley in a real effort to get to know her future brother. It was something of a joke between them that, due to Mr. Bingley’s engaging manner and Elizabeth’s love of the ridiculous, they were soon easy enough with one another to address the situation.

“We do seem to be cast together frequently,” Elizabeth laughed. “It is the danger of being a younger sibling, I believe. Always at the mercy of the memory of when they were taller and sturdier than you.”

Mr. Bingley put his whole heart into his laugh. “You put it quite well, Miss Elizabeth. Louisa was quite a terror before she became a young lady. She has always known what was best for me and been determined that I should know it too.”

He gave her such a look then that Elizabeth almost regretted the conversation. “Ah,” she said lightly, “but then we have grown tall enough to know our own minds. We are allowed to have a new opinion with each inch in height we gain over our elders.”

“Yes,” said Mr. Bingley softly, “I do believe we are.”

“Miss Elizabeth,” said Mr. Darcy, “I was surprised not to see you about the grounds today.”

The words were addressed to her, but Mr. Darcy’s look was entirely for Mr. Bingley and Elizabeth felt a cold ache that she couldn’t explain.

~{♥}~

Although Elizabeth did not acknowledge it, one of the reasons that Netherfield held an attraction was the disorder of the house in the wake of Mr. Collins’ desertion. While Mama was upset with Charlotte, she was equally upset with all of her daughters for not having prevented the tragedy. Kitty did take special precedence, but she had put her newfound ability to disappear to excellent use and thus her sisters were forced to bear the brunt of their mother’s effusions.

Elizabeth found herself grateful for the existence of their Aunt Phillips who seemed to have both an endless supply of gossip and an endless desire to learn gossip in return. Seeing both her and Mama in the parlour, Elizabeth paused so that she was not visible through the open door.

“That Kitty,” said Mama, “what a disobedient child. She would much better use her flexibility to attract men than to climb trees! You do not know what I suffer as a mother.”

Mrs. Phillips made soothing noises and Elizabeth tried to determine the best path that would not bring her to their attention.

“Well at least we have my Lizzy,” said Mama. “Such good friends with Mrs. Hurst, daughter-in-law of a baronet, you know!. I have every confidence that she will invite dear Lizzy to town and throw her and her sisters in the path of rich men.”

That explained rather more than Elizabeth expected. And for this, she thought, I was spared Mr. Collins.

And, she thought, even more guiltily, it must have been Jane who told their mother this bit of nonsense, who had understood Elizabeth well enough to spare her the misery of their cousin’s attentions.

How could she possibly repay such unselfish devotion?

Elizabeth sighed.

It appeared that she would need to attend even further to the Netherfield party.

~{♥}~

Having accomplished as much understanding as she wished of the affections of the Bingley sisters and Mr. Bingley for her sister Jane, Elizabeth felt free to escape to the grounds of Netherfield as soon as the ladies dispersed.

Mr. Darcy still appeared with great frequency and Elizabeth could not help but tease him. “Are you an outdoor cat then? Do you stalk the gardens for your prey?”

“Truly,” said Mr. Darcy, “there is nothing so satisfying as trapping a juicy morsel under a hedge.”

Elizabeth was not so satisfied by this answer that she wished to pursue the line of conversation further. “Do you enjoy gardens, Mr. Darcy?”

“My sister has a great love of flowers,” said Mr. Darcy, “much like my deceased mother. I learned to recognize the kinds that I might bring her poseys that would please her when her spirits were low. I have since tried to learn about the development of the grounds under conversation with the head gardener.”

It was quite the most pleasant conversation Elizabeth had ever had with Mr. Darcy. The hint of the man under the disdainful cat was enough for Elizabeth to share her own experience of Netherfield as a young girl.

“The grounds have not changed so much since the previous inhabitants still lived here- there,” she said, smiling, “they still have the rose bed though it is in winter foliage and very ill used. There was a gardener’s shed here that we would hide in when we wished to escape our parents. It was a foolish choice though as one of us always forgot to never close the door. As soon as it shut, it always jammed and was impossible to open from the inside. We were quite trapped until someone rescued us. What punishments we received!”

“Perhaps you could show me this shed,” said Mr. Darcy.

Elizabeth was unsure how they had become locked in the gardener’s shed after she had particularly told him that the door became jammed quite easily, but it was amusingly easy for her to crawl out the broken slat at the back when she heard the gardener coming.

What was less amusing was the subject of the conversation of their following walk. Mr. Darcy was not a man who had a talent for proposals. He presented such an insulting offer to save her reputation that it sounded as if Mr. Darcy had learned nothing from her first refusal of his proposals. Elizabeth was baffled that he thought their reputations were at any risk at all. Even more, she was furious that he still seemed to feel that she was attempting to compromise him and hurt by his insinuations in a way that she did not wish to exam too closely.

As she refused his very reluctant hand in marriage for a second time, Elizabeth felt a queer chill down her back. For a second, Mr. Darcy had looked like nothing so much as Tom waiting for a particularly juicy rat to come within reach of his claws.

~{♥}~

The whole situation had shaken something of Elizabeth’s firm belief in her ability to judge others. With some clever arrangement of her time and the unspoken support of Mary, she had managed to be occupied at the piano and her studies for the next few invitations to Netherfield. Unfortunately, between her mother’s displeasure at Elizabeth’s refusal of the grand ladies and her mother’s lamentations on the perfidy of Charlotte Lucas, Netherfield became an ever more attractive option.

~{♥}~

There were some moments when Elizabeth wondered if her mother might have been a lesser evil than Netherfield.

Mr. Bingley had been particularly insistent that Elizabeth join in conversation with him and his sisters rather than disappearing into the grounds of the estate. Mr. Darcy seemed displeased with the situation, but then Mr. Darcy seemed frequently displeased since his disastrous proposals.

Elizabeth did not enjoy when the party at Netherfield was all together. Miss Bingley was ever more teasing to Mr. Darcy, which was entertaining. Miss Bingley was also even more uncivil to herself, which was not. While Elizabeth delighted in the ridiculous, she could see that any conflict between herself and Miss Bingley caused Jane real distress. There was only so long that Elizabeth could hold her tongue before she felt as if she would chew it through.

It was with real relief that she pleaded a headache and the desire to rest awhile with a book.

Mr. Bingley immediately offered her the use of his library. He laughed a little, stating his hope that she would find something of interest between the periodicals and the novels. “And I wish my collection were larger for your benefit and my own credit; but I am an idle fellow, and though I have not many, I have more than I ever looked into.”

As Mr. Bingley’s definition of ‘not many’ covered a full library of both his books and the books of the previous inhabitants of Netherfield, Elizabeth felt free to tease him for his illiteracy. “Well, I shall look for the books with the pictures that I might be able to discuss them with you at your leisure.”

Elizabeth was unsure why Mr. Bingley started choking or why Mr. Darcy looked like murder incarnate, but she was too eager to leave the gathering to dwell long on the strangeness of the male species.

~{♥}~

Elizabeth was genuinely unsure why Mr. Darcy appeared a quarter hour after she entered the library. Barring the horror of his two proposals and his apparent belief that she was attempting to compromise him, Elizabeth could not tell whether he enjoyed or abhorred her company. That most of their recent conversations had devolved into arguments seemed to imply the latter, but Mr. Darcy was a perverse enough cat that the former could be true as well.

He had obviously sought out her company to have arrived there, yet he only stood there staring at her, as if in expectation. As Elizabeth cast about for some form of conversation, she barely noticed the footsteps approaching from the hallway.

When the library door shut with an ominous click, Elizabeth immediately rushed over to it. She was less surprised than she would have liked to realize that it was locked.

In no good humour, she glared at Mr. Darcy. “I do not understand how your admirer could not have remembered to place herself within the room first, but surely you can see that there was no way for me to have orchestrated this situation.”

Mr. Darcy smiled at her. It was the most terrifyingly artificial smile that Elizabeth had ever seen.

She blinked. “Are you well, Mr. Darcy?”

Mr. Darcy immediately scowled and Elizabeth felt a profound sense of relief. Determined to bear the situation with as much grace as possible, she retrieved the broadsheet she had wished to read and settled herself into a comfortable chair.

As absorbed as she was in the state of the Inclosure Act, it took her several minutes to realize that Mr. Darcy was loudly and repeatedly clearing his throat. Startled, Elizabeth looked towards him and immediately wished that she hadn’t.

Mr. Darcy very obviously had a problem.

After repeated examination, Elizabeth couldn’t determine what was wrong with Mr. Darcy. At first, she thought he had an affliction of the eye, but it was so irregular and so exaggerated a movement that Elizabeth was unsure of its medical nature. The other explanation seemed so unrealistic, so implausible that-

“Are you winking at me?” said Elizabeth.

“No,” said Mr. Darcy, turning abruptly away from her. Elizabeth wondered why a deep pink flush was spreading down from his ears, but decided that she was better remaining engaged in her broadsheet.

After several minutes of awkward silence, Mr. Darcy broke the quiet.

Elizabeth immediately wished that he hadn’t.

“You read very well,” said Mr. Darcy.

“Thank you?” said Elizabeth, no longer even trying to make sense of a Mr. Darcy who was obviously in his cups.

“I assume,” said Mr. Darcy, obviously discontent to leave the conversation on a pleasant note, “that this paper is some trifle of particular interest to young women.”

“Yes,” said Elizabeth dryly, “I suppose that the Inclosure Consolidation Act is of particular interest to unmarried ladies.”

Mr. Darcy’s uncomfortable-looking slouch immediately turned into the alert posture of Tom spotting a mouse. “You are in favour of further inclosure provisions?”

“No,” said Elizabeth.

Later, Elizabeth would wonder if she had actually presented a half hour worth of reasonable argument and simply forgotten that she had spoken. Even in hindsight, she couldn’t find anything that would have prompted Mr. Darcy’s monologue presenting all sides of inclosure in such dizzying depth that she had felt like she was the one in her cups.

Fortunately for her, the sound of footsteps in the hallway gave her sufficient incentive to exit via the balcony and vault into the hedge.

When Darcy found her, still picking thorns out of her chemise, she was in absolutely no mood for the return of his most reluctant addresses. As he stumbled through what was undoubtedly going to be another terrible proposal, Elizabeth raised her hand and had the satisfaction of seeing him descend into silence.

“I have no intention of marrying you. If you,” she hissed, “do not manage to contain whichever of your admirers or enemies is attempting to compromise you, I will have no wearable clothes remaining. Fix this, Mr. Darcy, or I will fix you.”

Elizabeth had no idea why Mr. Darcy made a strangled noise as she strode off towards the house, but she was confident that her point had been made. After all, most feral cats just needed a firm hand and clear boundaries.

~{♥}~

Mr. Darcy was, in fact, not a feral cat.

~{♥}~

Elizabeth was unsure why all of her visits to Netherfield resulted in her eventually being sent to find a book in the Netherfield library.

She was even more unsure why Mr. Darcy kept following her.

After the fourth time that the library door clicked shut, Elizabeth had the interactions down to an efficient routine. She would have several uninterrupted hours of surprisingly interesting conversation with Mr. Darcy. She would escape out the balcony when someone approached the door. When Mr. Darcy launched whatever awful proposal he was trying to use to make her commit her life to spinsterhood, she would raise her hand and he would stop.

“No,” she said, trying very hard not to roll her eyes. “I will not marry you.”

She glared at him. “I will insist however that you put more effort into determining who is trying to blackmail or compromise you. My bonnet has not recovered from its journey through the yew.”

“How did you learn to climb?” said Mr. Darcy.

Elizabeth raised an eyebrow. “The usual way.”

“Have you ever considered,” Elizabeth admired how the pink always seemed to start at Mr. Darcy’s ears, “er… not climbing?”

Elizabeth stared at Mr. Darcy. She spoke very slowly and very clearly, “Since you refuse to determine who is causing these problems, I need to climb the tree or the hedges or the balustrades. If I do not climb one of these things, someone will see us alone together in a locked room and my reputation will be ruined.”

The pink had spread to Mr. Darcy’s neck. “Could we not just become engaged?”

“No,” said Elizabeth, wondering why he was being so uncommonly stupid. “We could not become engaged.”

“Right,” said Mr. Darcy, the pink slowly crawling underneath his cravat. “That is right.”

“Engaged,” Elizabeth huffed. “You shall need to engage me a seamstress if you do not solve this situation and that is still more engagement than you deserve.”

~{♥}~

“Have you ever been to Longbourn?” said Elizabeth, “I truly cannot remember. Mr. Bingley comes several times a week for dinner with his sisters, but I cannot recall that you have ever joined them.”

“My affairs of business make the time required for visitations an imposition,” said Mr. Darcy.

And several hours every few days in the library was not, thought Elizabeth.

~{♥}~

“I cannot be easy with Hamlet’s behaviour,” said Mr. Darcy. “To endanger all that defined him as a prince in the pursuit of an obsession was madness. He had responsibilities to his country and his people that he discarded as if they were nothing at all.”

“And you see,” said Elizabeth, “I cared more that he was willing to hurt those he loved in the pursuit of a futile, pointless revenge.”

~{♥}~

“To London?” said Mr. Darcy.

“Well,” said Elizabeth, “it was not to London, but to an indifferent rider such as myself it felt as if I had nearly reached the city. I could never remove all the brambles from my riding habit.”

“And you still ride… Virilitas?”

Elizabeth shrugged. “If I did not ride him, my sisters would have been forced to use him. We manage well enough now that he knows that I am the one who has the power to direct him.”

“I can imagine that,” said Mr. Darcy softly.

~{♥}~

“It was awkward enough with the goat and the round of cheese, but then Bingley dropped the madeira and the goat-” Mr. Darcy broke off his words, turning away from Elizabeth. “My apologies, this is not a proper story for a well-bred lady.”

“Well,” said Elizabeth with a slow-spreading smile, “it is just as well that impropriety only appears to matter if someone else witnesses the matter. So about that goat…”

~{♥}~

“I do not know if I have done the right thing by Georgiana,” said Mr. Darcy. “She has been so unhappy and I fear that I do not have the nature or the talent to relieve her spirits.”

“If I can speak with any authority as regards sisters,” said Elizabeth, “it is that mostly they wish for someone to listen to them and to enter into their concerns when they seek assistance.”

“She speaks very little,” said Mr. Darcy. “Her letters are more informative, but they have become much shorter since I wrote that I would not be returning for Christmas and that she was to join her Uncle in town.”

“I am sorry that you cannot spend Christmas with your sister,” said Elizabeth. “For all that we are such different people, I love all of my sisters dearly and my heart aches at the thought of being separated from them at such a time.”

It occurred to Elizabeth, as it often did, that the words were not at all appropriate almost as soon as they had left her mouth. The way Mr. Darcy was staring at her did nothing to relieve her suspicion that she had been abominably presumptuous.

“I do not,” said Mr. Darcy, “know what to send Georgiana for Christmas.”

Her brother, thought Elizabeth. Fortunately, that thought remained locked in the safety of her mind.

“Perhaps my mother would be the best person to ask,” said Elizabeth, really trying to be helpful.

“Your mother?” said Mr. Darcy.

“She has five daughters and has experienced all ages and personalities. There are few people in this world who know more about what would please young ladies.”

Elizabeth could see the doubt on his face and, despite her reluctant fondness for this equally reluctant tomcat, she knew that he would never lower himself so far as to speak with her mother.

It was therefore something of surprise when Mr. Bingley next called on Longbourn that Mr. Darcy joined him and immediately addressed himself to Mrs. Bennet.

~{♥}~

“It cannot be for me,” said Elizabeth. “I cannot have worked such a change as this.”

Tom lazily opened a single eye and then closed it again, the tattered remains of Elizabeth’s best chemise clutched between his claws.

After all, as much as she pretended otherwise, Elizabeth knew very well that in the end, tomcats did exactly as they pleased.

~{♥}~

Chapter Text

THE CAT’S GUIDE TO COMPROMISE

LESSON SIX: learn when to unsheathe your claws

~{♥}~

The Gardiners visited Longbourn for Christmas and Elizabeth was relieved to have the company of the two relatives who had been of the most assistance in her development. As her mother’s brother, her uncle Gardiner was a gentleman in all but his practice of his trade and shared only with his sister a fierce absolute partisanship for those he loved.

When he was introduced to the Netherfield ladies, Elizabeth rejoiced in their difficulties reconciling that a man who lived by trade, and within view of his own warehouses, could be so well-bred and agreeable, a man of sense and intelligence. She knew this conflict because Louisa told her as much, adding, “It is a good reminder to not forget our own background. I am properly humbled and hope that your aunt and uncle will join us at our own table.”

That her aunt and uncle were able to assist in removing another barrier to Jane’s future happiness made Elizabeth glad and she said as much to her aunt.

Her aunt Gardiner looked at her strangely. “What barrier does Jane face?”

Elizabeth laughed, relaxed by the punch Mr. Bingley had kindly provided for her. “Dear Aunt, have you not noticed her devoted suitor? Louisa and Miss Bingley have had great reservations that, I believe, were giving him pause, but with your appearance, I believe it will all be much smoother now.”

Her aunt frowned. “Jane is much admired, I admit, but I am afraid I must confess that I am unsure of which suitor is currently seeking her hand.”

Elizabeth paused as Mr. Bingley came over to them again and told them a terrible joke about shaggy dogs before bounding off to Louisa.

As soon as he was out of hearing range, Elizabeth nodded in his direction. “Mr. Bingley, of course. They are quite gone for each other.”

Her aunt looked all astonishment. “Mr. Bingley? For Jane?”

She visibly bit her lip. “But if you say so, so it must be. I wish her every happiness.”

Even after the Gardiners had returned to London, Elizabeth found herself turning that conversation over in her head again and again.

It was such a simple thing and yet-

Her turmoil was made worse by a most disturbing conversation at Netherfield.

When Elizabeth arrived at Netherfield, Louisa had, with many smiles, said that there was a text of particular interest to her in the library and Elizabeth had resigned herself to the normal fate of her visits to Netherfield.

Elizabeth was nearly at the library door when she realized that it was already closed and that there were voices coming from within the room. This was so foreign to her concept of the world that she froze in place as the voices filtered through to her ears. Once she heard the subject of the conversation, she could no more have left than she could have flown.

“I have been thinking of returning to London,” said Mr. Bingley.

“Really?” said Mr. Darcy. “Do you have business there?”

Mr. Bingley audibly swallowed. “I was thinking of a stay of some duration to… reduce some of the conversation in the community. Louisa has told me that she could still invite her particular friend if we were in town, so it should not leave any of us lonely.”

There was a long moment of silence.

Mr. Darcy’s voice was calm, clear, and so frightening that Elizabeth took an involuntary step back from the door. “You have raised expectations beyond the point of retreat. If you did not intend to offer for her, what the devil have you been playing at?”

“And whose expectations,” said Mr. Bingley, “are the ones that have been raised?”

There was a strange, dark undertone to Mr. Darcy’s voice. “Have you not been in raptures for months over the virtues of Jane Bennet?”

“My sister would argue with you on the subject of raptures.” said Mr. Bingley.

“Mrs. Hurst may pretend deafness, but neither I nor the entire town of Meryton will. That choice has been made,” said Mr. Darcy.

Mr. Bingley paused. “What of-”

“She is not for you,” said Mr. Darcy.

Elizabeth’s eyes widened.

Mr. Darcy continued in that soft, dark voice. “You have long wished to be a gentleman, Bingley. Now you have the chance to live it and not play it.”

“Yes, a gentleman,” said Mr. Bingley.

“Allow me to offer my congratulations,” said Mr. Darcy as the clinking of glasses became audible. “As you once said, you are to marry an angel.”

“An angel,” said Mr. Bingley and the sound of glass and drinking grew louder. “And all I owe you is the extensive use of my library.”

“I see that we understand one another,” said Mr. Darcy.

“Damn you,” said Mr. Bingley, “and damn me.”

Elizabeth removed herself from the door and silently crept back down the hallway, her thoughts in turmoil.

Mr. Darcy had prevented Mr. Bingley from abandoning Jane.

So why did she feel as if it was all terribly wrong?

~{♥}~

By the time Elizabeth returned from her afternoon walk the next day, Jane was engaged to be married.

Mama was incandescent.

Jane was…

Elizabeth had never seen her glow like that, had never seen her so comfortable, so settled in her own skin. When she grasped Elizabeth’s hand, her eyes wet, Elizabeth swallowed the lump in her throat.

“Be happy,” said Elizabeth and hoped that her words could make it so.

~{♥}~

Jane was married not long after Charlotte Lucas. Both brides were as beautiful as Elizabeth had ever seen them and both mothers were happier than they had ever been to see their dearest wishes fulfilled.

Of the rest of the events, Elizabeth could say little. Her fear for the happiness of those she loved forced her to spend most of her attention on being cheerful enough to fool her friends and family.

There were small pieces of Jane’s wedding that she could remember and thought of later. Louisa was strangely sad. Mr. Darcy was strangely happy. Billy Lucas spilt the punch over Miss Bingley’s new dress.

In the end, minus the loss of both her sister and her friend from her immediate circle, life changed less than Elizabeth had either expected or feared. Charlotte was an excellent correspondent and Elizabeth still spent much time at Netherfield being locked into the library with Mr. Darcy.

~{♥}~

After the wedding, Miss Bingley left for London.

Mr. Darcy did not leave for London.

Louisa did leave for London, but embraced Elizabeth for a full five minutes before she left. Her final words were so confusing that Elizabeth was never quite able to understand them. As she exited Netherfield, Louisa had whispered, “There is no reason that we cannot remain on intimate terms, Lizzy. Any time you wish to join me in London, I shall always be at your disposal.”

Her new brother-in-law transformed overnight from Mr. Bingley to Charles and seemed to take great pleasure in calling her Lizzy while Mr. Darcy glared in the background.

If Elizabeth had assumed that the lack of Bingley sisters would mean fewer trips to Netherfield, she was quite mistaken. Jane was just as fond of inviting her to the house when her husband was out and just as fond of abandoning her as the Bingley sisters ever were. No matter how Elizabeth chose to entertain herself, Mr. Darcy appeared, whether she was outside or inside. Inevitably, every visit ended with the two of them locked in the library. Elizabeth had become very good at mending her increasingly thorn-torn clothing.

Not content with meeting at Netherfield, Mr. Darcy had begun to haunt the grove where Elizabeth took her morning walk. It seemed that he had so many thoughts to share and so many thoughts that he wished from her that improper meetings in locked libraries were no longer sufficient to contain them all.

Elizabeth could sense that the relationship between her and Mr. Darcy was changing, but she could not determine the direction. He had proven that he did not wish her for a wife, that her charms he had early withstood, and that he disagreed with her on many subjects, great and small. However, there was a similarity of mind, an enjoyment to be found as their conversation became less adversarial and more congenial. His was a well-bred, well-informed mind and Elizabeth found herself starved for his thoughts, for his debate on the world and what it contained.

The two of them had been sitting at the window seat in the library in heated debate, but when Mr. Darcy pleaded a headache, Elizabeth had picked up a book to allow him some minutes to collect himself and curl tightly against the cool glass of the window.

Minutes later, it was with some surprise that Elizabeth felt a heavy weight knock her book from her hand as she stared in astonishment at the bulk now stretched across her.

Mr. Darcy, the poor man, had fallen asleep. Somehow, his determined curl against the window had been reversed and he had toppled over so that his head was resting in her lap. Elizabeth knew that she should be upset, but all that she could feel looking down at his rumpled hair and dark-circled eyes was a confused protectiveness. She realized that her hand, without her conscious permission, was gently smoothing his curls back from his forehead. She was stroking his head in exactly the same fashion she would stroke a sleeping Tom.

Mr. Darcy made an achingly familiar chuffing noise and nuzzled further into her touch. He was smiling.

“Oh,” said Elizabeth. “Oh no.”

~{♥}~

After a solid week of biting her pillow and avoidance and trying not to remember how Darcy had reached for her as she slid a throw pillow between his arms and snuck out the balcony, Elizabeth finally reached a mature and rational decision.

There was, decided Elizabeth, no reason at all she should change anything. It meant nothing. None of it meant anything. She had at least fifteen terrible proposals to prove that it meant nothing and even those had stopped coming.

She could go on a perfectly normal walk with a perfectly normal unrelated gentleman who had perfectly normally attempted to propose to her fifteen times and perfectly normally no longer chose to do so.

If only he wasn’t such an impossible menace. Truly, she tried not to feel guilty that he had been walking out in the hopes of meeting her for a week. As always, his own behaviour left her feeling much less sympathy than she should have. A week without her company seemed to have resulted in so much pent-up Darcyness that it erupted in a Vesuvian stream of babble. As he blathered on about the Inclosure Act yet again, Elizabeth finally reached the end of her patience.

“Darcy,” she said, “you are too tall for me to cuff your head, but I can still kick your ankles.”

She had no idea why Darcy froze or why a dazed look spread over his face. He looked like a landed fish. Since it was an improvement over his previous insufferable expression, Elizabeth shrugged and kept walking.

~{♥}~

Elizabeth had grown so used to the absence of Charles when she came to visit Netherfield, it did not occur to her that his presence would cause a difference in her routine.

It was perhaps fortunate that she was already on the balcony when he flung open the door to the library and that Darcy was between her and the library.

As Elizabeth fled to the balustrades, her last vision of the library was of Darcy’s broad shoulders blocking the entrance to the balcony.

~{♥}~

Jane had been at the base of the balustrades when Elizabeth finished her descent. She directed Elizabeth towards the coach house and Elizabeth meekly followed her.

Elizabeth did not speak.

Neither did Jane.

As the coachman prepared to hand her into the carriage, Darcy appeared, looking much the worse for wear.

“Perhaps,” said Elizabeth, “you might wish to visit me at Longbourn?”

Darcy touched his blackened eye. “Perhaps that would be wise.”

~{♥}~

“So are you much in the habit of getting into fisticuffs, Mr. Darcy?” said Mary.

Lydia snorted. “La, he’s obviously used to losing at fisticuffs, Mary.”

“Is it really proper to have the evidence of so much violence in our home, Lizzy?” said Kitty. “After all, it is so important to be proper.”

Elizabeth had no idea what was happening. She had ascertained that her mother was at their Aunt Phillips’ then had only just suggested to Darcy that they should perhaps examine the herb garden when her sisters descended on them like a biblical plague.

More than a little bemused, Elizabeth looked over at Darcy.

He was smiling. He leaned back against the bench he was occupying and looked up at her sisters through his unfairly long eyelashes. “One question each.”

“Two,” said Lydia, “and if you make Lizzy cry, we’ll castrate you.”

Elizabeth blinked. “I did not think that we had covered castration yet in the lesson.”

Lydia shrugged. “I read ahead of the lecture.”

~{♥}~

Elizabeth had been summarily dismissed from the garden to wait in the parlour. Tom appeared almost as soon as she was seated and proceeded to occupy her lap with the intensity with which he approached all activities in life.

Darcy appeared in the door with Mary- Kitty and Lydia visible in their absence. He was unusually pale.

Mary was not. “Kitty is showing Lydia the good trees. Mr. Darcy is going to join us for tea, aren’t you, Mr. Darcy?”

“Yes,” said Darcy, his eyes rather haunted in their gaze, “I believe that I am.”

He recovered somewhat, although he was still a little pale, and his gaze fixed on the animal on Elizabeth’s lap.

“Is this the infamous Tom?” said Darcy. “He is a handsome creature. I am less insulted by the comparison. My pride will remain uninjured.”

Mary sniffed. “By all that I have ever read, there is often a very real confusion between vanity and pride. Vanity and pride are different things, though the words are often used synonymously. A person may be proud without being vain. However, there are also those persons who happily wed both together to make themselves thoroughly unpleasant.”

“That would be a dark fate indeed,” said Darcy.

“Tea?” said Mary, although her smile said ‘arsenic’.

Elizabeth was growing somewhat concerned, so she communicated instructions to the maid and was surprised to see the tea arrive almost immediately, including such dainties as were normally reserved for special occasions at Longbourn.

Darcy looked an odd combination of nervous and entertained. “I am most grateful for the tea.”

Mary’s mouth was all teeth. “Is it tolerable enough to tempt you, Mr. Darcy?”

Elizabeth thought she should have been embarrassed. Instead she had to stifle an unholy burst of laughter as Darcy gaped at her sister. By the time he had closed his mouth, Mary had exited the room, nose in the air, Tom stalking after her.

“I thoroughly understand how I have offended your sister, but I do not understand how I have also offended your cat?” said Darcy.

“I do not think he wishes to share my lap,” Elizabeth said in what she thought was an inaudible aside. Based on the startled glance from Darcy, she had not been entirely successful.

Darcy swallowed. “It is most unfortunate that he is so set against me. Pemberley is full of groves and paths and quiet rooms with corners to rest and think.”

“So you think,” said Elizabeth, “that Tom would like Pemberley?”

“I think,” said Darcy, his voice so low and rough that Elizabeth involuntarily shivered, “that Tom would love Pemberley.”

~{♥}~

It was hard for Elizabeth’s sisters to be more hostile to Darcy, but when compared to the Charybdis of Netherfield, Darcy seemed more willing to brave the Scylla of Longbourn. Elizabeth took real pleasure in watching the great pains he took in learning to know them and that slowly, steadily they grew to know him in turn.

Elizabeth was not sure how they managed it, but somehow Mama never encountered Darcy on his visits and not a word of expectation passed her lips, entirely focused as they were on the excellence of Jane’s match.

What her father thought was of no concern and Elizabeth wasted none on it.

Elizabeth had never had a friend like Darcy. He in turn seemed to have a real desire that she understand him, in all his faults and particulars. This included some explanation for the oddity of his treatment of her prior to the Netherfield ball.

“I was in an ill-humour when I came to Netherfield,” said Darcy.

Truly, thought Elizabeth dryly. One would never have been able to tell.

“So please take all the compliment that is due to you when I say that you, above all people that I have met, impressed me from the first in the excellence of your care for your sisters and those that you considered under your protection.”

Darcy took a step away from her and ran a hand through the obstinate curls attempting to escape his head. “I looked at first to find fault, to see some hypocrisy or falseness in your behaviour. My experiences had convinced me that the public expression of sisterly devotion was often a mask for other, uglier feelings. It was not many days before I realized that as real as the anxiety of Miss Mary was your true and earnest desire to help her be comfortable in company.”

“Not,” said Darcy, “because you had expectations of reward from her behaviour, but for her own sake, her own happiness. And it was not just Miss Mary that you served. Your younger sisters orbited you as moons to your sun and it was not many weeks before it became clear that you were sister, teacher, and confidante all at once. Your methods were unusual, even improper, but there was not a single observer who could doubt the force of your affection. You protected them as fiercely as a lioness would protect her cubs and I desired that-”

“For Georgiana?” said Elizabeth.

There was a long moment of silence.

“Yes, for Georgiana,” said Darcy.

“And now,” said Darcy, “I must speak of the part that offers me nothing but regret. Part of my reason for coming to Netherfield was to provide my sister some time to heal from the effects of a companion I most unwisely chose for her. Your existence seemed the answer to a prayer I had never imagined to be fulfilled. I had planned at the ball to ask you to come live with my sister as her companion and I believed you to be expecting and even desiring such addresses.”

“I never meant to deceive you, but I had not the slightest idea of your interest in such a quarter,” said Elizabeth.

“I can only imagine,” said Darcy, his smile bringing a new attractiveness to his face. “What you must think of my vanity! Gentlemen do not proposition innocent ladies to become their sister’s companion. How your words haunted me, even if you could have no idea of the full truth of their accuracy.”

“I had not the smallest idea of their being ever felt in such a way,” said Elizabeth.

“I can easily believe that,” said Darcy. “You have been very clear that you find me a tomcat in all senses.”

Elizabeth was not so sure of his meaning as to offer him a reply and it seemed that Darcy did not expect one.

“You have given me so much. I am beginning to repair my relationship with Georgiana because of your generosity and kindness of spirit.” Darcy sighed, running his fingers through his hair. “I say this in part because I would wish to offer you some small piece of the service that you have offered me.”

“What do you mean?” said Elizabeth.

“I cannot pretend to be a disinterested observer,” said Darcy, “but perhaps some things are more visible to those outside the family than those inside of it.”

“I do not have the pleasure of understanding you,” said Elizabeth, starting to become uneasy with the conversation.

Darcy looked at her, his gaze fixed and firm. “Of your family, I feel that Miss Mary and I share some aspects of our personality that are not shared by the rest of your family. This commonality has cause me to see things that perhaps have hurt her, but the telling may harm you-”

Darcy took a deep, shuddering breath. “It pains me to pain you.”

“If there is a harm that is being done to my sister,” said Elizabeth, now truly alarmed, “then I demand to know it.”

“I understand something of anxiety,” said Darcy. “It is made worse when you are attempting to become something that you are not.”

Elizabeth frowned. “Mary is trying-”

“Your sister,” said Darcy, and his voice was so gentle and his eyes were so very, very kind, “is trying her hardest to be you.”

Elizabeth staggered backwards. It would have been kinder if he had shot her.

“Perhaps,” said Darcy, “you can grant her permission to be herself.”

~{♥}~

Elizabeth stared blindly at the blank paper in front of her. Slowly, more slowly than she had ever moved, she put pen to ink and began to write.

~{♥}~

“Charles,” said Elizabeth, the words leaden in her throat, “I have a favour I must ask of you.”

“Anything,” said Charles.

Elizabeth closed her eyes.

~{♥}~

Mary stared at the letter in blind incomprehension.

“This is a letter for me?” she said. “It was meant to be sent to me?”

“It does have your name on it, dearest,” said Elizabeth, who had skilfully made sure that Mary received the letter while Mama and her sisters were otherwise occupied.

“But what Mrs. Hurst writes,” said Mary, “cannot be meant for me.”

“What does she write?” said Elizabeth.

“She says that our brother Charles has so praised my talents that she wishes to host me and provide me the opportunity to learn from some of the masters that serve her dear friend Georgiana. She says that Georgiana is wild to make my acquaintance and wishes to share in her lessons. Mrs. Hurst says that she has a desire herself to make herself better known to me and to know me better. She wishes for us to be sisters in truth.”

“Lizzy,” said Mary, “what can this possibly mean?”

“I know,” said Elizabeth, “that your last experience in London was not as any of us would have wished, but do not be blind to your own abilities and value. It appears that Charles and Louisa have recognized your worth and would wish to offer you the chances you cannot achieve here at Longbourn.”

“I would have masters,” said Mary, her face a mask of shock. “There would be concerts and I could hear the best performers and I could play without interruption.”

“But oh,” she said, her face morphing in distress, “you would not be there, Lizzy. I cannot-”

“But you can,” said Elizabeth. “Just think of the letters we will write! Such heights of narrative and exclamation! I will take a full five pages to detail Mama’s raptures over Sir William’s new barouche!”

Mary laughed, even as her eyes began to water. “It is not so easy. I am afraid, Lizzy. What must I do?”

“That,” said Elizabeth, “is something you must decide for yourself. The choice that you choose for yourself must always be the one that is correct.”

Elizabeth quit the room then, too full of feeling to speak further. She kept her own counsel for most of the next week and accepted Mary’s joyous communication with every appearance of happiness.

There was only one moment of hesitation, as Mary made to enter Charles’ carriage for London.

“Are you quite sure this is the right thing, Lizzy?” said Mary. “I know what it is to live here and I would not abandon you, not for anything in the world. If you do not wish me to go, I will stay with all happiness.”

It was the hardest thing Elizabeth had ever done. She fixed her lightest, brightest expression upon her face and embraced Mary. “Oh dearest, what adventures we shall both have. I am a selfish creature and so keenly desire to live through my sister, the talented pianist. I am so glad of you.”

“Maybe,” said Mary, her eyes bright with unshed tears, “one day I will truly be remarkable.”

“You have always been remarkable,” said Elizabeth.

~{♥}~

“Oh Tom,” said Elizabeth, trying to fit her body to a shape that was no longer present.

Tom rose from his position at the end of the bed and came up to settle against her chest.

Elizabeth buried her face in his fur.

If that fur was wet in the morning, Tom would not be the one to tell.

~{♥}~

Chapter Text

THE CAT’S GUIDE TO COMPROMISE

LESSON SEVEN: learn when to sheathe your claws

~{♥}~

Charlotte’s invitation to the parsonage at Rosings Park was delivered exactly as Elizabeth was contemplating fleeing to the Continent. The absence of Mary was like the loss of a limb or the other half of her mind. That was not the only trouble. Her sisters had come so far on their opinion of Darcy that they provided the balm of sisterly consolation by constantly and continuously teasing both him and their most beloved sister.

Since Elizabeth had begun to cherish the solid friendship she was building with Darcy, the interference was both embarrassing and torturous. Time away to think and to speak with an uninvolved party who was also her particular partisan had a great deal of appeal.

When Elizabeth learned that Darcy had business with his aunt, Lady Catherine de Burgh, at the same time she was due to visit Charlotte, her sigh was more resigned than angry. She was to leave first, but the distance between the time she arrived and the time he arrived seemed to shorten every time she spoke with him. Elizabeth half expected him to greet her when she arrived at the parsonage.

To her relief, it was merely Charlotte and Mr. Collins who greeted the coach. The force of Mr. Collins’ effusions had soon carried him beyond the two women and allowed them a private moment of greeting.

“Oh Charlotte,” said Elizabeth, “I am glad to have come.”

Charlotte smiled. “And I am glad of you.”

~{♥}~

It was not fair to say that Elizabeth had poor expectations of the inhabitants of Rosings Park. Rather, her only sense of Lady Catherine and Anne de Burgh had been provided through the half-heard effusions of her cousin, Mr. Collins. Darcy had certainly never seen fit to discuss his relations by name. It was, however, Darcy’s general sense of his relations’ reaction to an alliance with herself that gave Elizabeth some pause when they first attended an invitation at Rosings Park.

Mr. Collins had been an odd mixture of servility and hostility since she first arrived. She had not been the Bennet who had avoided his addresses, but she was still one of the sisters who had witnessed his humiliation, or at least that was how Elizabeth explained the swings in conversation when he spoke to her and Charlotte. His favourite subject was Lady Catherine and his next favourite subject was the consequence he derived from the notice of Lady Catherine. Certainly, by the time she entered Rosings, Elizabeth felt as if she could provide all dialogue for Lady Catherine for the evening and have enough for several more card parties, church services, and dinners.

It was almost disappointing to discover that Lady Catherine was not as tall as a tree and did not breathe fire when she spoke.

Then she began to speak.

Nothing was above her notice. Nothing was below her notice. Elizabeth had seldom been as fascinated with the character of a person she had encountered. Fortunately or unfortunately, Lady Catherine interpreted Elizabeth’s wide-eyed stare as one of wonder rather than disbelief and was well-pleased with the servility on display before her.

So she said.

At great length.

Elizabeth was rather concerned that they would become trapped in Rosings forever, as had occurred in her nightmare about the chimneypiece, but then the butler spoke to Lady Catherine and her entire countenance changed. “My nephews are so attached to Rosings; they could not wait another day to join myself and Anne here.”

Anne smiled vaguely, but attention was soon drawn to the two men who entered the room. Elizabeth did not know if she had ever been so glad to see Darcy. She was also determined to be glad of the man with him, if only because, even though his expression was even, his eyes were laughing.

“Of course,” said Lady Catherine, staring straight at Elizabeth, “you will not have been in the kind of society to have encountered ones such as Mr. Darcy and Colonel Fitzwilliam, but I am sure you have nice enough manners not to show the consciousness of your great privilege.”

Elizabeth wondered what Mr. Collins had said about her background to receive such extraordinary condescension. It amused her to see that he had hoist himself on his own petard. She could see his mouth open and close as he obviously debated whether to let Lady Catherine know that at least one nephew was previously known to the party.

Fortunately, the Colonel, not handsome but in every aspect a gentleman, appeared before Elizabeth and sketched a bow. “It is a great privilege to meet you, Miss Bennet. Darcy has spoken with great enthusiasm about his time in Hertfordshire.”

“What is the meaning of this?” said Lady Catherine. “What do you mean by this?”

“He means,” said Darcy, “that Miss Bennet is the sister of my friend’s wife and a gentlewoman of no little talent and ability.”

Oh dear, thought Elizabeth, Darcy’s tail is lashing.

While the whole exercise was more entertaining than Elizabeth had initially expected, Elizabeth had no desire to have Darcy bite one of his relatives for her. “You are very kind, but I must claim only the usual abilities found in the wilds of Hertfordshire.”

Elizabeth realized almost immediately that was perhaps not as much of a calming of matters as she would have wished. Fortunately, Colonel Fitzwilliam glanced at both her and his cousin and seemed to understand the situation. “And what abilities would those be, Miss Bennet? Do you chase untamed pianofortes across the moors of Meryton?”

“I am afraid,” said Elizabeth, “that I have yet to encounter moors on my journeys through the brambles. I believe those are further north.”

“Geography,” said the Colonel with a grin, “was never my strong suit.”

Oh, thought Elizabeth, you are a dangerous man.

“What is this about pianofortes?” said Lady Catherine. “What is that you are saying, Fitzwilliam? What is it you are talking of? What are you telling Miss Bennet? Let me hear what it is.”

“We are speaking of geography and music, madam,” said Colonel Fitzwilliam, surreptitiously prodding Darcy who was doing an excellent imitation of an angry statue.

“Of music! I must have my share in the conversation if you are speaking of music. There are few people in England, I suppose, who have more true enjoyment of music than myself, or a better natural taste. If I had ever learnt, I should have been a great proficient. Have you learnt, Miss Bennet?”

Elizabeth provided the intelligence that she had indeed learned how to play the pianoforte and found herself immediately at the instrument that Lady Catherine might judge her abilities.

Elizabeth found a mean part of her heart that wanted to leave her Ladyship astonished by her abilities and immediately despised herself for it. As if in punishment, she ignored the offered sheet music and picked a song that she had particularly learned to please Mary. The feeling that infused her playing and voice left her near tears when she finished.

There was complete silence when she was done. Elizabeth was trying not to expose her own emotions, but she was not so far overset so that she could not see Charlotte holding a handkerchief, the sheen on Colonel Fitzwilliam’s eyes, the wide-eyed stare of Mr. Collins, and Darcy-

“Miss Bennet has a very good notion of fingering, though her taste is not equal to Anne’s. Anne would have been a delightful performer, had her health allowed her to learn,” said Lady Catherine.

Elizabeth threw off her ill-humour immediately, laughing at herself instead. Astonished indeed!

“Madam,” said Darcy, “there are London performers who play with less ability than Miss Bennet.”

“Is this how you met then?” said Lady Catherine. “Were you a hired performer, Miss Bennet?”

“Your ladyship,” said Elizabeth, now truly bewildered, “I am a gentleman’s daughter from Hertfordshire. The only stage I have used is a coach.”

“You have family, Miss Bennet?” said Lady Catherine.

“Yes,” said Elizabeth dryly, “I might even count Mr. Collins amongst them.”

Mr. Collins was increasingly taking on the aspect of a hunted hare and Elizabeth wondered what mischief he had managed and why.

“Hm,” said Lady Catherine. “You do have a genteel face. It might make you sufficiently attractive to serve in the background. I shall write a reference for Lady Metcalfe for you. She finds Miss Pope a treasure.”

“Lady Catherine,” said Elizabeth, “what precisely do you think is the purpose of my visit to Mrs. Collins?”

“Why to find a position of course,” said Lady Catherine. “Mr. Collins was quite clear that the poverty and poor upbringing of his cousins made them inappropriate as wives, despite my most specific commands. Obviously one of your sisters captured a gentleman through her arts and wiles. You, however, seem to be able to be trained and there is a great need for governesses.”

Showing that she had at least some comprehension of reality, she glared at Colonel Fitzwilliam and Elizabeth equally. “There will be no arts here!”

Well, thought Elizabeth. That made a surprising amount of sense and spoke to a level of native cunning that she had never imagined Mr. Collins possessed.

“Enough,” said Darcy. “That will be enough, madam. I do not know why or how Mr. Collins has so thoroughly misrepresented his cousins to you, but they are genteel, well-bred ladies in good standing who are respected and acknowledged throughout the community. My friend was fortunate to gain the hand of one of them. Any man would-”

“What Darcy means to say,” said Colonel Fitzwilliam, “is that there appears to be a misunderstanding. One with such discernment as yourself, madam, can surely see that Miss Bennet is a gentlewoman of refined bearing and good breeding.”

You make me sound like a horse, thought Elizabeth.

However, it seemed to have the appropriate effect.

“As you say,” said Lady Catherine, “but I will make my own determinations.”

~{♥}~

“I truly had no idea,” said Charlotte.

“I cannot imagine you did,” said Elizabeth. “What was he thinking?”

“Probably,” said Charlotte, “that Lady Catherine would be disappointed if he did not extend an olive branch to the ladies he was cutting off by virtue of the entail.”

“It would be a very poor thing to disappoint Lady Catherine,” said Elizabeth.

“It would,” said Charlotte and there was no laughter in her eyes.

Oh, thought Elizabeth, this is more complicated than I can manage.

~{♥}~

The second dinner, Lady Catherine asked to measure Elizabeth’s teeth.

Colonel Fitzwilliam distracted her with a discussion of military strategy.

~{♥}~

The less said about the third dinner the better.

~{♥}~

Elizabeth had rather lost count of the number of dinners at Rosings, although she was sure that Mr. Collins could provide a specific tally if she asked.

The worst of it was, she thought, that there were parts of Lady Catherine that were admirable and aspirational. She truly, sincerely wished to order the world. It was every other aspect of her education and desires that were unfortunate.

Elizabeth did not wish to use Colonel Fitzwilliam or Darcy as a shield. However, she had certainly noticed that they had taken to alternating sacrificing themselves on the altar of Lady Catherine’s attention so that Elizabeth might have reasonable conversation in peace.

Colonel Fitzwilliam was the victim this evening and his patient discussion of estate management with her Ladyship and Mr. Collins left Elizabeth in little doubt of his abilities as a soldier.

Looking over to the man beside her, Elizabeth noticed that Darcy was staring rather fixedly at one of Lady Catherine’s rings. When Elizabeth asked a rather dry question about his focus, his answer was not what she expected. “My great-aunt once told me that sapphire was meant to be given to one who brings you joy.”

Elizabeth tried to conceal her surprise. “And er… Sir Lewis found great joy in Lady Catherine?”

Realizing how inappropriate the question was, Elizabeth blushed as deeply as she ever had. To both her surprise and relief, Darcy did not seem to be angered. In fact, his reply had a strangely thoughtful tone, “I think it is difficult to see the heart of a marriage from the outside, even as friends or family. I do not perform well to strangers or even friends and I know my aunt does not either. I do not remember my aunt when she was married.”

“People can change,” he said, and the way he looked at Elizabeth made a shiver descend the length of her spine.

~{♥}~

Elizabeth laughed as Colonel Fitzwillliam performed an amazingly accurate rendition of the Prince Regent discussing his love of opera.

She could feel the gaze on the back of her neck as if it was a physical touch.

Elizabeth had expected Darcy to be jealous. She tried very hard not to think about why she expected Darcy to be jealous and instead debated music with Colonel Fitzwilliam with even greater energy and enthusiasm. It was only by chance that she caught the fond, expectant look on Darcy’s face as he watched them debate.

Tom was never jealous of the time Elizabeth spent with Mary.

Tom was never jealous of the time Elizabeth spent with Mary because they were both his people.

Elizabeth shook her head trying to shake the clouds out of it. Darcy was not a feral cat. He was a man. She had to stop comparing him to her pet cat. If she kept at this, she was going to tie a bell around his neck and coax him to sleep at the foot of her bed.

With that image, Elizabeth was not even able to keep a semblance of conversation going and began to choke in as ladylike a manner as she could.

She was able to cease before the Colonel was forced into military action or she drew the notice of Lady Catherine. It had been long enough though to draw the curiosity of the Colonel. “Do you know what caused such a sudden reflex, Miss Bennet?”

Elizabeth did not reflect before she spoke. “I was thinking of pussies.”

Darcy was forced to escort his cousin from the room before he died of lack of breath.

~{♥}~

“I wish,” said Lady Catherine, at the final dinner before Elizabeth had to return to London, “to make a pronouncement on Miss Bennet.”

She paused with all the flair of a trained dramatist.

“You are quite genteel, Miss Bennet,” said Lady Catherine. “If you do wish a governess position, apply to me first.”

For the first time since Elizabeth had met her, Anne de Burgh spoke. “If I have need of a second companion, I would like you to come. You could play on the pianoforte in Mrs. Jenkinson’s room. You would be in nobody’s way, you know, in that part of the house.”

Well, thought Elizabeth, it is always best to finish as you began.

~{♥}~

It had been hard to meet Darcy outside of the dinners. Between the demands of Rosings and the demands of Charlotte, Elizabeth’s time had been quite occupied. However, Elizabeth finally found Darcy in the lane outside the parsonage the morning after the final dinner.

He looked very much as if he had swallowed a large toad.

“Well,” said Elizabeth, hoping to cheer him. “Your family does not see me as a great degradation.”

“No,” said Darcy, “merely as a servant to be ordered about at will and kept beneath their notice. Offering to find you a position! To treat a gentlewoman in such a fashion! Their behaviour is abhorrent. I cannot apologize enough for it.”

“The Colonel was everything that was polite and appropriate,” said Elizabeth.

“To misquote a very wise woman,” said Darcy, “Richard is the best of men and I am proud to call him cousin.”

He looked at her then and Elizabeth felt as if she could not breathe under the weight of his gaze.

“I have had two true friends,” said Mr. Darcy, his voice unaccountably shy. “That you can be friendly with both Richard and Bingley is… It is…”

“Three true friends, I would hope,” said Elizabeth, her voice nearly as unsteady as his.

Darcy did not speak, but when he reached out his hand, Elizabeth took it firmly within her own.

~{♥}~

It was good for the turmoil of Elizabeth’s heart and mind to sit with Charlotte in her comfortable parlour overlooking her beautiful garden. Charlotte had always settled Elizabeth’s energy, even when their conversation only highlighted the differences in their experience of the world.

Some commonplace courtesies about their respective families and the recent marriage at Netherfield exposed one of the major points of argument between Charlotte and Elizabeth.

“It was wise of Jane to secure him,” said Charlotte. “She will do well with Netherfield.”

Elizabeth had learned to accept the practical nature of Charlotte’s romantic ideals, but the reminder still stung. More, it opened a question that had bothered Elizabeth since at least the gathering at Lucas Lodge.

“I wonder then that you did not encourage me to pursue Darcy. Certainly, everyone else has an opinion and you thought Jane should proceed far earlier than anyone tried to prod me into action.”

“If I thought that you cared less, I would have suggested that you do more,” said Charlotte.

Elizabeth froze.

Charlotte sighed, and Elizabeth heard a strange echo of Jane in the sound. “I cannot and will not speak for Jane, Eliza, but you have a heart made of thorns surrounding rose petals. Once past your defences, you are so easily bruised.”

“Those are the words of a poet,” said Elizabeth, truly disconcerted.

Charlotte waved her hand. “Those are the words of someone who has spent too much time in her personal garden. The truth of it is, it was a good match for Jane and Jane knows that it was a good match for both her and her family. She will make herself happy because that is who she is. That is who I am.”

Charlotte took Elizabeth’s hands in hers. “I did not always understand you, Eliza, but it has been hard to watch you over the years and not recognize the truth. A good match is not enough for you. Take care that the strays you champion will champion you in return.”

Elizabeth stared at her, unseeing, uncomprehending.

Charlotte rose from her seat, releasing Elizabeth’s hands. “Just think about it, Eliza. That is all that I ask.”

~{♥}~

As Elizabeth was still recovering from Charlotte’s bite, she received two letters, both of which added to the unease of Charlotte’s warning.

Jane wrote first to speak of their family. She wrote of the amount of time Kitty and Lydia were spending at Aunt Phillips in her absence, that the militia was to leave Meryton in a month or so for Brighton and that Aunt Phillips was sad for her card parties, and that their mother was writing Mary to send for her other sisters.

That all was as expected, although Elizabeth was sad she did not write of herself save a brief note that she and Charles were well. It was the remaining piece of that letter that concerned Elizabeth. Apparently, there was confusion about where Elizabeth would stay when she would return. It seemed there was expectation of news that would soon take her from Longbourn. For, as Jane wrote, “I cannot imagine Mr. Darcy wishes the matter to take much longer than it has already.”

That Jane, who had seen so much of her time with Darcy at Netherfield, seemed to think that expectations had been raised concerned Elizabeth greatly. Certainly, as she had told Charlotte, she had received encouragement towards Darcy, but it had been quite recent and from younger sisters who dearly loved to tease. This was an animal of a different colour.

Mary’s letter, with a post-script by her Aunt Gardiner, was even more concerning.

Mary was as happy as Elizabeth had ever heard her. She had seen such things, heard such things, enjoyed her new masters, loved Louisa, and adored Georgiana. Though at first she upbraided Elizabeth for not telling her that Georgiana was Darcy’s sister, she was so grateful for the introduction that two pages complete could not contain her happiness. In fact, so close had she become to Georgiana through their lessons and meetings, that she had applied to stay with her and her companion, a Mrs. Annesley, and leave Grosvenor Street.

Her application to her uncle, as her nearest relative in town, had been successful and she was already established where she and Georgiana might join in duet at all hours of the day. She hoped that Elizabeth would join them just as soon as she left the countryside so that Mary and Georgiana could prepare for when Elizabeth joined them permanently. She was so grateful that Elizabeth’s connections had allowed her such a visit.

For, as her Aunt Gardiner wrote, “We would not have agreed to such a scheme, obviously, were the connection not to be as close as it soon shall be. You have been quite sly! The sister is a dear creature and all accounts speak of the brother as a fine gentleman. I have fond memories of Pemberley as a girl. I shall never be quite happy till I have been all round the park. A low phaeton, with a nice little pair of ponies, would be the very thing.”

Elizabeth was set into such a confusion of spirits as she had never felt previously. Ignoring the gross misunderstanding of her aunt, there was still much room for concern.

What did it say that the two sisters who had witnessed the most of her and Darcy’s interactions were writing such statements of confidence in the anticipation of their eventual marriage?

Had Elizabeth so thoroughly deceived herself in her own desire for a marriage of mutual affection, that what were obvious signs of courtship had been ignored because they came from a man who did not love her?

Would Darcy seek a marriage based only on respect and a strong mutual friendship? Would he ignore so many previous rejections to offer a companionable future with someone who he could tolerate rather than wait on passion?

Elizabeth had no answers and felt as if she was chasing her own tail around and around in circles.

Unspoken, there was one question that she dared not bring to herself.

Would a marriage without love or passion be enough for her?

~{♥}~

It was with some ambivalence that Elizabeth returned by post to London. Darcy had left three days previously, on the day following the last supper at Rosings. He would have waited longer but her new favourite person, Colonel Fitzwilliam, had convinced Darcy that, unless he wished to announce an elopement to Lady Catherine, leaving the same day would cause unnecessary complications.

Darcy had been most upset at her mode of travel, but even he seemed to realize that sending for his carriage was not a possible solution. That he met her at the posting house with Mary, Georgiana, and the carriage was as much compromise as she could reasonably expect. Elizabeth had some concern at the propriety of staying with Darcy on her way to Longbourn, supposedly as the particular friend of the sister she had never met. By the time she was in the carriage, Elizabeth could not imagine how she would undo the complicated web without damaging herself, Mary, and Georgiana and so decided to make the best of a bad lot.

It would have been impossible not to love Georgiana, even if she had not proven to be the sweetest, gentlest creature Elizabeth had ever met. The joy on Mary’s face, her pride as she showed Elizabeth what she had learned – Elizabeth could no more have not loved Georgiana than she could have ceased breathing.

Georgiana seemed equally determined to be pleased with Elizabeth. With some startlement, Elizabeth realized exactly why her family had been so easy in letting Mary move from her sister-in-law to stay with a complete stranger in London. It had not been an error of interpretation by the Gardiners. Everyone except her and Darcy seemed to think the thing was all but settled.

As Elizabeth looked for Darcy to share her amusement when Georgiana was a little too obvious in her enthusiasm, she received a cold shock from the look on his face.

Perhaps it was only Elizabeth who did not think the thing was all but settled.

She turned that thought over and over in her head on the carriage ride back to Longbourn. It was Darcy’s carriage conveying her and Mary and Georgiana. Even if Darcy was riding alongside, he could not have more clearly marked them as his if he had followed the marking patterns of a true tomcat.

While the younger girls were excited, Elizabeth felt ever more ambivalent by the moment. Darcy had taken great pains to speak with Mary and Elizabeth had delighted in every moment that showed her sister’s strength and talents. She had taken equal pains with Georgiana, but had been unable to remove the cold dread at the pit of her stomach.

It had only been a handful of days at the Darcy house, but, as the visit had worn on, Darcy had seemed queerer and queerer. By the end, he hardly spoke to her and seemed almost reluctant to meet her eyes. For a man who had looked at her as if all things were settled one moment, he had certainly looked tortured when he glanced at her in other moments.

It was perhaps the final thing to break Elizabeth free of seeing Darcy as a human version of Tom.

After all, once a feral cat gave you their loyalty, they did not revoke it.

~{♥}~

“Oh Tom,” said Elizabeth, as she curled into her childhood bed. “It is good to be home.”

Tom looked up from Mary’s pillow.

Mary, who was staying at Netherfield.

Mary, who would be visiting Longbourn once she and Georgiana felt ready to perform.

“Am I the most selfish creature in existence?” said Elizabeth.

Tom looked at Elizabeth.

Tom pushed his head into Elizabeth’s hand until she was scratching him in exactly the manner he preferred.

“You make an excellent argument,” said Elizabeth.

~{♥}~

Chapter Text

THE CAT’S GUIDE TO COMPROMISE

LESSON EIGHT: sometimes you win

~{♥}~

WHEN Elizabeth woke to her first morning back at Longbourn, there was a note on the pillow beside her.

Elizabeth picked it up, read it, and found her limbs so weak that she immediately sank back to her bed. Once she could stand, she dressed, and headed immediately to the grove. She knew that Darcy did not like to waste a moment of his morning and was always there before her. Despite his strange behaviour over the last weeks, she could only hope that was true this morning.

Darcy was grave when she entered the grove and even graver when he saw her countenance.

“What is it?” he said. “What has harmed you?”

Silently, Elizabeth handed him the note that she was well on her way to being able to recite from memory.

My dear Lizzy,
You will laugh when you know where I am gone, and I cannot help laughing myself at your surprise to-morrow morning, as soon as I am missed. I have found someone who knows Catullus! I am going to a party where we will all know the poems and we will all understand them and I will not have to pretend to like such dull, stupid people. Wickham says that he will invite you as soon as we are arrived. He was so understanding to wait until you were arrived at Longbourn for the party. I am so glad you shall be there too, because you understand Catullus too, but it is so nice to see someone who understands Catullus and is not a sister! Please bring my clothes when you come; but I wish you would tell Sally to mend a great slit in my worked muslin gown before it is packed up. Wickham will send someone to take you to us and we shall be such a merry party together now that you are back again from London!

Your affectionate sister,
LYDIA BENNET.

“Thoughtless Lydia!” said Elizabeth in real agony. “What if she is harmed? I must find her. Oh, how can I find her? If only I had not taught her as I did.”

Darcy reached out towards her and then curled his hands and pulled them back to his sides.

Elizabeth continued to pace; her guilt as heavy as her fear. “How did Mr. Wickham gain access to her? He is not even with the regiment. I thought Lydia cared nothing for the regiment! How did I not know?”

“Mr. Wickham?” said Darcy.

“Yes,” said Elizabeth, “that man with the silly stories, although apparently he is also a villain of the first water.”

“Mr. Wickham has convinced a fifteen-year-old girl to elope with him?” said Darcy.

“Yes,” said Elizabeth, growing truly impatient with his stupidity, “although I do not believe that she understood that he intended an elopement.”

“Then it is my fault,” said Darcy, “and so must the remedy be also mine.”

“Are you secretly Mr. Wickham?” said Elizabeth.

“No,” said Mr. Darcy, “but I did not tell you of his previous attempt to elope with my fifteen-year-old sister.”

“I think,” said Elizabeth, “that Mr. Wickham appears to be perfectly capable of arranging his own elopements. Do you know anything of his habits?”

“Yes,” said Mr. Darcy, “he is full of vicious propensities and a complete want of principle.”

“Do you know anything useful of his habits?” said Elizabeth.

“He appears to wish to encounter you, for whatever ill reason he has conceived. He cannot have left the area and he dare not show his face in town. Are there any unused structures that might be sound enough to inhabit but distant enough to avoid attention?”

“There are several unused tenant cottages,” said Elizabeth slowly, “but I think that the old hunting cabin in the woods would be the most obscured.”

Her head rose, her eyes fierce and determined. “We must leave immediately.”

Darcy shook his head, “We must call for my valet before we leave.”

“Do you intend to dress for dinner?” said Elizabeth.

“There is no man in the world who knows more of my secrets,” said Darcy. “I believe that we will need someone who can keep those secrets and drive a coach. Forgive me, but your sister might be in no condition to walk and I would feel better facing a monster if there were two men rather than one.”

Elizabeth could have protested her usefulness, but she could see the reason in his statements.

Elizabeth was in agony as they walked to Netherfield; Elizabeth was in agony as she waited in the copse outside Netherfield for the coach. She took careful, controlled breaths as the coach arrived and she gave the valet somewhat coherent directions to the hunting cabin. It was only once she was inside the coach and Darcy had drawn the curtains that her hands began to shake.

“May I hold your hands?” said Darcy. “They appear to need warming.”

Nodding her head, not trusting herself to speak, Elizabeth let him carefully wrap his much larger hands around hers. “We will protect her,” he said.

“Yes,” said Elizabeth, closing her eyes and focusing on the warmth of his pulse, “we will.”

It was both less and more time than Elizabeth had expected to arrive at the cabin. Darcy kept hold of her hand when they left the coach and squeezed it slightly when she would have moved towards the cabin.

“Please let my man check first,” said Darcy. “We do not want to endanger your sister.”

Elizabeth nodded her agreement and watched in the amazement as the large valet moved as nimbly as a cat into the forest, quickly disappearing from sight. In a few agonizing minutes he returned and nodded at Darcy.

“Is there more than one man in the house?” said Darcy.

The valet shook his head.

“Is he armed?” said Darcy.

The valet shook his head again.

“Then we might proceed as you wish, my dear,” said Darcy.

He trusted her, Elizabeth realized, and the feeling stayed with her as she pushed open the door to the cabin.

Lydia was curled in the corner of the room, her face a mask of fear and betrayal. Mr. Wickham was seated at a rough table, his face made sinister by the candlelight and the look in his eyes.

As he turned towards the door and saw Elizabeth, his eyes narrowed and he rose in a smooth rolling motion.

“There she is,” said Mr. Wickham, “the woman who destroyed my life.”

He would have said more, but Darcy walked up to him and punched him in the gut and then again in the face. Mr. Wickham slid to the floor as if he were nothing more than a boneless pile of clothes.

“Come,” said Darcy to both Elizabeth and Lydia, “there is nothing for us here.”

Elizabeth helped Lydia rise and half-carried, half-walked her out of that awful room. As they exited the cabin, Darcy’s valet, dark and imposing, entered the doorway and Mr. Wickham disappeared from view. Once out of the building, Lydia sank to her knees, her legs deep in the mud and leaves.

“I thought that he and Denny knew about Catullus,” said Lydia, fat tears rolling down her cheeks. “I thought that they knew about all of Catullus. None of the stupid officers knew about Catullus. None of them are like-”

She trailed off, choking on her own tears.

Darcy knelt in front of her, seemingly uncaring that he had placed himself six inches deep in mud. “Miss Lydia,” he said, his voice as gentle as Elizabeth had ever heard it. “My cousin, the Viscount, is fond of all of Catullus, not just er… numbers 50 and 99. There are a number of men and women who share this fondness.”

He held out a hand that, to Elizabeth’s astonishment, Lydia took and allowed to help her rise.

“Perhaps,” continued Darcy, “once you are of age and have forgotten the cruelty of this betrayal, I might introduce you to some of them.”

Elizabeth took Lydia into her arms, staring at Darcy over top of her sister’s head.

“What of-”

“It is taken care of,” said Darcy. The tone of his voice left Elizabeth no choice but to believe him.

“Now,” he continued, “let us return you both home again.”

It took Elizabeth some time to get Lydia into the carriage and to calm her tears. She was not injured in body, but Elizabeth feared greatly for the injury to her spirit. By the time Mr. Darcy was able to join her, his valet had emerged from the cabin.

Mr. Wickham did not emerge.

“The officer who re-introduced her to Mr. Wickham - it must have been the Denny she mentioned,” said Elizabeth once they were settled in the carriage and Lydia was asleep on her lap. “He must have arranged the meeting.”

“It will be taken care of,” said Mr. Darcy.

Elizabeth believed him.

“Have you destroyed the note?” said Mr. Darcy.

Elizabeth wordlessly tore it to pieces in front of him.

“How shall I explain this?” said Elizabeth.

“Let us see what we can determine,” said Mr. Darcy. “We need an innocent explanation.”

“Probably silly,” said Elizabeth, “and the closer to the truth the better. We cannot expect Lydia to remember a lie.”

Between the two of them, they had a story for Lydia by the time she had woken. There was no bravado left in Lydia and she dully repeated the tale back to them until they were confident that she knew the story. Elizabeth felt all the depth of her failure, but determined that she would help Lydia with her hurt once Lydia had the opportunity to rest.

The valet let them out at a stile out of sight of Longbourn, and, to Elizabeth’s surprise, Mr. Darcy descended with her and Lydia.

“I will wait here for you,” said Mr. Darcy.

“Truly I am grateful beyond words for what you have done for us,” said Elizabeth, “but there is no need-”

“I will wait here for you,” said Mr. Darcy.

Elizabeth nodded and, and wrapping Lydia’s arm around her shoulders, took a deep breath. With some effort, Elizabeth supported Lydia back to the house and up to her bed. Kitty had apparently known nothing of the scheme and it was embarrassingly easy to convince her and the rest of the family that Lydia had decided to play out her poems in a more natural setting and met with disaster.

Once she was convinced that Lydia was settled and sleeping, Elizabeth headed back to the stile where Mr. Darcy was still standing. She had barely come into his view when Mr. Darcy spoke.

“You need to walk,” said Darcy, his voice brooking no opposition. “We will walk to the river by Netherfield.”

Elizabeth would have been irritated with his high-handedness, but her body was seized with energy and she felt as if her skin did not quite fit. Lydia was resting and she truly did need to walk.

There was one point of concern, “The waters are quite swollen with the rains. Are you sure you wish to go so far as the river?”

“I need to walk with you,” said Darcy, his eyes raw, his hands trembling slightly, and that was the end of the discussion.

Perhaps it was better to say it was the start of the discussion because Darcy rather incoherently communicated a story of such tragedy and betrayal of boyhood friendship that it took all of Elizabeth’s efforts to not gather him in her arms.

It was not a one-sided conversation though. By the time they had reached the embankment, Elizabeth had communicated more of her fears for herself and her sisters than she had ever spoken to anyone but her cat.

“You are a better listener even than Tom,” said Elizabeth.

“I will take that in the spirit it is meant,” said Mr. Darcy.

Elizabeth laughed, amazed that she could do so. “Even in the deepest friendship, you still cannot sheathe your claws. I quite fear that you will bite me now.”

“That,” said Darcy, his eyes darkening to the colour of rich chocolate, “is an excellent suggestion.”

Elizabeth did not quite have the strength to respond to his play-acting and so was almost relieved to see an obstacle that allowed her to not dwell on the hurt of his pretense.

“I do not like the look of that log jam,” said Elizabeth. “We had best retreat to drier ground.”

Darcy frowned, “I believe you are correct. Here, let me help you off the embankment.”

Later, Elizabeth would never be able to say what exactly went wrong. Her walking boots had never failed her before. Darcy had never failed her before. Somehow in combination with the direction of his pull and the angle of her boots, Elizabeth slipped, slid down the embankment and felt her foot lodge under a rock at the edge of the water.

Looking up, she could see the jam shifting, could hear the water about to break through.

Darcy was at her side in a second, first pulling at her boot, then removing a wicked looking knife to cut her loose of the leather.

He looked-

His fear was in his eyes, but oh, so was his heart and Elizabeth wondered that she could never see it before.

Elizabeth felt an unnatural calm settle over her.

She loved Darcy, not as a cat or an amusing conversationalist or even the champion of her most beloved sisters, but as a man that she wished to see smile every morning.

She wondered why she had ever bothered to deny it.

She looked up at his dear, terrified face, and gently set her hand over top of his. “You cannot possibly free me before the flood arrives. Darcy, let go of me.”

Darcy snarled.

He renewed his attack on her boot with increased vigour and Elizabeth could feel the shake of the water and he was going to die and she tried to push him off and he refused to leave and the boot snapped and Darcy pulled and they climbed and they fell down the side of the embankment and Elizabeth was so tight to his body that it was really one body and the water came.

The water came and they huddled together as the water roared past, Elizabeth’s face pressed so hard against Darcy’s chest that his heart seemed to be connected to her ear.

Darcy was speaking and Elizabeth knew that she wished to listen-

-love you, I love you-

-but it was very hard and her head hurt and then it was dark.

~{♥}~

Chapter Text

THE CAT’S GUIDE TO COMPROMISE

LESSON NINE: sometimes you lose

~{♥}~

“Damn it, Bingley! She has the right to-”

“Why is there shouting?” said Elizabeth as she opened her eyes and attempted to rise.

“Because my husband and your rescuer are shouting at one another,” said Jane, stroking the hair back from Elizabeth’s forehead.

Elizabeth blinked, trying to reorient herself. She was in a bed. She was in a bed at Netherfield in a fresh set of clothing. Darcy was yelling at Charles.

Elizabeth attempted to rise again.

“Are you feeling better?” said Jane.

“I am mainly embarrassed that such a little thing overset me,” said Elizabeth. “I have a headache but I feel as well as I ever have.”

Jane paused, a look of infinite weariness passing over her face before she smiled. “Then perhaps, Lizzy, you might attempt to broker peace between Charles and Mr. Darcy.”

While uncomfortable with the implications, Elizabeth did head to Charles’ study, amazed that the sound of their argument carried as well as it did.

“-no improper behaviour. She is without fault-”

“-that we agree. It is you that-”

The voices stopped as if by magic when Elizabeth entered the room and cleared her throat.

The way Darcy looked at her set her whole body to shivers, but he merely nodded his head and stalked out of the office without speaking.

Charles remained behind the desk, staring at her, and Elizabeth began to grow truly uneasy.

“So,” said Charles, his face strangely unreadable, “You accidentally met Darcy on your walk and then had an accident that produced a large bruise on your temple and required him to carry your unconscious body to Netherfield.”

Elizabeth blinked. Well, that did explain the headache. “That seems correct in the particulars.”

Charles sighed, suddenly adding a dozen years to his appearance. “Darcy has been my friend but if he has harmed or threatened you, I am your-”, and there he closed his eyes briefly, “-brother, and I will protect you as you need me.”

“That is not necessary,” said Elizabeth. “Darcy has been a perfect gentleman.”

“So you can tell me,” said Charles, “that Darcy has not met you alone without chaperonage in a way that might threaten both your reputations at any point since I married your sister?”

Elizabeth did not speak.

“This cannot continue as it is,” said Charles. “I will not see you harmed by his appalling behaviour. As much as it pains me, I can and will force-”

Suddenly, Elizabeth realized how much and how thoroughly she had lied to herself. She had courted ignorance and driven reason away, where Darcy was concerned. Till this moment she had never known herself.

“No,” Elizabeth said, a righteous calm settling over her, “this cannot continue as it is.”

She walked away from the desk, turning back once she reached the door.

“You are a dear brother, but you are not my father, Charles,” said Elizabeth. “Even if you were, I am of age and able to make my own decisions. Whatever choice I make, you will respect it.”

Whatever look she had on her face, Charles Bingley bowed before it. Elizabeth was not Jane and Elizabeth had a brief moment of sorrow for Jane’s choices. The mutinous looking man at the desk was not the kind of partner Elizabeth wanted for herself. Then, Elizabeth had never much enjoyed the management of puppies.

The differences between cats and dogs were still firmly on her mind when Elizabeth opened the door to the library and found the smile she had been missing.

Darcy looked a mess and her heart could not help but swell with helpless affection. It did not shock her that the door clicked into place behind her once she was fully into the library. Whoever had actually been attempting to compromise Darcy was going to be very disappointed once she finished this meeting. His pacing around the library was so dear and so familiar that Elizabeth’s mouth turned upwards without her control. “Your tail is twitching, Darcy.”

Darcy stopped dead and gripped the edge of the windowsill so tightly his knuckles were whitened. “I have tolerated these little asides and comments because I am sure that I deserve the insult. At this time, in this place, I cannot bear this cruelty, Elizabeth. For all my apparent similarities to your pet, I am not a cat!”

Elizabeth shouted back before she thought, the words true even before they left her mouth. “Of course you are not a cat. I do not wish to marry my cat!”

Elizabeth refused to lower her eyes, even as they widened in horror. It gave her a rather perfect picture of how well the expression of heartfelt delight diffused over Darcy’s face and how much more handsome it made him.

He reached towards her and she could not help give her hands to his keeping. “Do you mean it? Do you truly mean it, my darling?”

“Oh yes,” she said, half-laughing, her eyes unaccountably damp, “I do, Darcy, I truly do.”

“May I?” he said, swallowing. At her nod, the tremble of his hands as he grasped her face matched the frantic rhythm of Elizabeth’s heart.

Elizabeth was not sure what she had expected if Darcy was to kiss her. The obvious lack of knowledge was a surprise but the powerful force that spun through her as their lips touched and moved was beyond anything she could have imagined. As she grasped him, he moved closer and she was not sure when she had reached the window or when her hair had come undone, but she was sure when Darcy let out a shockingly ragged moan and disappeared from her reach.

Elizabeth felt bereft without his touch and then irritated that she felt bereft. Looking at Darcy, with his pupils as large as his eyes, his completely disordered hair, and his cravat heading for the floor, made her feel somewhat better about herself.

She raised an eyebrow and crooked her finger. “Come here, Darcy, so that I might fix your cravat.”

“I am afraid,” said Darcy, leaning heavily against a bookshelf, “that I do not trust myself to be near you right now, dearest.”

“Do you trust me?” said Elizabeth and was horrified to realize that the vulnerable brittle part of herself that remembered his first proposal really wanted to know the answer. She couldn’t help reaching towards him and despised herself even as she did.

That Darcy instantly returned to her side and grasped her hands in his healed a wound that she didn’t know that she had.

“I do,” said Darcy. “I trust you with everything I am and will be.”

“You,” and he swallowed, sounding unexpectedly fragile, “have just agreed to marry me, haven’t you?”

Elizabeth’s spirits fully restored and rising to playfulness, she arched another eyebrow. “I believe that I have, Mr. Darcy. Having accepted my well-spoken proposal, this must mean that you no longer believe that I have been the one setting up these compromising situations.”

To her surprise, Darcy released her hands and stepped backwards, running his fingers through the disorder of his hair. He did not meet her gaze as he spoke. “No, I no longer believe that you have been the one setting up these compromising situations.”

“Well,” said Elizabeth, thoroughly puzzled, “I am glad of it. It would have made our marriage very uncomfortable.”

She determinedly stepped towards him and he equally determinedly stepped backwards. When he finally raised his eyes to hers, Elizabeth was frozen by the strange expression within them. “No, Elizabeth, I no longer believe that you have been the one setting up these compromising situations because after that first, accidental meeting,” and he took a deep shuddering breath, “I am the one who has orchestrated the compromising.”

Elizabeth stared at him. “You were deliberately trying to compromise me,” she said very slowly. “You were deliberately trying to compromise me by having arguments about the Inclosure Act until someone came and found us together.”

Darcy turned a deep, disturbingly becoming pink. “I was trying to compromise you by having my valet lock the door so that we were left alone together. We were arguing about the Inclosure Act because er…”

He turned an even deeper shade of pink.

Elizabeth continued to stare at Darcy. With a queer numbness, Elizabeth thought back through all of the awkward and then less awkward conversations and the walks and the painfully shy gifts of time and listening and…

“It was wrong of you,” she said, her voice feeling as if it came from a great distance. “It was very wrong of you. Why did you not just ask directly?”

She had always thought him honest and direct, even when she had thought him nothing else. This was so foreign to her understanding of him that she could not even begin to reconcile her truths.

Darcy looked as if he was marching to the executioner, but he lifted his head and met her gaze directly. “At first, it was because I did not want it to be my choice.”

Elizabeth did not understand. If he was creating the compromise, then how was it not his choice?

Then she did. “The only way you could see to marry me was if you were forced. Because of my family. Because of your family.”

Elizabeth thought she could feel her heart breaking.

Darcy did not look away. “I had been warned of all of the arts and allurements that could be practised to snare a gentleman’s senses. I thought that maybe if I practised some of them, they would work also for ladies. But disguise of every sort is my abhorrence. Every time I attempted to engage you, I could not help but let my feelings show and you… You met my disdain and pride with a sweetness and archness that made it impossible to take offence. I thought that my family would rightly despise you as I despised your family, that you would be a degradation beyond bearing. In turn, you treated my attempts to show that you were below me with an arch kindness that proved I was the one beneath you. I cannot think on my behaviour without abhorrence. “

“Why,” said Elizabeth all blood leaving her lips and throat, “why did you want to marry someone who was such a degradation, whose family you despised, who would be despised by your family?”

Darcy’s gaze did not waver. “My pride was pricked when you refused me after that first, awful proposal. I did not believe that anyone could refuse me without some nefarious purpose. I thought that if I recreated the situation, I could prove that you were as craven as I wished to believe you. At least, that is what I told myself.”

Elizabeth shivered as if a chill wind blew through her. She didn’t even realize she had spoken until the words had left her mouth. “If I had bent then, what kind of marriage could we have had, without respect and built on resentment? What kind of marriage can we have now?”

At first, it seemed that Darcy did not intend to answer her, but then, Elizabeth realized to her horror, that he was in fact answering her question.

“I was lying to myself. I, who prided myself on my honesty and morals, lied more thoroughly to myself than I have lied to anyone in my life, except perhaps you. I kept setting situations and speaking with you and I was in the middle before I knew that I had begun. I could not bear a day where I did not hear your thoughts or your laugh or catch that smile you give when you are particularly happy. I needed to be the man who could help you find that smile. I realized as I watched you that your family provided much of that smile, that they loved you as fiercely as you loved them. By the end, I wanted them more than anything I have ever wanted except for you.”

He took a deep breath. “In spite of this, I had realized that what I had done was unforgivable. When you nearly died because of my stupidity and Bingley intended to force the issue, I knew there was no redemption for me. I intended to exit gracefully and help you find happiness however you chose. My cousin, I think, would have suited you well.”

She could barely hear him, his lips as white as hers. “I was in an agony of grief and lost all remaining patience and… you agreed to marry me. I have… Nothing in my life has made me happier. Then you, in all innocence as the kindest person I know, attempted to heal the wound of my initial mistake. I could not… I could not continue without telling you the truth.”

“Had you ever intended to tell me?” said Elizabeth.

Tell me, Elizabeth begged with her eyes, tell me that if not for my poor joke I wouldn’t have gone to the altar unaware of your schemes.

Darcy was pale now, his voice very far away. “I-I had written a letter. I had written several letters. The first began in such bitterness of spirit, I am glad they were never in your possession. By the time I had written the last, it had occurred to me at last how wildly beyond convention it would be to provide an unmarried unrelated lady with such statements. I could not see a way for me to present them to you.”

“No,” said Elizabeth, her eyes clouding with near-hysterical tears, “that would be too ungentlemanly.”

Struck by a sudden impulse, she rushed over to the door and tried the handle. The door opened smoothly outwards. Elizabeth stared at the door. Elizabeth turned to stare at Darcy.

The door was unlocked.

Elizabeth had heard the ominous click behind her, like every other time someone had locked them into the room.

Well, thought Elizabeth, she wouldn’t need to use the balcony this time. Without a single glance backwards, Elizabeth marched into the hallway. The closing of the door sounded as loud as a gunshot.

~{♥}~

On a bed at Longbourn, Tom slept and dreamed of soft hands.

On a road outside Netherfield, Elizabeth wept and dreamt of nothing at all.

~{♥}~

Chapter Text

THE CAT’S GUIDE TO COMPROMISE

LESSON TEN: know what matters (know where you belong)

~{♥}~

ELIZABETH had spent most of her life using the meter of walking to order her thoughts and her heart. This day, every step felt like agony, felt like the question, How could he?

She was at Oakham Mount before she knew it and she forced herself to still and stare, unseeing, out over the countryside.

How could he?

How could she forgive him? He had not defended himself. Not once.

Elizabeth’s eyes widened.

He had not defended himself.

Not once.

Any explanations she had asked for, she had received. His reasoning if she asked for it, she received. Even what she had not asked for, she received. He had not at any point expressed anything but abhorrence for his own conduct. There had been no little excuses such as she had heard even her father give her mother to soften disagreement.

He had sought Mama’s advice for a present for Georgiana.

All he would have needed to do in those early days was to point in the direction of her escape and she would have been compromised. He had kept all those who had interrupted them entirely off the scent, or at least prevented them from forcing the issue.

He had prevented Charles from abandoning Jane.

The time that Charles had arrived unexpectedly, he had stood in front of the window, shielding her completely from view as she made her escape.

He had protected Lydia from Wickham.

He had lied when he carried her in from the creek, had fought his only friend who did not share his blood, to ensure that her wishes were respected.

He had helped her set Mary free.

He had never touched her, not once, without her permission. Even in his sleep, his had been the touch of a man seeking safety and comfort, not the touch of a practised rake. Elizabeth thought of the way his hands shook as he cupped her face, of the awkward, sincere touch of his lips to her own.

Darcy was not a social man. He was fussy and disdainful and mostly seemed to hate being touched. Neither his morals nor his pride would have permitted the indulgences of other, more easy men. He barely danced. Had he even participated in the forfeits of parlour games?

He was not Tom. He was not a feral cat. Even knowing this, Elizabeth was overwhelmed with the memory of the first time Tom had let her stroke his back, of the shocked awe in his blown pupils when he realized that he enjoyed the touch. It was not at all dissimilar to Darcy.

The door opened when she chose to try it.

It was not an excuse.

Elizabeth closed her eyes in defeat. How did she attract such a stupid cat? What was she going to do with him?

The answer, she realized, was what she should have done as soon as she knew the truth in her heart.

By the time Elizabeth had returned to Netherfield, she was sure she looked like something from one of Mrs. Radcliffe’s abbeys. Between the rain and the mud, she was probably the most dishevelled ghost to ever haunt Hertfordshire. Fortunately, Jane was waiting, serene and beautiful, in the parlour as she stormed into the room.

“Jane,” said Elizabeth, “since Mr. Darcy has so thoroughly failed in his attempts to compromise me, I will need your keys and several hours to take him to account in the Netherfield library. I trust that you can ensure we will not be disturbed?”

Elizabeth had never loved another living being as much as she loved Jane, who said nothing and handed over the key to the library, with a look that spoke so much of understanding that Elizabeth felt her eyes begin to water.

“Charles and I will be dining at Longbourn. Mary and Georgiana were sent there this morning. The housekeeper has been given standing orders to ignore and to insist that the servants ignore any noises that come from the library in my husband’s absence.”

Suddenly, many things made both more and less sense. For a brief, dizzying moment Elizabeth had a vision of the world where she and Jane had remained bedmates, but she shook such thoughts from her head. For all her troubles, this story was the story that she wished to see through to the end.

“Thank you,” she said.

“Be happy,” said Jane.

Elizabeth did not allow herself to think about Jane’s strange sad smile as she headed as quickly as she could towards the Netherfield library. It didn’t bother her that she knew exactly where Darcy would be and what he would be doing.

She knew him.

The question was whether or not he knew her.

Opening the door to the library, Elizabeth paused for a moment to sketch Darcy’s figure as he stared unseeingly out the window. He looked utterly and completely defeated. On the windowsill in front of him, a beautiful diamond and sapphire-set ring caught the light from the setting sun.

Sapphire, thought Elizabeth, for one who brings joy.

Elizabeth’s lengthy list of questions disappeared from her head as if they had never been. In the end, Elizabeth realized, the core essentials were what mattered.

“I love you,” said Elizabeth. “Do you love me?”

Darcy spun as if he was a puppet being summoned, his eyes as wide as his mouth. “I love you,” he said when his mouth finally formed words, “more than anything.”

“Does my family shame you?”

“No,” said Darcy.

“Will you allow your family to shame me?”

“No,” said Darcy.

“Will you ever harm me in such a way again, no matter what happens in our relationship?”

Darcy turned near-white, swayed, and clung to the edge of the window. “Never, Elizabeth,” he said, “never. I have never regretted anything more-”

Elizabeth raised her hand and he ceased speaking immediately. She made sure that he was looking, that he saw her, as she spoke slowly and deliberately. “You will answer one final question for me and one question only.”

Darcy nodded, his eyes dark and unreadable.

“How long has the door been unlocked?”

Darcy did not pretend to misunderstand her. “Since the second time.”

Elizabeth coolly removed the key she had taken from Jane and locked the door. She walked towards Darcy with all the confidence she had lost and regained.

Darcy swallowed, and Elizabeth watched his throat move with a predatory glee.

She was impressed that his voice barely shook when he spoke. “What do you think about the Inclosure Act?"

“I think,” said Elizabeth, as she grabbed the front of his cravat and pulled him towards her, “that some compromises need to be made.”

“Oh yes,” said Darcy.

Then he stopped talking.

~{♥}~

Tom did love living at Pemberley.

~{♥}~

Chapter Text

THE CAT’S GUIDE TO COMPROMISE

EPILOGUE: felis (felicitas)

~{♥}~

ELIZABETH was not a creature given to either extended sorrow or meditation on the ills of the past. She had apologized to her husband for own misunderstandings and the matter was quite settled between them. It had also been some months before she could look at the dark corner of the library or hear the words “picture” or “pussy” without blushing, but it was Quite. Settled. It was only some days when she was alone and the light was not quite bright enough that reflection would fall upon her.

“I wonder,” she said, staring out the window of the Pemberley library, “what forces shape us as we are and set us on our path?”

The latest letter from Mary was ecstatic and Lydia seemed well pleased but…

“For those of us who find happiness, are we sent where we are best suited or do we suit ourselves to where we are sent?” She shook her head, the blue stones on her ring catching the light and effectively pulling her from her queer mood.

She laughed then. “What is philosophy to cats? Certainly, I have more than enough of both!”

~{♥}~

“Why,” said Elizabeth, staring at her bed in some confusion, “are you hissing at one another?”

That Fitzwilliam had taken one end of the bed and Tom the other was odd enough. That her husband, in his gaping nightshirt, was resting on his arms and hissing at Tom was…

Regrettably, it had only taken a few months of married familiarity for Fitzwilliam to lose what little shame he had in the oddities he possessed and he continued to glare at Tom, although his hissing lessened in volume.

“How is it,” said Elizabeth, “that you both can make so little noise when walking and so much noise when placed together?”

“This is my bed,” said Fitzwilliam.

Tom growled at him.

“This is my bed,” said Elizabeth, “and you are behaving very badly.”

Elizabeth suspected that her training regime for her husband had perhaps not had the effect she desired when her husband immediately sat up in apparent anticipation and Tom fled the room with a look of disgust.

“I would not want to behave badly,” said Fitzwilliam. “It is a shame that I seem to behave in such a way so often.”

“Do you have any further confessions of bad behaviour?” said Elizabeth, raising her eyebrow.

“I have a confession of your bad behaviour,” said Fitzwilliam, leaning back against the headboard. Elizabeth noted that he looked smug and meditated quite prettily on how she would remove that smugness.

Unfortunately, Fitzwilliam continued. “I was most deceived by you when you took to clambering about the garden. You kept telling me that you would soon be without any attire to wear. I felt quite cheated when I discovered this was not the case.”

“Mr. Darcy,” said Elizabeth and took a deeply pleased note of how firmly she had gathered his attention. “Are you casting aspersions on my skills as a seamstress? Do you need further lessons on the importance of manners and courtesy?”

Fitzwilliam’s eyes were entirely swallowed up by his pupils. “Yes, please.”

It was very fortunate that he was indeed not a feral cat, thought Elizabeth with no little satisfaction. It was so much easier to train him this way.

“Mr. Darcy,” said Elizabeth, “I think there comes a time when it becomes necessary to bell the cat.”

~{♥}~

So, in the end, what is the difference between a handsome gentleman and a cat?

When the stars came out over Pemberley, Fitzwilliam laid his hand on the swollen belly of his wife and pointed to every constellation he had learned as a boy and some he had not. That he looked at his wife as often as the sky and thought her the more dazzling of the two was something kept between him and the gods who had granted him good fortune.

Tom looked up at the sky, stars set deep in the black of his eyes.

He smiled.

~The End~