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“Your journey was tolerable?” she asked.

Darcy answered that it had been entirely tolerable, and glanced towards the garden where she had plainly been walking before he arrived. The path seemed brighter than the drive, though there was no reason it should have been.

“Then you may blame yourself for any disappointment in the entertainment,” she said. “I promised only a walk.”

“And an early dinner. You must allow me to remember the better part of an invitation.” He held out his hand, and Elizabeth put hers into it with a smile. He held it briefly, conscious of the servant waiting to take his hat, then released it.

Inside, the house bore small marks of occupation which unsettled him by their completeness. Her workbasket stood near a window, an open book lay face down with a slip of paper marking a place it did not need marked, and a pair of walking shoes waited beneath a chair. None of these objects had been arranged to assure him she was comfortable. They were there because she used them.

She asked whether he wished for refreshment before walking. Darcy said he would prefer the garden, if it suited her, and saw the slight surprise with which she received the qualification. He had meant it without thinking. That was better than remembering to append it to every wish, though he distrusted the satisfaction he felt at so small an achievement.

His carriage would take him back to the inn later in the day. He told the coachman where to await instructions, then followed Elizabeth through the house. She paused to answer the housekeeper's question about a delivery, settling it without reference to him. Darcy listened and discovered that being excluded from a decision could be pleasant when the consequence was hearing her speak with ease.

Beyond the back door the air smelled of warmed leaves and newly turned soil. Elizabeth took the path without offering her arm. He fell into step beside her, glad of the space in which to look at her without appearing to stare across a room.

* * *

The bench by the south wall was less impressive than its correspondence had suggested. Darcy said so, and Elizabeth replied that great reforms were seldom properly appreciated by those who had not suffered under the old arrangement. He sat where she indicated. From the former position, partly visible through the trees, one would indeed have obtained an excellent view of drying linen.

“This is better,” he said.

“I am gratified to have your approval, though I fear the gardener's had already persuaded me.”

She settled beside him, leaving a little space between them. Darcy looked at the wall rather than at that space. He had come prepared to enjoy an afternoon and answer whatever she asked. Preparation had not made him less anxious about either.

“Your first explanation of the letter,” Elizabeth said, “was that you considered it harmless and hoped it would ease my resentment.”

He turned towards her. She was watching him steadily. There was no accusation added to the account, which left him without a phrase he could resent instead of answering.

“Yes.”

“Was that all?”

“No.” Darcy rested his hands upon his knees. “I preferred resistance which I could see. If you believed the code secure, you would continue to use it. I would know what you wished to tell Jane.”

Elizabeth looked away, towards the former place of the bench. He could not know whether the admission surprised her. She had already understood enough of him to leave; it was possible that he was merely furnishing precise words for something she had long suspected.

“I thought you would tire of testing me,” he said. “That if you were allowed enough small victories, the larger objection would diminish.”

“The larger objection being that I had not chosen to marry you.”

“Yes.” He began to say that he had hoped she would be happy, and stopped at the look she gave him. “I thought that if you were happy enough, you would cease to mind how I had obtained it.”

“And if I minded still?”

“I meant to wait longer.” He looked down at his hands. There was no generosity in the patience he had been so ready to claim.

She was quiet for long enough that he began to notice small sounds beyond the wall: a bird moving among leaves, the gardener setting something down upon stone. He had made rooms fall silent before and considered it evidence that he had been heard. This silence offered him no such satisfaction.

“At Hunsford,” she said at last, “you seemed so certain that having me would answer what you wanted.”

“I was certain.” Darcy looked at her. “I have had reason to discover how much can be missing while the person remains in the house.”

He wished the words had been less self-regarding. Her face altered, though he could not determine whether with pain or sympathy, and he added that neither his wanting nor his ignorance made the bargain less deliberate. He had known she was afraid. He had used it.

Elizabeth stood. Darcy remained seated until she turned back and held out her hand. It was not absolution; she had offered him assistance from a bench, with an expression which said she knew perfectly well he did not require it. He took it anyway. They went on walking, and he was grateful that she had chosen movement instead of requiring an answer she could not yet give.

* * *