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She tried to pick up a rock and throw it. Her hand reached for it, then... stopped. Just stopped mid-reach.

She left the stone where it lay, apparently innocent. She could think of no reason why she should be forbidden to throw it, which made the refusal particularly vexing.

But when she paused to actually look at some wildflowers (because she wanted to, not because the plot required it) her body cooperated. When she walked faster, she could walk faster.

Some small choices pass. Others do not. What changes when I am expected somewhere?

She was so absorbed in her experiments that she almost didn't see Darcy standing in the middle of the path until she was three feet away. He was staring at his hands with intense concentration.

"Mr. Darcy?" Elizabeth called. "Are you well?"

He looked up, startled. "Miss Elizabeth! Thank God. I've been trying to make a fist for five minutes."

"...what?"

"A fist." He held up his hands. "I'm testing whether I can perform actions that have no narrative purpose. So far: mixed results. I can blink whenever I want. I cannot, apparently, make a fist."

Elizabeth stared at him. Then started laughing. "You chose to begin with your fists?"

"I wrote down the attempts in order, then repeated each before breakfast. Closing my hand failed both times. Whistling failed also, though I assure you I was formerly capable of it."

"Can you hum?"

"Haven't tried. Shall I?"

"Please."

Darcy attempted to hum. Nothing came out. His mouth moved, but no sound emerged.

"Fascinating," Elizabeth said. "Can you cough?"

He tried. Successfully coughed.

"You can cough, then, but not hum." Elizabeth took out her notebook. "Mine is less orderly than yours. I began by counting things which annoyed me. There were too many."

"May I see?"

She handed it over. He read without smiling, even where she had lost patience with her own conclusions. That consideration made her more willing to let him reach the next page.

"We have repeated very few of these," he said. "Shall we begin with one we can both attempt?"

Darcy returned her notebook. A bench stood where Elizabeth remembered bare ground. He inspected it before offering her a seat. They had reached a deplorable state when a gentleman must ascertain whether a bench existed before a lady could sit upon it.

"Right," Elizabeth said, opening her notebook. "What else have you discovered?"

"I could not refuse this meeting," Darcy began. "I tried to stay at Netherfield this morning. Physically could not. My feet walked me here against my will."

"I wanted to come, but I tried to bring Jane. My mouth told her I preferred solitude before I could invite her."

"But small actions seem permitted." Darcy gestured. "Whether to sit or stand—" He stood up to demonstrate, then sat back down. "See? Complete autonomy over posture."

"Thrilling. What about speech?"

"Mixed. I can say whatever I want as long as it doesn't contradict major plot requirements." He took a breath. "For example: I think you are insufferable and beneath my notice."

He stopped, looking mildly panicked.

"Did you... Did you mean to say that?" Elizabeth asked.