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He was quiet long enough for her to regret saying it. Then he moved his wet hat from the space between them.

"I have no wish to leave," he said. "Though I should prefer better weather for your sake."

Elizabeth put her notebook in the vacant space. It was a small distance to remove, and she was not yet ready to remove all of it.

He noticed her fingers worrying the damp edge of her sleeve.

"You are cold."

"A little."

"I'm supposed to offer you my coat now."

"I know. It's the chivalrous hero move."

"Would you like me to?"

Elizabeth considered. "Yes, thank you. I should rather be warm than win this particular argument."

"An excellent philosophy."

Darcy shrugged out of his greatcoat and draped it around her shoulders. It was warm from his body and smelled like sandalwood.

"Thank you," she said.

"You're welcome." He hesitated. "Elizabeth—Miss Elizabeth—I want to make you an offer."

"This seems formal."

"It is. I propose an alliance. We shall test what we can, and tell each other when something goes wrong. As for our feelings, I should like to treat them with care even when I can't explain them."

Elizabeth pulled his coat closer. "You're proposing we be partners in philosophical uncertainty?"

"Essentially, yes."

"I accept." She held out her hand. "Partners."

Darcy took her hand. His grip was careful, and when she began to withdraw he released her at once. Elizabeth found herself looking at the hand he had returned to his knee. An alliance was a sensible arrangement. She had not expected it to please her quite so much.

"Right," Elizabeth said, still wearing his coat. "Let's keep testing. We know you cannot whistle. Can you... make up a song? Something completely random?"

"I'll try." Darcy considered, then attempted: "There once was a man from Pemberley⁠—"

His voice cut out. His mouth moved but no sound emerged.

"Interesting." Elizabeth made notes. "Creative expression: blocked. Can you recite something that already exists? Poetry?"

"'Shall I compare thee to a summer's day⁠—'"

The words came out perfectly.

"One poem permitted; one limerick suppressed. I hesitate to call that a law of creation. It might be a judgment on your rhyme." Elizabeth tapped her pencil. "What about modern knowledge? Can you explain what a computer is?"

Darcy opened his mouth. Closed it. "I... know what it is. I can feel the knowledge in my head. But I cannot form the words to explain it."

"It may be explanations that are blocked, or merely explanations the story finds inconvenient." She paused. "Wait. Try something small. Pick up a stick and draw in the dirt."

Darcy found a stick and attempted to draw. He managed a simple circle.