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"But I must decline your proposal. Which, to be fair, spent more time listing my family's faults than my merits."

"That wasn't me! That was the narrative!"

"I know! I'm just saying what I'm supposed to say!"

They stared at each other, both caught in the scene's momentum but trying desperately to maintain their own awareness through it.

"You refuse me?" Darcy said, and Elizabeth could hear the script taking over again.

"I do."

"And may I ask why you have so little civility as to refuse me in this manner?"

"Because you just insulted my entire family while declaring love?" Elizabeth tried. "That seems like a reasonable objection?"

"It is a reasonable objection." His relief at being able to agree with her was almost worse than the anger which had preceded it. "I should have been ashamed to offer any woman such a speech."

"Then let us stop offering and refusing it," Elizabeth said. "If we can."

He pressed his lips together. For a moment, neither of them was made to speak.

A branch moved beside the path. They both turned.

Jane and Bingley emerged from the shrubbery, Jane holding Darcy's data notebook.

"Were you documenting this?!" Darcy demanded.

Jane looked from the notebook to Elizabeth's face. "I thought if we knew when it happened, we could be here to help."

"Then help by leaving us alone," Elizabeth said. She could not make it amusing. Her sister had watched her mouth being taken from her, and had written down the result.

Jane shut the book. "I am sorry, Lizzy. I mistook knowing what might happen for having a right to watch it."

Bingley took a step back. "We both did."

"Please leave the notes," Darcy said.

Jane placed the notebook on the bench. "I shall not copy them."

She waited until Elizabeth nodded, then went with Bingley. Their footsteps faded along the path. For the first time since she had entered the grove, Elizabeth could hear the small, ordinary sounds of leaves moving overhead.

Darcy remained beside the bench until Elizabeth sat. She loosened the fingers she had pressed together and rested them on her skirt. They were alone at last; she wanted to be certain she could hear him before either spoke again.

"Has it finished?" he asked.

"I hope so," Elizabeth said. "I think there's supposed to be a letter."

"A letter explaining about Wickham?"

"Yes."

"Can I just tell you about Wickham instead of writing a dramatic letter?"

"I don't think the narrative will allow it."

"Fine!" Darcy threw his hands up. "I'll write the letter! With my wounded pride and my self-justification and all the other required elements!"

"It's really not that bad," Elizabeth tried.