#jaff

[janeaustencomics]

Hello everyone, the third strip of our Jane Austen series!! Don't hesitate to comment, to reblog, to send us hate messages! Or, you know, chocolate! Or rum! Or cake! Yes, please send cake.

[janeuary-month]

Get ready for Janeuary 2026!

Celebrate the works and world of Jane Austen! @firawren is hosting a Jane Austen fandom and Regency AU fanwork event throughout the entire month of January. Save the date and start drafting your creations!

Anyone can join, and all types of fandom works are welcome: fanfic, fanart, gifs, manips, memes, fanvids, podfic, mood boards, etc.

Each day has a new prompt to inspire your creation:

(Text version of prompts under the “keep reading” link below)

15 of these prompts are new for 2026, while 16 of the most popular prompts from 2025 have been retained for this year.

Please interpret the prompts in whatever way inspires you! For instance, for the “Court” prompt, it could mean courtship, a court of law, the king’s court, a basketball court, etc. It’s up to you!

You are NOT expected to do something every day! Just 1 work for 1 day of your choosing is enough, though you are welcome to do more if you like. And you are NOT expected to create your fanwork on that day, just post it on that day.

Your work must follow one of the daily prompts, be new for the event, not use AI, and include at least one of the following:

Character from one of Jane Austen’s works

Character from any Jane Austen adaptation (including modern retellings)

Jane Austen herself

Setting in a Jane Austen-like AU

For example, any of these would be fine:

Darcy and you the reader live in the Star Wars universe [character from Jane’s works]

Cher from Clueless marries Snow White [character from Jane adaptation]

Jane Austen is, inexplicably, on the TV show Friends [Jane herself]

Han Solo and Princess Leia live in Regency England [setting in Jane AU]

Darcy and Cher fight monsters in a fantasy land with Regency-like manners, dress, and speech [all three: Jane character, Jane adaptation character, Jane setting!]

Completely canon-compliant works are of course also allowed!

Read the full rules and FAQ for the event. If you still have any questions, feel free to send an ask or DM.

Please reblog this post to spread the word, and follow this blog to see all the works that are posted!

Text version of prompts:

Garden

Fireplace

Restraint

Needlework

Pianoforte

Navy

Picnic

Bath

Inheritance

Lock of hair

Singing

Looking glass

Card playing

Yearning

Carriage

Gossip

Library

Headwear

Portraiture

Christian name

Secrets

Gloves

Court

Letters

Farm

Etiquette

Cravat

Riding

Harp

Lace

Dearest

[hycinthrt]

LONDON'S HOTTEST MURDER INVESTIGATING DUO IS NOW TAKING NEW CLIENTS!

Was your great aunt indeed murdered because of the inheritance? Was your uncle just kind of a jerk and nobody liked him? Mr. Jonathan Darcy and Miss Juliet Tilney will find out!

[aust3nland]

once again asking out of genuine curiosity, where did the whole duke/viscount thing come from in regency romance/AUs when austen never really used those titles in her own works, especially for leading men?

i haven’t gotten super into modern/non austen regency romance, but why is it so common? austen’s leading men are usually well off and stuff but even darcy was a mr.? not complaining, just an observation!

[jomiddlemarch]

A handkerchief of her own sewing

Rings and jewels are not gifts, but apologies for gifts. The only gift is a portion of thyself. Thou must bleed for me. Therefore the poet brings his poem; the shepherd, his lamb; the farmer, corn; the miner, a stone; the painter, his picture; the girl, a handkerchief of her own sewing.-- Emerson

Year One

Anne hemmed a dozen handkerchiefs with her monogram and hand-tatted the lace to edge each square. She ruined the first one weeping, burned it instead of letters, as she had none from him.

Lady Russell did not comment on the fact that her dozen was short. She insisted Anne buy a new bonnet, one trimmed with pink ribbon.

Year Two

Anne hemmed a handkerchief while Elizabeth complained about the number of Naval officers at Lady Vincent’s ball. Anne counted stitches instead of Elizabeth’s complaints, knowing her sister would exceed the capacity of her thread.

Year Three

Anne embroidered the handkerchief for Mary to carry to her wedding. Charles had waited six months before proposing, long enough for a respectable courtship. He’d found Anne alone once and said You’re certain, Nan, it isn’t too late, but she’d known she wasn’t ruining anyone life when she said no.

Year Four

Anne kept an extra handkerchief in her reticule when she visited Uppercross. Mary fretted that there were draughts in every room and the fires all smoked, Cook used too much pepper and the yellow paper in the sitting room would make a blind man’s eyes water. 

Mrs. Musgrove patted Mary’s hand and smiled at Anne. They had all expected Mary’s first confinement to be a bit difficult.

Year Five

Anne sewed handkerchiefs for the housekeeper Mrs. Cadell to distribute to all the staff. It was a bad year for the grippe. Her father instructed her to economize and then ordered a case of the best Madeira.

Her own handkerchiefs had ceased to be used for tears.

Year Six

Anne gave her nephew Charles his first handkerchief, his name spelled out in bright red silk. He wore it as a hat more often than attending to his nose. Mary lay on a chaise with a handkerchief soaked in cologne laid across her eyes, vowing that she had never felt so ill in her life and insisting Anne hand her another comfit.

Francis Musgrove weighed ten pounds when he was born.

Year Seven

For her birthday, the vicar gave her a silver thimble in appreciation for all the girls she’d taught and all the handkerchiefs and shirts she’d sewn for the poor. When Anne put it on, she saw her hands had begun to look old.

She took the thimble off and touched the base of her finger where Frederick had promised to put a rose-cut diamond as bright as her eyes.

Year Eight

Captain Wentworth offered a handkerchief to Henrietta Musgrove after her sister’s injury. Anne saw the faded monogram in the corner, pale blue after many launderings, remembered how solemn he’d been when he’d asked her to give him a token of her esteem, how he’d grinned when she’d handed it to him, as carefully folded as a flag.

Anne swallowed her tears.

Year Nine

Anne hemmed a dozen handkerchiefs with her monogram and hand-tatted the lace to edge each square. From the bow of the ship, she waved the delicate article, the sails billowing behind her. Frederick’s hand was warm at her waist and he murmured I’ve got you, madam, make no mistake.

The tears in Anne’s eyes she blinked away.

Written and posted (a day late, hopefully not a dollar short!) for Janeuary 2025 @janeuary-month for prompt: handkerchief

[firawren]

FiraWren's writing master list

All rights reserved to © FiraWren. Do not repost my work as your own. Please contact me for permission if you would like to translate or podfic one of my works.

All works are fictional and made purely for entertainment purposes. I don't own any of the characters.

Last updated: May 10, 2026

Everything I write, I tag with #my writing, but I occasionally post something on AO3 without posting it here on Tumblr too, so it's best to subscribe to my work on AO3 if you don't want to miss anything. I also post original monster fics on my sideblog @regency-monster-love.

  Pride and Prejudice fanfic

(Sub-master lists: Elizabeth/Darcy post-canon fluff | Pride and Prejudice missing/retold scenes | Elizabeth/Darcy smut)

G | Entanglements | mid-canon, fluff | 603 words

E | Mistress of Pemberley | post-canon, smut | 6.4k

T | Pride and Prejudice kiss ficlets | fluff, angst | 879 words

G | A collection of cousins | post-canon, fluff | 966 words

G | The men shan't come and part us, I am determined | mid-canon, humor | 886 words

G | Tea time and titles | post-canon, fluff | 1221 words

G | The perfect opportunity to propose | mid-canon, fluff | 730 words

E | Six inches deep (in mud) | post-canon, smut | 2k words

G | Seize such an opportunity | mid-canon, fluff | 1111 words

E | Ungentlemanly | post-canon, smut | 5k words

G | Spirit and Spookiness | parody | 860 words

G | Carrots and the missing bonnet | post-canon, fluff | 793 words

G | I come back to the place you are | mid-canon, humor, fluff | 1k words

E | Mr. Darcy's bedchamber | canon divergence, smut | 8.2k words

G | Midnight (sick) kiss | post-canon, fluff | 500 words

M | The last man in the world whom I could ever suspect of being ticklish | post-canon, fluff, mild smut | 746 words

Beauty and the Beast fanfic

(Sub-master list: all my Beast/Belle monster fucking fics)

G | Imperfect inheritance | canon compliance, post-canon, fluff | 497 words

E | Marked by scent and seed | canon divergence, smut | 2.6k words

G | Family portraits | canon divergence, fluff | 659 words

E | All he is | canon divergence, shapeshifter AU, smut | 24k words

G | Barely even friends | canon compliant, fluff | 631 words

G | An impossible thing | canon compliant, fluff | 894 words

T | Beauty and the Beast kiss ficlets | fluff, canon diverg | 448 words

E | He only lives to serve | smut | 1.6k words

M | Bull in a china shop | angst, mild smut | 371 words

M | The Rose Brides | retelling, enemies to lovers | 79k words

E | Transformation | canon divergence, angst with happy ending | 123k words

E | Beauty and the Brute | retelling, marriage of convenience | 34k words

T | No other way | canon compliant, pre-canon | 902 words

E | Mismatched perfection | canon divergence, smut | 3.2k words

G | A memory pressed into its petals | AU, fluff | 560 words

G | Piping hot | canon compliant, post-canon, fluff | 405 words

T | Swimming and soothing | canon divergence, fluff | 2.5k words

E | Breeding a fresh start | canon divergence, smut | 7k words

E | Needing so much more than dusting | canon div, smut | 3.4k words

M | Air heavy with the sound and scent of rain | canon diverg, smut | 1.4k words

T | Charming in its imperfection | mid- and post-canon, fluff | 2k words

E | Dismissed, rejected, publicly humiliated | modern AU, fluff, light angst, eventual smut | 15k words

M | Warming up | canon divergence, hurt/comfort, mild smut | 3.2k words

T | Walking under ladders | modern AU, fluff | 532 words

E | Needing exercise, a chance to use our skills | canon diverg, smut | 1k words

E | Scent doesn't lie | canon divergence, smut | 1.8k words

G | Adjustment | canon compliant, post-canon, fluff | 500 words

T | The touch of a name | mid- and post-canon, angst, fluff | 1.7k words

G | A taste of something new | mid-canon, fluff | 500 words

M | Rose-scented bath water | canon diverg, fluff, mild smut | 304 words

E | A scent there that wasn't there before | canon div, smut | 3.7k words

G | Forming love | mid-canon, angst, fluff | 1.6k words

Superman fanfic

E | Clark's super sex problem + Part 2 | smut, romance, angst with happy ending | 5.3k words + 5.5k words

E | Purely pretend or pure instinct? | rough smut, angst with happy ending | 4.3k words

E | Super soft somno sex | fluffy smut | 664 words

E | Grabbing dinner on the fly | fluffy smut | 779 words

E | First taste | fluffy smut | 578 words

T | Clark craves couple clichés | domestic fluff, suggestive | 806 words

E | Sun-kissed Sunday morning | fluffy smut | 1.9k

E | Kryptonian breeding season | rough smut | 1.3k

T | Human superpowers | fluff, humor | 944 words

G | A hero by any other name | fluff, humor | 451 words

E | Bubble bath | emotional smut, hurt/comfort | 1.1k words

G | A most extraordinary gentleman | Clark/Lois, Regency AU, romance, fluff | WIP

E | Secrets uncovered, secrets kept | Clark/Lois, smut | 8.5k

Other Austen fanfic

E | Brokenhearted bond | Persuasion/Sense and Sensibility crossover | angst, smut | 2.8k words

E | Swelling the fleet | Persuasion | post-canon, smut | 1.9k words

T | Under the blankets | Persuasion | post-canon, fluff, suggestive | 338 words

E | Nice | Northanger Abbey | my 69th fic, 69ing smut | 1.8k words

G | Home above the sea | Persuasion | post-canon, fluff | 562 words

M | Teased awake | Northanger Abbey | post-canon, fluff, mild smut | 562 words

G | Every happiness | Persuasion | post-canon, fluff | 550 words

M | 66% agony | Persuasion | angst, happy ending, mild smut | 2.5k words

M | Persuasion kiss ficlets | fluff, mild smut | 1.1k words

T | Sense and Sensibility kiss ficlets | fluff | 501 words

M | Northanger Abbey kiss ficlets | fluff, mild smut | 654 words

G | In the Churchyard | Northanger Abbey/Persuasion crossover | post-canon, fluff, romance | 2.3k words

T | Uncovered | Northanger Abbey | post-canon, fluff | 391 words

T | Dare to hope | Persuasion | canon divergence, angst | 1.2k words

G | Rediscovering what was lost | Persuasion/Sense and Sensibility crossover | canon divergence, angst, romance | 11k words

E | Every heartbeat | Lost in Austen | post-canon, smut | 5k words

Other Disney fanfic

E | Two words, sounds like "pets duck" | Frozen | canon diverg, smut | 3.2k words

G | Black cat crossing your path | Frozen/Beauty and the Beast crossover | modern AU, fluff | 1.8k words

E | Yeah, just like that | Frozen | post-canon, smut | 5k words

M | The Beast of Arendelle | Frozen | canon divergence, horror, angst with happy ending | 13k words

E | Everything he's got | Hercules | post-canon, smut | 3.3k words

Other fandoms fanfic

T | Teach and teach | Our Flag Means Death | modern AU, getting together | 9k words

E | Don't freak out. This is happening. | Chuck | canon diverg, smut | 1.4k words

G | Memorizing him | Chuck | post-canon, angst, fluff | 557 words

Other FiraWren master lists:

👉 Memes master list

👉 Events and sideblogs I run

[dionysiaproductions]

A Pride & Prejudice One-shot (2.8K words)

A Flower In The Garden:

Elizabeth, newly Mrs. Darcy, possessed a considerable share of marital happiness, more even than she had expected to lay claim on and her expectations had taken occasion to stray into the quixotic.

Since she had first accepted Fitzwilliam Darcy, smiles alone could not contain her emotion and during their engagement she had often found herself laughing at nothing in particular. During one such fit of unfounded giggling, her father had exiled her from his library.

“Go away, child,” he had ordered. “And I hope for your sake the radiance of new love fades a little before you go to Derbyshire. Or else all Mr. Darcy’s neighbors will assume you are simple.”

Months later, it was her father’s words from that occasion which now echoed over her own thoughts. From her position near the carriage’s window, she watched Pemberley come into view and leaned closer to Fitzwilliam than the spacious coach really required.

Never before had she been the type of self-abasing girl who allowed the grandness of her company or surroundings to frighten her into cowardice.

However, she was frightened.

She felt the claws of a coward’s heart scratching against the inside of her throat and stomach.

Pemberley was no mere house and Fitzwilliam’s neighbors were no mere new acquaintances to delight and irritate with her wit. This was the rest of her life. This was some new person she must now become. And what if she was not sufficient for the challenge?

Fitzwilliam gestured out the carriage window, “Does it live up to your memory?”

“I am overcome,” she said with perhaps too much feeling.

Fitzwilliam looked at her strangely, until she smiled for him. The expression seemed enough in the way of reassurance. He settled back against the padded wall and they jostled down the last stretch of road in silence. 

~*~

The carriage rolled to a stop before the front entrance of Pemberely. Awaiting their arrival were the house’s servants, already arranged in neat lines along the drive with each of their faces schooled into a pleasant expression.

Elizabeth found cause to wonder if they were as anxious as herself. Had the great walls been buzzing for the last week with stories and speculation of what the new lady of the house would be like?

Fitzwilliam exited the carriage. Reaching a hand back to assist Elizabeth as she stepped out, he said, “We are home.”

She was introduced to the servants. The housekeeper, Mrs. Reynold’s familiar face was a welcome sight. The woman remembered Elizabeth from her previous visits and welcomed her warmly. 

The gardener also remembered Elizabeth. He entreated that once she was settled, Elizabeth come see which flowers in the garden were now in bloom. Elizabeth was all eager agreement to this idea as she had always found solace in nature’s beauty.

At the end of the introductions, the butler mentioned to Fitzwilliam, “Mrs. Hay has promised to visit this afternoon and would not hear any suggestion of it being too soon to call.”

“I appreciate your efforts to deter her, all the same,” Fitzwilliam told him.

Elizabeth asked, “And who is Mrs. Hay?”

“A person who takes great pleasure in being involved,” Fitzwilliam said, “despite her involvement being entirely unnecessary. She is harmless, verbose, but harmless.”

Elizabeth laughed. “I will look forward to her early visit and premature acquaintance. I can only hope to be equally overhasty in my own liberty of communication.”

“I must beg you not to. It will only encourage her and consequently, the rest of the neighborhood.”

Fitzwilliam then turned to inquire with the butler on a few concerns about the house. 

Elizabeth observed her husband’s back, following the curving lines of his coat seams and thinking. In short order, her thinking turned to speculating and her speculating to conjecture. It seemed entirely possible to Elizabeth that Fitzwilliam was also worried she would make an unfavorable impression on his neighbors.

“Lady?” The voice was gentle enough to pull Elizabeth’s attention back to the outside world. “I understand that you have not brought a lady’s maid with you,” Mrs. Reynolds continued. “If it pleases my lady, I have arranged interviews with several highly recommended candidates. And it would be my pleasure to assist you until a suitable girl can be hired.”

“I very much appreciate your conscientiousness, Mrs. Reynolds.” After a moment’s thought, Elizabeth added, “Perhaps you could start by showing me Pemberley House once more, for I am certain I will have remembered all the rooms in the wrong places.”

Mrs. Reynold’s agreed to Elizabeth’s plan, pronouncing it imminently sensible. However, Fitzwilliam insisted on conducting Elizabeth around himself. His description of the rooms began pragmatically enough but soon turned to the teasing liberties of newlyweds.

Mrs. Reynolds disappeared between one room and the next. Her absence going unnoticed for some time by either Fitzwilliam or Elizabeth.

~*~

Elizabeth’s review of Pemberley concluded in the gardens where Fitzwilliam named the plants in each bed. He correctly identified them only about half the time.

Without making any comments, Elizabeth smiled a bit wider every time he misnamed a plant. She remained silent until he pointed to a winter rose, confidently telling her it was peppermint at which point she was unable to contain her laughter.

Fitzwilliam quickly determined the source of her merriment. “It is not peppermint?”

“No,” Elizabeth admitted, “Though you are handsome enough, I would call it peppermint for the rest of my days.”

Fitzwilliam colored, either from his mistake or her praise. “Most of this was originated by my mother. Since her death we have let the gardener make all decisions about the…” He waved his arm to broadly encompass their surroundings.

“…Garden?” Elizabeth guessed.

“Yes, but the specifics: breeds of plants, design of their arrangement. Georgiana will come out here to sketch and I to walk, but I do not think either of us have ever dedicated our thoughts to its upkeep.”

“A shame for some place so lovely to go without the attention of its owner.”

Fitzwilliam smiled at her. “Perhaps the new owner will confer the regard it has long been lacking.”

“Perhaps, though I think I should start with a proper inspection rather than whatever delightful amusement this has been.”

From behind a tall hedge came a rather loud cough and then the gardener appeared offering that he might answer any questions for his master or the new lady of the house.

Leaving Elizabeth in the gardener’s care, Fitzwilliam excused himself to have a  meeting with his steward.

For her part, Elizabeth found much to be happy with in the gardener’s work and with the man himself. He inquired what plants Elizabeth preferred to keep and described where he thought they might do well.

After Elizabeth expressed a particular desire for syringas, the gardener promised he would make it his immediate concern to procure some.

An unfamiliar voice called, “Syringas? Quite a showy, uncultured plant.” The voice came from a short figure approaching along the gravel path. Her dress was smart though old-fashioned and her gait was very comfortable for a stranger in another lady’s garden.

Elizabeth disregarded the lady’s manner of approach and instead offered a defense of syringas, “They have a beautiful flower.”

“Just because a weed has pretty bloom does not mean it has any place in a cultivated garden.” The lady stopped some distance away, looking Elizabeth over. She then continued, “I am here to see my neighbor, Mr. Darcy.”

Elizabeth could not muster even the thinest smile. “He is in the house.”

The lady turned to the garden door without further comment, making her way into the house.

Before following, Elizabeth offered a goodbye to the gardener and very quietly asked, “Mrs. Hay?”

The gardener nodded.

~*~

Mrs. Hay was every bit as unpleasant as advertised. She was a woman who must have looked perfectly adequate in her younger years but the intervening decades had gouged deep frown lines in brackets around her thin lips. She had the air of someone who did not want to pleased.

There was a greeting for Fitzwilliam which was not entirely devoid of warmth. It gave Elizabeth cause to hope that her terrible first impression of Mrs. Hay was mistaken. Then the conversation turned to Fitzwilliam’s recent change of status.

Mrs. Hay looked at Elizabeth, but her words were for Fitzwilliam, “Your aunt has written me at length about your bride.”

“That was not her place,” Fitzwilliam was making an admirable effort to be polite, but Elizabeth recognized the anger which had caused him to end all civil communication with his aunt.

If Mrs. Hay noticed his vexation, she was incautious of it. “You are young and you are master of your house. But you do not understand these things. Before you were even born, I sat with your mother and your aunt in Pemberley’s gardens, Lady Anne’s gardens,” this last description she directed at Elizabeth before returning her attention to Fitzwilliam. “And we three knew that our lives and our marriages could never be fully our own. For those of our society, marriage is not simply a joining of a man and a woman, but of their families, relations, heritage and legacy.”

It was transparent to Elizabeth that if the conversation was not swiftly moved from this topic, Fitzwilliam was likely to end it himself with language he may later regret.

“What is done, is done,” Elizabeth told Mrs. Hay, “And reality makes no concessions to regret.”

Fitzwilliam twisted his neck to look at her but he did not interrupt.

Elizabeth continued, “Now, please, you must tell us of the latest news in the neighborhood. I am certain that you keep yourself well informed about such things.”

With great effort on Elizabeth’s part, they spoke of nothing but the latest Derbyshire gossip. Mrs. Hay’s early attempts to once more bring up Elizabeth’s marriage met with firm redirection. Eventually, the older woman caved to the ultimate temptation of any busy body and found pleasure in relating all the most salacious stories of her neighborhood to someone who had not heard them a hundred times before.

Throughout the remainder of the visit, Fitzwilliam was silent. He could have been carved from stone, the way his expression became unreadable and he looked unerringly at a spot above and to the right of Mrs. Hay’s head.

Nearly one and a half hours later, Mrs. Hay left. Elizabeth walked her to the front door, not entirely trusting the woman to see herself out.

Before leaving, Mrs. Hay advised her, “You will find few supporters here.”

When the footman shut the door behind Mrs. Hay, Elizabeth expected to feel relieved at the woman’s absence. However, the feeling did not come. She thought Mrs. Hay’s parting words were not a warning so much as a promise.

Elizabeth returned to the sitting room only to find it empty. A housemaid informed her Fitzwilliam had left to dress for dinner and Elizabeth sought out Mrs. Reynolds so that she might do the same.

~*~

Dinner was a hushed affair. There were many perfectly reasonable explanations for the quiet: Fitzwilliam was hardly of a chatty nature, they were both exhausted from travel, and the meal Pemberley’s chef prepared was more than delicious enough to account for their attentions to their plates.

However, it seemed to Elizabeth to be the type of quiet that was stretched near to bursting with all that was not being said.

Near the end of the meal, Fitzwilliam considered her with a seriousness of purpose. She could see him fidget restlessly, hands clenching and unclenching.

Whatever weighty comment he had intended to say stayed in his throat. Instead, he asked, “And have you decided what to do with the garden?”

“I had a very good look at all the plants with the gardener and discussed his plans for the changing seasons.” She searched for something else that she might say to extend the conversation. “I asked that he procure syringas, but I am thinking better of it. The garden is quite lovely as it is.”

“You have lost your fondness for syringas in less than half a day?” It was not asked in the teasing tone that she had come to expect from him. He was discomposed and she could hear it in his voice.

“It was a silly thing, a lark born of little more than an appreciation for Cowper’s poetry. We only ever had them at Longbourn because I was besotted with their mention in his lines.”

“But you do not wish to have them here.”

“I have come to appreciate that they might not be…” She hunted for a phrasing, unused to mincing her words, “…befitting.”

She knew in an instant that it was the wrong word.

Elizabeth then had a long uninterrupted silence to contemplate the disappointment her inability to gain the good opinion of even a single one of Fitzwilliam’s neighbors must have caused him. She could not be insensible to the respect with which he cherished Pemberley and the consequence of his family. Nor could she be insensible to her own inadequacy as the lady of his house.

“Do you regret marrying me?” He asked.

The question took Elizabeth by such complete surprise that she kicked her leg against the table, jostling the surface and everything on it. “Regret? Good heavens! What put that notion in your head?”

“You need not be delicate out of consideration for my feelings,” He said. “I must have the truth.”

“I know of no other truth you can have; I love you.”

“I have no doubt of that.” His expression softened and twisted, the movements as synchronized as they were inscrutable. “But it is an unreasonable burden to place on love that it must preclude all other difficulties a marriage might offer. I had assumed you would want for nothing as lady of Pemberley, but I can see that you are unhappy.”

“What? No! You are the one who is unhappy. I too have eyes and can see that I have disappointed you, I have exposed you to derision, I—”

“Enough! I will not hear anymore of this wholly inaccurate misconception of my feelings.”

The very conviction with which he made the statement gave Elizabeth pause. “But, you asked me to nurture Mrs. Hay’s good opinion and by her word, your neighbors’. I have failed in that, there is no other interpretation.”

“I do not imagine that I could think less of Mrs. Hay’s good opinion. It is rarely bestowed and even then only on the most fusty, tedious souls England has to offer. If she does turn all the neighbors against us—which seems an unlikely occurrence—then we will prevail on Charles and Jane to leave Netherfield for a house closer to us and keep only each other’s company until we die of old age. I might prefer that actually.” He said all this in a tone of simple fact, never wavering until he asked, “Then, you are not unhappy to be settled here?”

Elizabeth shook her head. “I am not unhappy. I am, perhaps, not as much myself as I should like to be. Not as certain here as I was in the familiarity of Hertfordshire. But never doubt that I am certain about you.”

Between one breath and the next, Elizabeth’s tumultuous thoughts all suddenly tumbled into place and she realized that they had misunderstood each other. Fitzwilliam had read her anxiety as regret and she in her turn had seen his worry as disappointment. She watched a similar realization light in Fitzwilliam’s eyes. His posture calmed and a smile found its way onto his lips.

“We are fools,” Fitzwilliam said.

“Indeed.” Elizabeth savored the easy joy of knowing each other’s hearts. “But we are fools in love and there is something to be said for that.”

That evening when all the disquiets of the day had been spoken and in the speaking lost most of their power to intimidate, Elizabeth lay awake in her new room, in her new bed. Even the stars in the heavens visible through Pemberley’s windows seemed in slightly different places, causing Elizabeth to wonder how many nights she would sleep there before she was accustomed to the assemblage of their lights. She thought with anticipation about all the possibilities those days held, laughing from the pure joy of it. Her laughter woke Fitzwilliam from his sleep and as he pulled her from the window, she only laughed more.

In short order, Elizabeth met all of her neighbors most of whom were tolerable and a few of whom were very agreeable. With renewed stubbornness, she coaxed Mrs. Hay into amicable relations. Elizabeth began to think of Pemberley as hers and there were always syringas in the garden.