A/N: Just to clarify: although my stories are not based on any of the adaptations, I am assuming that P&P is set in the 1790s, when young ladies' hair would often have been worn down.

Elizabeth, her face shielded by a large and becoming hat, walked in silence at Darcy's side. It was so strange; her arm curled about his, the occasional sound of his voice, furtive glances when each pretended the other would not notice.

Elizabeth smiled to herself, a little tremulously. Only a few weeks ago, she had watched him as she poured coffee, unable to hope for anything better and unable to deny herself that small, painful pleasure. She had been perfectly aware of his slightest shift of posture or expression, yet they had exchanged only a handful of meaningless words.

The tender melancholy she expected to feel never materialised; in its place anxiety and longing and fury blurred together, sharp and bitter, and she endured them with very little grace.

"Excuse me?" William Goulding coughed. "Miss Elizabeth?"

They stared at one another in mutual incomprehension. Then Elizabeth remembered the coffee, chaining her to this table.

"Oh - I beg your pardon." She poured it with unusual clumsiness, already out of patience with him, then returned to watching Darcy's slow, deliberate steps, observing the wry twist of his mouth, the eyes lost in thought.

Elizabeth shivered. It had been difficult enough to acknowledge him as a person in his own right, his existence wholly independent of her conception of him, but love? That was harder and more painful than hatred had ever been.

Impulsively, she turned to him and said, "I would have talked to you. I wanted - I meant to."

Darcy's mouth quirked. "To which occasion are you referring?"

"Oh! That night at Longbourn - when I was pouring coffee. I could not leave, but I did want to. I - " Elizabeth could not quite bring herself to express that theatrical misery, not even to him. She smiled instead, tilting her head back to meet his eyes. "I thought you might stand beside me, but Harriet Long rushed to take your place."

"Ah, yes. The young lady with the vacuous - " he paused - "with the peculiar expression. I am afraid I cherished no very kind thoughts towards her."

"She is a silly, foolish thing," Elizabeth said with her usual frankness, then added vindictively, "I wanted to hit her over the head with the teapot."

Darcy burst out laughing. After a moment of surprise - she had often seen him smile, but never laugh - Elizabeth joined him, her eyes sparkling.

They continued to walk, their eyes still alight with the remnants of laughter. Elizabeth felt herself more able to look directly at his face, only blushing a little when their eyes met. Something seemed to be passing between them - she could not say what, or even how, for though they talked now, it was only of trivial, desultory matters. Yet miles passed under their feet, and they did not notice.

Only once did anything jar them out of their quiet absorption in one another. Their road took them under a rather pretty canopy. Elizabeth had often passed this way without paying any particular attention to it. Never, however, had she been here so late in the day, on such a day as this; the light filtering through the trees seemed to set the entire canopy afire. The leaves, falling downwards in gentle, lazy spirals, burned in the afternoon's golden sunshine.

Elizabeth and Darcy stood in arrested silence. They each had a high appreciation for beauty in general, and were always very much affected by it; but this day could not bear comparison to any other. Their feelings had been continually elevated, in some fashion or another, the entire day; now alight with happiness, their spirits almost intolerably high, they were transfixed by the scene before them. A smile trembled on Elizabeth's lips; Darcy caught his breath, gazing about with wide, shining eyes.

"How beautiful," said Elizabeth inadequately. She winced at the sound of her voice, harsh against the whispering stillness of the wood. Even now, this place seemed removed, somehow, cut off from ordinary civilisation. Nothing, she felt, could disturb them here.

"Yes - yes, it is," Darcy replied. He hesitated, then said in a slightly more pragmatic tone, "You have a leaf in your hair, Elizabeth."

She turned towards him, laughing - meaning to say something light and amusing - and instead their glances met and held. Elizabeth's lips parted over a frozen breath. She felt awash in all the wild anguish of that day at Longbourn; only it was joy, not despair - and there was no coffee to bind her in place, nobody to watch them and wonder.

Elizabeth - or Darcy - or both - stepped forward only half-consciously, until they were close enough to see each fleck in one another's eyes. Elizabeth could not look away; his eyes, she noted, were almost exactly the same shade as hers - the vivid blue irises not as dark, but nearly so. How had she never noticed it before? Perhaps, she thought dizzily, it was the eyelashes. Yes, that must be it - his were not anywhere near so fine.

"I do?" said Elizabeth, in a peculiarly steady voice. She brushed her hand over her hair, but felt nothing. "Where - ?"

He withdrew his gaze for a moment - just long enough to pluck the bright leaf out of the curls tumbled down her back - then turned back, smiling a little.

" 'Tis well that you are tall," said he.

Elizabeth laughed. Every sensation seemed heightened - colours, sounds, the light brush of his fingers against her face. The world had never seemed so vibrant; never had she felt so alive.

"Very well indeed," she said, her eyes dancing, and laughingly rose to the balls of her feet. "There! now I am five foot nine at least."

They smiled at each other in, for a fraction of a moment, perfect understanding; he bent his head towards her, she tilted hers up, and they brushed their lips together. Neither had intended anything more, which in retrospect seemed utterly ridiculous; when had anything been gentle and simple between them? How could the blazing intensity of their every interaction resolve itself in a single light touch? Elizabeth could not breathe, could not think, could feel only his hand against her jaw, the thumb over her pulse, her own fingers curled against the planes of his cheeks.

When he lifted his head, they could only stare at one another, pupils flared wide and cheeks flushed. Something seemed to be rapidly, painlessly thudding inside Elizabeth's head; she could still feel the pressure of his gloved fingers against her throat.

"Elizabeth -"

"I -"

"Perhaps," Darcy said, his voice only shaking a little, "perhaps we should walk on."

"An excellent thought," said Elizabeth, and laughed. "Travellers from London often come this way, and I would hate to shock them."

She took his arm, rather more firmly before, and when they looked at one another they could not restrain sudden brilliant smiles. Somehow, Elizabeth thought, their smiles seemed different now, easier, more - something.

They wandered off of the usual circuit, talking very quickly and intensely of nothing in particular, and kissed amidst laughter and falling leaves. Only when the sun began to dim did Elizabeth, restored to something approximating reality, realise that she had no idea how long they had been gone. They consulted their watches.

"Five o'clock!" cried Elizabeth.

They looked at one another and bit back smiles.

"We must have walked several miles without realising it," she said, glancing studiously away as she tied her hat more firmly.

"How extraordinary," murmured Darcy.