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That sort of contradictory messaging was not unknown to Mary, but it was not something Elizabeth had a great deal of patience for at the moment. And finally, she thought — or rather, she was trying not to think — about Mr Darcy, and specifically about the things that Georgiana had told her of him, which she had been turning about in her mind for days now, each time arriving at, then hurriedly deciding to dismiss, the same set of conclusions.

Elizabeth leaned forward and smelled a pink blossom on a lush, glossy-leafed shrub, irritated with herself. It was not her habit to dismiss perfectly good conclusions because she disliked them. However, these were conclusions that contradicted all the other months’ worth of conclusions she’d built regarding Mr Darcy, and she was not prepared to accept that just yet.

She had thought she understood their situation well enough. They were allies, she and Mr Darcy, united through the bond of their shared sense of disaster and wish for justice for the people most dear to them.

She had already been forced to acknowledge that she no longer disliked Mr Darcy. One could not dislike an ally who devoted so much of himself to solving a mutual problem that he could have, in all fairness, chosen to simply ignore. Yet she had managed to maintain a certain detachment from him, knowing it would be best to appreciate his usefulness without developing any particular attachment to the man himself.

Georgiana had rather disrupted that arrangement, for the man that she had described, in the earnest, sincere way that Georgiana said everything, was not the man that Elizabeth believed she knew. Georgiana hadn’t described the cool, disapproving gentleman of the Meryton assembly, or even the practical but distant ally of the last several months. She had described a man who took his responsibilities seriously, who extended himself for others with no expectation of thanks or repayment, and who was, as his sister said quite simply, the first person she would go to if anything went wrong.

Elizabeth told herself with some firmness that this was simply a more detailed picture of the man, not a complete revision. The mere revelation that a person had admirable qualities did not mean that their less admirable qualities ceased to exist. It was simply indicative that they had many sides, as most people did, and should be treated as further details to file away. Elizabeth was not at all certain that she had filed it correctly, though.

The path turned, offering a new stretch of garden she had not yet explored, and she followed it automatically, too lost in thought to notice the figure until she was nearly upon him. He was standing at the far end of the path, his back to her, looking at something in the flowering border. The stranger was well-dressed, and there was something in the set of his shoulders that suggested a man accustomed to taking up however much space he chose to. Another visitor, clearly, though she had not known that any more were expected.

He turned as he heard her approach, and Elizabeth realised he was older than she had thought, likely near to sixty years of age, with grey at his temples. She could tell that he had likely been quite handsome in his youth, for he was still not unattractive now, with the look that was often called “distinguished” in men who had reached a certain age. He did not look surprised to see her; in fact, Elizabeth had the sense that he was rarely surprised, and that if he were, it would be hard to tell.

“Good morning,” Elizabeth said finally, since one of them clearly needed to offer a greeting. “I beg your pardon for intruding upon you. I did not see that you were there.”

“No apology is necessary,” he said, in a pleasant voice that nonetheless carried a note of calm authority. “I do not have any claim on this garden, so you are as free to enjoy it as I am.”

Elizabeth smiled. “Are you one of Mr Darcy’s neighbours?” she asked, offering what seemed the most plausible explanation for the presence of such a composed stranger at Pemberley. She was aware that she should wait for him to offer an explanation of his identity, but she was never very good at leaving a question unanswered when she had the tools to make an inquiry.

“I am not,” he said. “But I have lately arrived on a visit, and I am happy to see that I am in such pleasant company, for I take it you are part of the party here?”

“Yes, I am fortunate to be a visitor, and thus able to explore these lovely gardens.” She hesitated for a moment, unsure as to whether she should supply her name to a strange gentleman who had not offered his, but decided that the garden was not a formal dressing room and that she was curious enough to ignore a bit of etiquette. “I am Miss Elizabeth Bennet.”

“Miss Bennet,” he repeated, inclining his head. “I had heard that Mr Darcy’s guests were pleasant company, and I am glad to see that I was not misinformed.” The compliment was paid calmly, and came without the sense that there was any expectation of effusive thanks or a return compliment, which Elizabeth found refreshing. The gentleman indicated the path and began to walk, and Elizabeth fell into step with him.

“Pemberley’s grounds are quite remarkable,” she said as they strolled along. “I have been attempting to form some overarching impression of the design as a whole, and must admit that I have not yet succeeded, as each turn seems to contradict my previous conclusions.”

“I believe that is the intention,” he said. “The landscape designer my — That is, the landscape designer that the late Mr Darcy engaged some years ago was of the opinion that a garden ought to reward attention, and that paths that offered the entire picture at once quickly ceased to be interesting.” He turned his head, glancing at her with a look of mild inquiry. “Do you find that a reasonable philosophy?”

“I think it more than reasonable for gardens,” Elizabeth said. “I am less certain, however, that it applies universally, as a great many situations become considerably worse the longer one examines them.”

The gentleman’s expression shifted, sharpening considerably as though he found the answer more interesting than he had expected to. “That is true,” he said, “though I find that sometimes what worsens is not actually the situation, but one’s assumptions regarding the situation, which are not always the same thing.”

Elizabeth thought about this. “That is a distinction worth making,” she allowed. “Do you find it is one that you must make often?”

“Only when it is useful,” he said, “which is to say, yes, it is one that I find I must utilise often. One’s assumptions frequently get in the way of truth, do they not? Yet they are so difficult to set aside once they have been formed.”

Elizabeth could not quickly find a reply to this, and they walked in silence for a moment. It was, however, the comfortable kind of silence that did not require immediate filling.

“Have you been at Pemberley long?” he asked after a few moments.

“Some weeks,” Elizabeth said, “which is more than long enough to have formed a very high opinion of the house, the grounds, and the library. I had been told before arriving here that the library was among the finest private libraries in the country. Having now explored it, I find no grounds to doubt it is true.”

“The library is Mr Darcy’s great pride,” the gentleman said. The warmth in his voice made Elizabeth wonder anew just who her walking companion might be. “He has added to it considerably over these last several years.”

“He told me as much,” Elizabeth said, then caught herself, feeling for some reason that she had revealed something that she should not have, though she could not have said exactly what.

“And your host?” the gentleman asked presently, in the same mild tone he had employed throughout the conversation. “Do you find Pemberley reflects him?”

It was an unusual question, but Elizabeth considered it seriously. “I think it does, rather,” she said. “It is well-ordered without being cold, and that library, at least, suggests a number of opinions about various topics and is not afraid to show them, which is also a characteristic of Mr Darcy.”

“I quite agree that Mr Darcy has a considerable number of opinions,” the gentleman said, and this time, Elizabeth could hear the amusement in his tone. “You have found him good company?”

“I have found him…” Elizabeth paused. After a moment, she decided on frankness. “I have found him surprising, on the whole. I had formed a rather fixed impression of him, and the Mr Darcy that I have met here at Pemberley has not entirely supported the impression I had formed elsewhere.”

“Indeed.” He gave her another of those interested side glances. “What impression had you formed, if I may be so impertinently curious as to ask?”