21. Evidence and Doubt #2
The decision had matured gradually, though it now appeared impossible that it should ever have been otherwise.
She possessed every quality he admired.
Intelligence.
Warmth.
Liveliness.
Integrity.
Even when she disagreed with him—and she frequently did—her arguments sprang from compassion and principle.
If she accepted him, his happiness would exceed anything he had imagined possible.
If she refused...
He refused to dwell upon that possibility.
Mrs. Bennet received him with unconcealed delight.
“My dear Mr. Darcy! We had almost despaired of seeing you today. Lizzy has been most restless since breakfast.”
Elizabeth colored.
“I do not believe I have been restless, Mama.”
“No? Then perhaps it was not you who wandered to the window every five minutes.”
“Mama.”
Mrs. Bennet laughed and surrendered the point.
Jane exchanged an amused glance with Elizabeth while Bingley, who had arrived moments earlier, attempted unsuccessfully to hide his own smile.
Darcy crossed the room to Elizabeth.
“I hope you are well.”
“Very well, thank you.”
“And yourself?”
“I find the day considerably improved.”
A spark lit her eyes.
“You have become rather practiced at compliments.”
“I have had an excellent teacher.”
She shook her head, though pleasure plainly accompanied the gesture.
Mr. Bennet watched the exchange over the edge of his book.
“Hm.”
“What is it, Papa?” Elizabeth asked.
“I was merely wondering whether either of you intends to say anything practical.”
Darcy answered with uncommon solemnity.
“I confess, sir, that was not my present object.”
Mr. Bennet snorted behind the volume.
Elizabeth covered a laugh with suspicious haste.
The September afternoon carried the first promise of autumn.
Leaves had started exchanging brilliant green for muted gold, though summer still lingered stubbornly in the hedgerows.
Elizabeth drew a fallen maple leaf between her gloved fingers.
“I believe the season changes too quickly.”
“It has scarcely begun.”
“Exactly.”
She smiled.
“I should prefer autumn to ask permission before arriving.”
“I suspect it possesses little regard for our preferences.”
“No more than you do.”
He accepted the rebuke with a rueful expression.
“I deserve that.”
“You do.”
They continued another dozen yards.
Elizabeth broke the silence first.
“You have avoided one subject for weeks.”
“I know.”
“I promised not to force it.”
“And I was grateful.”
She stopped beside a weathered gate overlooking pastureland.
A pair of sheep grazed lazily below them.
“I have been thinking.”
“So have I.”
She rested both hands upon the gate.
“I believe neither of us wishes to quarrel.”
“No.”
“But neither can we pretend the difficulty has vanished.”
Darcy studied the distant hills.
“It has not.”
“No.” Her agreement came without reservation.
“I have failed you.”
She shook her head. “I do not think—”
“I gave you my word.” He forced himself onward. “I promised I would attempt a civil conversation with Wickham.”
“You did.”
“I have not.”
Elizabeth regarded him steadily.
“I noticed.”
“I cannot excuse it.”
His hands clenched behind his back.
“I convinced myself that speaking with him would accomplish nothing.”
“And now?”
“I am less certain.”
She remained silent.
“I have been unfair.”
The admission resisted every instinct pride possessed.
Still, once spoken, another followed more readily.
“I expected you to trust my judgment while declining every opportunity to examine yours.”
Elizabeth’s features softened with unmistakable relief.
“Thank you.”
“I deserve no thanks.”
“You have listened.”
“I am trying.”
They resumed walking.
Neither spoke for several minutes.
The silence no longer felt strained.
Instead it resembled the pause after rain, when clouds had begun breaking though sunlight had not yet reached the earth.
Darcy knew the moment had come before he consciously determined it.
They had reached the old oak overlooking the meadow where they often paused.
Elizabeth rested one hand upon the rough bark while watching swallows wheel above the fields.
He had rehearsed elegant speeches.
Measured declarations.
Expressions worthy of the depth of his affection.
Every one deserted him.
“Elizabeth.” Something in his expression stilled her smile.
He stepped nearer.
“I once believed myself a man who governed every important decision through reason.”
She waited.
“You have proved me mistaken.”
A faint color touched her cheeks.
“I do not know when admiration became attachment.”
He smiled slightly.
“Perhaps you knew before I did.”
“I suspected.”
“I imagine everyone suspected except myself.”
Her laughter escaped despite the solemnity of the moment.
“It is possible.”
“I have loved you longer than I understood.”
His gaze never left hers.
“You have altered my understanding of happiness.”
She drew one slow breath.
“I find I cannot imagine returning to Derbyshire without hoping every road might somehow bring me back to Hertfordshire.”
He reached for her hands.
She placed them in his without hesitation.
“I know we disagree.”
“Yes.”
“I know there remain questions between us.”
“There do.”
“I cannot promise that every difficulty shall disappear tomorrow.”
His fingers closed gently around hers.
“But I can promise that every day of my life will be devoted to deserving your esteem.”
Emotion brightened her eyes.
“Elizabeth Bennet...”
He swallowed.
The words mattered too much for ornament.
“Will you marry me?”
For one glorious heartbeat he believed she would say yes.
Her lips parted.
Joy flooded her expression.
Then it faded.
She lowered her gaze.
“Oh.”
The single word carried such sorrow that dread swept through him.
When she spoke again, each sentence appeared painfully chosen.
“I love you.”
His heart surged.
“I do.”
Hope blazed.
Then she continued.
“But I cannot marry you.”
Everything within him seemed to stop.
He stared at her, scarcely comprehending.
“You... cannot?”
She shook her head.
Tears gathered despite her efforts to master them.
“I have wished for this since we met.”
“Then why?”