CHAPTER FIFTEEN #2
Elizabeth lowered her gaze, colour rising to her cheeks. “I do not know what I feel,” she said softly, “only that your action these past few days and your words have touched me more deeply than I expected.”
Darcy inclined his head, his tone tender and sincere. “That is far more than I deserve. I shall wait, Miss Elizabeth, as long as you wish. I ask only that you believe my regard is true.”
Just then, Pippin’s bright bark rang through the still air, followed by Apollo’s answering cry. The two dogs bounded across the lawn, tumbling through the grass, their joy simple and unrestrained. Elizabeth’s lips curved into a small, tremulous smile.
“Then let us say no more for now, Mr. Darcy,” she said gently. “There will be time enough, time for talk, for walking dogs, and perhaps, for understanding.”
He bowed his head slightly. “Then I shall look forward to that time with gratitude, Miss Elizabeth.”
As they turned back toward the house, the clouds parted, and the garden was touched with a pale golden light. Pippin and Apollo ran ahead, free and bright in the dusk, and behind them two hearts, uncertain yet awakened, began the quiet, steady course of something very like love.
***
THE LAMPS IN the Bennet drawing room burned low, casting a warm but uneven glow across the familiar furniture.
Supper had passed with more laughter than usual, for Mrs. Bennet remained giddy from the Netherfield visit and the attentions shown her daughters.
Mr. Bennet had long since retired to his chamber.
Yet all talk about the afternoon ceased the moment Mr. Collins entered, his countenance beaming like a man who had just been knighted.
“My dear cousins,” he announced, his hands clasped solemnly, “I bring the most felicitous news. I have this afternoon made an offer of marriage to Miss Charlotte Lucas— and she has done me the great honour of accepting it.”
Mrs. Bennet’s mouth fell open, her fan slipping from her grasp. “Charlotte Lucas?” she cried. “Good heavens! You cannot mean it!”
Mr. Collins drew himself up with pride. “Indeed I do, madam. Her manners are affable, her understanding steady, and her connections most suitable. Lady Catherine will be pleased to hear that my humble parson has at last secured domestic happiness.”
He bowed with importance, his hand pressed dramatically to his heart, and withdrew toward the hall, humming a hymn as he went.
No sooner had he vanished from earshot than Mrs. Bennet turned upon Elizabeth with the full force of her indignation.
“Foolish, foolish girl! There—there goes your chance of comfort and security! You could have been mistress of Longbourn, yet you threw it away with your pride and childishness. Now see where your obstinacy has brought you. Charlotte Lucas will take all that might have been yours!”
Elizabeth, weary from the day, said nothing. She merely looked at her mother—her features calm, though her heart twisted within her. There was nothing to be gained by defence. Mrs. Bennet would never comprehend the idea of marrying for esteem rather than convenience.
When at last she escaped to her room, the quiet was a mercy. Pippin lifted her head from the rug as Elizabeth entered, tail thumping softly in greeting. Elizabeth smiled faintly and sat beside her, the candlelight flickering over her face.
“Oh, my dearest girl,” she whispered, rubbing the spaniel’s silky ears. “You see what a fool the world takes me for. I have lost a home— or so Mama believes— and gained only peace of mind in its place. And yet…”
Her voice faltered. She leaned back against the chair and stared toward the small window, where the moon lay veiled behind drifting cloud.
And yet what a strange, sweet world it is, she thought.
For even while she mourns my lost prospects, I am haunted by another proposal — one I cannot forget, nor quite believe has happened at all.
Darcy’s words came back to her, deep and steady as they had sounded in the garden that afternoon. “You must allow me to tell you how ardently I admire and love you.”
Her breath caught again, as it had then. She pressed a hand against her chest as though to quiet the flutter beneath.
She had almost told Jane. Jane, with her gentle understanding, would have listened without judgment. But then she remembered how easily her sister’s transparent heart would betray excitement—how quickly a glance, a blush, a careless smile might expose all. And she could not bear that. Not yet.
To speak of it would make it real, and she did not yet know what real meant. She needed time to understand her own heart—to be sure that the warmth she felt was not mere gratitude, nor the enchantment of kindness newly found where she had least expected it.
So she told no one. Not Jane, not her father. Her secret remained her own.
Pippin gave a soft growl, the kind that sounded more like a sigh.
“Oh hush, you partial creature,” Elizabeth murmured, a small laugh escaping even as her throat tightened. “You would have me say yes at once, only because you know it would mean you and Apollo could never be parted again.”
The dog tilted her head as if in agreement, and Elizabeth’s laughter deepened, warmer now. She rose, loosened her hair, and crossed to the bed. The candle flickered, sending shadows dancing over the walls.
As she lay down, Pippin curled close beside her.
Elizabeth closed her eyes, but sleep came slowly.
She thought of Netherfield—the chandeliers, the sound of music, the feel of his hand in hers as they had danced.
She thought of his gaze, earnest and unwavering, and of his voice saying her name as though it were precious.
Lady of Pemberley. The words slipped through her mind unbidden, bringing a faint blush to her cheeks even in the dark.
She smiled to herself, half-dreaming, as the image took shape—hills silvered by morning mist, Apollo racing beside Pippin, and Darcy waiting for her at a great stone step, his eyes alight with quiet joy.
And so she drifted into sleep, her heart still whispering his name.