Chapter 36 #2
Jane’s acceptance was immediate and unselfconscious. She placed her hand upon his sleeve with a calm assurance that spoke volumes, though she said little more than, “I should like that very much.”
Elizabeth felt a swell of emotion she could only name as relief. Jane’s choice was subtle, but it was unmistakable. There was no hesitation, no glance toward Elizabeth for reassurance. She stepped forward with Bramley as though the matter had already been settled within her heart.
Lady Hertford smiled faintly, her approval evident. “Elizabeth, Mr. Darcy will attend you as well.”
Elizabeth rose, smoothing her gloves with hands that suddenly felt unsteady.
They followed the other couple into the street, Jones and Weston at a respectful distance behind. Bramley and Jane moved ahead at once, their heads inclined toward one another, their conversation low and easy. Elizabeth watched them go with a mixture of happiness and wistfulness.
How simple it looks, she thought. How uncomplicated.
Darcy fell into step beside her, though he did not speak at first. The silence stretched, weighted but not uncomfortable. She sensed his tension before she saw it—the rigidity in his posture, the way his gaze moved restlessly across the path ahead.
They reached the park, where early walkers strolled beneath budding trees and the gravel paths gleamed faintly in the morning light. Bramley guided Jane toward a broader avenue, leaving Elizabeth and Darcy momentarily behind.
“Miss de Bourgh,” Darcy began at last, his voice low and careful, “may I speak with you candidly?”
Elizabeth inclined her head. “You may always speak candidly with me.”
He stopped walking.
Elizabeth did the same, startled by the suddenness of it. Darcy turned to face her fully, his expression unguarded in a way she had rarely seen. There was no reserve now, no careful composure—only earnestness, edged with something perilously close to desperation.
“I must know,” he said earnestly, “whether I have any hope with you at all.”
Her breath caught. For a moment, she could not speak.
This is it, she thought. The question I have both feared and waited for.
Elizabeth forced herself to meet his gaze. “You deserve the truth,” she said at last. “And the truth is…complicated.”
His jaw tightened, but he did not interrupt.
“You know already that my presence in Town is not entirely my own choosing,” she continued. “The Prince Regent has taken an interest in my future—one that extends well beyond polite concern. My associations, my prospects, even the timing of my presentation are subject to political consideration.”
Darcy’s eyes darkened. “You are being managed.”
“Yes.” She did not soften the word. “My future is being shaped deliberately. Not maliciously, perhaps, but decisively. I am weighed for usefulness.”
He exhaled slowly, as though steadying himself. “And I am one of the weights placed upon the scale.”
Elizabeth hesitated, then nodded. “Lady Hertford has already remarked upon your attention. She spoke with the prince regarding your suitability.”
Darcy went very still.
“So I am to be judged,” he said. “By a man who knows nothing of me beyond my name and connections.”
“And by what you might offer,” Elizabeth added. “Not what you feel.”
A bitter smile crossed his face. “Then I understand far more than I wish to.”
They resumed walking, slower now, the space between them charged with unspoken emotion. After several steps, Darcy spoke again, his voice subdued.
“There has been much about you that never made sense to me,” he confessed. “Your manner in Hertfordshire—so composed and refined amidst your neighbors. The absence of any explanation for your circumstances. Your circumstances, spoken of only in hints.”
Elizabeth’s lips curved faintly, though there was little humor in it. “That is an apt description of my life.”
“It unsettled me,” he continued. “And instead of asking, instead of trusting my own discernment, I allowed that uncertainty to restrain me.” His voice tightened. “That is my greatest regret.”
She looked at him then, truly looked, and saw the depth of his remorse. It struck her with unexpected force.
“I should have asked you for a courtship,” he said. “Then. When I had the chance. Your circumstances should never have mattered. Ever.”
The sincerity of it pierced her composure. Elizabeth felt her eyes sting, and she turned her face away, unwilling to let him see how deeply his words affected her.
“You cannot know,” she said softly, “how much that means to hear.”
Darcy stopped again, though this time he did not face her at once.
“I have been falling in love with you for months,” he said, the admission quiet but unwavering. “And now I discover that you may never truly be free to choose me.”
Elizabeth closed her eyes.
I do love him, she thought, the realization settling over her with startling clarity. I have loved him in pieces, in resistance, in denial. But this—this is the truth.
She turned back to him, her voice unsteady but honest. “I wish I could promise you certainty. I cannot. But I will not pretend indifference where there is none.”
His gaze searched her face. “Then there is regard?”
“There is more than regard,” she admitted, her voice scarcely above a whisper. “There is affection. And it grows, despite my best efforts to restrain it.”
Hope flickered across his expression, timid and fierce all at once.
“I fear you being dismissed,” she continued, the words painful to speak. “Not because of any fault, but because others offer a clearer advantage.”
Darcy swallowed hard. “Then I am to be measured and possibly found wanting.”
Elizabeth reached for him before she could reconsider, her gloved hand brushing his sleeve. The contact was brief, but it carried more reassurance than any speech could have done.
“You are not wanting,” she said firmly. “Not to me.”
They walked on in silence then, the weight of what lay between them heavy but no longer unspoken. Ahead, Jane laughed softly at something Bramley said, her expression open and unguarded. Elizabeth watched her cousin with a mixture of joy and longing.
Jane moves forward, she thought. And I remain suspended.
Darcy followed her gaze. “She will be happy.”
“Yes,” Elizabeth said. “And that is no small mercy.”
They drew closer to the other couple as the path narrowed, their pace aligning once more. Darcy’s presence beside her was steady, grounding, even as the future loomed uncertain before them.
Whatever comes, she told herself, I will remember this moment. That I was seen. That I was chosen, even if I cannot yet choose in return.
As they moved forward together through the park—Jane and Bramley walking with purpose toward a future newly opened to them, and Elizabeth beside Darcy, bound by affection and constrained by power—Elizabeth felt the full weight of what lay ahead.
Love, she realized, was not her greatest danger. It was authority.
“Would you object—to whom would I speak regarding your hand in marriage?”
Elizabeth paused again, the world narrowing to the space between them. The path stretched ahead, gravel pale beneath their feet, but she scarcely saw it. Darcy’s question hung in the air, deliberate and unmistakable, and her heart answered it before her reason could intervene.
She turned toward him slowly, a coy smile curving her lips—not playful, but luminous with feeling. “Do you have something you wish to ask me, Mr. Darcy?”
He did not hesitate. Darcy reached for her hand, his fingers enclosing hers with a gentleness that belied the force of his emotion. His thumb brushed lightly over her knuckles, a caress so restrained it was almost reverent, as though he feared startling her into retreat.
“Yes,” he replied. “I have wanted to ask you for some time. Longer than I allowed myself to admit.”
Elizabeth’s breath caught. The warmth of his hand seemed to travel through her entire being, steadying her even as it undid her. She did not withdraw, nor did she look away. Instead, she let herself stand fully within the moment, letting the truth of her feelings rise unchecked.
Darcy stepped closer, lowering his voice, though there was no one near enough to overhear.
“Elizabeth—” He stopped, as if weighing the use of her given name, then continued with quiet resolve.
“I love you. Not as a passing fancy, nor as an admiration born of convenience or ambition, but with a constancy that has grown in spite of my own resistance. I admire your intelligence, your courage, your wit, and the integrity with which you endure circumstances that would embitter lesser spirits. You have challenged me, humbled me, and—” his voice faltered for the briefest instant “—made me wish to be better than I am.”
Elizabeth felt tears gather despite her efforts to remain composed. She tightened her hold on his hand, anchoring herself to him.
“If you will have me,” he continued, “I would spend my life proving myself worthy of you. I would seek your happiness as my first duty and your respect as my greatest honor. I ask for your hand, Elizabeth—not as a favor granted, but as a choice freely made.”
For a moment, she could not speak. The words she had long guarded rose within her, insistent and irrepressible.
“I long to say yes,” she said at last, her voice trembling with the honesty of it. “More than I can properly express.”
Darcy’s expression softened, hope and tenderness warring across his features.
“But,” she continued, the word costing her dearly, “my life is not wholly my own. You know this. The Prince Regent retains authority over my future. His approval is not a courtesy—it is a necessity.”
Darcy’s jaw set, not in anger, but in resolve. “Then I shall request an audience,” he said at once. “I will not allow your hand to be bargained without my voice being heard. If I must place myself before him and state my intentions plainly, then I shall do so.”
Elizabeth searched his face, moved beyond measure by his willingness to confront power on her behalf. “You would do that?”
“I would do more,” he replied simply. “I would do anything that honor permits. To know you wish to be my wife…It is hope.”
She smiled then, tender and resolute in equal measure. “I will speak with Lady Hertford,” she said. “She can ensure the request is received. If this is to be decided, it shall not be done in whispers or assumptions.”
Darcy lifted her hand, pressing his lips lightly to her gloved fingers—a gesture so restrained, so deeply felt, that it left her breathless.
“Then we proceed together,” he said. “Whatever the outcome.”
Elizabeth met his gaze, her heart full and unguarded. “Together,” she echoed.
They resumed their walk, hands still joined, the future uncertain but no longer faced alone. Whatever authority sought to shape her destiny, Elizabeth knew one truth beyond all doubt: she was loved, wholly and honorably. And that knowledge gave her strength enough to face even the will of a prince.