Chapter Three #3
The awareness remained. By the time the carriage drew up before Mill House, the sun had lowered in the sky. Light came from within the house, casting a warm glow through the windows.
A servant opened the door, and Darcy assisted Georgiana down before following.
They had scarcely entered the hall when Mrs. Younge appeared.
“You have returned, Miss Darcy,” she said, her tone constrained though not without a certain briskness. “I trust the call was agreeable?”
“Very much so,” Georgiana replied at once.
“I am glad of it.” Mrs. Younge inclined her head. “If you will come with me, we may resume your lessons. There is still time before dinner.”
Georgiana hesitated, casting a quick glance at Darcy. “Must it be now?”
“It would be best not to delay,” Mrs. Younge said gently, though with unmistakable firmness.
Georgiana sighed audibly. “Very well.” She smiled one last time at Darcy, then allowed Mrs. Younge to lead her away.
He remained where he was, listening as their footsteps receded along the corridor. Then, at last, he turned and made his way to the drawing room. The house was quiet.
The afternoon light diminished further into the evening, and the last traces of day lingered faintly at the windows.
Darcy crossed to the hearth and stood there, his hands clasped loosely behind his back.
For the first time since leaving the Gardiners’ lodgings, he was entirely alone. With solitude came reflection.
Miss Elizabeth Bennet.
He closed his eyes briefly to fix the image more clearly in his mind. Miss Bennet’s countenance—animated without being excessive. Her fine eyes—bright with intelligence and quick with understanding, beckoned him. Her manner, so unaffected, easy, and entirely free from artifice, entranced him.
She is unlike any lady I have known. The thought was not new—but it had deepened. He considered her conversation. The way she listened—not merely to reply, but to understand. She spoke without hesitation, but never without thought. There was a balance in her that he found both rare and compelling.
And then there was her wit. Not sharp for the sake of cleverness, nor employed to wound, but light, observant, and entirely her own. He found himself smiling.
“She is…remarkable.” The word, spoken aloud, seemed insufficient. He turned slightly, pacing the length of the room before returning again to the hearth.
Her circumstances, however… He did not ignore them.
A country gentleman’s daughter. No great fortune.
No powerful connections. A family that, while respectable, did not move within the highest circles of the ton.
Under ordinary circumstances, such considerations would have weighed heavily. They did not.
Darcy stopped. They do not. The realization came with a clarity that left him momentarily still.
He had been raised to consider such matters. To weigh alliances carefully. To understand the expectations placed upon him—not merely as a gentleman, but as the master of Pemberley.
What are such considerations against her?
He shook his head lightly, almost in disbelief at the direction of his own thoughts. “How quickly I have come to this.” It was absurd. He had known her only a matter of days.
Still, thoughts of the future already permeated his mind.
Marriage. The notion had arisen unbidden, and once formed, it had not easily been dismissed.
“To contemplate marriage,” he murmured, “to a country miss of no fortune or connections—after so short an acquaintance…”
He let the thought trail off. But he did not recoil from it. On the contrary, there was something in it that felt…right. He drew a slow breath.
“I do not care.” The comprehension should have made him uncomfortable.
Instead, it steadied him. The words were soft, but resolute.
If society—if the ton—should object, let them.
He would not be governed by shallow expectations, nor by the narrow judgments of those who valued consequence above character.
I would defy them all, if it meant keeping her.
The conviction settled firmly. Elizabeth Bennet was not merely agreeable.
She was—He searched for the word, then found it.
“A jewel.” Rare. Bright. Unaffected by the false polish that so often dulled true worth.
To lose such a one—to allow her to pass from his life through inaction or hesitation—would be a folly he could not countenance.
Darcy straightened. He would continue the acquaintance. That much was certain. He would see her again—soon. Speak with her again. Learn more of her mind, her character, her inclinations. And if, in time, something more should blossom—
He allowed himself the thought. “I shall not shrink from it.”
The room had grown darker, the last light of day fading entirely.
Unwilling to call a servant, Darcy lit candles, and the room was illuminated.
As it brightened, his resolve remained. Whatever came of this acquaintance, he would not allow it to pass lightly.
Miss Elizabeth Bennet had already altered the course of his thoughts.
He intended to discover just how far that change might go.