Chapter 20
Declarations and Discoveries
Elizabeth had spent the better part of the previous fortnight trying to behave sensibly, which was proving a thoroughly tiresome occupation.
Sensible behavior, according to every practical consideration, required that she continue to receive Mr. Wilson with civility and keep her mind open to a match that offered comfort, security, and genuine esteem. Mrs. Bennet had advised precisely that.
“You need not decide before you are ready,” her mother had said while sorting ribbon for Jane’s wedding gown. “But you must not reject a worthy man merely because your imagination has outrun your judgment.”
Elizabeth had protested that her imagination was perfectly under control.
Mrs. Bennet had smiled in a manner that suggested she believed no such thing.
Mr. Wilson continued to call. His attentions remained proper, thoughtful, and increasingly restrained.
He no longer pressed for solitary walks at every opportunity, but he found occasions to place himself near her, to ask after her opinions, and to include her in discussions where her intelligence might engage him honestly.
She liked him. She respected him. There were moments when she thought she might, with time, grow content as his wife.
Then Darcy would arrive.
He never made a spectacle of himself. He brought books for Mary, papers for Mr. Bennet, estate maps for Bingley, and every conceivable excuse for appearing at Longbourn more often than any gentleman with a leased estate and numerous obligations ought to have managed.
He listened when she spoke. He sought her out during crowded rooms without making the effort appear obvious.
If she laughed, his eyes warmed in a way that perturbed her more than any polished compliment.
He had not proposed, and that fact remained at the center of every hopeful thought. And so Elizabeth persisted in behaving sensibly, which meant receiving one gentleman while wondering whether another would ever find courage enough to speak plainly.
On the morning everything changed, Longbourn buzzed with the usual anticipation that accompanied a call from Netherfield.
Jane and Mr. Bingley’s wedding drew nearer, and scarcely a week passed without some discussion of flowers, settlements, guest lists, or the alarming quantity of cake Mrs. Bennet considered indispensable.
Elizabeth had just left her chamber and descended the stairs when she glimpsed Thomas and Toby huddled beneath the front hall window with Lydia between them.
The three heads bent close together while Lydia held a folded note between them. Thomas spoke with intense seriousness, and Toby nodded as though the matter before them carried national importance.
Elizabeth paused on the stair.
The conspirators looked up simultaneously.
For one instant all three stared.
Then Lydia tucked the note into her sleeve and rose with astonishing speed.
“Good morning, Lizzy.”
The twins offered matching smiles.
No expression in nature inspired less confidence.
“What are you plotting?”
“Nothing,” Toby said.
“A family matter,” Thomas added.
Lydia linked her arm through Elizabeth’s. “You look very pretty today.”
That was almost as suspicious as the secret conference itself.
Before Elizabeth could pursue the matter further, Thomas stepped directly into her path.
“Lizzy, Papa would like to see you in the library.”
Elizabeth blinked. “Papa?”
Thomas nodded with impressive gravity. “Directly.”
She glanced toward the drawing room. Voices drifted into the hall. Mr. Bingley’s cheerful tone was unmistakable, as was Jane’s softer reply. Darcy had come with him; she knew it before she saw him. Some instinct had begun to recognize his presence even at a distance.
“Did Papa say what he wanted?”
“No,” Toby answered.
“Only that it was important.”
Lydia gave her a little push. “You had best not keep him waiting.”
Elizabeth narrowed her eyes at all three of them.
The twins met her scrutiny without flinching.
Lydia, to her credit, appeared only mildly guilty.
This was almost certainly a scheme.
The difficulty lay in determining its purpose.
Mr. Bennet did occasionally summon one of his daughters to the library. He also took considerable delight in allowing his younger sons to serve as messengers, knowing full well they regarded every errand as a mission of state.
Elizabeth exhaled.
“If this proves to be another emergency involving a missing dog, I shall have all three of you copying sermons until Twelfth Night.”
“We understand,” Thomas said solemnly.
Toby crossed two fingers behind his back.
Lydia kissed Elizabeth’s cheek. “Go on.”
Elizabeth made her way down the hall with growing suspicion. The library door stood closed. No sound emerged from within.
She knocked.
No answer.
That should have warned her more thoroughly than anything else.
She turned the handle and stepped inside.
The room was empty.
Or so she believed for approximately half a second.
Darcy stood near the hearth, gloves in one hand, an expression of such startled recognition on his face that Elizabeth’s suspicions were confirmed.
The door clicked behind her.
She turned.
The handle refused to turn. It was a double-keyed mechanism, and it took but a moment to ascertain that the key on the other side had been removed.
For one moment, Elizabeth could do nothing but stare at the polished wood.
Then she understood. Of course.
When she turned back to Darcy, he appeared equally astonished and more than a little alarmed.
“I was informed that Mr. Bennet wished to speak with me.”
Elizabeth gave a short laugh that hovered somewhere between embarrassment and surrender.
“And I received the same message.”
From beyond the door came the unmistakable patter of retreating feet, followed by Lydia’s muffled whisper.
“Run!”
The footsteps disappeared.
Elizabeth pressed her fingers to her brow. “I shall murder every one of them.”
Darcy’s mouth twitched. “I suspect the jury would show considerable leniency.”
She could not suppress another laugh.
The atmosphere shifted. It remained charged, certainly, but the awkwardness had vanished. They had reached a point at which even deliberate entrapment by conspiring siblings failed to discompose them.
Elizabeth moved a few steps farther into the room.
“I am exceedingly sorry.”
“Pray do not apologize for your family.” Darcy said. “Though I believe your brothers and sister have become rather deeply invested in our future.”
The words settled between them.
Elizabeth lowered her gaze to the carpet. “They are absurd.”
“Wholly.”
“Interfering.”
“Beyond question.”
She studied his handsome countenance. Darcy had not moved from the hearth; his attention held her more securely than any locked door.
“I suspect,” Elizabeth said, “they dislike Mr. Wilson.”
A slight frown crossed his face. “I am sure of it.” The candor of the admission took her by surprise.
Darcy laced his hands behind his back, a habit she had come to associate with serious thought. “I ought to have spoken sooner.”
Elizabeth said nothing.
“I should have asked you for a courtship as soon as Mr. Wilson’s intentions became clear.”
The fire snapped between them.
Darcy drew a breath.
“When I first came to Hertfordshire, I behaved abominably. I have apologized for my words at the assembly, but I do not believe I have said plainly enough how deeply I regret them.”
“You have made every effort to repair the injury.”
“I hope so.” His eyes met hers directly. “Because what I said was false in every respect.”
Heat rose to her cheeks despite the many weeks that had passed.
Darcy continued, his voice lower now, though no less steady in conviction.
“Your history, your father’s profession, your place within your family—none of these diminish you. They never mattered to me—not once—I saw only your character.”
Elizabeth’s throat tightened.
He took a few steps nearer. “I admire the life your mother and Mr. Bennet have built here. I admire your sisters, your brothers, and the affection that binds all of you together. Longbourn is unlike any house I have known, and I find myself wishing, every time I leave, that I had some claim to remain.”
Her hands trembled slightly, and she clutched them together to hide it.
Darcy stopped a respectful distance away.
“I do not merely love you, Elizabeth.” His voice roughened on her name.
“I love the woman you are within this family, and the life that surrounds you. Your intelligence, your wit, your loyalty, your courage, your capacity for affection—I cannot imagine a future I would value more highly than one in which I am permitted to share those things.”
Elizabeth blinked rapidly.
Outside the library, the house continued as it always did. Footsteps crossed the hall. Lydia tittered somewhere near the drawing room. Mr. Bingley’s voice carried faintly through the door. The ordinary sounds of Longbourn had never seemed so precious.
Darcy’s expression softened when he saw the tears gathering in her eyes.
“If I have mistaken your regard, say so, and I shall trouble you no further. But I cannot remain silent while another man seeks what I desire above all else.”
He reached for her hand. Not boldly. Almost uncertainly.
Elizabeth placed her hand in his.