“Why,” Elizabeth asked sharply, “is it proper tomarryin a church, but not to decide whether to marry in one?”
Bingley stomped away, shaking his head and muttering. Georgiana, Mr. Peake, the Gardiners and the vicar all watched them talk.
“Perhaps, whatever our opinions,” Darcy said, aware of the audience, “we should respect Bingley’s tender sensibilities, and there is a fine drizzle outside that has mostly cleared the fog.”
“Do you intend to offer marriage to me again?”
“Yes.” Darcy found himself oddly filled with confidence. This was right. This was entirely different from the awkwardness attendant upon his first declaration. “Do you intend accept me?”
“I do now know yet — how can I? How can I trust myself? Or you. I will not, not unless I am convinced my reason supports such a match.”
“You shall be convinced. For we are areasonablepair.”
“Even if the drizzle has ceased,” Elizabeth replied with something like happiness, “I am quite certain that we will not be oppressed by any sun.”
“In London! Heaven help us if we are.”
“I am too passionate. I trust myself with you no longer.”
“Then trust me with you. I can care for you when you cannot, and you shall care for me when I cannot.”
The two stepped out into the fine drizzle. Perhaps the best drizzle Darcy had ever stepped out into. He waved for his footman who was waiting with his carriage to hand him an umbrella, and he opened it and held it so that Elizabeth was sheltered from the rain.
The line of Gracechurch Street stretched to the north and south, shadowed by long blocks of buildings with dozens of windows facing out to the street. The two set off south along the street towards the Thames. Elizabeth’s arm nestled against his.
“Why?”
“That,” Darcy replied, “is an enigmatic question.”
“You know what I mean — why do you think we can choose to marry without expecting disaster — you are a gentleman, you are proud, and you always believe you know best. You care so deeply for those within your scope; you cannot bear to see us make mistakes; and when you are certain, entirely certain, you cease to listen.”
Darcy contemplated with what words to reply.
Elizabeth pulled her arm away from him and looked through her reticule. “Take it. Take the ring, we are not meant for one another.”
“Elizabeth, you are frightened.”
“Of myself, of my feelings. Of…you.”
“Me?”
“I ended matters between us. You’ll not seduce me again.”
“I, seduce you? I had believed my attempts at rakish behavior to be failures. You, madam, seducedme.”
“Again! Cease it.”
“Cease what?”
“You are here to convince me you’ve changed, and that you…you mean to tell me I can entrust myself to you, because you were willing to shake Mr. Peake’s hand as a brother. Cease looking at me like that! That smirk!”
“Do you admire this smirk? A quite fetching smirk.”
“You are as much a gentleman as ever, you still have the same belief that all should bend to your will.”
“Too gentlemanly. Lizzy, I confess that has rattled round my brain the past month. What manner of insult is that? A striking expression. Originality, I give you. Your objection was made clear, and it was agentlemanlyway to express your displeasure.”
“Mr. Darcy, I beg you to cease trying to seduce me; if you have an argument to present my reason, give it. I will not be a slave to my passions.”
