"Do you mean that?"
Darcy had the distinct impression that Elizabeth was not merely referring to her sister. Whatever he said right then was important to her. His inclination was to take his time replying in order to weigh his words adequately. But he sensed her impatience. Her sigh alerted him that unless he spoke quickly, she would look away and the moment would be lost.
"Marriage is a scary prospect for a young lady. She leaves the security of her family, who know her more intimately than anyone else, for a gentleman full of promises and good intentions.” Darcy’s breath was quick, his speech quicker. “If his love is based on superficial matters such as her beauty or her fortune, his affection cannot be expected to stand through the trials they will have to face together."
"You speak very confidently on the subject."
He had spoken rather passionately and at greater length than was his custom. But he did feel certain. It was the example he had been taught. "My mother and father loved each other."
"It must have been wonderful to be raised in such a household." The wistfulness in Elizabeth’s tone pinched his heart.
"It made the loss of them harder. I wish Georgie had known them together." She never would have fallen for Wickham’s smooth trickery had she known what true, inseparable love looked like.
"I think I understand her infatuation with Mr. Bingley. It makes perfect sense."
Darcy jerked his head to face her. "You do?"
"Of course. She lost her mother, then her father, and now her only brother is engaged to marry."
"I would never leave her," Darcy recoiled.
"I would never expect you to. However, as you and I both know all too well, circumstances can change in the blink of an eye. Your mother and father could not have wished to leave either, but they could not prevent it." She chewed on her bottom lip. "I see that I shall have to do my best to reassure her that I do not intend to replace her in your affections.”
Before Elizabeth mentioned it, Darcy had not considered the possibility of Georgiana being anything but happy at the idea of gaining a sister at Pemberley. Elizabeth had, and solely for the benefit of his sister. The realization stunned him.
Resting his hand on top of hers again, feeling his skin tingle and burn at the contact, he said a heartfelt, "Thank you."
He had thought the favor he was doing in raising the Bennets' social standing and the stability he offered to them enough, but Elizabeth's kindness toward his little sister far surpassed the connections and security he would give her. He would simply have to try harder to be kinder to her family in turn. Perhaps she would value his exertion as much as he cherished hers.
She smiled at him. “Good, then may I ask you a favor?”
“Anything.”
“Do not let Mr. Bingley break Jane’s heart.”
Her request punched the air out of Darcy’s lungs.
CHAPTER24
The question that had seemed reasonable before she heard herself say it aloud now sounded petty and meddlesome, and Elizabeth was neither of those. Nor was Mr. Darcy. No wonder he gaped at her.
“Pray do not take my request seriously, Mr. Darcy. As commanding of a gentleman as you are, I doubt you have authority enough over Mr. Bingley’s heart to make him do anything he is not pleased to do.”
Mr. Darcy looked struck. She smiled, trying to lighten the air and figuratively kicking herself for her foolish request.
Finally, he spoke. “It is perfectly natural for you to wish your sister advantageously settled.”
Elizabeth lifted a finger. “And happy in love.”
“And h-happy… in l-love.” The way he tripped over his words, the pinch in his eyes, the unsteadiness of his breath made Elizabeth wonder if he was thinking about their own impending marriage.
Her uncle liked to say that the truest test of a person’s character was to observe them in hot water. Mr. Darcy had proved himself honorable, understanding, and loyal. She liked him more each day. She could see herself in love with him…eventually. She prayed so.
“Do you believe we shall be happy?” she whispered, the noise of her heartbeat in her ears deafening.
His dark gaze slammed into Elizabeth, vibrating through her limbs and making her stance unsteady. She clutched onto his arm, too shaken to trust her own body to support her or to look away. He moved in front of her, so close the lapels of his coat brushed against the folds of her wrap. She did not mean to, but her hands rested against his chest, not to push him away or to create a barrier, but just to feel the rise and fall of his breath under the wool of his greatcoat. Warmth radiated off him in waves like rays from the sun, pulling her up to her toes, to get closer to its source. His breath tickled against her cheek, her lips.
He smelled of bergamot and spice, hot tea on a cold day. Elizabeth parted her lips, a thirst she had never known overwhelming her.
