“I never said it was a great deal,” he protested. “It was mild at best.”
“I assure you, sir, it did not seem mild at the time.” She could not stop smiling.
“Did my behaviour worry you?” he asked, his tone turning serious, his hands ceasing their ministrations to squeeze hers. “I apologise for being so obtuse. It was obvious to Stephen and Bingley—they teased me relentlessly. I suppose I deserved it since they saw what I had not.”
Elizabeth laughed at this. It was all she could do to keep from floating away with the eager anticipation coursing through her—she wanted to reach for whatever it was they were dancing around, but she knew not how.
“Will you tell me?” she asked.
“Tell you what?” His fingers were caressing hers once again, and the gentle pressure was exquisite torture.
“Tell me what you were feeling other than a great deal of astonishment,” she dared him.
“My impertinent Elizabeth. You know me so well, can you not guess what it was I was feeling? What I am feeling right now?”
“You are going to make me guess!?” she sputtered in disbelief.
“No, I suppose that will not do. What I felt then and what I feel now is . . . I have fallen in love with you, Elizabeth.”
Though they had been careening towards a declaration for several minutes, maybe for much longer, she was still not prepared for him to be so bold.
“In love with me? Are you certain? Absolutely certain?”
Had he meant to declare not simply interest, or an attraction, she was somewhat prepared for that, but love?
“I am certain.” He sounded frustrated. “I would not have spoken to you otherwise. Do you doubt me?”
How had she turned a declaration of love she had imagined receiving for nearly a decade into an argument?
“It is not you I doubt. Not exactly.”
“What is it you doubt?”
“I don’t know! I have never had a conversation like this before—outside of my own imagination.”
“I should hope not . . . your imagination? You imagined what it would be like for a gentleman to declare his love for you?”
She heard the cautious anticipation in his voice.
He had been brave. She could be as well.
“No, Mr. Darcy, I imagined what it would be like for you to declare your love for me, but I never thought I would experience it in real life.”
His eyes had gone wide at her admission but then shifted to something darker.
“Although I am anxious to address how you could not have seen my loving you was inevitable, my good, beautiful, impertinent friend, I first would like to explore this imagination of yours.”
“What do you mean?” She choked out the words because he was moving his hands to her face, gently holding each side while his treacherous fingers moved gently along her cheeks.
“I mean, how long have you imagined my declaring my love for you?”
She tried to look away, but his gentle grip would not allow it. She closed her eyes.
“How long, Elizabeth?”
It was not so much that she did not want to answer. Everyone had known of her childish affection for him. It was just that it was hard to think of when’s and who’s when what he was doing was so deliciously distracting. Had she ever existed outside of this moment?
“The tree, the chestnut tree. On the carriage ride home. That was the first time I imagined it.”
