“And I you.” She moved closer, lowering her voice so that only he could hear. “I wished to thank you. For your kindness last night.To Lydia, and to—” She paused, color rising in her cheeks. “To me. In the alcove.”
Darcy's heart pounded. “It was nothing.”
“It was not nothing.” Her eyes held his, earnest and searching. “You have been... I confess I do not entirely understand you, Mr. Darcy. But I find I wish to.”
The words did as much as a pugilist’s jab to steal the breath from his lungs. She wished to understand him. She was open to him in a way she had not been before.
This was his moment.
“Miss Elizabeth,” he said, his voice rough with everything he was trying to contain, “there is something I wish to tell you. Something important.”
She looked surprised but not unwelcoming. “Yes?”
He took a breath, marshaling his thoughts, preparing to speak the words he had rehearsed all morning?—
“LYDIA! LYDIA, WHERE ARE YOU? FETCH THE RIBBONS AT ONCE!”
Mrs. Bennet burst into the room, her cap askew, her expression frantic.
“We are to have guests this evening—a small gathering—and nothing is prepared! Jane, you must help with the arrangements. Lizzy, remind Hill the good silver needs polishing. Where is that wretched girl? LYDIA!”
The moment shattered.
Miss Elizabeth stepped back, her expression apologetic. “I am sorry—I must?—”
“Of course.” Darcy forced the words through a throat gone tight with frustration. “Your mother requires you.”
“Perhaps we might speak later? At the gathering tonight?”
“I would like that. Very much.”
She held his gaze for one more moment—a soft, encouraging look that anchored something deep in his chest. Then she was gone, swept away by her mother's demands, leaving Darcy standing alone with his unspoken words and his pounding heart.
Bingley strode into the room immediately thereafter, grinning widely. “She said yes.”
Darcy blinked, pulling himself back to the present. “Miss Bennet accepted you?”
“She did! I spoke to Mr. Bennet first. He was rather dry about it, made some remark about hoping I understood what I was getting into taking on the Bennets as relations, but he gave his blessing. And then I found Jane alone in the morning room, and I asked her, and she—” Bingley's voice cracked with emotion. “She said yes, Darcy. She said she had hoped I would ask.”
“I am glad for you, Bingley. Truly.”
“I was terrified, you know. Absolutely terrified. The whole walk to Mr. Bennet's study, I was convinced he would refuse me. And then when I finally had Jane alone, I could barely get the words out. My hands were shaking. I think I may have babbled something about the weather before I managed to actually propose.” He laughed, giddy and disbelieving. “But she saidyes. ShehopedI would ask. Darcy, I am the happiest man in England!”
Despite everything—the interrupted moment, the words still burning on his tongue—Darcy felt himself smile. “I believe you are.”
“You will stand with me? At the wedding?”
“Of course.”
Bingley embraced him with enthusiasm that would have been embarrassing under any other circumstances. Darcy endured it, his thoughts already racing ahead.
Tonight. There would be a gathering tonight. Miss Elizabeth had invited him to speak with her. Had looked at him with warmth, with welcome, with something that might have been hope.
Darcy would not waste the opportunity. He had seen the change in Miss Elizabeth. Her openness. Her willingness to listen. Her shifting perception of Wickham.
She was ready to hear the truth.
And he was ready to tell it.
