“Elizabeth Bennet or Elizabeth Darcy,” she corrected with gentle irony. “The question remains unresolved.”
“The question is irrelevant,” Darcy said firmly. “You are yourself, whatever name you bear. That is what matters to me.”
“I understand your sentiments, though I insist upon continuing my search for the truth.”
“I agree and respect your choice,” Darcy said. “And I insist upon providing protection, no matter the outcome. You have become dear to me, Elizabeth, and I hope that in time…”
“In time?” she prompted softly.
“In time, you might return my regard.” The admission cost him something, revealing vulnerability he had never shown another soul.
“You have declared yourself falling in love with a woman who may be your cousin and who claims your inheritance,” Elizabeth observed, a hint of her usual spirit returning. “Some might call that presumption indeed.”
“Elizabeth,” Darcy said, unable to prevent a smile at her forthrightness, “I find that conventional wisdom has little application to our situation.”
“True enough.” She met his gaze directly. “Then I shall be equally unconventional in my response. I came to Pemberley seeking answers about my parentage. Yet I find myself moved by your declaration in ways I had not anticipated.”
“And?”
“And I believe we must proceed with caution. The All Hallows’ Eve assembly approaches. Mrs. Bingley clearly has designs involving her son. Martha Wickham demands marriage to George as her price for testimony. We are surrounded by those who would manipulate us for their own ends.”
“You suggest we keep our understanding private?” Darcy asked, both disappointed and relieved by her pragmatism.
“I suggest we allow events to unfold without adding unnecessary complications,” Elizabeth clarified. “If I trulyam Elizabeth Rose Darcy, there will be time enough for… other considerations once that matter is settled.”
Darcy inclined his head, accepting her wisdom while privately resolving that he would not allow her to face the coming storm alone. “As you wish.”
The rain had nearly stopped, and sunshine streamed through the remaining clouds, creating a gleaming path across the lake’s surface. Pemberley stood in the distance, golden in the morning light, its windows flashing like jewels.
“It truly is the most handsome house in Derbyshire,” Elizabeth murmured, following his gaze.
“It would welcome you as mistress,” Darcy said quietly. “Whether by inheritance or… other means.”
She glanced at him, a smile playing at the corners of her mouth. “You are persistent, Mr. Darcy.”
“Merely truthful,” he replied. “Shall we return? I believe we may avoid the worst of the mud if we follow the ridge path.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
THREADS OF DOUBT
Elizabeth shivered slightlyas she and Darcy stepped through Pemberley’s doorway. Footmen relieved her of her wet spencer and cloak while Darcy shrugged out of his greatcoat. His hair was damp and tousled, giving him that rakish look that made her want to smooth it from his face. Had he really spilled his love and regard for her? Told her it mattered not whether she was the Darcy heiress or plain old Elizabeth Bennet?
Water pooled at their feet on the marble floor as a maid hurried forward with towels. Elizabeth was acutely aware of her bedraggled appearance—her hem six inches deep in mud, her half-boots soaked through, and her hair escaping its pins underneath a damp bonnet.
Darcy stood a proper distance away, his expression composed, though something in his eyes—a warmth, a certainty—made her heart flutter traitorously.
“I shall see you at dinner, Miss Bennet,” he said, his voice carrying nothing beyond courteous civility to the servants’ ears.
“Yes, of course, Mr. Darcy.”
He bowed and departed toward the family wing, leaving her oddly bereft despite the crowded entrance hall. Half of her wonderedif she’d heard right. That the formidable Fitzwilliam Darcy had proposed to her? Then again, she was not a mere country miss. She could be the heiress of Pemberley. Except he’d said it mattered not to him. But did it?
Your presence at Pemberley feels right, as though you belong here—with or without legal claim.
Nonsense, really. Dangerous nonsense. She had no business allowing such sentiments to cloud her judgment, not when her very identity remained in question, not when someone might have murdered her parents. Whoever had orchestrated that crime could well wish her the same fate if she discovered too much.
“Lizzy! Good heavens, child, you’re positively soaked!” Her mother’s voice trumpeted from the corridor. “What have you been about? And with Mr. Darcy, no less! Most improper to be walking unchaperoned, though I suppose, as your cousin, he might be permitted certain liberties?—”
