Elizabeth let out a quiet, rueful laugh. “You are kind to say so, sir. I suppose one must hope for that.”
“Other than that, Miss Elizabeth?”
“Oh, sometimes I forget that I am to wish further than that. I would also wish for my sisters to marry well—or at least happily. For my father’s health to remain strong. For my mother’s anxieties to be calmed.”
She paused, watching his face carefully.
“Please, go on, Miss Elizabeth,” he said encouragingly.
“And for myself?” she went on more quietly. “I should like to be of use. To have a home where conversation is welcome, where kindness is practiced without ceremony, and where I might laugh without fear of being thought impertinent.”
Darcy listened without interrupting, his expression softening in a way she would not have credited only a week ago.
“You do not speak of fortune or consequence,” he observed in a low voice.
Elizabeth shook her head slightly, a wry smile tugging at her lips.
“Those have never seemed the surest path to happiness, Mr. Darcy. I have seen too many who possess them and remain dissatisfied. I would rather have a modest home with warmth in it than all the grandest estates if they were ruled by pride, contempt for people, or coldness.”
There was a long, thoughtful silence. Darcy’s eyes held hers, steady and intent.
“Those are... admirable hopes,” he said finally. “And remarkably unselfish.”
Elizabeth lifted a brow at that, her smile deepening.
“I assure you, sir, I have no saintly aspirations. I should still like a well-stocked library and the freedom to say what I think. But I do not believe those must be impossible to come by.”
Mr. Darcy’s mouth quirked into the smallest of smiles.
“No,” he agreed softly. “I do not think they are impossible at all, Miss Elizabeth.”
Elizabeth let out a soft exhale that misted faintly in the autumn air. She turned her gaze toward the path ahead, where the leaves rustled in scattered gold and brown, and where she could just see the edge of the shrubbery turn that would conceal them from the house for a moment longer.
He, too, was silent, but not oppressively so. Darcy’s eyes followed the curve of the path, then flicked back to her with steady gravity.
“May I ask—do you often speak so openly of these hopes?” he said at last, his voice low with careful curiosity.
Elizabeth felt the corner of her mouth twitch wryly. “Hardly. Only to Jane, perhaps. She is the one who listens without either worrying or laughing.” She shot him a sideways glance from beneath lowered lashes. “And now you, sir—though you may yet regret such candour.”
“I shall not,” he replied, tone unexpectedly steady. “I have always valued what is genuine.”
She lifted her brows, teasing despite the serious turn. “Even when it is unflattering?”
He actually huffed a quiet laugh. “Especially then.”
They walked on a few more paces in comfortable hush, the wind stirring the last blooms in the borders and carrying the tang of turned earth and distant smoke from a cottage chimney.
Elizabeth drew her shawl closer about her shoulders. “I think most people simply want to be at ease,” she said softly, almost to herself. “But it seems so many forget how to offer that comfort to others.”
He considered that, nodding once. “And you do not?”
She shrugged. “I hope I do not. I try to see where someone is uneasy. Jane says I interfere too much. I prefer to think of it as... spirited encouragement.”
His mouth curved faintly. “Spirited seems a fair word.”
Elizabeth pretended offence, but her eyes danced. “You say that like a warning.”
“Not at all.” His voice gentled, lower. “It is a quality I... admire.”
