“Yes, but he might think I am seeking something from him, money or the like, and I am not,” said Elizabeth. “I told him that I do not feel… financially secure, I suppose.”
Mr. Darcy shifted on his feet. “This is my own fault, I think.”
“What?” She gave him a strange look. “How could it be your fault, sir?” The way this man lay blame on himself was something to behold, truly. “I know! Yesterday it rained, and this, too, was your fault.”
He gave her a beleaguered look at her teasing.
She shrugged, smiling at him.
He shook his head. “I was angry with Richard. He was hesitant to marry you, saying he didn’t have the money to keep you, and I said it was his problem, but I could have helped, and I should help, should help you both. It is only that he…” Mr. Darcy’s nostrils flared. “He is so impulsive, and he—apologies, I know you are in love with him, and I know we agreed last night that I must not speak disparagingly of him.”
“We did agree that,” she said, and she knew it was right, because she should be in love with her husband. “Iamin love with him, of course.”
“Yes, that’s not even a question,” he said. “It has always been him. You have responded to him since the beginning. You were never happy to see me, for instance, but you were always happy to see him. There was a point in time in which I did not realize this, however, not seeing that it was him you favored, not understanding—”
“Well, I never thought I could actually marry him!” she said. “It is not as if I hated you, Mr. Darcy.”
He scoffed. “Is it not?”
She licked her lips. “All right, perhaps I disliked you. But, no, never hate.”
“You didn’t even read that letter I left for you, did you?” he said, shaking his head. “You weren’t even interested in hearing me defend myself.”
“The letter!” She put a hand to her chest. “Oh, I had forgotten about that. You know, I did want to read it, but I forgot I had put it in your jacket when I gave it back. I was going to read it, but after all of that… with Mr. Wickham… the awfulness of it… I was not in the frame of mind for it, I suppose.”
“Oh,” he said, looking her over. “It was not intentionally done?”
“No,” she said. “Mr. Darcy, I have to say this. I have said it a number of times, and you have never given me a satisfactory answer, so I don’t know why I say it.” She shook her head. “No, never mind.”
“You cannot say ‘never mind,’ Miss Bennet—Mrs. Fitzwilliam.”
“Call me Elizabeth.”
His lips parted.
“It’s… amiable,” she said with a shrug.
He looked at his feet.
“We are family now,” she said.
He let out a breath. “Yes, you are his wife.” He said this to his feet firmly, “You really cannot say ‘never mind.’ You must come out with it.”
“Oh, fine,” she said. “Why?”
“Why? What do you mean by that?”
“I seem to cause you nothing but pain, Mr. Darcy. Why do you persist in doing things for me, helping me, looking into the secrets of my past, all of that? Why?”
“Oh, God, Elizabeth, you know the answer to that, and I shan’t say it aloud.”
“Well, if I am not allowed to say ‘never mind,’ then you are not allowed to dodge the answer!”
“You know it.”
“I do not.”
“I am in love with you,” he whispered.
