“Forgive me for the liberty,” he murmured, their lips still close.
“There is nothing to forgive.” Her palm still cupped his cheek. “I liked it very much.”
Elizabeth shifted, but only to slip her hand into the crook of his arm. When he looked at her, she smiled and rested her head against his shoulder—a gesture so natural, so unguarded, that his breath caught.
“I have been told you do not often stay in Kent for long. Mr. Collins, it seems, has suffered greatly from your aunt’s…ramblings.” Elizabeth released his arm and sat up. Darcy immediately felt the loss, but said nothing.
“My cousin and I rarely stay more than a week. But I believe the colonel will not object to lengthening our visit. He means to court Anne—and, I believe, win her regard.” Darcy smiled gently. “He will make her a fine husband. Richard is dutiful and kind; he would not wound her willingly. Though he is expected to marry an heiress, it is not his chief motive in seeking our cousin’s hand. Anne ought to be mistress of Rosings, yet she will not defy her mother. My uncle, Lord Matlock, has asked Richard to remove her to Matlock House, as other matters have, regrettably, delayed himself from addressing the situation with his sister.”
Elizabeth clapped her hands, which had rested in her lap since their kiss. “I am so happy for Miss de Bourgh!” she cried. “I cannot fathom the misery she has borne for so long!” But then her face clouded. “Perhaps I can. My mother… Oh, poor Mary.”
She turned to him, regret softening her gaze. “Do you recall my next youngest sister? We have grown close. My mother sees no beauty in her third daughter and thus attempted to marry her to Mr. Collins. Mary asked for help, so I spoke toCharlotte, suggesting we might direct him toward her instead. That conversation was the very one you overheard.”
Her cheeks flushed red as she brought both hands to her face. “I am mortified by the way I spoke of Mr. Collins. Though he is often absurd, Charlotte suits him perfectly. She has softened his harsher tendencies, and in time, he may become quite tolerable. And yet, I—who admonishes to only look at one’s heart—mocked him for his manner and person. I see now that I judged him as harshly as others have judged you.” She looked down, her voice quieter. “It was badly done of me, too.”
“Let us think on it no more.” He spoke soothingly, hoping to ease her distress. “Spring is a time of renewal. Let us begin anew—fresh, like the budding leaves and the flowers coming to life.” He paused and stood, taking Elizabeth by the hand and pulling her up beside him. “When you leave Rosings, I shall follow. There are still some months left in the season, and it is an ideal time to court a lovely lady—provided she does not mind the stares that will surely follow us. I fear they are inevitable. But we shall have the support of my aunt, Lady Matlock, and her husband, the earl—”
Elizabeth interrupted him. “Mr. Darcy, I believe you have missed a rather important step in planning our future.”
Her countenance, far from censure, sparkled with mischief, and he was enchanted. He knew at once what she meant.
Darcy caught both her hands and gathered them to his chest, pressing her slender fingers against the steady beat of his heart. Stepping closer—so near that his breath mingled with hers—he spoke. “Elizabeth, my dearest, will you grant me the honor of a formal courtship? Though I feel I have forfeited every claim to your good opinion, I long for the chance to prove myself worthy. This heart,”—he guided her hands a fraction higher—“has been yours from the moment I understood it, and it shall remain so, if you will permit me to show it day by day.”
“A courtship is a fine beginning.” Elizabeth’s joy was unmistakable. “Yes, sir, I shall.” She reluctantly released his hands.
“Charlotte will be missing me. I have been gone far longer than usual.” Together, they began the walk back toward the parsonage. Elizabeth regaled him with stories, some drawn from her childhood, others she plainly invented to amuse him. In turn, he spoke of his father and sister, and of his mother—who, when he was a boy, had told him to ‘look on the heart,’ just as Mr. Bennet had suggested Elizabeth do. There was not time to offer a full portrait, but it was a beginning.
“Will you walk tomorrow?” he asked, holding open the garden gate.
“If the sun shines? Yes, of course! Winter kept me far too confined, and London walks were never so engaging. I plan to make full use of Rosings Park and the surrounding country during my visit.” She smiled shyly. “Bluebells?”
He understood her meaning at once. Nodding, he stepped back and watched until the door closed behind her. His apology had turned out better than he had dared hope, and he would be forever grateful for her forgiveness.
Chapter Twenty-Four
April 1812
Kent
Elizabeth
Mr.DarcyfaithfullycourtedElizabeth for the remainder of her stay in Kent. Their daily walks became a cherished ritual, and though they had spoken no further affirmations of love, a steady certainty took root between them—one neither had known before.
As the day of her departure neared, he, too, planned to return to London. Lady Catherine, he reported, had protested his decision most vehemently, declaring that his business in Kent remained unfinished.
“She insisted I ought not to leave until I had secured a betrothal to my cousin,” Darcy said dryly as they strolled alongone of the winding paths near the parsonage. “I regret to say I disappointed her.”
Elizabeth suppressed a smile. “And does Lady Catherine know the reason she will be disappointed?”
“She does not,” he admitted, a faint smirk curving his lips. “Yet soon enough, she shall. The colonel’s efforts to win our cousin’s affection have borne fruit. Anne blossoms under his care, and I believe she will accept his proposal when he offers it.”
Elizabeth’s smile deepened. “I am very pleased for Miss de Bourgh. Every lady deserves a happy ending.”
Darcy gave a low laugh, though it held little mirth. “Yes, a life away from an overbearing mother who speaks unkindly of her daughter.” He exhaled. “I ought not to speak ill of my aunt, but it grows ever harder to remain silent. She has spent years belittling and restricting Anne, stifling her at every turn.”
Elizabeth nodded, turning thoughtful. “I understand you perfectly. Whenever Lady Catherine speaks ill of Miss de Bourgh—or of you—I must restrain myself from leaping to your defense. Your cousin is far more than the pale shadow her mother has tried to make of her. And as for you, sir…” she hesitated, casting a brief glance at him before continuing. “Your character is such that no outward appearance can diminish it.”
Darcy’s glance touched her—warm, unreadable—but no words followed.
