“I had a letter from my father this morning,” the colonel had said, launching into the topic with determination. “He is in a fine temper over the new Enclosure Bill. He seems to think the magical assessments of the land are entirely inadequate.”
Darcy, whose gaze had just met Elizabeth’s over the rim of his wine glass, had merely murmured, “Indeed.”
The colonel had pressed on. “A point I believe you made yourself last month with some vehemence,Darcy.” He had said the name with emphasis, as if trying to draw attention.
“The principles are flawed,” Darcy had replied distractedly, his focus so clearly elsewhere that Elizabeth had to suppress a smile.
Seeing he was getting nowhere with Darcy, the colonel had turned to her. “And what is your opinion on the matter,Elizabeth? As a woman with such an attuned sense to the land’s true nature.”
Elizabeth had attempted to concentrate. “Perhaps their formal assessments would be more accurate,” she had offered, her own gaze drifting back to Darcy, “if they learnt to listen to the land rather than their own speeches.”
A stirring of a smile had touched Darcy’s lips at that, a knowing gesture that had only deepened the secret current between them.
Colonel Fitzwilliam had finally surrendered with a laugh, setting down his fork. “Well, Darcy,” he had said, his eyes twinkling, “since neither politics nor philosophy can compete for your attention this evening, I shall simply have to hold you to your promise. A full, clause-by-clause dissection of the new bill, was it not? I look forward to discussing every point over port tonight.”
Darcy had looked so horrified at the prospect that the colonel had laughed aloud. “Very well, perhaps tomorrow.”
The drawing room had been somehow even more of an exquisite agony. To have him stand so close as he turned the pages of her music, his sleeve occasionally brushing her arm, was a sweet and absolute torment. The colonel, finally taking pity on them, had feigned fatigue and retired early, granting them their freedom to do the same.
So when the knock came, Elizabeth’s heart was a flutter of nervous anticipation.
She opened the door to see her husband clad in his dressing gown, his usual composure tinged with an uncharacteristic agitation.
“A moment of your time, if I may?” he asked, gesturing towards the sitting room.
She sat on the sofa, and he took a seat beside her, his fingers worrying at the cuff of his sleeve. “I feel I must begin by offering another apology — ”
Elizabeth could not bear to hear him continue in this manner. “That will hardly do. An apology is entirely the wrong place to begin,” she said quickly, “An apology implies a transgression has occurred.”
“Precisely,” he insisted, entirely missing her point. “A transgression was committed. My conduct this morning was inexcusable.”
His own perceived sense of transgression now blinded him to her affection, just as her prejudice had once blinded her to his worth. The thought endeared him to her completely.
“Inexcusable? You offered me precisely what I wished for. I said it then, and I repeat it now. Your kiss was welcome.”
But despite the absolute clarity of her statement, he seemed incapable of accepting it. It was as if he were completely overwhelmed, struggling to reconcile what she had said with everything he believed.
“Do not spare my feelings with pleasantries, Elizabeth, I beg of you,” he murmured, his voice low and intense.
She aimed for a more playful tone, hoping to show him there was truly nothing to forgive. “Is that truly the most generous interpretation you can place upon my words? Or are you simply determined to misread the situation?”
“Yes,” he said slowly, his eyes fixed on hers, “It is. I am.”
He seemed unable to find more words. In the quiet, the soft crackle of the fire was the only sound.
“What am I to make of your words?” he finally asked, his voice so full of a plaintive and desperate bewilderment that it went straight to her heart, “How am I to read that moment?”
Every fear she had harboured — that she had spoken too unforgivably, that his heart had closed to her — vanished in aninstant. The kiss had been a dizzying possibility, but his question now was the proof she needed. He had not turned from her. He was still here, still questioning, his heart still open. He wanted this. The faint hope she had dared to feel was no longer a question; it was the answer, a feeling of warmth and conviction that spread through her entire being.
“You may read it as a moment that was, in my own estimation, interrupted far too soon,” she said, her eyes shining with laughter, “But I believe I shall permit you a second kiss to prove your understanding has improved.”
Very slowly, the confusion on his face gave way to a dawning, incredulous hope.
“I think you tease me, Elizabeth,” he said huskily. She realised how much she loved hearing him say her name, how that single word from him now held a world of new, unexpected meaning.
The hint of a smile in his voice gave her courage.
“Elizabeth, hmm?” she said, keeping her tone intentionally light, as if anything else might frighten away the moment, “Then you cannot possibly expect me to continue with ‘Mr Darcy’ when you have become so familiar. Shall we perhaps try ‘Fitzwilliam?’”
