The next hour was a blur of domestic chaos that Elizabeth watched with a sense of surreal wonder. She saw the Viscount sitting on the floor, showing Henry how to properly mount the rocking horse, his expensive breeches collecting lint, his laughter ringing out as loud as the boy's. Jane sat nearby, watching him with a look of utter adoration.
She saw Miss Darcy helping Alice and Ruth tie ribbons into their hair, the shy girl blossoming under the uncritical admiration of the little ones.
And she saw Mr Darcy.
He stood by the fireplace at first, stiff and watchful. But when Ruth approached him, holding up a wooden soldier he had brought, he melted. He crouched down—THE Fitzwilliam Darcy, crouching on a Cheapside rug—and engaged in a serious conversation about the tactical disadvantages of a wooden musket.
He looked up and caught Elizabeth watching him. His face softened. The arrogance was gone, replaced by a tentative,hopeful warmth.
"We intrude," he said softly when she brought him a cup of coffee.
"You are most welcome," she replied, and meant it. "You have made their day. And I suspect, my sister's."
"And yours?"
"I am pleasantly surprised," she admitted. "I did not peg you for a man who played with wooden soldiers."
"I have a younger sister," he reminded her. "I have spent many Christmases on the floor playing games."
"It suits you."
He smiled, and Elizabeth felt that dangerous flutter in her chest again.
"The children seem restless," he noted, looking at Henry, who was now galloping the rocking horse with alarming speed. "Would you object to a walk? The park nearby is covered in snow. It might be refreshing."
"A walk," Elizabeth agreed, seeing the opportunity. "I think that is an excellent idea. We all need to cool our heads."
The park was a few streets away, a square of common land that had been transformed by winter into a pristine playground. The children ran ahead, screaming with joy, while the adults followed at a more sedate pace.
The group naturally fractured. Lord Keathley and Jane drifted to the left, ostensibly to admire a frozen fountain but mostly to gaze into each other's eyes. Mrs Gardiner and Miss Darcy walked with the children, leaving Mr Darcy and Elizabeth relatively alone.
The air was biting, but Elizabeth felt warm in her heavy cloak. Mr Darcy walked beside her, his hands clasped behind his back, his stride matching hers.
"Mr Darcy," she began, deciding to broach the subject that had kept her awake half the night. "Last night, in the hallway. You received a letter."
He stiffened slightly, but he didn't pull away. "I did."
"You looked grave. And you were talking to your uncle. About not hiding anymore." She stopped walking and turned to face him. "Is everything well? I would not pry, but you seemed worried."
Mr Darcy sighed, his breath pluming in the cold air. He looked at the grey sky, then down at her.
"The letter was from my aunt, Lady Catherine de Bourgh. She claims there is a compact between our mothers—a pre-engagement from our cradles—uniting me with my cousin Anne. She intends to make that engagement public and binding before the New Year."
Elizabeth felt a cold knot of dread. "And will she succeed? She is a formidable woman, from what I recall from Mr Collins' rhapsodizing. And you have great respect for your family's wishes."
Mr Darcy took a step closer. He looked different today. The hesitation that had marked him since their meeting at the bookshop was gone, replaced by a quiet, ironclad certainty.
"There is no compact," he said firmly. "There never was. It is a fiction she created to suit her own desires. And as for her success... no. She will not succeed."
"You seem very sure."
"I am sure because I have finally realized that living my life to please others is a recipe for misery. I spent years trying to be the perfect Darcy, the perfect nephew, the perfect master. And it made me arrogant, proud, closed-off, and lonely."
He reached out and took her gloved hand. They were in a public park, but he didn't seem to care. "I am done, Elizabeth. Let her come. Let her shout. Let her threaten to disown me. It changes nothing."
"And what..." Elizabeth's voice trembled at the sound of her Christian name on his mouth. "What is it that you are protecting so fiercely? What is it that changes nothing?"
"My hope," he said simply. "My hope that one day, when I have proven myself worthy, I might have a future that is of my own choosing. There is no engagement to Anne. There never will be. That is what I wanted you to know."
