"New Year's Eve," he said. "Midnight. It is significant."
"Is it?" She looked at him innocently. "I thought it was merely a change of date."
"It is a change of everything," he said intensely. "Or I hope it will be."
Elizabethfelt a flush rise in her cheeks. She knew. Of course she knew. But seeing him like this—vulnerable, eager, stripping away his pride layer by layer just to stand before her—made her heart ache with love.
Across the room, she saw Robert and Jane. They weren't dancing. They were standing near the punch bowl, looking guilty and ecstatic. Jane raised her hand to wave, and a flash of sapphire caught the light.
Elizabeth gasped. "Look."
Darcy followed her gaze. He saw the ring. He saw Robert's smug expression.
"He did it," Darcy groaned. "The scoundrel. He proposed before midnight. He stole the moment."
"He stoleamoment," Elizabeth corrected, squeezing Darcy's hand. "Notthemoment. Not our moment."
Darcy looked back at her. The frustration vanished, replaced by a heat that made her knees weak.
"No," he agreed. "Not ours."
The dance ended. The room began to clear as guests moved towards the supper room.
"Come," Darcy said, ignoring the flow of the crowd. "I need air. And I need you."
He didn't wait for an answer. He led her away from the ballroom, away from the noise, towards the glass doors that led to the terrace.
The terrace was cold, but the cold was bracing. The snow had stopped, leaving a world of stark contrasts—black sky, white ground, and the golden spill of light from the ballroom windows.
He led her to a stone balustrade overlooking the garden. He didn't let go of her hand.
"Are you cold?" he asked, his voice low.
"No. The excitement keeps me warm."
"Elizabeth." He turned to her. He looked nervous. He looked magnificent. "I had a plan. I had a strategy. I was going to wait for the bells. I was going to make a speech about resolutions."
"I like resolutions," she whispered.
"But I find... I find I cannot wait for the bells. I cannot wait another second."
He took a step back, giving her space, giving her the choice.
"This year..." he began, his voice shaking slightly. "This year began with me as a man I do not like to remember. A man who was proud. Closed. A man who thought he knew the worth of everyone he met."
"You were protecting yourself," she said softly.
"I was hiding," he corrected. "And then I met you. And you looked at me with those eyes, those fine, unforgiving eyes, and you saw me. You saw the man I was, and you challenged me to be better."
He reached into his pocket.
"My resolution for the New Year," he said, "is not to be the Master of Pemberley. It is not to be the nephew of an Earl. It is to be the man who deserves you. To be the man who makes you laugh. The man who buys you books and stands by your side against the world."
He pulled out the ring. It was a simple velvet box, but in his hand, it looked like the weight of theworld.
"I do not offer you perfection, Elizabeth. I am still learning. I am still stubborn and proud. But I offer you my heart. Completely. Irrevocably."
He knelt. In the snow, on the terrace, Fitzwilliam Darcy knelt before her.
