Elizabeth knelt beside him, her hand covering his. “Fitzwilliam.”
His eyes opened immediately. “Elizabeth? Is something wrong?”
“You need rest. Real rest.” Her thumb traced across his knuckles. “Let me watch him for a while.”
“I am well enough?—”
“You are not.” Her free hand touched his face, the chill of exhaustion in his skin. “Please. You do not have to carry this alone.”
Something in his expression cracked. He turned his hand beneath hers, interlacing their fingers. “Stay with me?”
“Yes.” She sat beside him against the wall, and his arm came around her shoulders, drawing her close. Her head found the hollow of his shoulder as naturally as breathing.
They sat in silence, hands clasped, listening to Atlas’s steady breathing.
“Whatever happens tomorrow,” Elizabeth said, “we face it together.”
He pulled her closer. “Together.”
“Elizabeth, wake up.”Darcy shook her shoulder. “Look.”
Atlas swiveled his ears toward them as his head lifted. After a few tries, he eventually got to his feet. And he drank. Not the listless, half-hearted lipping they had been trying to coax for days. Determined drinking—long, steady pulls that spoke of genuine thirst. His head was still low, his movements slow, but he was drinking.
“He is going to live,” she said with wonder.
“Yes.” Mr. Darcy’s hand found her shoulder. “Yes, he is going to live.”
Elizabeth turned and threw her arms around his waist, sobbing with relief. “You saved him. You did this. Your knowledge, your calm, your refusal to panic?—”
“We saved him,” Mr. Darcy corrected, as he pulled her into his embrace. “I could not have done this without you and Sam, Elizabeth. I would not have wanted to.”
She pulled away, studying his face. Days of stubble covered his jaw, exhaustion he had hidden so well darkened his eyes, and relief that was almost painful in its intensity.
“Fitzwilliam.” She raised her hands to his face. “Thank you.”
“I did not do it only for Atlas,” he said. His eyes searched hers, more vulnerable and open than she had ever seen them. “I did it for you. Because I love you, Elizabeth Bennet. I fell in love with you as you learnt to ride. But I fell deeper in love with you as you refused to give up hope even when hope seemed foolish.”
Elizabeth’s heart skipped. “Fitzwilliam.”
“Let me finish. Please.” He drew a shaky breath. “I am proud, reserved, and uncomfortable in society. I often give offense without meaning to. My connections are excellent, but my temperament is not. You could do far better than?—”
“Stop. You are wrong about all of it. You are not proud—you are protective of those you love. You are not uncomfortable in society—you are selective about whose opinion matters. You speak with honesty rather than flattery, and I have never valued anything more. And as for doing better—” Her voice gentled. “There is no one better than you, Fitzwilliam Darcy. You are good and kind and honorable. You stayed by this horse’s side for days without proper sleep because you could not bear to leave him. You held me when I cried and kept me steady when I wanted to collapse. You made the difficult choices and bore the burden of them, so I would not have to. I love you. Desperately and completely and with my whole heart.”
“Elizabeth.” Her name was a prayer on his lips. “I do not deserve you.”
“Then we are matched in our unworthiness. I do not deserve a man who would bring a twenty-five-year-old horse from London simply because I mentioned wanting to ride.” She smiled through her tears. “I think we shall simply have to spend the rest of our lives trying to deserve each other.”
“Is that a yes?” His voice was unsteady, hopeful.
“Are you asking?”
“Miss Elizabeth Bennet.” He straightened despite his exhaustion, despite the hay in his hair and the wrinkledstate of his clothes. “Would you do me the great honor of becoming my wife?”
“Yes.” The word came without hesitation. “Yes, I will marry you. I will love you for the rest of my life. And I will spend every day thanking God that you brought Atlas to Hertfordshire and, in doing so, brought yourself into my life.”
He kissed her then, there in the stable with Atlas as their witness.
A soft huff from the box made them break apart. Atlas had finished drinking and watched them with what Elizabeth could have sworn was approval in his dark eyes.
