“You barely know me. You cannot possibly wish to bind yourself to a stranger.”
“You are not a stranger. We have conversed at length. I know you possess intelligence, courage, and a remarkable capacity for swift action. Sometimes too swift, admittedly, but never from malicious intent. These are qualities I admire.”
She shook her head. “Admiration is not sufficient foundation for matrimony.”
“No, but it is more than many couples possess when they wed.” He moved near enough now that she could see the fine lines at the corners of his eyes, the slight tension in his jaw. “Miss Bennet, I must correct a misapprehension you appear to harbour.”
“What misapprehension?”
“That I am not attracted to you.”
She curled her hands. “I did not mean to presume…”
“You did presume, and you presumed incorrectly.” His gaze held hers with disconcerting steadiness. “I find you exceedingly attractive. Your spirit delights me. If I regret anything about this situation, it is only the brevity of our acquaintance, not the prospect of calling you my wife.”
Words failed her. She could only stare at him slack-jawed, her pulse hammering against her throat.
“I am asking you, Elizabeth,” Her name on his lips felt lyrical, its own form of poetry. “With full awareness of the unusual circumstances that have brought us to this moment. Will you marry me?”
A thousand objections crowded her mind. They had not courted properly. This was rushed and contrary to how she had imagined her eventual betrothal. Yet beneath the objections lay something else, a whisper of possibility.
“I will marry you,” she murmured. “On one condition.”
“Name it.”
“You must ask my father’s consent. Properly.”
The corner of his mouth lifted. “I would not dream of circumventing that formality. Where might I find Mr Bennet?”
“The study. Third door on the left when you head upstairs.” She managed a tremulous smile. “I should warn you, he has been sequestered there since we arrived. I am not certain he even knows about the engagement. Mama attempted to inform him,but Papa has a remarkable capacity for selective attention when absorbed in his books.”
Mr Darcy or Fitzwilliam, as she supposed she ought to begin thinking of him, bowed. “I shall endeavour to capture his full attention, then. Wish me good fortune.”
“You will need more than good fortune with my father. You will need patience.”
His soft laugh echoed as he slipped from the room, ringing through the space long after he departed to face what might prove the most challenging negotiation of the afternoon.
***
Darcy
The study smelled of leather, pipe tobacco, and the particular mustiness that accumulates in spaces where books outnumber people. Mr Bennet sat behind the desk, spectacles perched on his nose, absorbed in a volume that appeared ancient enough to require archaeological expertise.
Darcy cleared his throat. No response whatsoever. He tried again, slightly louder this time. Still nothing.
“Mr Bennet?”
“Mmm?” The older gentleman did not look up. “Not now, Mrs Bennet. I am at a crucial passage.”
“I am not Mrs Bennet, sir.”
That achieved the desired effect quite dramatically. Mr Bennet’s head snapped up, his eyes widening behind the spectacles. “Good Lord. Who on earth are you?”
“My name is Fitzwilliam Darcy, sir. I recently inherited the estate at Glenmont Hall some miles from Westport.”
“Glenmont? Never heard of it.” Mr Bennet removed his spectacles, polishing them on his waistcoat. “Forgive my ignorance of local geography. Social gatherings and their attendant introductions tend to blur into one indistinguishable mass of meaningless chatter in my recollection. What brings you to interrupt my reading?”
“Your daughter, sir.”
