The words stopped him completely. His heart, which had been racing with anxiety about her sisters’ arrival, simply ceased its usual rhythm and began again differently—as though his entire body had reorganized itself around those four words.
She had said she would love him. She had promised to try. But this—this was not a promise for the future. This was a declaration in the present.
“Say it again,” he managed, his voice rough.
Elizabeth’s eyes softened. She reached up and rested her hands on his lapels, the gesture tender and sure. “I love you, William. Not because you saved me, though you did. Not because you brought my sisters here, though that was a precious gift. I love you because you are good and kind and patient. Because you see me clearly and do not wish me to be someone else. Because when I think about our future, I see not duty or obligation, but possibility and joy.” She smiled, and it was radiant. “I love you. Truly. Freely.”
Darcy could not speak. Could not move. Could only stand there and feel the honesty of what she had just given him soak into every corner of his being.
Then he pulled her into his arms and kissed her—not the careful, restrained kisses they had shared in corridors and alcoves, but a kiss that held nothing back. A kiss that said everything he had been holding in his heart for weeks.
When they finally broke apart, Elizabeth was laughing softly against his chest.
“I take it that you are pleased?”
“Pleased,” Darcy repeated, pressing his forehead to hers. “Elizabeth, I am undone. Completely and irrevocably undone by you.”
“Good,” she said, and kissed him again.
Bingley’s carriagearrived at a quarter of an hour past four. Darcy did not doubt that Elizabeth had pressed herself flat against the wall beside the window, craning her neck to glimpse the street below. Bingley handed down his betrothed from the carriage.
Miss Bennet emerged, pale and tired, her eyes shadowed with worry that even the pleasure of arriving in London could not conceal. Behind her came Miss Mary, plainly dressed but self-possessed, alert with intelligence.
Henderson admitted the party into the house. Darcy escorted Miss Mary down the corridor with Bingley and his betrothed following behind.
After their welcome by the Matlocks, the ladies refreshed themselves after their journey, as did Bingley.
Once the sisters returned to the drawing room, Darcy set aside his cup.
“Miss Bennet. Miss Mary,” he said, and the tone of his voice made the entire table fall silent. “I wonder if you might accompany me. There is someone who very much wishes to see you.”
Miss Bennet was politely confused. “Of course, Mr. Darcy. We will be pleased to receive an introduction to your sister.”
Beside her, Miss Mary stilled. She understood. Of course, she understood.
“Please,” Darcy said. “Come with me.”
He led them from the room and up the stairs. Bingley followed closely behind to the small sitting room.
Miss Bennet’s brow furrowed with gentle bewilderment. Miss Mary pressed her lips together very firmly, her eyes unnaturally bright.
Darcy opened the door.
Elizabeth stood in the center of the room. She had been pacing, clearly. She stopped mid-step, simultaneously stunned and incandescent with joy.
The silence lasted less than a heartbeat.
“Lizzy.”
It was Mary who said it first, as though she could not quite believe what she was seeing despite having known all along. And then Miss Bennet made a sound that was not a word at all, raw and relieved, and all three sisters converged in a tangle of arms and tears and voices all talking at once.
Darcy stepped back into the corridor and pulled the door closed, leaving them their privacy. Elizabeth’s laugh—that infectious laugh he had fallen in love with—rising above the rest.
“You knew,” Bingley said beside him.
“I did,” Darcy replied.
“She has been here all this time?”
