“You cannot be serious,” Miss Elizabeth whispered.
“I have never been more earnest in my life.” Darcy took a step toward her. “Miss Elizabeth, you have captured my attention from the minute you walked into Netherfield to care for your sister. You have shown grace under circumstances that would test a saint. You are intelligent, principled, and possess a spirit that I find utterly captivating.”
“Me? I—” Her hand went to her throat.
“You are the only woman of my acquaintance that Icould see as the mistress of Pemberley. And if I am being honest, you are the only woman who has ever made me want to be a better man.”
Miss Elizabeth’s eyes had filled with tears again, but these seemed different from the tears she had shed moments before. “Mr. Darcy, this is madness. We hardly know each other.”
“Then we shall have a lifetime to remedy that. I will not pretend this is a romantic proposal worthy of poetry. You are in a desperate situation that requires desperate measures. But I promise you this: your happiness will become my primary concern, my life’s work if necessary. And perhaps, in time, we might find that we suit each other very well indeed.”
He could see her wavering, and he played his final card. “Pemberley has a library that spans two floors and contains over a thousand volumes. I suspect you could spend years exploring it and never exhaust its treasures.”
Despite the tears and the fear and the uncertainty, Miss Elizabeth laughed. “Are you attempting to bribe me with books, Mr. Darcy?”
“Is it working?”
She took his measure, and Darcy felt as though she could see straight through to his soul.
“Mr. Darcy,” Elizabeth said, her voice careful, “I must confess something. Until tonight, I thought very ill of you. Mr. Wickham spoke to me of your history together, of grievances between you. He painted a picture of a proud, unfeeling man who treated him with shocking cruelty. I believed him readily because it confirmed what I already thought of you. After tonight—after what you have done—I must know all.”
Darcy’s hands fisted involuntarily. “George Wickham is a rake of the first order, Miss Elizabeth. I have verifiable proof. Contracts, testimonies from tradesmen he failed to pay, and letters from fathers whose daughters he ruined. He leaves debts and destruction everywhere he goes. His ability to charm is matched only by his ability to lie.”
She swayed, grabbing the corner of the desk to steady herself. “Thank you for telling me. I now understand that the one man I thought was good had only the appearance of the quality.”
“You are not the only one to be fooled. My beloved father never learned of Wickham’s true character. He died fully convinced that his godson was the best of men.”
“That must have caused you pain.” Miss Elizabeth paced. Finally, she asked her sister, “Mary? What do you think?”
Miss Mary took her sister’s hand. “I think Mr. Darcy is offering you a chance at happiness, Lizzy. A real chance, not the pale shadow of contentment you might find elsewhere. And…” She hesitated. “I think he cares for you. I can see it in the way he looks at you.”
“But what of you?” Miss Elizabeth asked. “Will you be well?”
“I will,” Miss Mary assured her. “Your absence will allow me to pursue what I wish. With that said, I cannot be happy knowing you have sacrificed yourself for my sake.”
Miss Elizabeth turned to Darcy. “This is truly what you want? Not some fleeting impulse born of chivalry?”
“I have been fighting what I want for weeks,” Darcyadmitted. “This is merely the catalyst that has forced me to act. So yes, Miss Elizabeth. This is truly what I want.”
She closed her eyes briefly, and Darcy could almost see her calculating the risks and benefits. When she opened them again, there was resolve in their depths.
“Very well, Mr. Darcy. I accept your proposal. Heaven help us both.”
Relief flooded through him so powerfully that he took both of her hands in his and brought them to his lips. “Then I shall speak to your father now, explaining my intentions.”
“No!” Miss Mary drew closer, her face stern. “Papa is the sort to take immense satisfaction in exercising his wit at someone else’s expense. He would enjoy having control over you, Mr. Darcy, as he insists that his ‘favorite’ daughter was already promised to another.”
“He would refuse me?”
“Eventually, no. For now, he would see your proposal as validation of his own cleverness, sir,” Mary said. “He forced Lizzy’s hand, and a wealthy gentleman immediately appeared, confirming everything he believes about his own brilliance.”
Elizabeth, for she was his Elizabeth, nodded. “And he will say you are acting out of pity or obligation. Worse, he will insist on a lengthy courtship, doing things properly for once. Every convention he ignores in his own household will suddenly become sacred if it means wielding control over me.”
Darcy rubbed his hand over his mouth. “What sort of father?—”
“The sort who demands control though he does nothing to earn it,” Miss Mary replied.
“Then we must be gone before Mr. Collins offers for you.”
