Her eyes met his. “I believe you may already have heard it,” she said.
He did not look away. “I would rather be certain.”
Elizabeth drew a small breath. “I had thought,” she said, “that you might wish for an answer – that I ought no longer to delay giving it.”
Darcy came nearer still.
“And may I understand,” he said, more quietly, “that you accept me – fully – and that you would consent to become my wife?”
Elizabeth’s composure did not falter, but something in her expression softened. “You may understand it perfectly,” she said.
A silence followed, but it was no longer uncertain. Darcy stood very still, as though the weight of what had been resolved had not yet entirely settled.
“You have made me,” he said at last, “happier than I can easily express.”
Elizabeth’s smile deepened, though she would not allow it to become too warm. “I should like to hear you attempt it some time,” she said, “but for now, that is sufficient.”
He looked at her steadily. “Then I do not mistake you?”
She laughed. “No, you do not.”
He drew a breath. “Elizabeth… thank you.”
There are few satisfactions more universally felt than that of being accepted where one most wishes to please; and even a gentleman of Mr. Darcy’s consequence was not above the comfort of it.
For a moment, he did not release her hand. The quiet between them, though softened, still held something of the gravity of what had just passed. Elizabeth met his look, and there was in her expression a warmth she did not attempt to conceal.
Then, with quiet playfulness, Elizabeth added, “I must confess, however, that I had not expected your aunt to be present at such a moment.”
“Nor I.”
“She has, at least, spared us the necessity of any further delay.”
“That she has.”
Elizabeth’s eyes brightened. “And she has afforded me another comfort besides.”
“May I ask what that is?”
“That I am not, after all, the only one in possession of… troublesome relations.”
Darcy’s composure gave way, for a moment, to unmistakable amusement. “You are perfectly right,” he said. “I must beg that you will extend your patience to mine.”
“I shall endeavour to do so,” she returned, “though I cannot promise success in every instance.”
“I shall be satisfied with your attempt.”
There was a quiet ease between them now. No uncertainty. No reserve.
Darcy lifted her hand with quiet reverence and pressed his lips to it. When he straightened, they smiled at each other – openly, without disguise or restraint.
“Fitzwilliam… I am very happy also.”
Darcy, affected, offered her his arm. “Shall we return?”
Elizabeth placed her hand upon it without hesitation. “Yes,” she said. “I think we may.”
And together, with a composure which neither of them had possessed when they first entered, they left the room.
