She accepted it.
The contact was slight, the pressure of her fingers light against his palm, but it was enough to sharpen his awareness in a way that felt both unwelcome and entirely unavoidable. He adjusted his pace at once to match her step, guiding without presumption as they moved away from the others.
They followed a narrower path that curved gently away from the clearing. The grass beneath their feet gave way to firmer ground, still faintly damp from the previous day’s rain. Overhead, the branches filtered the light into shifting patterns that moved with the breeze, the air cooler here, quieter.
Behind them, the sounds of the party softened.
Laughter, voices, the occasional clatter of dishes—each receded until they became little more than a distant murmur.
At first, their conversation was light.
He spoke of Georgiana, of her evident enjoyment of the afternoon. Elizabeth answered with warmth, remarking upon Lydia’s efforts to draw her out, and Kitty’s gentler attentions that ensured she was not overwhelmed. There was a brief exchange regarding music, Mary’s enthusiasm, and the peculiar way in which even the smallest gathering at Longbourn became an occasion of consequence.
It was easy.
Too easy.
And because it was easy, it could not remain so.
“You do not speak of yourself kindly,” Darcy said at last.
Elizabeth stilled.
The change was slight. A pause in her step, scarcely perceptible. A tightening of her fingers where they rested upon his arm. He felt it, though he did not look at her immediately.
“I know myself too well.”
“I do not think that follows.”
“My life is simply what it is.”
“That sounds like surrender.”
“It is understanding.”
Her tone was steady, but there was something beneath it now, something less composed than before. Darcy slowed his pace slightly, allowing the space between their words to settle rather than pressing forward too quickly.
“And you believe reason should govern every hope?”
“Hope has governed enough foolishness.”
He turned his head then, studying her profile. The light caught along her cheek, softening the sharpness of her expression without diminishing its resolve.
“Then why should you be denied happiness?”
Her expression changed.
It was not dramatic. It did not need to be. A slight tightening at the corner of her mouth, a faint shift in her breathing. He saw it. He felt the weight of it.
“Because wanting does not make it possible.”
“And doubting does not make it impossible.”
She said nothing.
They walked a few steps in silence, the sound of their footfalls quiet against the earth.
“You think yourself unsuited to marriage.”
