“Mr. Darcy,” she said softly, “you should not say such things to me.”
“Why?”
“Because I am not equal to hearing them lightly.”
“I do not say them lightly.”
The words were low, but they carried more weight than any louder declaration could have done.
Silence fell between them.
Not empty.
Not uncertain.
Full.
It pressed upon them both, not with discomfort, but with something that required neither explanation nor immediate resolution.
Elizabeth turned her head slightly, as though the act of looking away might restore a measure of composure she felt slipping.
At length, she said, “I have tried very hard to be grateful. To be useful. To wish for nothing that would make me restless.”
Darcy’s gaze did not leave her.
“And now?”
A faint, unsteady laugh.
“Now I find I was not so successful as I believed.”
There was no bitterness in it. Only honesty.
Darcy felt the force of that admission more keenly than any argument she had offered.
“If wishing has returned,” he said, “perhaps it has done so for a reason.”
Her response was not forthcoming. However, she offered no refutation.
That, he thought, was answer enough.
They slowed as the path curved back toward the clearing.
Neither spoke for several moments, though the silence between them had altered. It no longer carried the same tension as before. Something had shifted. Something acknowledged, if not yet named.
Darcy became aware, as they approached the edge of the trees, of the sound of voices returning—Lydia’s laughter first, then Bingley’s, then the softer tones of the others.
Elizabeth’s hand moved slightly, as though preparing to withdraw.
He felt the motion and did not resist it.
She stepped back, reclaiming the small distance required by propriety, though the absence of her hand was immediately felt.
They rejoined the others more slowly than they had left.
The ordinary world closed around them once more—laughter, conversation, movement—but the future she had once accepted no longer felt fixed.
Elizabeth resumed her place among her sisters with composure that might have deceived anyone who had not walked beside her moments before. Lydia drew her into conversation at once, speaking of something trivial with enthusiasm that required no reply beyond acknowledgment. Kitty stood near her shoulder, shifting slightly to ensure Elizabeth remained within her line of sight.
