He simply needed to stop looking for problems where none existed.
The dining room had not changed in their absence, though the breakfast dishes had been cleared. Jane remained in her seat, Charlotte beside her, and Fitzwilliam had positioned himself across from them. They all looked up as Darcy and Elizabeth entered.
Elizabeth released Darcy’s arm and moved toward the centre of the room with purposeful strides, her hand extended to display his mother’s ring with deliberate emphasis. The gesture struck Darcy as theatrical, more dramatic than the moment required.
“We are engaged,” Elizabeth announced, her voice bright with an almost aggressive cheerfulness. “Mr. Darcy has done me the honour of proposing, and I have accepted. We are to be married.”
The silence that greeted this declaration felt interminable. Darcy watched the assembled company’s faces cycle through surprise and confusion before settling into more appropriate expressions of congratulation.
Charlotte recovered first, rising with a smile that seemed to require effort. “My dear Lizzy, how wonderful. What happy news indeed. Mr. Darcy, you must allow me to wish you joy.”
“Thank you, Mrs. Collins,” Darcy said, moving to stand beside Elizabeth. “I am very fortunate that Miss Elizabeth has accepted me.”
Fitzwilliam rose as well, crossing to shake Darcy’s hand. “Cousin, I am delighted for you. Miss Elizabeth, I can think of no one who would make Darcy a more suitable wife.”
“And we shall be married in London,” Elizabeth continued as Jane approached to offer an embrace. “By special licence. There is no reason to wait when we might be wed immediately.”
This time the silence lasted longer, heavy with implications. Darcy felt his own startlement, because this was very much not what he had expected Elizabeth to want. Charlotte’s carefullymaintained smile faltered. Fitzwilliam’s eyebrows rose. And Jane froze and looked shocked, before speaking with gentle concern.
“Lizzy,” Jane said, and her soft voice somehow cut through the awkwardness with startling clarity. “Surely you must want to be married from Longbourn. Mama will be heartbroken if you do not.”
The observation was delivered with Jane’s characteristic kindness, without accusation. Simply a reminder of fact that anyone who knew Mrs. Bennet would recognise as undeniably true.
Elizabeth turned toward her sister, and something in her expression made Darcy’s chest tighten. Her smile remained fixed, bright and brittle, but her eyes had gone hard. “Mama will not care,” Elizabeth said, and her tone carried dismissive certainty. “She has a daughter who will become Mrs. Darcy. That is all that will matter to her.”
The words hung in the air, true in their assessment of Mrs. Bennet’s priorities but delivered with a cruelty that was entirely unlike Elizabeth. Darcy had heard her speak of her mother with exasperation, certainly, with embarrassment even. But never with this casual dismissal.
Jane’s face reflected the hurt, though she did not protest further. She looked down at her hands rather than meeting her sister’s eyes.
“I am certain your mother will be overjoyed by the news regardless of when and where the ceremony will take place,” Charlotte said, her voice carrying diplomatic smoothness.
It was perfectly judged, Charlotte’s comment, acknowledging the truth while avoiding any suggestion that Elizabeth’s dismissal had been inappropriate. But the effort required to smooth over the awkwardness was itself evidence that something was deeply wrong.
This should be the happiest moment of Darcy’s life. He had proposed to the woman he loved, and she had accepted. Yet he stood in the Collinses’ dining room feeling increasingly like a man who had just made a terrible mistake without understanding exactly what he had done wrong.
Fitzwilliam cleared his throat. “Cousin, I believe I should accompany you back to Rosings. Aunt Catherine will be wondering where we have both disappeared to, and you will want to inform her of your news.”
“Yes,” Darcy agreed, the word emerging more heavily than he intended. “We should return to Rosings.”
He looked down at Elizabeth, at the woman who wore his ring but seemed increasingly unlike the person he had fallen in love with. “May I call on you tomorrow? Perhaps we might walk again and discuss the arrangements.”
“Of course,” Elizabeth said, and her smile remained bright and uncomplicated. “I look forward to it, Mr. Darcy. We have so much to plan.”
Darcy executed a bow toward Charlotte and Jane. “Mrs. Collins, thank you for your hospitality. Miss Bennet, a pleasure to see you again.”
Jane inclined her head, but her attention remained fixed on Elizabeth rather than on Darcy. He saw her lips part as though she might say something, some protest or question, but then she closed her mouth and simply watched.
Darcy and Fitzwilliam made their farewells and stepped out into the morning. The door closed behind them, and Darcy found himself standing in the parsonage garden, engaged to be married, feeling significantly more uncertain than he had before he proposed.
Chapter Seventeen
Thedaywasgrowingwarm by the time they left the parsonage behind, sunshine pressing down on Darcy’s shoulders with a weight that should have felt pleasant but instead seemed oppressive. His hand moved to his waistcoat pocket again, confirming the absence of his mother’s ring, now residing on Elizabeth’s finger where it belonged. The gesture should have brought satisfaction. Instead, Darcy found himself touching empty fabric and feeling only hollow uncertainty.
Beside him, Fitzwilliam walked with the easy stride of a man who had witnessed something he found privately amusing. He waited until they had cleared the parsonage gate before speaking.
“Well, cousin,” Fitzwilliam said, and Darcy could hear the grin in his words. “You have been remarkably efficient this morning. Left for a simple walk and returned engaged to be married.”
Darcy managed something that might have passed for a smile. “I saw no reason to delay once I had determined my course.”
