But beneath the practical considerations lay something more painful. The loss of hope he had carried for months, the dream of building a life with Elizabeth that would now never materialise. He had known, of course, that this might be her choice. Had tried to prepare himself for the possibility during the long minutes while she lay unconscious after drinking the reversal potion. But knowing something intellectually and facing it as reality were vastly different experiences.
He looked at Elizabeth, searching her face for some indication of her feelings. She had gone very still at Jane’s question, her fingers freezing on the wedding ring. Her expression showed conflict that matched what Darcy felt churning in his own chest, uncertainty mixed with something he could not quite identify.
“We need to discuss it further,” Darcy managed, hearing his voice emerge rougher than he intended. “Elizabeth and I. Itis not a decision to be made lightly or quickly, regardless of external pressures.”
Elizabeth met his gaze finally, her eyes searching his face with intensity that made him want to look away even as it held him captive. “Yes,” she agreed softly. “We should discuss it. Privately.”
Fitzwilliam had been watching this exchange with expression that suggested he understood more than Darcy would prefer. His cousin leaned back in his chair, his posture deceptively casual despite the tension that lined his shoulders.
“You should know,” Fitzwilliam said, his tone carefully neutral, “that if you wish to pursue an annulment, it must be decided before nightfall. Tonight, specifically.” He paused, seeming to weigh his next words with deliberate care. “The only grounds that would not require extensive investigation or church approval would be non-consummation. But once the marriage has been consummated, or even believed to be consummated, that option becomes unavailable. The church will not grant annulment simply because one party was deceived about the other’s identity, particularly when the deception involved something as impossible to prove as body swapping.”
The words hung in the air between them, creating a moment of profound awkwardness that made Darcy want to order his cousin from the room. The implication was clear and deeply uncomfortable. It reduced their marriage to a crude calculation of timing and physical acts, stripped away any romance or genuine feeling that might develop between them. Darcy hated it, hated the necessity of making such a decision under pressure of deadline rather than allowing events to unfold naturally. But Fitzwilliam was right. This was the reality they faced, uncomfortable as it might be.
Jane had gone pink at the Colonel’s frank speech, her gaze dropping to her lap with embarrassment that would havebeen amusing under different circumstances. But she recovered quickly, rising from her chair with movements that suggested purposeful retreat.
“Perhaps Colonel Fitzwilliam and I should give you privacy to discuss this matter,” Jane said, her voice carrying forced brightness that did not quite mask her discomfort. “We have imposed on your time together long enough.”
She looked at Fitzwilliam with expression that clearly communicated expectation, and he rose as well, though his face showed reluctance to leave before the matter was fully settled. But Jane’s meaningful glance brooked no argument, and he moved toward the door with the resigned air of someone who recognised when retreat was the better part of valour.
“We will be downstairs if you need anything,” Fitzwilliam said, pausing at the threshold to look back at them. “Take whatever time you require. This decision should not be rushed, despite the unfortunate constraints placed upon it.”
They departed, Jane’s hand finding Fitzwilliam’s elbow with familiarity that suggested their acquaintance had developed significantly during recent events. The door closed behind them with quiet click that seemed to seal Darcy and Elizabeth into sudden, profound privacy.
The silence that settled over the room after Jane and Fitzwilliam’s departure felt different. This quiet carried weight, significance that pressed against Darcy’s chest and made the simple act of breathing feel momentous. The mantel clock ticked with steady rhythm, each sound marking seconds that slipped away toward the deadline his cousin had imposed. Shadowslengthened across the floor as afternoon gave way to early evening, the light shifting from gold to amber to something deeper that suggested twilight approached faster than Darcy would have preferred.
He remained seated at the small table, his hands still clasped before him though the position had grown uncomfortable. Elizabeth sat beside him, close enough that he could have reached for her hand again if he dared. But he kept his fingers locked together, uncertain whether touch would be welcome or presumptuous given what they must discuss.
What did he say? How did he approach a conversation that would determine the entire course of his future? Darcy had faced difficult negotiations before, had navigated complex social situations and managed delicate family matters. But none of that experience felt relevant now, when everything he wanted hung in balance and the wrong words could destroy his only chance at happiness.
He could tell her he loved her. Could explain how that love had grown from initial attraction into something that consumed his thoughts and influenced his every action. But declarations of feeling seemed inadequate when she might not want those feelings directed at her, might prefer a clean break to the complications of building a marriage from such strange foundations.
He could point out that annulment would create its own scandal, questions about what had gone wrong so quickly that they could not even manage to remain married through their wedding day. But using social pressure to keep her trapped in vows she might not want felt wrong, manipulative in ways that made his stomach turn.
The silence stretched longer, growing heavier with each passing second. Darcy drew a breath and released it slowly,forcing himself to speak despite not knowing what words would emerge until they were already leaving his mouth.
“What do you want, Elizabeth?”
The question came out softer than he intended, his usual confidence abandoned in favour of genuine humility that left him feeling exposed. He turned slightly in his chair to face her more directly, needing to see her expression when she answered even if what he saw there might break his heart.
“I will not press you to remain married if that is not your wish,” Darcy continued, somehow speaking calmly despite the emotion that threatened to overwhelm his composure. “I know the vows you spoke were not truly yours, that you had no say in this union. If you want an annulment, I will pursue it without argument or reproach. Your happiness matters more to me than my own desires.”
The admission cost him more than he had anticipated, each word feeling like it was being dragged from somewhere deep in his chest. But it was true. He did want her happiness more than his own, wanted to see her free and content even if that freedom meant losing any chance of a future together. Loving someone meant wanting their wellbeing above personal satisfaction, and Darcy had learned that lesson thoroughly.
Elizabeth remained silent for a long moment, her gaze fixed on his face with intensity that made him want to look away even as it held him captive. She was studying him, he realised, searching for something in his expression that would help her make sense of whatever she was feeling. Her hands had moved from her lap to rest on the table between them, close enough to his that their fingers nearly touched.
“You truly mean that,” Elizabeth said finally, her voice carrying wonder mixed with something that might have been respect. “You would let me go if I asked it.”
“Yes,” Darcy replied simply, because there was no other answer he could give with honesty. “Though I confess I hope you will not ask it.”
The addition slipped out before he could prevent it, vulnerability making him incautious. He saw Elizabeth’s expression shift, something softening in her eyes that gave him fragile hope even as his rational mind warned against reading too much into a single look.
But instead of answering his implied question, instead of stating her own desires or explaining what she wanted from their marriage, Elizabeth tilted her head slightly and asked something that caught Darcy completely unprepared.
“Why is it that you fell in love with me?” Her voice remained steady despite the directness of the question, her gaze never leaving his face. “Howis it that you fell in love with me, after first judging me not handsome enough to tempt you?”
The words struck him with force of a physical blow, shame flooding through him as he remembered that night at the Meryton assembly. He had been in a foul mood, irritated by his friend’s insistence on dragging him to a provincial gathering where he knew no one. Bingley’s suggestion that he dance with Elizabeth had felt like one interference too many, and he had responded with cutting rudeness designed to end the conversation rather than engage with it.
Not handsome enough to tempt me. God, what a cruel thing to say, particularly within her hearing. That she had remembered the slight all these months later, had carried it with her through everything else that had passed between them, made his shame intensify until his face burned with it.
