Chapter 37
Elizabeth picked up the purse from the table and placed it upon her lap.
“Do you wish to leave?” he asked.
Elizabeth shook her head, secretly enjoying the teasing note in his voice, and in an instant, her composure returned. “Certainly not.”
Those few words settled the atmosphere between them at once. There was friendship, ease, and an understanding that neither felt the need to disguise, a freedom they had never known before when together.
She placed the purse back upon the table, but he seemed already to have guessed her intention. Perhaps not the cameo itself, but the money he had given to Wickham.
“I have no interest in anything contained in that purse.”
Elizabeth inclined her head, accepting his decision without argument. “Thank you,” was all she said.
“I am waiting for something else,” he replied with sudden impatience. “What is it you wished to tell me?”
“I think you already know,” she replied, attempting to evade the question, though a smile appeared in her eyes.
“I require considerably more than a smile, Miss Elizabeth.”
“Once, you called me Elizabeth.”
“And yet you have never called me Fitzwilliam.”
“Fitzwilliam,” she murmured, her face still bright with a smile.
“It is still not enough,” he decided.
“What do you expect? That I should propose to you, so that you may refuse me?”
Darcy burst into laughter, and Elizabeth found herself thinking that perhaps his little sister had been right, for never before had she heard him laugh in such a manner. He was genuinely amused, surrendering himself completely to a mood he made no effort either to conceal or restrain.
“Yes, I should very much enjoy refusing you. I should like to see your face and discover whether you would be astonished, angry, or something else entirely.” He paused, his gaze fixed upon her face, watching for the slightest change.
“But I would not risk it,” he finally said, laughing again, though more softly this time.
“Then what? What do you expect from me?”
“A reason not to refuse you,” he said, suddenly serious.
For all her intelligence and long practice in verbal skirmishes, Elizabeth was so stirred that she simply failed to understand. “A reason not to refuse me?”
“Yes. What reason could there possibly be?” he replied, returning to his teasing manner. “What could you possibly offer that would interest me sufficiently not to refuse you?”
At last, she understood, though she said nothing. As she did not answer, he decided to continue with determination. The truth had to be spoken eventually, though certainly not in the manner in which he had spoken it in Kent. It must be expressedas a proper acknowledgement, lightly playful and wholly generous, of another person's life and all that accompanied it.
“From a material point of view, I do not see what you could offer me…”
“Good heavens, Fitzwilliam, but we live at Netherfield now,” she replied.
He adored her tone. He delighted in the ease with which she entered into his game, though there were still things to be said.
“Your family…”
“Very well, there is no need to continue. I am sufficiently ashamed by Lydia, but do not forget the rest of us.”
“Well, there you do have something to offer me, for when I came to know some members of your family, I realised that you live together in affection, whilst we merely respected one another…”
