The carriage wheels hummed against the road.
Now that he had seen Elizabeth beside them—had watched her speak and laugh, had seen her treat Georgiana kindly, had observed her meet Lady Anne’s scrutiny without eitherarrogance or submission—his desire had not diminished. It had strengthened.
Their approval settled something within him.
What remained unsettled lay elsewhere.
He would speak to Elizabeth. He would ask plainly how she felt about a Catholic ceremony after they took up residence at Pemberley. About raising their children in that faith. He would not entrap her with half-disclosures.
He only prayed she would agree. That she would not force him to choose between his love for her and his heritage.
For he did not know how he should bear it if she did.
The carriage continued toward Netherfield, the winter light fading slowly as Darcy turned his thoughts toward the conversation he could no longer postpone.
Chapter 24
Elizabeth woke with a lightness she could not disguise, even from herself.
The previous morning’s visit had gone better than she had dared hope. Lady Anne had been warm and gracious, and Georgiana had come out of her shyness for some of the time. Elizabeth had seen in Darcy’s eyes a satisfaction that had warmed her more than any formal approval could have done.
The future, for the first time, had seemed not merely possible, but bright.
Unable to endure the confinement of the house, she wrapped her shawl about her shoulders and set out along the familiar path toward the small copse beyond the lane. The air was brisk; the hedgerows silvered with frost. Her spirits rose with each step.
She did not at first see him.
Darcy, atop his horse, emerged from the turn in the path some yards ahead. At sight of her, he stopped and dismounted.
There was no smile, and her own faltered.
“Good morning,” she said, forcing cheer into the greeting. “You are abroad early.”
“So are you.” His tone was gentle, but solemn.
“Is all well?” she asked, her pulse quickening. “Did your family find Hertfordshire tolerable? Did they—” she hesitated only a fraction “—approve of everything?”
A softness entered his expression then. “They admired you very much,” he said. “Both of them.”
Relief washed through her — and was immediately replaced by the weight of his composure. “Then what is wrong?”
He drew a breath. “There is something I must speak to you of before matters advance further.”
She stilled. “This sounds serious.”
He gave a faint, almost rueful inclination of his head. “It is a topic that is extremely… personal to me, and I must admit that I feel quite anxious over the matter.”
“I am glad you are speaking with me about it, then,” she said, though her heart had begun to beat more quickly. “You may tell me anything.”
“Thank you.”
They walked a few steps together before he continued. “You know that my family is Catholic.”
She nodded. “You were very nearly excommunicated by my sister for it.”
The attempt at levity did not wholly succeed.
“My family has held to that faith for centuries,” he said. “Not in name only, but in practice. There are priests who pass quietly through England still. When one travels near Pemberley, he conducts the sacraments for us.”
