From the very beginning, it felt… natural.
As though all the weeks of conversation, of growing understanding and affection, had only led them here—into a closeness that required no pretense, no careful restraint.
One morning, she ordered a bath, more for the comfort of it than anything else.
Darcy insisted upon assisting, acting as maid to wash her hair and brush it out afterwards.
At first she protested—then relented—and found herself laughing softly at the earnest care he took in the task, his usual composure softened into something gentler, more attentive. There was no awkwardness in it, only a quiet tenderness that made her heart feel too full.
Later, as they sat together with a book between them, he spoke of something she had not expected.
“I have not—” he began, then paused, as though choosing his words with care. “You are the first.”
Elizabeth looked at him.
He met her gaze steadily. “My father believed that such… matters belonged within marriage. He raised me accordingly.”
For a moment, she simply stared.
It was not what she had been taught to expect of men.
Something in her chest shifted. “Then we are equal,” she said softly.
A faint smile touched his mouth. “It would seem so.”
The knowledge settled between them—not awkward, not uncomfortable, but strengthening. There was no imbalance, no sense of one knowing what the other did not.
They were learning together.
Growing together.
And it made everything that followed feel all the more… theirs.
They did not spend all their time in idleness, however. There were books, which they read side by side, pausing to argue points or laugh at passages. There were games—cards at first, until Darcy, with quiet pride, offered to teach her chess.
Elizabeth accepted at once.
Then defeated him within the hour.
Darcy stared at the board. “I begin to suspect I have been misled.”
“My father taught me,” she said, unable to hide her delight.
He narrowed his eyes slightly. “You might have mentioned that before accepting my instruction.”
“Where would be the sport in that?”
His answering look was one of mock severity—but it did not last long.
Soon enough, he was on his feet, advancing with exaggerated purpose, and Elizabeth was laughing outright, retreating just beyond his reach—until he caught her, and the game was quite forgotten.
So, the days passed.
Light, laughter, quiet conversation—and something deeper beneath it all, steady and sure.
By the fifth night, however, the world began to press in again.
They sat together in the fading light, the fire low, the easy silence between them touched now with something more thoughtful.
