Darcy set his glass aside. “You will not face it alone,” he said simply. “Whatever is required—whatever assistance you may need—you have only to ask.”
Richard met his gaze, and this time the gratitude in his expression was unguarded. “Thank you.”
For a moment, neither spoke. Then, as though unwilling to let the weight linger too long, Richard gave a small shake of his head.
“Well,” he said, lighter once more, “we had best turn our attention to more immediate concerns. Namely—my own impending doom.”
Darcy allowed the faintest hint of amusement to return. “I believe you entered into it willingly.”
“That I did. Well, given that there is no turning back now, I propose we do it as soon as possible and marry tomorrow. What good is a special license if I never use it?”
Darcy’s brow lifted. “I believe the misuse would be in failing to appear.”
“A fair point,” Richard said. “Then let us ensure I am present, properly dressed, and at least moderately respectable.”
Darcy nodded.
And with that, they turned to the practical arrangements of the day ahead.
∞∞∞
Elizabeth sat in the library, a book open in her hands and not a single word of it truly read.
She had meant what she had said the day before. She was not offended—how could she be? The account of Anne’s distress had been explanation enough. If her absence ensured the bride’s comfort, then it was a small sacrifice indeed.
Still…
It was a strange thing, to be so near a wedding and yet entirely removed from it.
The house felt different—quieter in some ways, and yet filled with a kind of restrained movement she could not quite see. Doors opening and closing. Distant footsteps. The occasional murmur of voices carried faintly through the corridors.
Elizabeth turned a page.
Then turned it back again.
She had not taken in a single sentence.
The sunlight streaming through the tall windows drew her attention instead. It fell in bright, golden swathes across the carpet, across her skirts, across the very book in her lap until the words seemed to blur beneath it.
She shifted in her chair, and her legs—quite traitorously—ached. Not with discomfort, but with restlessness.
When is the last time I took a good walk?
It had been days since she had climbed to Oakham Mount back in Hertfordshire. Days since she had felt the air on her face, the steady rhythm of movement, the quiet clarity that always came with it.
She closed the book.
Surely… a short walk could do no harm.
If she avoided the front of the house—if she remained out of sight—
Her decision was made almost before she had finished the thought.
Elizabeth rose, smoothing her gown, and slipped quietly from the library.
She made her way down the back stairs, choosing the less frequented passageways, until she reached the kitchen corridor. A servant looked up in visible surprise as she passed.
“Miss—Mrs.—” the girl faltered.
