Elizabeth drew back slightly, the hurt rising before she could check it.
“But why would she do such a thing?” she said. “Would she truly have withheld my letter? Would she have left me in danger unless you agreed to her terms? I cannot believe…”
“To be fair to her, I do not believe it was done from mercenary motives,” he said, his voice softening. “She did not strike me as calculating, so much as desperate. There was something of urgency in her manner. Not selfishness, but in dire need of escape.”
Elizabeth’s gaze lowered, her thoughts turning inward. Images came to her, small moments she had not fully considered at the time. Charlotte’s thoughtful silences. The way her eyes had lingered upon certain conversations, certain prospects. The carefulness with which she had begun to speak of marriage.
“I think I had begun to see something of it before I left,” she admitted quietly. “Though I did not recognize it.”
Darcy inclined his head. “I thought it best to mention it now, before the matter slipped entirely from my mind once again.”
“I am glad you did,” Elizabeth said. “I shall write to her.”
There was a brief pause.
Then Darcy spoke again, more quietly still.
“Are you quite well?” he asked. “If you would prefer to withdraw, or to rest—no one would think the worse of it.”
Elizabeth shook her head at once, her expression steady.
“No. I am very well.”
She met his gaze fully.
“I know who I am,” she said simply. “I am a Bennet daughter of Longbourn—” she gave the faintest, wry smile “—in every way that matters. And I am Elizabeth Darcy, your wife. I am mistress of Pemberley. A sister. A friend.”
Her fingers tightened slightly about his. “None of this alters that.”
Darcy’s expression softened, something warm and deeply felt passing through his eyes. He leaned forward and pressed a gentle kiss to her forehead.
“I am a most fortunate man,” he murmured.
Elizabeth’s lips curved. “Indeed, you are,” she returned lightly.
The moment was broken by the abrupt scrape of a chair.
Lady Catherine rose with unmistakable displeasure and, without a word, swept from the room. The door closed behind her with a firmness that left no doubt as to her temper.
For a moment, no one spoke.
Frederick, who had been seated beside her, gave a small, rueful smile. “She does not wish to marry me.”
Elizabeth gaped at him.
“Of course she does not!” she exclaimed, the words escaping her before she could soften them. “You have not seen one another in nearly twenty years! You cannot expect everything to resume as though no time has passed. People change—circumstances change—and she has no reason to trust that you are the same man she once knew.”
“Gently, my dear,” Mr. Bennet interjected, though there was more amusement than reproof in his tone. “The man has only just returned to life. Let us not dispatch him again so soon.”
Elizabeth hardly seemed to hear him.
Teddy shifted where he sat, clearly uncomfortable, and she drew in a breath, forcing herself into a more measured tone.
“You have too many responsibilities pressing upon you at present,” she continued. “Your son, Longbourn…everything that must now be settled. And Lady Catherine…” She shook her head slightly. “Her world has been altered as completely as your own. If you wish to marry her—”
“Technically,” Frederick put in, attempting levity, “we are already married—at least under Catholic law.”
Elizabeth glowered at him. “But not under English law,” she bit out, “which is theonlyconsideration at present.”
