Elizabeth watched as her soon-to-be daughter lifted her eyes, steady and certain, to meet those of the man she would marry.
How different it is now,she mused. So much might have been changed, had such liberties been granted years ago.
She thought of stories told to her, and of the ones she had read. Of choices made in haste, or in secrecy. Of unions that had not been recognized, of promises that had been real in the hearts of those who made them, yet rendered uncertain in the eyes of the world.
There had been pain in those histories.
Complication.
Loss.
And yet…
Elizabeth’s lips curved faintly.
Had everything been simpler—had all paths been made smooth and direct—would she be here now?
Would she have met Darcy as she had?
Would she have come to know him? Not merely as a gentleman admired from a distance, but as the man who stood beside her through every trial, every revelation, every quiet, hard-won happiness?
She suspected not.
Her hand lifted, almost unconsciously.
Fingers brushed her brow, then her chest, then each shoulder in turn.
The motion was familiar now.
Natural.
There had been a time when it was not so.
A time when she had watched from the side, observing rather than participating, curious but uncertain. Darcy had never pressed her. He never demanded, never insisted, just as he had promised.
But she watched and listened as, over the years, he taught their children—two boys, just two years apart in age. He explained, patiently and thoughtfully, over and over again, the meaning behind each prayer, each rite, each quiet gesture of devotion.
She had seen the peace it brought him.
The steadiness.
The certainty.
And in time, she had wanted it for herself.
Not at once.
Not in some sudden, overwhelming moment.
But gradually, over years, as understanding deepened and affection grew into something even stronger, she had found herself drawn toward it—toward the same quiet assurance she saw reflected in him.
She could still remember the day she had spoken the words out loud, had told him she wished to convert and have their marriage blessed by a priest.
The way he had looked at her, not with surprise, but with something far deeper.
Joy.
Pure and unguarded joy.
