“Do not thank me yet. You must still persuade her to endure you.”
Darcy’s eyes warmed. “I shall endeavor to make that task a pleasant one.”
Mr. Bennet moved toward the door. “Let us see whether she is prepared to endure her mother’s effusions about this,” he muttered, almost to himself. Then, more briskly, “You may inform her of my consent. I suspect she has been pacing.”
Darcy bowed. And for the first time since entering the study, his heart felt entirely steady.
Mr. Bennet paused only long enough to fix him with one last measuring glance. “Remember, sir,” he added quietly, “I have entrusted you with my most beloved child. Do not make me regret it.”
“I shall not,” Darcy replied with a gravity that brooked no doubt.
Satisfied—or as near to it as he was ever likely to be—Mr. Bennet reached for the latch.
The door opened.
Elizabeth stood directly beyond it.
She was not, perhaps, pacing. But neither was she merely passing by. Her posture was too alert, her expression too carefully arranged. One hand hovered near the doorframe as though she had meant to knock and had not yet found the courage.
For the briefest instant, father and daughter simply looked at one another.
Mr. Bennet’s brows rose.
Darcy, just behind him, felt a sudden, fierce tenderness at the sight of her—so brave in the drawing room, so composed in argument, and yet so transparently anxious now.
Mr. Bennet looked at her for a long moment, then he laughed.
“My dear Lizzy,” he drawled, “you need not look so stricken. Were you expecting to hear cries for mercy? Or perhaps the sound of Mr. Darcy fleeing through the shrubbery?”
Elizabeth flushed. “Papa—”
“You may relax,” he said more gently. “The gentleman has survived his examination.”
“And?” she pressed, unable to disguise the tremor in her voice.
Mr. Bennet allowed the silence to stretch just long enough to make her color deepen.
“And,” he said at last, “I have given him leave to attempt to make you happy—if he can.”
Relief swept across her features with such force that Darcy felt it like a physical warmth.
“Thank you, sir,” she said softly.
“Yes, yes,” Mr. Bennet waved a hand. “Let us see what your mother makes of it. That alone will be worth the effort.”
He led the way toward the drawing room, Elizabeth and Darcy following side by side.
The moment they entered, Mrs. Bennet turned expectantly.
Well?” she demanded. “What was it? Has something happened? Why are you all so solemn?”
Mr. Bennet folded his hands behind his back and assumed an air of importance. “I have an announcement.”
Mrs. Bennet’s eyes widened, darting between Elizabeth and Darcy. She opened her mouth to speak, but her husband cut her off. “I hope you have ordered a good dinner, my dear, as we have a guest joining us this evening.”
Whatever the room had expected him to say, it was not that. “Papa?” Elizabeth asked, bewildered.
Mrs. Bennet straightened at once. “A guest? This evening? Oh, Mr. Darcy and Mr. Bingley, of course you must stay for dinner!”
