Elizabeth studied him. “That is a very soldierly argument.”
“It is a sincere one.”
“I like it better for that.”
He looked as if he wished to say more, but just then her stomach made an audible, unmistakable protest.
Elizabeth froze.
Darcy blinked.
For one suspended second, neither of them moved. Then Elizabeth pressed a hand to her middle, her cheeks flaming hotter than they had through the whole of his proposal.
“I have just realized,” she said with as much dignity as she could gather, “that I have not yet had breakfast.”
Darcy’s mouth twitched. Then, to her surprise and relief, he gave a quiet laugh. Not mocking, but warm, exhausted, and very nearly happy.
“Then I have detained you unforgivably.”
“You have been somewhat more distracting than the scenery.”
“I am honored, I think.”
“You may be. With moderation.”
His smile grew, still tentative but real. “May I escort you home? I can speak to your father this morning, if that is agreeable. Not to ask for your hand,” he added quickly, as her brows rose. “Not yet. Only to request permission to court you properly.”
Elizabeth considered it. Returning to Longbourn with Darcy would invite questions. Returning with Darcy requesting a courtship would provoke an uproar. Returning with Darcy when Mr. Collins was in residence would provoke something even more dramatic than an uproar.
It would also be a very effective shield.
“Yes,” she said. “I think that would be best.”
He offered his arm.
After only a breath’s hesitation, Elizabeth took it.
The contact was light, proper, and utterly unlike Mr. Collins’s possessive grip in Meryton. Darcy’s arm was steady beneath her hand, but not restraining. He adjusted his pace to hers without seeming to think of it, and together they began down the path from Oakham Mount toward Longbourn.
For a few minutes, neither spoke. The morning had grown brighter, the fields opening beneath them in gray and gold. Elizabeth felt strange, tender, bruised, and relieved all at once. She had refused Darcy’s proposal. She had accepted his courtship. She had not eaten breakfast. Mr. Collins still existed. Her mother still knew nothing of Netherfield. Her life had become, in every possible direction, complicated.
Then another thought came, and this one was so welcome that she could not keep it to herself.
“Mr. Darcy?”
“Yes?”
“Do you wish to know the best part of this?”
He looked at her with a cautiousness that suggested he knew by now that Elizabeth’s best parts might not be predictable. “Very much.”
“Mr. Collins will now need to leave me alone.”
Darcy stopped walking.
For one alarming instant, she thought she had offended him. Then he laughed—truly laughed, low and startled and full of such relief that the sound seemed to warm the cold air around them.
Elizabeth laughed as well, and for the first time in days, the sound did not hurt.
