“You counted.”
“Of course.”
Darcy’s throat tightened, and for a moment he could not answer. Then he covered her hand with his own. “I am here now,” he said. “And I mean to learn you all over again, ribbons and all.”
Georgiana laughed, and Darcy smiled at her in a way Elizabeth had never seen directed toward anyone else: unguarded, tender, and almost boyish with affection.
Elizabeth stood a little apart and watched them.
Over the next several days, she saw that expression often.
Georgiana remained at Netherfield with Colonel Fitzwilliam, and the two households fell into an easy exchange of calls, walks, music, and dinners. Elizabeth soon learned that Darcy’s care for his sister was not merely the care of a guardian for a ward, nor of a brother whose affection expressed itself in protection alone. He wanted to know her. He asked about her music, not simply whether she practiced, but whether she liked the pieces she played. He listened when she spoke of a girl at Matlock House whose friendship pleased her, and again when she admitted another had intimidated her. He knew which books she had enjoyed, which ones she pretended to understand, and which ones Lady Matlock thought suitable. He praised her when she spoke with courage and gave her silence when speech became too difficult.
He did not make her feel foolish for being shy.
He did not make her earn his attention by being amusing.
He did not retreat into a book when her concerns were young, small, or inconvenient.
Elizabeth did not know precisely when the realization came. Perhaps when Darcy stood beside Georgiana at the pianoforte and turned the pages with complete absorption, though the piece was simple enough that half his attention would have sufficed. Perhaps when he asked, at dinner, whether she still preferred Italian songs to Scotch airs, and Georgiana blushed with pleasure because he remembered. Perhaps when he praised her observation about a tenant child they had passed on the road and then asked what had made her notice.
Whenever it came, it came quietly and struck deeply.
This was what Elizabeth had wanted from her father.
Not grandeur. Not solemnity. Not even constant exertion. Only attention. Interest. The willingness to put down a book, toask a question, to remember the answer, to treat the thoughts of a daughter as worthy of care.
Darcy did all this for Georgiana as naturally as breathing.
And if he did it for his sister, he would do it for a wife. For children. For a home. Not perfectly, perhaps, for no man was perfect, and Darcy least of all would claim it. But faithfully. Responsibly. With the whole strength of his honor behind every promise he made.
Elizabeth had known she loved him.
She had not known, until then, that she trusted him.
The knowledge settled into her not like a sudden flame, but like a door opening upon a room already warm.
That evening, the Netherfield party dined at Longbourn. Mrs. Bennet was in raptures, Mr. Collins was increasingly bewildered by the firm redirection of every attention he attempted toward Elizabeth, and Mr. Bennet watched the whole with a wicked amusement that would have provoked Elizabeth had she not been too happy to mind. Georgiana sat between Jane and Elizabeth and spoke more than she had on the first day, though still softly. Colonel Fitzwilliam entertained Lydia and Kitty with stories carefully altered to remove the worst realities of war. Mr. Bingley looked at Jane as though there were no other lady in the kingdom.
Darcy looked at Elizabeth whenever he thought no one observed him.
She observed him every time.
When the evening ended and the party prepared to depart, Elizabeth found herself in the hall while cloaks were gathered and carriages called. Jane stood near Mr. Bingley, speaking softly. Georgiana thanked Mrs. Bennet for the evening. Colonel Fitzwilliam made Lydia laugh by claiming that no soldier could survive three Longbourn dinners without becoming brave enough for anything.
Darcy stood a little apart, waiting for his coat.
Elizabeth stepped closer to him.
“Mr. Darcy?”
He turned at once. “Miss Elizabeth?”
She felt suddenly shy, which was absurd after everything that had passed between them. “You asked me a question on Oakham Mount.”
His expression changed, all light conversation falling from it. “I remember.”
“Do you?”
