Page 63

Henry appeared between them and held up the button. “Mr. Darcy, is this yours?”

Mr. Darcy turned at last to examine it. “No.”

Henry turned to Elizabeth. “Is it yours?”

She did not even look. “No.”

Her cousin sighed, disappointed by their uselessness, and carried his treasure to Mr. Bingley. The conversation picked up around them, Miss Bingley asking if perhaps Eleanor’s doll might be missing a button.

For a moment, neither Elizabeth nor Mr. Darcy spoke. Elizabeth drew a careful breath and released it.

Then Mr. Darcy said, low enough for only her to hear, “Miss Elizabeth, may I call on you?”

Her heart gave a traitorous little leap. “You call every day.”

His mouth moved, almost a smile. “Yes, but not on you. Specifically.” He cleared his throat. “To court you.”

Her cheeks felt hot. Elizabeth wrapped the ribbon she held around her finger, then unwound it. Then she wrapped it around her finger again. A month ago, she had refused an offer of marriage from Mr. Collins. She would never have guessed then that she would be receiving an offer of courtship before Christmas—and from Mr. Darcy, of all men.

“You are quite certain?” she asked.

“Very.”

“May I ask you something first?”

“Anything.”

“If you had not been asked about Mr. Wickham, would you have told me?”

Mr. Darcy was silent long enough that she knew. “No,” he said. “I was too afraid—am still afraid—for my sister.”

On the other side of the room, Henry was explaining the button to Mr. Bingley for the third time. “Miss Bingley wrote to Jane about Miss Darcy’s prior claim. Did you wish your sister to marry Mr. Bingley?”

He was silent.

“I am not angry anymore, Mr. Darcy. I simply wish to know.”

“There was no claim, but yes.”

She nodded. “Was what you told me about Mr. Wickham why you wished it?”

He closed his eyes briefly before nodding. “Her heart was broken. Bingley would be gentle with her.”

Elizabeth pondered that for a moment. Her sister had said that Mr. Darcy was as protective of his friend as Elizabeth was of Jane. She did not like what he had done, but she did understand it.

She could see that he had been working to change how he regarded the worth of others. And just now he had not tried to explain his actions away—he had been truthful instead. There was a good deal to be admired in that. There was a good deal to be trusted in that, and Elizabeth realised how important that was to her.

“Yes, Mr. Darcy,” she said at last. “You may call on me.”

He stared at her, his lips slightly parted, and the pleasure on his face was so plain that Elizabeth’s heart thrummed in her chest.

Then he offered her a fleeting smile. “Tomorrow?” he asked.

“You do not mean to lose any time.”

He shook his head. “No. Not anymore.”

Fortunately, the Gardiner children rarely permitted solemnity to survive for long.