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Now he belonged here, at the chessboard with Edward, and speaking with Henry. Untying the knots in the girls’ ribbons, walking with her to the wine merchant, holding earnest conversations about his family and hers, teasing her about greenery, handing her a white berry from the kissing bough.

Elizabeth looked at him, and though it had been coming on for some time, she understood it all at once.

She loved him.

No thunderclap accompanied the discovery. It was only a feeling that was somehow already there. Perhaps that was why it felt so certain.

It had been building while she questioned him, laughed at him, became angry with him, revised her opinion of him, trusted him, and after all that, found that he could still surprise her.

She had once thought love would announce itself dramatically. Apparently, it could also arrive quietly, unbidden. She glanced up at Mr. Darcy and then away.

There was movement under the kissing bough, and Elizabeth saw with pleasure that Jane’s face was flushed a deep pink.

“Miss Elizabeth?”

She realised she had been staring. “Yes?”

“You are very quiet.” He ran his thumb along the back of her hand. “Should I be concerned?”

Elizabeth smiled. “Probably.”

Under the bough, Jane and Mr. Bingley had finished but not moved. Aunt Gardiner said something to the children about dinner. Margaret took Eleanor’s hand. Everyone drifted away for there was no reason to hurry.

Elizabeth took a step to follow, but Mr. Darcy did not move. Instead, he drew her back by the hand she had given him. Two steps, and the bough hung over them again.

“Miss Elizabeth, please stop me if you are not ready to hear me.”

She took in a sharp breath of air. “I am not averse to hearing you, Mr. Darcy.”

He smiled. “I had intended to speak to your father first.”

Elizabeth swallowed. “Had you?”

“Yes. I had also intended to choose a more private moment.”

There was an outraged shout from the dining room.

“Privacy is in rather limited supply in this house.”

Mr. Darcy took her hand. “I have been wrong about a great many things, Miss Elizabeth. For months I told myself that I must not think of you. I had a list of objections, though of course I thought it was merely good sense. Pride was what it was.”

Elizabeth ought to be offended, but she could not manage it, for he was telling her that these feelings were in the past. She had feelings from the past that had been shed too.

“Was it a long list?” she asked, feeling a bit mischievous.

His laugh was short and accompanied by a shake of his head. “Distressingly long, and yet it did not survive a fortnight in your aunt’s home.” His smile faded. “And I was wrong to think that what I wanted gave me any right to decide how others should act.”

Her heart gave a hard little thump.

“I am ready to give up attempting to guide everyone else’s life, for I find I shall require all my attention for my own,” he told her, his eyes boring into hers. “I love you, Elizabeth. Will you marry me?”

Elizabeth smiled. “Yes.” And then, since she saw no reason to keep it to herself a moment longer, she added, “I love you too.”

For one moment, Mr. Darcy appeared to have nothing to say. But then his smile grew into delight. He said nothing more, only lifted her hand to his lips and kissed it.

Christmas morning was bright, bitterly cold, and even more treacherous than the day of Miss Bingley’s accident. Elizabeth dressed herself as warmly as possible for the walk to church.

Mr. Pye arrived as they were gathering in the front hall. He had been invited to join the Gardiners for church and, after quickly determining who belonged to whom, happily offered Miss Bingley his arm.