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Darcy took Elizabeth’s hand in his and gave it a gentle squeeze. “You cannot possibly know what it means to me to hear you say that.”

How he wanted to do more than hold her by the hand. He wanted to pull her into his arms, to kiss her on that soft spot where her long slender neck met her shoulder. He could not. It was untoward enough that he was still holding her hand after so long a duration. He released it and clasped his hands behind his back as a means of restraining a passion that was in danger of plowing through the carefully crafted facade he had erected for her protection as well as his own.

“Oddly enough,” she began, peering deeply into his eyes as if seeing through all his pretenses of being unaffected by her, “I do know what it means, sir. Pray, I am not too bold in stating just how much your good opinion means to me.”

Here, Elizabeth bit her lower lip — a seemingly innocent gesture, but oh how it affected him. She said, “Surely any future that might exist between you and my sister depends on it.”

“Miss Elizabeth,” Darcy began, his voice tentative, owing to what he could no longer resist confiding in her, “regarding the future, there is something I must tell you⁠—”

His speech was immediately halted by the piercing voice of one of the last people he wanted to see in that instance: Miss Bingley. After tossing an aggrieved glance in the direction of the impending addition to their intimate party of two, Darcy looked back at his desired companion apologetically. “Pray, forget what I was about to say, Miss Elizabeth.”

“Here you are, Mr. Darcy,” Miss Bingley said, lacing her arm through his and coaxing him away. “The tables are being set for cards, and you promised you would partner with me. You do remember! The two of us make a most formidable pair.” Throwing a confident glance over her shoulder at Miss Elizabeth, who remained standing in the same spot as when she and Darcy were all alone, Miss Bingley continued, “Everyone who knows the two of us knows exactly how we are—a perfect match!”

Knowing that Elizabeth was safe from the dastardly George Wickham gave Fitzwilliam Darcy a great deal of relief. Not that he would relax his guard or dismiss the task he had assigned to one of the male servants to keep watch over her when she was rambling about Pemberley Woods, for he still did not trust George Wickham. Having seen the way that man looked at Elizabeth and comparing it to how Wickham had often looked at other innocent young women, Darcy dared not leave anything to chance.

Some hours later, the events of the evening behind him, Darcy was now alone in his room. He had chosen a new book to delve into from the library earlier that day, and despite the lateness of the hour, he felt that it was as good a time as any to embark upon a new reading discovery. Anything to take his mind off the one woman in the world who occupied his every waking moment, or so it seemed. Reading so late at night might provide fodder for dreams of something else - anything else but what it must be like to be with her, in that exact place, at that very moment.

How ironic indeed that Miss Elizabeth Bennet had come to be the one woman he desired above all others. How ironic that Miss Jane Bennet, his cousin Anne, and his friend’s sister Miss Bingley combined could not compare to the one woman he could not have.

Despite what Darcy suspected was his friend Charles Bingley’s growing admiration for the elder Bennet daughter, he knew his friend well enough not to doubt his constancy. He suspected that despite her willingness to bask in his friend’s unabashed adoration of her, she would no doubt accept Darcy’s hand in an instant, knowing that her family expected it of her. This conviction he held rather strongly, despite having done nothing himself to garner such willingness on her part other than spending the requisite time in her company. He could not rightly say that the two of them ever carried on a single conversation beyond threadbare topics such as the weather and the like that did not also include his friend Bingley.

Then there was the matter of his cousin Anne, whom he had known all her life. How could she possibly entertain the hope of an alliance between the two of them? Other than familial affection, he had never displayed the slightest symptom of admiration for her that might encourage the hope of something more meaningful between them. As with Miss Jane Bennet, Darcy was certain that his cousin Anne would accept his hand in an instant if given a chance. He never would, despite it being the favorite wish of his dearly beloved mother, Lady Anne, and his aunt, Lady Catherine de Bourgh.

Alas, no contemplation of the current prospects for marriage would be complete without stumbling across the unlikeliest possibility of all: Miss Bingley. He closed his eyes to block such a vision. Not that the lady did not enjoy manifold attractions. She was a comely woman indeed. He simply felt nothing for her. He could imagine her coming into his room stark naked and having not the least bit of impact on him.

Darcy laughed a little despite himself. He was a hot-blooded man after all. Surely such a prospect would arouse some level of interest in him. He was not beyond temptations of the flesh. Thankfully she was not the sort of female who would do such a thing as allow herself to be compromised in the hopes of a proposal of marriage that may or may not unfold as a result. She enjoyed playing her games well enough, but she knew when to stop. Or rather he hoped she did. He had never truly allowed for a situation to develop with the young lady that might test his belief. Nor would he.

His thoughts tended back to Miss Elizabeth Bennet. How she tempted him, unknowingly of course. A part of him was glad for Miss Bingley’s interruption earlier that evening. He had almost confessed to her that her sister was not the object of his desire—that her wish for an alliance between the Darcys and the Bennets by way of his marrying her elder sister would never come to be.

Had I done so, would she still desire my good opinion? What then would have been her opinion of me?

Upon her return to the drawing room alone, Miss Elizabeth had gone directly to her sister’s side, and there she remained until the end of the evening. Darcy rightfully suspected that Miss Elizabeth valued her sister’s happiness even more than she valued her own. No doubt, she would be furious with him if she learned the truth—that he never really intended to give full consideration to a possible marriage to her sister—that his mind was made up even before he first laid eyes on her and nothing that she might have done - nothing that anyone might have done, for that matter, was bound to change his resolve.

He was simply not ready to choose a bride. What with the looming situation with his father’s failing health, he did not know when he would ever be. A thought then came over Darcy that should he ever be interested in marrying there was only one woman of his acquaintance whom he would consider, the one woman, owing to this uncanny unfolding of events, he would never have.

Longing for relief from the growing desire the very thought of her inevitably inspired in him, Darcy shut his book and blew out the candles on his bedside table. Drawing a deep long breath, he knew he had failed miserably in his quest to redirect his dreams. Once again, his nighttime would be spent satiating his yearning for the bewitching young woman who slept some ways apart from him.

In time, sleep would come and he would find himself making love to Elizabeth in all the ways he desired, but as for his immediate, more pressing longing, he saw no reason at all to suspend his pleasure right then, right there in the privacy of his own bed.

CHAPTER 20

ENTIRELY PERSUADED

Elizabeth awakened early and was moments away from quitting her room for a morning walk when her maid entered the room.

“A letter for you, madam,” said the young woman.

Recognizing the handwriting even from where she stood, Elizabeth seized it and tore it open. Not intending to come across as being rude despite her heightened curiosity, she looked at the servant apologetically. “Thank you, Hannah.”

“It is my pleasure. Is there anything that I might do for you?”

Eager to attend her missive, Elizabeth hastily replied, “No!” Remembering herself, she said, “Pardon, that will be all I require this morning.”

Finally, the young girl quit the room, allowing Elizabeth some much-desired privacy. She commenced reading in silence.

My dearest Lizzy,

How odd you must think it is to be receiving this letter. At present, I can think of no other way to convey my news to you. I have no doubt that what I am writing to tell you will surely be the means of you suffering a host of conflicting emotions—sentiments ranging from surprise sprinkled with skepticism to anguish amplified by astonishment. Of all the sentiments that immediately come to mind, I pray the least of them will be anything akin to disappointment and the greatest of them will be heartfelt joy.