Page 70 of His Pride and His Prejudice

“Not my whole life,” Elliot replied. “For I hope to secure a partner for myself, and it is not a guarantee that they will be from Hertfordshire.”

“You are now of mating age.”

It was not a question, and Elliot stumbled slightly. Darcy reached out to steady him, but there was no need, as the other man righted himself.

“I am.”

“Then I imagine that such a partnership will occur sooner rather than later.”

They were back at the gates to the park now, the parsonage straight ahead. Elliot’s cheeks were pinker than ever, and his lips were parted, little frosty breaths leaving them.

Darcy was seized with an overwhelming desire to lean down and kiss those breaths away. How many nights had he lain in his bed thinking about kissing Elliot? Far too many. If Darcy was able to count them all up and link them in a string of thoughts, then he was sure they would all lead in a perfect path to this very moment.

“May I call on you tomorrow for another walk,” he asked.

“You may,” Elliot said, and Darcy was so encouraged by those two words that without further ado, he reached out and he took Elliot’s gloved hand in his and he placed a single kiss upon it.

He fancied Elliot would feel it through the fabric in the exact same way that he felt the other man on his lips, and indeed Elliot did.

“Tomorrow then,” he said, and they both took that for what it was. The very beginning of a promise.

The Tumbling Tears

Thirty-Five

That first morning was not the only time that Elliot was accompanied by Darcy on his morning walk. For the rest of that week, every morning as he left the parsonage, Darcy was there waiting for him. They talked of everything and nothing. The trees in the park, the wildlife that they saw, what might grow in the spring, and how best to utilise the land on such an estate. They discussed their friends and their families—but only in a very superficial way. And they spoke of books, constantly.

At one point Darcy started a conversation in French and Elliot was quite happy to have an opportunity to use one of his languages and they spent the entire walk conversing thus. The next day it was Greek. The following day Latin. Darcy’s smile of approval whenever Elliot responded in the correct language filled Elliot with a satisfaction unlike anything he had experienced before. He realised then that Darcy’s approval mattered to him…and it did not take long thereafter to begin to understand why.

On the fourth day, Elliot brought along his specimen kit and talked Darcy through the samples he intended to collect from the various trees and plants around Rosings, of which he would investigate once home and then add to his collection. Darcy was intrigued by the idea of Elliot collecting flora, demanded to know more about Elliot’s horticultural expertise, and once satisfied eagerly aided him in his endeavours.

And so passed the days, in the pursuit of good conversation, languages, and specimens and then the end of the week arrived. “I am away on an errand for my aunt tomorrow,” Darcy said as they finished up their walk. “When next we see each other, it will be Sunday.”

“Are you looking forward to Mr. Collins’ sermon?” Elliot asked with a grin. “I have been given a preview, as he insists on reading us snippets over dinner each evening. Sir William is lucky to have escaped given his return to Meryton.”

“I imagine it will be worthy.”

“Indeed.”

“Perhaps we might vary our routine,” Darcy suggested. “And take an afternoon walk. There is a part of Rosings we have yet to explore. It includes a number of walled gardens, and there are some interesting horticultural elements you would enjoy.”

“I would be pleased to do so.”

Darcy took Elliot’s hand, as he did at the conclusion of every walk. For the first time, Elliot had neglected to wear gloves. His hands had been cold the entire walk, but he had thought about it overnight and he wanted to feel Darcy’s lips directly on his skin.

Was it entirely proper? No.

Was Elliot going to do it anyway? Yes.

Darcy took his hand. He stilled slightly as he noted the absence of fabric. His thumb brushed over Elliot’s palm. A shiver ran through Elliot. Darcy paused for the barest of moments before kissing him. Their eyes met as he did so, and Elliot gasped.

“Mr. Darcy…”

“You taste of spring,” Darcy whispered.

A pause, a moment, and then Darcy released his hand and walked away. It was over so quickly Elliot was not entirely sure it had happened and yet he could feel the heat of Darcy’s lips against his skin, and it was just as thrilling as Elliot had expected it to be!

The next morning, alone for once, Elliot played that scene over and over in his mind. How Darcy had stood, how he had looked, the sound of his voice. He did not quite know what was happening between them, but something was. It was too marked to be otherwise.

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