“If not me then Bingley or your father would have called for an expert physician who would have diagnosed the condition,” Darcy replied.
She still held his hand.
Darcy looked at her smiling eyes. There truly had never been anything so beautiful as Elizabeth Bennet’s smile.
“No, no. You acted faster,” she said. “And Mr. Thompson was the correct man — Darcy, I thank you. I thank you. I thank you.”
The way she looked at him did something to his stomach. He… he felt happier. And capable. And… and she was beautiful. So perfectly beautiful.
He nearly leaned forward to kiss her, but something made both of them realize the intimacy of the moment, and at the same time, as though by mutual agreement, they turned away, and Elizabeth let go of his hand.
Darcy missed that warm touch.
He ached to take her hand back, but he had enough wisdom, and enough control over himself to resist the temptation. But it would be so easy — so easy to say:Elizabeth, marry me, let me always take care of you.
He should not. He knew he should not.
But it would be easy.
Darcy looked at the thick piles of raked leaves, and the ever fewer leaves still sitting on the trees.
He sighed.
“What bothers you?”
Elizabeth still smiled at him, but it was now with a certain sympathy, rather than simply joy.
While he could not tell her what had actually been on his mind, Darcy found himself immediately speaking. “I received a letter which unsettled me a little.” Darcy frowned. “But it is no matter of moment. At least Ihopeit is not.”
He did not say anything further and lapsed into thought again.
At length Elizabeth said softly, “If you would prefer solitude, I shall not take offence.”
“No, no. It is just… so wholly annoying. So wholly… Well. It is also a scandalous matter, but…”
“I would not have you speak of your private business if you do not wish to.”
Darcy looked at her with a sudden intentness. “I hardly understand myself,” Darcy said. “Idowish to. I think it would comfort me very much if you heard the tale.”
Elizabeth blushed. “You may tell me anything, and you may always trust in my discretion.”
Darcy thought that beyond his evident admiration for her person, he saw her also as a friend. A real friend who he might speak to and depend upon.
There was a nugget of warmth inside of his chest that scared him, and that he knew he could not permit himself to think about too hard.
With a bright smile Elizabeth added, a little joyfully — clearly still elated by the progress of Jane’s recovery, “Scandalous you said? You know that every woman wants to hear any story that isscandalous. With such an introduction I expect to be exceedingly entertained, though that may not be the emotion Ioughtto feel.”
Darcy laughed. He felt as though every ill humor he had ever felt could be driven away by her teasing. “I have given you too much hope. It is notthatscandalous, or even unusual. By the by, is it not odd that we allwishto hear gossip, yet pretend thattogossip is a great disgrace?”
“No, no. I’ll not be distracted: I wish to hear your gossip, not your thoughtsupongossip.”
Darcy grinned. “I had thought you were of a philosophical bent.”
Elizabeth raised one eyebrow expressively.
“I have been reviewing in my mind the history of a relationship. My father’s godson has turned out very poorly — he’d been raised with an expectation that a career would be found for him in the church, but he proved to be a dissolute man filled with habits that were objectionable in themselves, and far more so in the case of a man of the cloth. Fortunately he knew his own unsuitability for the church, and he had no wish to wait to enjoy what fruits he might get from the living promised in my father’s will. Shortly after my father’s death, he wrote to me that he wished to study the law rather than enter the church, and I gave him a sum of three thousand in exchange for the expectation of the living.”
“From your manner, I deduce that he is not at present a barrister who makes his way on the bar with distinction and honor?”
