He knew he would always love her.
He wanted her, and he wanted to grow old with her, slowly turning gray and wrinkled over the decades by her side, and he desperately, desperately wanted to not ruin this second chance.
Her manner towards him the previous night had been such an odd mix of argument, sincere sweetness, and mischievous smiles that he could hardly tell what she thought of him.
But their argument about Miss Bingley had likely done him no favors in her eyes, and he would not make the same mistake today.
Smiling, he hurried up to her. “Miss Elizabeth.”
“Mr. Darcy.” Her voice was chirpy and encouraging. They looked at each other, and she smiled at him.
He required several seconds before he regained that talent of speech which separated man from beast. “My dear Miss Elizabeth, have you completed your morning perambulation yet?”
She shook her head, still smiling as she resettled her bonnet around her hair and patted it into place. She looked like a flower nymph.
“Might I join you?”
“I can think of little that would please me more,” she replied. Elizabeth looked down shyly, but back up to his eyes again with that same smile. “Come, Mr. Darcy — you have been an intimate of this estate for many years. You must show me your favorite pathways.”
So saying she offered him her arm, and he took it.
They set off at a slow amble.
At first Darcy could not shape any coherent phrases for conversation, and Elizabeth was quiet as well.
A part of Darcy — not an inconsiderable part — wished to jump to matters immediately, to ask that question that burned in him:Can I hope?
He suddenly said, “I noted how much you enjoy a ramble during your stay at Netherfield.”
“Yes,” She smiled at him. “I have realized that you often observe me.”
“Particularly when you are lost in the beauty of music.”
She reddened becomingly, and smiled at him. “Or when I am enjoying a sunny morning.”
“I confess toparticularlyenjoying the opportunity to observe you when you are in the midst of enjoyment. It does not seem to matterwhatyou have derived this enjoyment from, so long as you are…” his voice cracked for a moment, “passionate about it.”
“Ants.”
“What?”
Elizabeth squatted down pointing at a large ant colony. “Do you ever watch them just running back and forth? Moving all the leaves, dragging crumbs from a picnic, you know… just observing them.”
Darcy squatted next to her. The tiny red creatures did in fact scurry back and forth. It was a major colony, with a large pile of loose sand all around the entrance. The hordes rushed in and out. Some carried out stones and bits of dirt, while others brought in the presumably tasty detritus from the land around.
“I haven’t watched an ant colony for many years,” Darcy slowly said, filled suddenly with a sensation that was like regret, but not quite the same. “Not since I was a child. Why do you think we forget to watch the ants?”
She smiled softly at him. “I haven’t yet, but that perhaps is only because Papa always loved every insect. We’d watch them play and collect, and Papa would try to teach us about their habits and manners.”
“Of ants? Are they polite creatures toyou?” Darcy shook his head with a half-smile. “I used to watch them fight,” he said. “I’d get horridly stung while getting a bunch of ants to climb up on a twig, and then I’d carry them to another colony just to see what would happen. It was not nice of course. But I was, I dare say seven or eight, and children of that age do not have that sense… the sense that one should not crush a tiny being if one has no good reason to do so.”
She placed her soft hand on his shoulder and they stood back up.
He stood up again as well, his legs had been starting to become sore from holding himself in place. “George, that is Mr. Wickham, always made fun of me for being fascinated by ants, by beetles, music, living things… he much preferred, even as a small child he much much preferred when he had a chance to charm Papa or one of the tutors. I think his father instilled in him the sense that he must always smile in that way to us, be charming so that we would like him, and so that the great family would continue to shower its favor upon him.”
“Were you two very close?”
“Always together on the same estate… He was two years my younger, and I had a sense of responsibility for him. My father’s godson, rather than his son, but I had no other sibling, except Richard when he visited in the summer. We marched round and round, playing games mostly of my devising. I’d encourage him in his studies, help him with them, and he’d encourage me to skive off from time to time.”
