Damnall men. Especially handsome, gentlemanlike creatures, with sharply angled features, a dry sense of humor, kind eyes, a friendly mind, and—why, why, why had he needed to ask her?
Damn him.
He could not promise that he would never regret it. He certainly had not spoken out of any long consideration of the matter. Elizabeth had seen his expression. He had been as surprised to hear himself ask her to marry him as she had been to hear him make the offer.
He was simply trying to convince himself that his impulsive request was a good idea. She would be doing him a great favor if she refused him.
Damn. Damn. Damn.
Whoosh.
The seagulls cawed.
He was serious.
He only wanted to expiate his guilt. He saidthatthree times. By raising George, which was not even a ridiculous notion.Thatat least did not have the pagan undertones of needing to marry the widow of a man he had killed. Yet…
That was not why.
There was a place deep inside Elizabeth that was convinced that none of this was why he had asked. That same place was quietly convinced that George, Emily, and practical concerns would also have very little to do with why she was going to agree to marry him.
Whoosh, swoosh, whoosh.
“Mama! Mama! Mama!” George ran up to her screaming. “Mama!”
Georgiana looked both apologetic and determined as she followed the child with an uneven stride as each step sunk into the sand.
Elizabeth picked her son up and smiled at him. “George! George! George!”
“I want a papa!”
“I thought you’d decided that was not necessary.”
“I want Mr. Darcy to be my papa.”
Elizabeth sighed. “Your opinion is noted.”
“Need to marry him.”
“I sincerely hope that nobody put you up to this.”
Georgiana blushed and said, “When he came back with Sally from running about in the park, I explained that you’d gone out to decide if my brother would become his papa, and—”
“And, of course, he decided that he wanted this. George, this is my decision, not yours.”
Her son started sobbing. When Elizabeth did not immediately proclaim her intention to marry Mr. Darcy the sobs turned into wails followed by screeches.
Elizabeth was intensely aware of the persons bathing down the coast, some of whom were now looking at her. She tried to pick up George to comfort him, but for a long time now George had the capability to hurl himself out of her arms if he particularly wanted to.
After two minutes of this Elizabeth sighed and sat down next to her wailing son. “George, if I hear you whine one more time, I will start to wail myself.”
Her son looked at her with curiosity. He experimentally screeched again. Elizabethlookedat him.
Thelookwas a look that had only mixed success in Elizabeth’s experience, but this time George did quiet down. “I want a papa.”
“And I wish to think before I tell Mr. Darcy anything,” Elizabeth said. She resisted the urge to tell George that the only reason he needed a new papa was because Darcy had killed the previous one.
That was an urge which particularly needed to be resisted, because Wickham had given up the role long before then. And Darcy had been eagerly acting in the role of a loving parent to George ever since they had come to his house.
