She gave a soft laugh, and the room grew silent. The crackling of the fire in the grate gave life to the darkness as the two occupants absorbed each other’s presence.
Elizabeth began to gather her things. “The hour grows late, Mr. Fitzroy. I should go to bed.”
“As should I,” he said, leaning forward. “Yet, I find I cannot clear my mind of the jumble of the evening’s events.”
“What troubles you? I have previously proven myself to be an adequate listener but would prove it again if there is a need.”
“I would enjoy the company if it is not too much trouble.”
His eyes held hers, and she swallowed, before squeaking out a reply. “Not at all. Please tell me about your evening.” She set her things on the table and sat back on the chaise.
Where to begin?He drummed his fingers on his leg and leaned his head back before commencing. “I remember Mr. Bingley from Cambridge. He was well-liked, but I amafraid I lost track of him. His unfortunate circumstances…they are ones he does not deserve.”
“I agree.”
He exhaled. “Bingley was,is,a good friend, a loyal friend, and I believe had he made better friends and choices, it might have turned out differently. No one deserves misery for their earthly existence. We have but one life, Miss Elizabeth, in which we have a responsibility to ourselves, our family, and even our future posterity.”
Elizabeth turned her head toward the fire. “Do you recall how I said my friend Charlotte stated that happiness in marriage was a matter of chance? Although I understand the sentiment, I believe many have a much better possibility of success than others. Two people who know nothing of each other’s shortcomings or strengths might find one or two similarities in personality. But, what if they do not? What if their character is so devoid of feeling or understanding that their choice is detrimental to their happiness? If I were to take a page from my dearest sister, the Jane of five months ago, I would say that Mr. Bingley might still find happiness.”
“Of five months ago?”
A bitter laugh escaped before she replied quietly. “I do not know if she would still believethose sentiments.”
He pursed his lips and ran his hand through his hair. “I cannot pretend to know Mrs. Collins’s circumstances, but I do believe to have happiness in marriage, there must be a union of like minds or, at least, like purposes to accomplish that.”
“Of which my sister does not possess,” she whispered. She fanned the pages of her book with her thumb, causing the small tendrils around her face to dance in the breeze.
“What would you deem a necessity to a happy marriage, Miss Bennet?”
He watched as she began to chew on her bottom lip in concentration. “Respect. If one does not respect their spouse, there can be no degree of affection. There must also be a mutual admiration for who they really are and not for what they have.”
“Such as?”
She arched her brow and smiled. “Such as, I wish to be appreciated for my ability to speak Greek and Latin, and not for my meager dowry.”
He raised his brow. “Milas ellenika?”
Her laugh filled the room, and his heart raced at the sound. “Of course, I can speak Greek, Mr. Fitzroy. How else do you propose I help my father translate the Classics?”
He slowly shook his head, and his eyes never left her. “Remarkable.”
She blushed at his praise. “My father did not produce an heir. I had an interest in learning more than the niceties for the drawing room and filled the role of a son. It might surprise you to know that I am quite adept at land management as well.”
“Nothing about you surprises me, Miss Bennet.”Nor has it ever.“And is this one of the many accomplishments on your list to entice suitors? Speaks Greek and Latin, plays the piano, sings, and can paint tables?”
She laughed, and her curls bounced again. Her eyes danced at his sally, and he knew he loved her equally in this life as in the other.
“Greek and Latin are not accomplishments to boast of, sir. Unless my suitor was an Oxford scholar or Homer himself.”
“I assure you, madam. An Oxford man would not appreciate your intelligence. But one from Cambridge would cultivate it as he would his own.” Her laugh interrupted him before he said, “I cannot speak for Homer, but he might have used you as his muse for the wife of Odysseus.”
“No.” She furrowed her brow. “I am not Penelope… I have no kingdom of Ithaca as a dowry nor can I weave a funeral shroud for twenty years. My sewing is much more rudimentary, and one hundred and eight men are not vying for my hand.”
He recognized the change in her tone and did not know if it was this new name which empowered him––made him push the propriety of Fitzwilliam Darcy aside. At once, he knew how it felt to have the confidence and charm of his cousin Richard and responded to her accordingly. “I am certainanyman lost to you would travel a lifetime, as Odysseus did, to return.”
Another rosy glow spread across her cheeks, and the seconds ticked away on the mantle clock. “It does feel strange, though,” she began before shaking her head, “I almost forgot myself, sir.”
I wish you would!Darcy gently prodded, “We are friends here. There will be no remonstrations.”
