“You should have told me what it was you were chasing, rather than being left to guess at the shape of it in the shadows.” Her voice was not sharp, but to her chagrin, there was no mistaking the sting of disappointment in it. “You say you did not wish to deceive me, but it seems to me that you were perfectly content to let me dangle in uncertainty while you decided what I ought to know.”
“I was dangling too.”
“But after the wedding, you decided it no longer mattered?”
He grimaced. “Fitzwilliam and I were not in London on business just before Bingley wed.”
She crossed her arms over her chest. “Where were you then?”
“Warwickshire.”
She was puzzled for a moment but then closed her eyes. Warwickshire, where Grandfather Bennet had his living before coming to Longbourn. “And you found that my father was a Darcy? Then why would you—”
“We thought we had learned that your father wasnota Darcy. Which meant that I was still the master of Pemberley and could afford to take a wife.”
“You did not trust that I loved you enough to marry you otherwise?” she asked quietly.
“Idid,” he insisted. “I told your father as much yesterday, before I knew how cleverly he would resolve the problem. You can appeal to his testimony if you do not feel you are able to trust my own.”
Elizabeth drew a breath, steadying herself. “If it had been only my father’s fate you sought to unravel, I might have forgiven it more easily. But you—” She swallowed. “You began to court me, and still you said nothing.”
His hands clenched at his sides. “Do you think it was easy? Knowing what I did, knowing what I might be, what I might lose?WhoI might be forced to leave? You deserved a suitor who had no reason to doubt himself, who could offer you the future you deserve. I would not make myself a fortune hunter in your eyes. Nor would I—” He stopped, his voice turning hoarse. “I would not tie you to a man who might have less than your father does now.”
Elizabeth looked at him then, truly looked at him, and the war within her softened just a little. It had been very difficult for him, that much was clear.
“And you feared I might think you had courted me only to secure Pemberley,” she said as it all fell into place. “That I might believe your love for me was a matter of convenience, of necessity rather than truth.”
The tension in Darcy’s shoulders loosened ever so slightly. “I never want you to doubt that my love for you is true.”
Her heart squeezed at the admission. A month ago, she might have found it more difficult to forgive him. But he had acted against his own interests in pursuit of the truth. How could she feel anything other than admiration? And after all they had been through, after the fear that had gripped her when he had fallen ill, after how deeply she had come to love him—how could shenotforgive him?
“I do understand,” she admitted at last. “You did not wish to raise my hopes, or your own, when you could not be certain of fulfilling them. You did not want to court me under false pretences.”
She let out a breath, her anger fading, though it was not yet entirely vanquished. “But you must promise me this.” She caught his gaze and held it. “If ever there is something that weighs upon your mind, something that affects us both—you must not keep me in the dark. I am not so forgiving as my eldest sister.”
His eyes met hers with quiet solemnity. “I promise.” His expression darkened with remorse. “And you are right, of course,” he admitted quietly. “I kept too much from you.”
A pause stretched between them. Then, at last, Elizabeth reached for his hand, letting her fingers brush his. “Very well,” she murmured. “I suppose that as I am insisting that you trust me, that I shall have to trust you in return.”
Darcy lifted her hand to his lips, the warmth of his breath chasing away the last of the lingering cold between them. “I swear that you will not regret it.”
Elizabeth took a deep breath and released it. “Now, I believe you said something about a question?”
Her heart nearly broke in two at the hope in his voice when he asked, “You will allow me to ask it?”
“I am hardly without fault myself Mr. Darcy, and I have now put you on notice. If you still wish to make your inquiry, I would very much like to hear it.”
“Miss Bennet,” he said warmly, catching her hands in his own, “during my illness, you cared for me with a tenderness that I did not deserve. You brought me more comfort than I can say.” He paused, as though searching for the right words. “I already loved you, but it was then that I realised just how deeply I need you. Not just for your nursing, but . . .” He grimaced.
Elizabeth shook her head affectionately. She understood him so well. “Do not concern yourself, Mr. Darcy. I believe I know what you mean to say.”
He cast her a grateful look. “Since my recovery, I have thought of little else. Your wit, your kindness, your compassion—these qualities have made you the most extraordinary woman I have ever known. And though I do not deserve it, I must ask. Will you do me the great honour of becoming my wife?”
Elizabeth’s heart swelled with an emotion so profound, it threatened to undo her. To hear the words spoken with such earnestness—it was everything she could ever ask for. It was overwhelming.
She took a step closer, her voice soft but steady. “Mr. Darcy, you humble me.” She faltered, her emotions threatening to spill over into tears.
Mr. Darcy’s eyes widened, and his hands tightened over hers. “Then I have done well. I was primarily concerned with not being removed from the house.”
