Elizabeth’s brow lifted, and a smile tugged at the corner of her mouth. “I struggle to conceive of you hesitating over anything, Mr. Darcy. From what I have seen, you are a man of conviction.”
Darcy leaned forward, setting the forgotten book on the small table beside him. His gaze lingered on Elizabeth’s face, her features softened by the glow of the hearth. “Conviction is only as strong as the courage to act upon it, Miss Elizabeth. And there are times when I question… if mine is truly sufficient.”
Elizabeth tilted her head, a glimmer of both curiosity and challenge in her expression. “Ifyoulack courage, Mr. Darcy, then what hope is there for the rest of us?”
A reluctant smile tugged at his lips. “You give me far too much credit.”
“And you give yourself far too little. You have courage enough to entertain great ambitions. That alone sets you apart from most men.”
He leaned back slightly, her words settling over him like a balm. “You are kinder than I deserve.”
“Oh, I shall remind you of that the next time you disagree with me.”
Darcy chuckled softly. “I do not recall disagreeing with you so often.”
She arched a brow. “And yet, you are disagreeing with me now.”
“Touché, Miss Elizabeth.”
She smiled fully now, and the moment felt suspended, as though the rest of the world had been painted over in soft strokes of firelight and shadow. “And what of peace, Mr. Darcy?” she asked after a beat, her voice gentler now. “Do you find it anywhere, amidst these obligations and ambitions?”
His gaze dropped briefly to the floor before returning to hers. “I try. I remind myself that no man’s life is without flaw, and that failure—though inevitable—need not be defining.”
Her brow furrowed slightly, as though turning over his words. “Wise counsel. And does it work?”
“Occasionally,” he admitted, his voice lighter now. “But not always. Still, it is enough to carry me to sleep on most nights.”
Elizabeth’s expression shifted into something teasing. “I wonder, Mr. Darcy, if you might have missed your calling. Philosopher of Pemberley sounds rather grand.”
He laughed again, the sound quieter this time, more intimate. “It lacks the practical application I value in life, I fear.”
Her lips drew into a thoughtful frown. “You are a curious man, Mr. Darcy.”
“Curious?” He raised a brow, leaning just slightly forward again. “How do you mean?”
“You hold yourself with such confidence, and yet you speak as though you are constantly at odds with yourself.” She gestured vaguely toward the book he had abandoned. “It is an interesting contradiction.”
He regarded her for a long moment, his voice quieter when he finally spoke. “Perhaps it is not a contradiction, Miss Elizabeth, but equilibrium. Certainty and doubt are not opposing forces; they are what keep us from falling too far in one direction.”
Elizabeth blinked, her lips parting just slightly as though caught off guard. “I never thought of it that way.”
“And you,” he said softly, his tone laced with something unspoken, “never fail to inspire thought.”
Their gazes held for a beat longer, the room growing still but for the fading crackle of the dying fire. Elizabeth shifted slightly, her fingers brushing the edge of her shawl as though she had forgot it was there. She glanced toward the window, where the darkened panes reflected the faint glow of the hearth, and her brow lifted slightly.
“I did not realize how late it must be.” Her gaze returned to him, a small, almost rueful smile forming. “But I believe I shall be able to sleep now.”
Darcy inclined his head, rising from his chair with deliberate care. “I am glad to hear it, Miss Elizabeth.”
She stood as well, adjusting her shawl. Darcy took a step closer, his movements measured as though giving her space to retreat. She did not.
“Miss Elizabeth,” he said, his voice low, “if I may…”
He reached for her hand, and she gave it. Slowly, he bent his head, pressing a soft kiss to her knuckles. The warmth of her skin against his lips sent a thrill through him that he dared not acknowledge aloud.
Elizabeth’s breath caught, but she did not pull away. Instead, her gaze remained fixed on him, her features unreadable save for the faint curve of her lips.
“Goodnight,” Darcy said, his voice quieter now, tinged with something that felt precariously close to longing.
