He glanced sideways at Fitzwilliam. His cousin’s face was unreadable at first, but then his jaw shifted and his eyes blinked rapidly, as though he had dust in them.
“She is a remarkable girl,” the colonel said at last, very low, before abruptly walking away and going down the stairs.
Darcy could only nod his agreement towards his cousin’s back. He felt… small. Humbled. As though he had just witnessed something holy.
She had spoken with the wisdom of a minister and the heart of a sister. She had not only forgiven Georgiana—she had invited her to become something better. Not for duty. Not for propriety. But for the sake of love.
Darcy swallowed hard.
He had known Elizabeth Bennet to be clever, principled, lively. But he had not known this. He had not seen the depth of her soul. And in that moment, he thought—How could I ever have been so blind?
He had cared about her before.
But now… now he loved her.
Impulsively, and before he could question the propriety of it, he turned to Mr. Bennet.
“Sir,” he said quietly, his voice steady but earnest. “I must beg your pardon for speaking without full consideration. But I can no longer keep my intentions silent. May I have your permission to court your daughter?”
Mr. Bennet turned to look at him, folding his arms slowly. “Court? My Lizzy?”
“Yes, sir. Miss Elizabeth.”
The older man studied him for a long moment. It was not the amused, distant glance Darcy had seen when Mr. Bennet listened to society’s absurdities. This was searching. Penetrating. As though he were weighing not only the words spoken, but every word unspoken. Darcy stood still beneath the scrutiny, hands clasped tightly behind his back.
He felt… exposed. As though every defense had been stripped away. As though his soul lay open, raw and waiting.
Finally, Mr. Bennet inclined his head slightly. “You are a good man, Mr. Darcy. And I believe you have come to admire my daughter for the right reasons. Therefore, I give my tentative approval.”
Darcy let out a breath he had not realized he was holding.
“But,” Mr. Bennet continued, “I will not bind my daughter to anything. You may seek her approval, if she is willing to accept a courtship.”
“Of course,” Darcy said, bowing his head in acknowledgment.
“One more thing,” Mr. Bennet added. “Let us keep this private for now. A few weeks, I think, is enough time to be certain this is not an impulse brought on by heightened emotions in a tender moment. If, at the end of that time, you are still certain—then we can announce it to the family and neighborhood. Not before.”
Darcy nodded solemnly. “You have my word. Although, I would like to request being able to confide in my cousin, Colonel Fitzwilliam. He is a man of honor, and I can vouch for his discretion. But he is like a brother to me, and I value his counsel.”
Mr. Bennet gave him one final, appraising look. “Very well, then. Lizzy will most likely wish to write to Mark as well. All I can say is, God help you, lad.”
Darcy managed the ghost of a smile.
God help me indeed. I believe I shall need it.
∞∞∞
Elizabeth remained by Georgiana’s bedside long after the sobbing had stilled. The girl’s breathing evened, her shoulders finally slackening beneath Elizabeth’s gentle touch. She continued to rub soothing circles along Georgiana’s back until the rise and fall of her breath gave proof of sleep.
Only then did Elizabeth rise, her body weary and her arm throbbing. She extinguished the candle, adjusted the coverlet, and slipped from the nursery with a soft click of the door.
As she descended the stairs, she was surprised—though, upon reflection, she ought not have been—to find that the gentlemen had not yet departed. Mr. Darcy, Colonel Fitzwilliam, and Mr. Bingley were still in the drawing room, joined only by Jane and Mr. Bennet. The air was quiet and subdued, and a low fire crackled in the grate, casting soft shadows along the walls.
“I am so sorry to have kept you waiting,” Elizabeth said at once, startled by the lateness. The clock on the mantel showed nearly five in the evening, meaning that she had missed lunch.
Mr. Bennet waved a hand. “Think nothing of it. I would invite our guests to stay for dinner, but as your mother remains a little overwrought—Hill says she refused all broth and now lies in a darkened room—I suspect we shall all take trays tonight.”
Bingley stood with an affable smile. “No matter, sir. My sister will have ordered dinner already. No doubt she is wringing her hands at our delayed return.”
