Elizabeth glancedat the man standing before her.
He was a human barricade, a protector of foolish young girls, a proud, wealthy aristocrat who had spent his summer engaging in espionage to save innocent girls from ruin.
Mr Darcy took a single, hesitant step forward.
“Miss Elizabeth.” He swallowed hard, the movement of his throat visible above his cravat.
“Mr Darcy,” Elizabeth said, gripping her parasol tighter. She could hear the frantic beating of her own heart over the sound of the crashing waves.
“You taught me a harsh lesson.” His voice trembled slightly around the edges, Elizabeth noticed. “You delivered it within the parlour of Hunsford Parsonage and... I needed it. I needed every single word of it.”
Elizabeth felt a stab of guilt as the memory of her brutal, unjust accusations burned in her mind.
Mr Darcy did not allow her to speak. Instead, he took another step forward, the distance between them vanishing.
“You accused me of behaving in a manner lacking the conduct of a gentleman.” Mr Darcy held his hands tightly behind his back. “It was a sentence that has haunted every single hour of my existence since April. It was a devastating truth.”
“Mr Darcy, please.” Elizabeth felt a sudden tightness in her throat. “I was blind. I was blinded by lies and my own prejudice.”
“You were accurate,” he countered gently. “I was proud and unyielding. I was conceited. I have spent the last two months attempting to dismantle that pride. I have spent every waking moment attempting to become a man worthy of your respect.”
He stopped, now standing directly before her.
“I came to Brighton to stop Wickham.” He lowered his voice until it was a harsh, urgent whisper. “I came to correct the terrible error of my silence. When I saw you here, it was like a miracle. I had a second chance, however undeserved.”
Elizabeth could not breathe. She forgot the seagulls, the sea, the entire world beyond the borders of his blue coat.
“My feelings have not changed.” Mr Darcy pulled his hands from behind his back but he did not touch her. “They have only deepened. They have become infinitely more ardent.”
He looked at her with a surrender so raw it made her heart swell.
“I love you.”
The words were simple, direct, and without the arrogant certainty he had displayed in Kent.
“I am asking for your hand, Elizabeth.” Darcy spoke her Christian name like a prayer. “I am asking you to share my life. However, if your feelings are still what they were in April, tell me so at once. One single word from you will silence me on this subject forever.”
He waited, standing perfectly still, bracing himself for the final, crushing blow of her rejection.
Elizabeth looked at this magnificent man who had humbled himself for her sake. She thought of his bravery, his steadfast loyalty, of the way he had laughed at the prospect of a donkey stampede.
She let the sensible parasol drop backward until it rested upon her shoulder.
“Mr Darcy.” Elizabeth looked up into his fearful eyes, and allowed every ounce of the love she felt to fill her expression. “My feelings have undergone a change so complete I can barely recognise the foolish woman who stood in that parsonage.”
Darcy blinked, and seemed to have stopped breathing.
“I was prejudiced.” Elizabeth stepped closer to him without hesitation. “I was incredibly, unforgivably foolish. You are the most honourable man I have ever known. You are the best of men.”
Darcy stared at her, a slow, dawning light breaking across his features, the fear of rejection vanishing, becoming one of wonder.
“Elizabeth.” He whispered her name again.
“I love you.” Elizabeth spoke the words clearly, ensuring they carried over the noise of the sea. “I love you. If you are still foolish enough to want me, my answer isyes.”
He did not need further encouragement.
He moved with startling speed, his hands coming up to frame her face, his long fingers tracing her jawline with exquisite, trembling care. He looked at her as though she were a miracle that had manifested out of thin air only for him alone.
