She looked at him in surprise. “You remember that?”
“I remember many things you have said,” he replied. “I did not always understand them at the time.”
“And now?”
“Now,” he said thoughtfully, “I see how often rank is mistaken for virtue—and how convenient that confusion can be.”
Elizabeth studied him as they walked. There was no defensiveness in his tone, no attempt to impress. Only reflection.
“Life,” she said, “is an apt teacher. It does not concern itself with gentility.”
He smiled. “Nor mercy.”
“No,” she agreed. “But it does reward attention.”
They reached the entrance to the maze—a carefully tended structure of tall hedges, its winding paths promising privacy without impropriety. Darcy paused, glancing toward Lady Hertford. She was engaged in conversation some distance away, her posture relaxed.
“May I?” he asked, gesturing toward the entrance.
Elizabeth hesitated only a moment. “Yes.”
Inside, the noise of the party softened, replaced by birdsong and the quiet crunch of gravel beneath feet. The air was cooler, shaded. Elizabeth felt the shift immediately—the sense of being momentarily removed from scrutiny.
Darcy seemed to feel it too.
“I wanted to thank you,” he said as they walked. “For trusting me with your confidence.”
She considered him. “I did not do so lightly.”
“I know.” He stopped briefly, turning to face her. “I have not earned it easily.”
“No,” she agreed. “But you have not squandered it.”
Something in his expression changed then—not triumph, not relief, but something deeper. Gratitude, perhaps. Or resolve.
“You are very wise,” he said.
Elizabeth laughed softly. “You give me too much credit.”
“I give you accuracy,” he replied. “Wisdom is not born of ease.”
She looked ahead as they resumed walking. “It is born of necessity.”
“And restraint,” he added. “Which you possess in abundance.”
She stopped again, meeting his gaze. “Be careful, Mr. Darcy. Praise, when sincere, carries responsibility.”
“I am aware,” he replied. “I accept it.”
For a moment, neither spoke. The silence was not unsettling but charged—filled with all that had been said and all that had not.
Elizabeth broke it first. “You are different,” she said.
“I hope so.”
“No,” she amended. “You are the same. Only clearer.”
He smiled, a slow, genuine expression that softened his features. “Then perhaps I am finally myself.”
