Moments later, Elizabeth entered.
She looked composed, though Darcy knew her well enough now to see the tension beneath it. Her eyes flicked to him briefly, a question unspoken.
The prince gestured for her to sit. “Elizabeth, Mr. Darcy has expressed his intention to marry you.”
Elizabeth’s breath caught. She did not look away.
“I have,” Darcy said tenderly. He felt pleasure at the look of unadulterated delight on her face. It was there briefly before she schooled her expression once more.
The prince continued, “I am prepared to permit this match, under conditions.”
Elizabeth straightened. “I should like to hear them.”
The prince outlined them succinctly. When he finished, Elizabeth was silent. Darcy watched her, every instinct attuned.
At last, she spoke. “You would allow me to marry whom I choose, provided I surrender what remains of my childhood.”
The prince did not deny it.
Elizabeth turned to Darcy then. Her gaze was searching, steady.
“You would accept this,” she asked softly, “only with my consent.”
“Yes.” He loved her—he could do nothing less.
“And if I refuse?”
“Then I will abide by your decision.” His heart hurt to say it, but what was love, if not sacrifice?
Elizabeth closed her eyes briefly. When she opened them, there was resolve there.
“I will consider it,” she said. “But I will not be hurried.”
The prince inclined his head. “Very well.”
Darcy felt a quiet surge of pride.
She was choosing herself. And he would stand with her, whatever that choice proved to be. The game, at last, was no longer solely the prince’s to play.
Chapter Thirty-Eight
Elizabeth did not wish to hurt her dear aunt. Princess Caroline had raised her, loved her when her own mother could not, and helped her become the lady she now was. She sat at her writing table, contemplating how to address the matter. As she began to write, the words flowed easily as she laid bare her emotions.
My dearest Aunt,
I write to you with a heart both full and fearful, for I stand at a turning that cannot be retraced. Mr. Darcy has asked for my hand, and I have given him my affection freely, for I love him—steadily, sincerely, and without reservation. He has shown me constancy where I have known uncertainty, respect where I have endured calculation, and kindness unmarred by ambition. I believe, with a clarity that surprises even myself, that I could be happy as his wife.
And yet, dearest Aunt, there are conditions attached to that happiness, imposed not by him, but by those who believe my life a matter of convenience. The Prince Regent will permit the match, but only upon the understanding that my association with you be curtailed—reduced to two supervised visits each year. It is a cruel bargain, dressed as generosity, and I recoil from it even as I weigh its cost.
I cannot accept such terms lightly. You have been my refuge, my truest guide, the one constant affection of my life. To choose a future that limits my access to you feels like a betrayal, though I know it is not meant as one. I ask myself whether love may justify such loss, whether a life built with the man I love may atone for the narrowing of another bond that has sustained me since childhood.
Tell me, my dear aunt—would you ever forgive me if I accepted him under these conditions? Would you understand that this choice, though it costs us something precious, is not born of indifference, nor of ambition, but of hope? I cannot decide without your blessing, and I will not pretend otherwise.
I remain, always and entirely,
Your devoted niece,
Elizabeth
