The princess’s reply came quickly, and it was everything she wished to hear. Tears fell as she read.
My beloved child,
You ask whether I could forgive you, and my heart aches that you should ever doubt it. There is nothing to forgive. Love is not treachery, nor is happiness a sin. If Mr. Darcy offers you a life of affection, respect, and steadfast partnership, then I would sooner lose the sun from the sky than wish you to turn away from it for my sake.
Marriage, Elizabeth, is not a season—it is a lifetime. You must choose the man with whom you will wake each morning, whose judgment you trust, whose constancy will sustain you when youth fades and circumstance hardens. If you have found that man, then you must not relinquish him out of fear, nor out of loyalty misplaced. I would never have you sacrifice your future upon the altar of my loneliness.
Do not grieve the limits imposed upon us. Distance does not diminish love, and no decree can sever what has been formed by years of shared affection and understanding. I shall treasure every hour I am granted with you, and I will count your happiness as my own. I am glad—more glad than I can say—that you have found a man worthy of your heart.
Go to him without guilt, my darling girl. Choose joy where it is offered honestly. I hold nothing against you, and I never shall. You are loved—freely, fiercely, and forever.
Your devoted aunt,
Caroline
Elizabeth scarcely felt the floor beneath her feet as she folded Princess Caroline’s letter and pressed it briefly to her heart. The ache remained—love so deep never relinquished its cost—but it was tempered now by certainty. Her aunt’s blessing did not erase the sacrifice, yet it gave it meaning. She would not be walking forward alone, nor in shame.
It was decided, then.
It was a sunny afternoon, and Elizabeth settled herself in her favorite chair in Hertford House’s sitting room. Lady Hertford had only just rung for tea when she was informed that Mr. Darcy had arrived at Hertford House and requested a private audience with Miss de Bourgh.
Elizabeth’s pulse leapt, swift and traitorous. She steadied herself, smoothed her gown with trembling hands, and nodded. “Please inform Lady Hertford that I shall receive him in the small withdrawing room.”
The room was one she favored—quiet, with tall windows overlooking the garden and a pair of chairs drawn close enough for intimacy without impropriety. Elizabeth stood by the window as she waited, the letter from her aunt still folded in her fingers. She heard his step before she saw him: measured, purposeful, unmistakably his.
She turned from the window then, and for a moment simply looked at him.How strange,she thought,that after all thecalculation and interference, the truth should come down to this—two people standing together, hearts bare.
Darcy entered and bowed, though the formality could not disguise the tension in his posture nor the hope he struggled to contain.
“You wished to speak with me?” she asked softly.
“I did,” he replied. His voice was low, steady with effort. “I feared to presume—but I could not wait longer. Elizabeth…dare I hope?”
“You may,” she said.
The word seemed to strike him silent. He exhaled slowly, as though he had been holding his breath for weeks. “I have been summoned again by the Prince Regent,” he said at last. “The conditions he has imposed—they are unfair. I know what is being asked of you. And I would not bind you to me if it cost you something you could not bear.”
Elizabeth crossed the room and placed the folded letter into his hands. “Read this.”
He did not sit. He read, his brow furrowing, his expression shifting from concern to awe to something perilously close to reverence. When he finished, his hand tightened on the paper.
“She loves you very dearly,” he said hoarsely.
“And wishes me happy,” Elizabeth replied. “I cannot have everything, Darcy. But I can choose you—with her blessing.”
For a moment, he looked as though he might speak and found himself unable. Then, with sudden decision, he stepped back and dropped to one knee.
Elizabeth’s breath caught.
“Elizabeth,” he said, his voice unguarded now, stripped of reserve and pride alike. “I love you—not for your fortune, nor your connections, nor the influence others believe you wield. I loved you when you were merely yourself in Hertfordshire, when I believed you beyond my reach and yet could not lookaway. You have challenged me, humbled me, and made me wish to be better than I was. You are of greater importance to me than comfort, ambition, or consequence. I wish to be with you always, to build a life where your mind is respected, your will considered, and your happiness my first concern.”
He lifted his gaze to hers, eyes bright with feeling. “Will you do me the honor of becoming my wife?”
Elizabeth felt the last of her doubts dissolve. This—this—was what she had been fighting for all along.
“Yes,” she said, her voice steady despite the tears gathering in her eyes. “Yes, I will.”
Darcy rose and took her into his arms, careful, reverent, as though he feared the moment might vanish if he held her too tightly. For an instant, the world narrowed to the warmth of his embrace and the certainty of his heart against hers.
