“Do you mean to speak to my father today?” she asked. Hope grew in her chest, fragile but bright. Though she did not yet love Mr. Darcy, she knew she was well on her way. An official courtship would give them more freedom to speak privately—more space to learn one another without the constant press of observation.
“I do. Does that please you?” He gave her a look filled with both anxiety and eagerness. It was utterly adorable.
“It does—please me, that is.” She felt her cheeks heat and was glad of the dimmer light in the corridor. “I was very disappointed he was not available the other day.”
Mr. Darcy nodded. “I shared your feelings. Shall we?”
They continued down the hall. Details Elizabeth had known her entire life—the familiar runner on the floor, the framed landscapes upon the walls now seemed disconnected from her senses. She felt strangely detached from Longbourn, as if her future had been decided and only needed a little time to take effect.
She paused outside her father’s library door before raising her hand and knocking loudly. Mr. Bennet called for them to enter, and she turned the handle.
“Lizzy! And Mr. Darcy. What a surprise.” Mr. Bennet gave them a peculiar look, one that flickered briefly with something Elizabeth could not immediately name.
“Mr. Darcy wishes to speak with you, Papa.” Elizabeth returned her father’s look with a serious one of her own. “Will you hear him?”
She thought she saw a look of panic cross his expression before it faded quickly into sardonic humor. “Of course. Shut the door on your way out, my dear.”
Elizabeth nodded. She glanced at Mr. Darcy as she passed by him toward the door. He winked subtly, causing a thrill to coursethrough her. The door latched behind her with a soft click, sealing the moment away from her.
And she began to pace.
Each step echoed her thoughts: anticipation, fear, hope, and an undercurrent of uncertainty she could not quite silence. Whatever was said in that room would shape more than a courtship—it would shape everything that followed.
Mr. Bennet invited the young man to sit. Mr. Darcy launched into speech before he could even say another word.
“Mr. Bennet, I have asked your daughter, Elizabeth, for a courtship, and she has agreed. I come seeking your permission and blessing.”
The words struck Bennet with unexpected force. He blinked in surprise, his hand still hovering near the arm of his chair. That was not what he had been expecting. After the conversation over dinner at Netherfield—after the pointed discussion of Roman hoards and the Crown’s claims—he had braced himself for something far more troublesome.
He studied Darcy more closely now. The young man stood very straight, his hands clasped behind his back, his expression open and resolute. There was no preamble, no hedging. It was a declaration made cleanly, almost formally.
He was not blind—he knew Elizabeth and Darcy were growing close. He suspected his daughter would confide in her suitor if she had not already. The thought unsettled him. Darcy was observant and intelligent, a man accustomed to discerning when others concealed truths.
“Elizabeth? Not Mary or Jane?” His humor reasserted itself, displacing his discomfort and uncertainty. It was a familiar refuge—using wit as a shield. He watched Darcy carefully as he spoke, gauging whether the jest would offend.
“I mean no disparagement toward your other daughters, but none of them are Elizabeth.” Darcy did not hesitate, nor did he smile. “Your second daughter—from the first moments of our acquaintance—has impressed me with her selfless regard for the feelings of others, her competence and intelligence, and her sterling character. Never in all my years among the ton has a lady impressed me so. I find I must do the natural thing and pursue a courtship with the goal of marriage.”
The sincerity of it robbed Bennet of any immediate reply.
He gazed at him steadily. The man seemed in earnest—earnest in a way that was difficult to counterfeit. This was not the language of infatuation alone, but of esteem. And yet, the question pressed at the back of Bennet’s mind, sharp and insistent.
What would he say if he knew Elizabeth was keeping secrets from him?
“A courtship is agreeable.” Bennet heard his own voice sound lighter than he felt. He could approve of that, though he doubted the young man would marry a penniless country girl. Men from the first circles never stooped so low. But if Elizabeth were engaged in a courtship, perhaps she would leave him alone regarding the treasure, and he could finally puzzle out what was to be done without her watchful conscience pressing him from all sides.
Mr. Darcy seemed surprised at his easy capitulation.
“Elizabeth is no fool, Mr. Darcy. She led you here, which means she is amenable to your arrangement. I have never seen her tolerate the attentions of a gentleman who was not worthy of her regard.” Bennet paused deliberately, letting the weightof that settle. “If this courtship leads to marriage, then her endorsement of your character will be complete.”
He reached out and shuffled a few papers on his desk, the mundane gesture serving as a dismissal. “If you have nothing more to request, pray excuse me. I have work I need to complete.”
Mr. Darcy stood and bowed before hurrying from the room, his relief barely masked by propriety. Bennet watched him go, a faint frown settling between his brows. He remembered having a similar interview with Fanny’s father. It had not been so easy. He had been younger then, poorer, and possessed of fewer secrets.
The door opened again, and Elizabeth entered, closing it behind her with care.
“Do you need something more, my dear?” Bennet asked lightly. “Extra pin money? Permission to elope?”
His favorite child shook her head, though there was no humor in her eyes. “Papa, I wished to ask… The…items…we found—can we not notify the proper authorities now? Our future is secure—”
