Elizabeth’s brows lifted. “I always walk early, sir.”
As she spoke, the gander honked behind them, as though offended no one had invited it to the conversation. Darcy’s shoulders stiffened, awaiting an attack from the monstrous animal. Richard glanced towards it with a smirk.
They exchanged pleasantries—safe, ordinary, maddening—and then Elizabeth excused herself.
“I shall see you at dinner,” she said with calm certainty. “MrCollins has said we are invited to Rosings.”
Darcy watched her go as if she were a vision he might lose by blinking. “She does not remember,” he said under his breath, a strange realisation dawning.
Richard’s grin faded. “What?”
Darcy shook his head sharply. “Nothing.”
But it was not nothing. Perhaps he had another chance. Perhaps by some heavenly intervention, he could propose again.
Dinner came, inevitable as punishment. The parson praised the glazing. Lady Catherine praised herself. Elizabeth sat at the far end of the table, speaking with Charlotte and replying to Lady Catherine’s nettling with a sweetness that made Darcy both admire her and suffer profound embarrassment.
After dinner, when the ladies rose to separate, Elizabeth said, “Your Ladyship, I would beg to be excused. I fear I am not well. I have a headache.”
Lady Catherine made a sound as though headaches were a moral failing. “What a pity to have such a weak constitution,” she would surely say as soon as she got the chance.
Before his aunt could respond, and before Darcy could stop himself, he said, “Allow me to escort Miss Bennet back to the parsonage.”
“A gentleman such as yourself must not bother with my cousin.” MrCollins quickly imposed himself between Darcy and Elizabeth. “She is quite capable of walking the short distance across the lane. She is queerly fond of walking and will not be bothered with even a servant as escort.”
Darcy cocked an eyebrow and met Lady Catherine’s austere gaze. He let out a low huff as if insulted. “I am sure Lady Catherine would not approve of such impertinence from her male relatives. She understands the importance of propriety more than anyone. What if harm should come to one of her guests, who could have easily been accompanied? I shall escort her home and return without incident in no time at all.”
Richard shot him a look. Darcy ignored it. He needed to know. He needed to apologise, and he needed to understand why he had been given a second chance. He needed—
“Darcy, you must accompany the poor woman to the parsonage. I am only grateful that my Anne has never needed to be taken to bed because of a mere headache. I am gratefuloneof my nephews has a thought for propriety.”
Richard cleared his throat, but Darcy escorted Elizabeth from the room before they could hear his response.
Elizabeth did not look at him as they walked, her hand light upon his arm.
The path was quiet. The air smelled of clipped hedges and damp earth and the faint perfume she wore—something clean, something like violets, something that made him draw nearer to her to discover the origination of the scent. Was it in her tresses?
“Miss Bennet.” His voice betrayed him at once, too tight, too earnest. But he had been granted a second chance and would not lose it. “You must allow me to tell you—”
Elizabeth’s steps slowed.
“My feelings will not be repressed.” The words had been waiting behind his teeth like a weapon he could not lay down. “You must allow me to tell you how ardently I admire and love you.”
Elizabeth stopped so abruptly that Darcy stumbled.
Her face drained of warmth into astonishment. “MrDarcy—you must not.”
“I must.” He reached for her hand before pride could pull him back. “I once spoke to you with a degree of arrogance which I now sincerely regret. I allowed myself to believe that my judgement alone was sufficient—particularly in separating MrBingley from your sister. In that interference, I was wrong, and I ask your forgiveness.” MrDarcy lowered his head. He wanted to demonstrate his heartfelt sincerity—to demonstrate his repentance.
“I cannot feign that the distinctions between our families are of no consequence to me. They are. Yet my regard for you has proved stronger than objections that once appeared decisive.
“I offer you my name and protection, not as indulgence—and not only from the domineering whims of my aunt—but as a pledge of steadfast devotion. If you can accept a man conscious of his own superiority, yet willing to place his happiness in your hands, I would entreat you to become my wife.”
Elizabeth pulled away as if his touch burned. “I can in no circumstances marry you.”
The sentence struck him with the same violence as the gander’s beak.
“And this is all the reply which I am to have the honour of expecting?” Darcy heard his own voice—cold, wounded, ridiculous.
