Darcy gave her a look of such reassuring affection that she obeyed, though not without reluctance.
The door closed behind her.
Lydia seized both of her hands. “Was it very romantic?”
Elizabeth laughed helplessly. “You are the last person to whom I ought to confide.”
Thomas and Toby danced around her in a state of complete and unrestrained victory.
“We told him he was too slow.”
“He finally listened.”
“We should receive some credit.”
“More than some.”
Mrs. Bennet emerged from the drawing room, Jane and Kitty close behind.
“What is all this noise?”
Lydia drew herself up with dramatic importance.
“Mr. Darcy has proposed to Lizzy.”
Mrs. Bennet’s eyes widened. Jane clapped her hands in delight. Kitty gave a shriek and embraced Elizabeth before she could defend herself.
Mrs. Bennet kissed Elizabeth’s cheek and then, with remarkable discipline, refrained from demanding details.
“We shall wait,” she said, though the brightness in her eyes suggested that waiting cost her dearly.
The interview in the library seemed to last a century.
At last the door opened.
Darcy emerged first.
The tension in his features had vanished, replaced by an expression Elizabeth had begun to treasure. Relief. Happiness. Wonder, as though he still found his good fortune difficult to credit.
He crossed the hall and took her hand.
“Your father wishes to speak with you.”
Elizabeth entered the library with her heart pounding.
Mr. Bennet stood beside the hearth. His usual irony had melted into something much more serious.
He held out his arms.
Elizabeth went to him.
“My dear girl,” he said, kissing her brow, “I have had the privilege of acting as your father for nearly ten years, though I have loved you as one of my own from the first.”
Her eyes filled.
“You have always been my father.”
He cleared his throat and patted her hand. “That is gratifying, because I should be deeply offended to learn otherwise.”
