Elizabeth laughed through her tears.
Mr. Bennet guided her to a chair and remained standing before her.
“I ask only one question, and you must answer honestly. Do you love him?”
“Yes.”
The word came without any sign of reluctance.
His shoulders relaxed.
“And Mr. Wilson?”
Elizabeth shook her head.
“He is a good man. He will make some woman very happy, but I do not love him. I could esteem him greatly. I do esteem him greatly. It would never be what I feel for Mr. Darcy.”
Mr. Bennet nodded.
“You have chosen wisely.”
He turned toward the fire, one hand resting upon the mantel.
“My first marriage was undertaken from duty and convenience rather than affection. I was fortunate enough to care for your mother’s predecessor in my own fashion, but I learned early that esteem and comfort, though valuable, are poor substitutes for marrying the person whose company you most desire.”
He faced her again, his eyes unexpectedly bright.
“To love and respect one’s partner is infinitely preferable. If you possess both, my dear, you are richer than any heiress in England.”
Elizabeth rose and embraced him.
“Thank you.”
Mr. Bennet kissed her cheek.
“You and Darcy will be very happy together. I am convinced of it.”
When they stepped into the hall once more, Darcy was waiting just beyond the doorway. The noise from the drawing room drifted faintly toward them—Lydia’s voice rising above the others at irregular intervals—but it seemed distant beside the quiet awareness that settled immediately between them.
For a moment neither spoke.
Darcy looked at her as though he still found it difficult to believe she stood before him freely and willingly promised to his future. Some trace of the strain he had carried through the interview with Mr. Bennet lingered still about his expression, though relief had lightened it considerably.
“You are quite certain?” he asked quietly.
Elizabeth blinked. “Certain?”
“That you do not regret this.” His gaze held hers steadily, though vulnerability lay plainly beneath the composure. “That the circumstances have not hurried you into accepting me before you were fully prepared.”
The question touched her far more deeply than confidence could have done.
“Mr. Darcy,” she said gently, “I believe I accepted you long before either of us fully understood that you were asking.”
Something warm and wholly unguarded crossed his face then. Happiness suited him astonishingly well.
He lifted her hand slowly and pressed his lips against her knuckles.
“I do not think,” he said, “that I shall ever cease being grateful to hear you say so.”
