“Most ardently.”
“Why?”
He drew back, an expression of surprise flickering across his face.
“Why?” he echoed after a moment, his voice low, uncertain.
“Yes, why?” she pressed, lifting her chin. “During the few short weeks you spent in Hertfordshire, we drifted past one another at various gatherings, exchanged barely half a dozen words, and danced only once at Mr. Bingley’s ball.”
He offered a faint, rueful smile. “You forget the week you spent at Netherfield nursing your sister. I recall us having a conversation on Mr. Bingley’s terrible handwriting, and what makes a lady accomplished.”
She folded her hands in her lap. “That hardly counts as quality time. I was consumed with worry over Jane and fending off Miss Bingley’s rude behaviour.”
His gaze darkened with remorse. “I must confess, Miss Bingley’s coldness towards you sprang from my own folly.”
Elizabeth's eyes widened. “How so?”
“At a gathering at Lucas Lodge, I let slip that I admired your fine eyes,” he admitted, his voice hushed as if the walls themselves might hear.
“That explains much,” Elizabeth said, a soft laugh escaping her. “Yet you never once spoke of this admiration to me.”
Darcy looked away. “I admit, I did not wish to raise your expectations.”
“My expectations?” Elizabeth’s brow knit in concern, her thoughts travelling in a dangerous direction. Had he learned her father was now an earl? “Why now?” she asked, dreading his answer.
“Because…” Mr. Darcy paused and gazed out the window, gathering his thoughts. “All my life, I have been told to marry someone from my social circle. I am the grandson of a duke and nephew to an earl. It has been drummed into me for as long as I can remember that I must marry a lady of equal rank, and I was at peace with that… until I met you.” He then turned back, his voice catching. “When in your presence, I become mute. My thoughts scatter like leaves in an autumn breeze. I fled to London to escape these feelings, but they pursued me. Your lack of fortune or title changes nothing: I am a gentleman, and you a gentleman’s daughter. In that, we are equals. All that matters to me is whether you could imagine a life with a flawed man such as myself.”
Elizabeth’s pulse quickened. Proud Mr. Darcy loved her. Shepaused to steady her voice; aware he waited an answer.
“In such circumstances, most ladies would thank you for the honour and give you the answer you most desire,” she said, lifting her gaze to meet his steady, earnest one. “However,” she added when he stepped forward, “I am but a simple country girl of Hertfordshire, and must decline.”
He halted, the proud mask slipping back into place.
“Allow me to explain,” she continued, voice gentle. “Though I find you entirely honourable, you never once hinted at any special regard for me. You said you did not want to raise my expectations, and you succeeded. I expected nothing from you but lofty disdain for my family and me.”
“Forgive me, Miss Bennet. I had not meant to display such rude and unforgiving manners.”
“Fret not, Mr. Darcy. Your letter of apology allowed my family to view you in a more favourable light. Having said that, I remind you that you never once asked me to call you friend. Did you expect me to fall at your feet because you are wealthy and handsome?”
“You find me handsome?”
“That is all you heard? I find you handsome.”
A mischievous light kindled in his eyes. “It did give me hope. May I dare press my luck? Though you refuse my hand in marriage, might I still ask permission to call on you?”
Elizabeth’s lips curved in reluctant amusement. “I do hope you will not take this the wrong way, but your aunt would not look kindly on you giving me any undue attention when she expects an engagement between you and her daughter.”
Elizabeth blushed at the curse he muttered under his breath. She had never seen him so unsettled, and found it oddly charming.
“My aunt’s expectations and reality rarely align,” he said, composure returning. “Fitzwilliam and I leave for town tomorrow. If you allow me to call upon you after your return to town, I will speak plainly to her of my intentions.”
“You should have that conversation irrespective of whether you call on me or not.”
His eyes met hers, unwavering. “Your words are sound, and I cannot fault your logic. I shall speak with my aunt regardless of your answer, which is…?”
“Yes, Mr. Darcy. You may call on me.”
A radiant smile broke across his face, and a warm tide of happiness surged through her. His joy lit the dim room like morning sun through mist, and despite all caution, her heart had already warmed towards him, yet, there still remained much to discuss.
