Page 10 of Courting Elizabeth

I understood that she doubted my judgment.

Her flutter when I spoke her name, her hand left resting in mine, the smile that had followed some of my answers—these seemed proof enough. Elizabeth would not have accepted a man she could not esteem. Grievances remained between us to resolve, but not a heart entirely absent.

I went to the parsonage with this certainty.

When I entered the Collinses' drawing room at precisely eleven o'clock, she was alone. A table had been arranged near the window with paper, ink, and a calendar. This methodical preparation charmed me. She wore no special adornment, only a pale blue dress that made her eyes appear darker.

“Mr Darcy.”

“Elizabeth.”

A slight color rose to her cheeks. I congratulated myself for having unsettled her.

“You take liberties quickly, sir.”

“I have waited all night.”

She looked at me, uncertain whether to smile.

I bowed over her hand. This time, I felt the warmth of her fingers through the glove. I prolonged the contact far longer than propriety allowed. Her breath changed.

The satisfaction was immediate.

“Let us sit down,” she said, withdrawing her hand.

We agreed first on what should not be done.

No announcement would precede Mr Bennet's consent. She would write only to Jane to prepare for our return, without explaining the reason for our haste. I would ask Mr Collins to secure us a place in the carriage returning Elizabeth and Maria Lucas to Hertfordshire. I would travel separately and present myself at Longbourn the day after their arrival.

“You could have made the request to my father by letter,” she observed.

“I will not entrust the most important request of my life to a sheet of paper.”

“You hope, then, to impress him in person.”

“I wish above all to allow him to refuse me in person.”

She raised her eyebrows.

“You consider that a possibility?”

“Since you accepted, I have discovered a remarkable number of dangers I had not considered before.”

The corner of her mouth lifted.

“My father wants my happiness,” she said. “He will not give you his consent without questioning me first.”

“And what will you tell him?”

Her smile faded.

“The truth.”

I thought she spoke of her grievances, of the clumsy violence of my declaration, and of that esteem she had not yet entirely granted. I did not press further.

It was the first moment I could have understood.

I let it pass.