Page 37 of The Longbourn Bloodline

Elizabeth swallowed what she could not confess. His presence unsettled her in ways she would never admit. He possessed the singular talent of making her feel both dismissed and entirely seen. Infuriating, high-handed, and yet—he always seemed to know when she required a hand or a word of encouragement.

“You are not nearly so grand as when you arrived,” she admitted. “With all your tumbles, the wardrobe casualties, and handkerchiefs lost in the line of duty, I find I can no longer quake in your presence.”

“Would it surprise you that I feared seeing you again after the Netherfield ball?” His eyes seemed to twinkle in the flickering firelight. “Where you had entirely demolished my attempt at dancing civily when you noted that we were two people who had less than nothing to say for ourselves.”

“You were not conversing, sir; you were evading.”

“Because you disliked me so intensely that you would not deign to share an opinion with me. When you read my character, which I freely confess, I did not portray myself in a good light, you implied that I was blinded by prejudice and did not secure a good opinion of you.”

“And do you dispute it?” Elizabeth looked up, startled by the admission.

“No, I believe we have both done ourselves no credit.” He leaned forward so that his elbows were on his knees. “Miss Elizabeth, I did not have to come to Longbourn so soon after I discovered I was the heir. I came because I had to see you again. I believed that if I befriended your father, repaired all that needed repairing, and hired the masters for your sisters, I would be seen as a benefactor rather than someone who would imperil you. I knew how your mother felt about the dreaded entail, and how she feared being thrown in the hedgerows. I understand why she pushes you to marry well, because the Bennet entail is restricted to males. But it appears that my improvement campaign has drawn your ire, and thus you dislike me even more.”

“I no longer dislike you, Mr. Darcy.” The admission came from a place too deep, and she realized she could not recall it.

“But you wished me to be gone.” His voice broke rough. “I did manage to eavesdrop on that slippery elm tree. I heard you tell your father that you wanted him to overturn the entail and send me back to Pemberley.”

Elizabeth’s cheeks burned—whether from his candor or the nearness of the fire, she could not say. “You understand the injustice. By a mere accident of birth, or the misfortune of another, you inherit what you never sought. You have Pemberley, and yet you arrive at our door like a conqueror before my father has even left us. And I feared…”

“That I would approach you precisely as Mr. Collins did? Demand your hand?”

“Yes!” She gasped at her directness, but since she already admitted it, she forged onward. “Because I do not bestow my affections where they are owed. I will not marry for gratitude or obligation. I am not conquered territory.”

“Then what are you? If not a second daughter of an entailed estate without a dowry or connections?”

“You are uncommonly severe, Mr. Darcy.”

“I do not mean to be unkind. I only wish to know what would compel you to marry.”

“Love.” The word cost her a breath, perhaps more.

He nodded, gaze so intense that Elizabeth felt like she was a burning log inside the hearth. “And I have not earned your love, not yet.”

“That is rather too far a jump from not disliking you.”

“Yes, although I would offer you whatever your heart truly desires.”

“I cannot.” She shook her head, realizing he was skirting around a proposal.

“Then I will do as you wish.” He lowered himself from the chair onto his knees and took her hand in both of his, closing his eyes, as if he dared not look at her reaction.

“Please do not, Mr. Darcy. I beg you.” And she realized she was shaking, because she did not wish to give him pain.

“I will consent to bar the Bennet entail through common recovery.”

Whatever Elizabeth had anticipated—a declaration, a demand, a plea—it was not legal language about the entail. “I beg your pardon?”

And then he looked up at her, his eyes large and round, taking her in as if he would not have another opportunity. “I will give you what you want. Change the entail if you ask me to. I will change the terms to include female heirs, and I shall do it tonight. You only need to tell me it is your absolute desire.”

The fire cracked, a log popping, and sparks fluttered behind the grate. Elizabeth’s mind was reeling.

“You would relinquish your position,” she said, and her voice came out steadier than she felt. “The inheritance. The entail that gives you guardianship over this estate and everything in it. Why?”

“I would do it because it is what you want, because I covet your good opinion.”

“You do not need my good opinion, Mr. Darcy. You have Pemberley. You have connections, fortune, standing. The regard of a country gentleman’s daughter with no dowry and a mother who—” She stopped. “You cannot want this.”

“And yet I do. It is what I desire more than anything.”