Page 18 of Honor Requires

Their conversation shifted gradually, as such conversations often do, from generalities to particulars. They spoke of books—of those that delighted and those that disappointed. Mr. Darcy’s opinions were thoughtful and well-considered, though not rigid, and Elizabeth found herself both agreeing and disagreeing with equal enjoyment.

“You are very severe upon that author, Miss Bennet,” he observed.

She shook her head in disagreement. “I believe I am only just.”

“Even when justice deprives you of a happy ending?” Mr. Darcy looked skeptical, his brow rising as he appraised her.

“Especially then,” she said. “A happy ending must be deserved.”

“And how is it to be earned?” He leaned back in his chair, his expression thoughtful.

“Through sense, perhaps. Or perseverance. Or a proper regard for others.”

“And not through suffering alone?”

Elizabeth shook her head. “Suffering may teach—but it does not guarantee improvement.”

Mr. Darcy regarded her with interest. “Your statement suggests that you have considered this matter carefully.”

“I have read enough to form an opinion,” she said lightly.

“And lived enough?”

She hesitated, then smiled. “I hope so.”

He asks such questions as though the answers matter.

Their conversation deepened almost without her noticing. What had begun as polite exchange became something more thoughtful—more engaged. There was a pleasure in it, a sense of meeting another mind that did not require pretense.

Elizabeth found herself speaking more freely than she had intended, and without any sense of impropriety. Mr. Darcy listened attentively, his responses restrained but sincere, and she could not deny the satisfaction she felt in being understood.

I like him very well. The understanding came suddenly, but with certainty. At that moment, the door burst open.

Bruno charged into the room with all the enthusiasm of a creature who had been unjustly excluded and now meant to remedy the situation at once.

His brindled coat gleamed in the light, his paws thudding against the floor as he made directly for Mr. Darcy.

“Bruno!” Elizabeth exclaimed.

Too late.

The great dog launched himself forward, placing his enormous paws upon Mr. Darcy and proceeding to bestow a series of enthusiastic, thoroughly indiscriminate kisses upon his face.

Mr. Darcy’s teacup wobbled precariously in his hand.

Elizabeth sprang to her feet.

“Bruno! Down at once!”

Mr. Darcy hastily set the cup aside before it could meet an untimely end, while Elizabeth reached for the dog’s collar, pulling him back with as much authority as she could muster.

“Bruno, you wretched creature, what are you about?”

The dog wagged his tail vigorously, quite unrepentant.

Mr. Darcy, his composure remarkably intact considering the circumstances, said in a firm voice, “Sit.”

Bruno froze. For a moment he looked positively astonished. Then, as if he had just had a significant realization, he sat.