Page 90 of Honor Requires

Darcy stilled.

The faintest shift in his expression—so slight it might have escaped another’s notice—did not escape Lucien’s. There was a pause. Then Darcy’s gaze turned from the room, settling somewhere distant, as though drawn backward in time.

“It was not always a necklace,” he said.

Lucien did not interrupt.

“It was a shell,” Darcy recalled. “No more than that. We were walking along the shore at Ramsgate. The tide had only just begun to recede, and there was a narrow stretch of sand left between the rocks and the water. Miss Bennet remained behind with me—her aunt had persuaded my sister to return, as she had grown fatigued.”

His voice lowered, though it retained its cadence.

“There was nothing remarkable in the moment. We spoke as we often did—of small things, of observations, of whatever presented itself.”

He paused briefly. “I remember it with a clarity that defies reason.”

Lucien shifted, lowering his leg from the arm of the chair and setting his glass aside.

“I saw it among the rocks,” Darcy said. “Half buried, lodged between two stones. It caught the light in such a way that I could not ignore it. I retrieved it—more from curiosity than intention.”

He allowed himself the faintest breath of a smile.

“It was delicately formed. A pale blush of color—ivory and rose. Nothing of great value.”

His gaze flicked briefly toward Lucien.

“It seemed singular.”

“And you gave it to her,” Lucien said.

Darcy inclined his head. “She admired it. Not with affectation. Not with any attempt to please—but because she found it pleasing. There was a simplicity in her regard that…” He trailed off, then resumed, “I placed it in her hand.”

The fire shifted, sending a cascade of sparks upward.

“She accepted it as though it were something of worth,” Darcy said. “As though I had given her something more than a simple shell.”

Lucien studied him closely. “And now she wears it still.”

Darcy’s gaze darkened, though not with displeasure—with something deeper.

“Yes.”

A brief silence settled between them.

Lucien leaned back once more, though the earlier indolence had left him. “My dear Darcy,” he said at last, satisfaction evident in his tone, “the lady obviously still loves you.”

Darcy did not immediately respond.

“You were very wrong, then, my friend.” Lucien's smile widened. “Miss Bennet was not forced by circumstance to marry.”

Darcy exhaled slowly, setting his glass aside upon the mantel. “Her sister’s marriage to my cousin likely contributed to that.”

Lucien’s brow furrowed. “Your cousin—the viscount?”

“Yes. Bramley.” Darcy clasped his hands behind his back, beginning to pace slowly before the fire. “He has married Miss Bennet’s elder sister—Jane. It is a match of affection, and one that has evidently placed Miss Bennet in a position of comfort and independence.”

Lucien considered this. “And the rest of the family?”

Darcy’s steps slowed.