Page 91 of Honor Requires

“I find myself curious on that point,” he admitted.

He turned, his gaze thoughtful. “She spoke often of them. Not idly, nor with exaggeration, but with that particular clarity which allows one to see both virtue and fault without diminishing either.”

Lucien smiled faintly. “You admired that.”

“I did.”

Darcy resumed pacing.

“My cousin’s wife is her favorite sister, Jane. But she had three others. Mary—serious, inclined toward reflection. Kitty—easily influenced, though not without sense. Lydia…” He paused. “Lydia was spirited. Perhaps too much so.” How well he recalled Elizabeth’s exasperation as she described them each in turn.

Lucien watched him with mild interest. “You remember them all.”

Darcy’s lips curved faintly. “She made it impossible not to.”

He grew thoughtful once more.

“I wonder what has become of them. Whether they are well settled. Whether…” He shook his head. “It would be prudent to know.”

Lucien nodded. “You intend to send Stone.”

“Yes.”

Darcy turned back toward the fire, his expression settling once more into composure. “He will discover what he can. It may prove…useful.”

Lucien rose then, crossing the room with unhurried steps. “And what of Miss Bennet herself?”

Darcy stilled.

Lucien’s gaze sharpened. “Her countenance says she recognized you.”

Darcy did not turn at once. When he did, his expression was controlled, though not untouched. “She did,” he said. He could feel it in his soul. Everything—every mannerism, hesitation, and blush—told him his dear Elizabeth had recognized him instantly.

“And what do you mean to do about it?”

Darcy shook his head once, sharply. “Nothing.”

Lucien’s brows lifted. “Nothing?” His incredulous tone almost made Darcy smile. “Whyever not, man?”

“I cannot think about Elizabeth now,” Darcy said, more firmly. “There are matters of far greater consequence that must first be addressed. My estate. My sister. The circumstances of my imprisonment.” His jaw tightened. “What has been taken must be restored.”

Lucien fell silent.

Darcy drew in a slow breath. “I need to focus on claiming what is rightfully mine.”

The silence stretched between them. At length, Darcy added, “I rather think you disapprove.”

Lucien's countenance changed, conveying not disapproval, but a more deliberate demeanor. “I do not,” he said.

Darcy glanced at him.

Lucien regarded him thoughtfully. “We have secured a fortune beyond anything either of us might once have imagined. You have the means to reclaim your position, your name, your place in society.” He paused. “But the only thing you truly need to set matters right—fully—is love.”

Darcy’s expression hardened, though not in anger. “Love,” he repeated.

Lucien held his gaze. “Yes. Your position is understandable...but is it necessary?”

Darcy turned away, his hands once more clasped behind his back.