Page 57 of To Win Her Affections

Darcy had seen Miss Bennet walk a few times, once when he had come on her outside Netherfield the morning she walked there to tend her sister, and several times during their mutual stay in Kent. Though he was uncertain even now if she understood those encounters were not so accidental as she might have supposed, it was not the time to raise such subjects.

This morning, her gait was different. Miss Bennet was a woman who walked for pleasure, but she also did so for exercise—it had done her good, as her lithe figure and seemingly inexhaustible energy testified to the habit. That morning, however, she strolled beside him, her pace one of leisure rather than purpose. Having no notion of what she wanted, Darcy kept pace with her, enjoying her presence beside him.

“Mr. Darcy,” said she when they had walked for a few moments, “there is a matter of which we must speak before we depart this morning.”

“Oh?” asked Darcy, bemused by her boldness. “And what is that?”

“The conversation in the carriage yesterday,” said she. “When I jested about the lack of a courtship, I had the distinct impression that it made you uneasy.”

Darcy felt the smile leave his lips. For several moments, he wondered if he should try to push the subject away with a joke, but seeing her serious expression, he knew it would not work. Miss Elizabeth Bennet was not a woman who would allow anyone to turn her attention away when she did not wish it. She was both intelligent enough to see any such attempt for what it was, and stubborn enough to pursue the matter regardless.

“I must take note,” said Darcy, injecting a little light humor. “My aunt maintains that others should not attempt to trifle with her, but I can see she is nothing compared to you.”

“That is for the best, Mr. Darcy,” said she, betraying a hint of diversion. “Lady Catherine will not be your wife—I will be. Thus, it behooves you to pay attention.”

“I shall,” murmured Darcy, enjoying the sight of her.

“Now,” said she, “I would not have you misunderstand me, Mr. Darcy. What I said last night was a jest.”

“Yes, it was,” agreed Darcy. “But all jests have at their heart a grain of truth—that sort of humor produces the wryest commentary about life.”

“It does,” agreed Miss Bennet. “Did it make you uncomfortable?”

“To a certain degree, it did,” agreed Darcy.

He paused, uncertain how much he should say. There was no reason to hold anything back—she was too quick not to see through him, and honesty would serve them better than hesitance.

“The business with your sister brought about a sudden end to our courtship.” Darcy grinned, though he did not feel mirthful. “What there was of it, I suppose. It concerns me . . . Well, let us simply say that I wondered if your sister’s difficulties forced your hand.”

Miss Bennet regarded him for a long moment. “That, I think, is the largest difficulty between us—though our acquaintance began almost a year ago, we do not know each other well yet.”

Darcy considered this. “Then you attribute my concern to a lack of understanding?”

“In part,” replied Miss Bennet.

On the other side of the yard, a local stable hand led a team of nickering horses from the stables, and his men set about the work of hitching them to the traces and preparing for departure. The Gardiners were still inside, leaving perhaps five or ten minutes before they must depart.

“There is no time,” muttered Miss Bennet. Then she shook her head and straightened. “Brevity, then.”

“That would be for the best,” agreed Darcy.

“In brief,” said she, “if I did not wish to be engaged to you, I would not have accepted.”

Darcy offered a slow nod, turning her words over in his mind. “You have already proved as much, when you rejected Collins’s suit.”

“I did,” said she. “When we were quite young, Jane and I could see the discord in our parents’ marriage, and we agreed we would allow only the deepest love to induce us into matrimony.”

“But you do not love me,” said Darcy, knowing it was true though it pained him to say it.

This time it was Miss Bennet’s turn to ponder his words. “My feelings for you are much warmer than they were before, but I do not have clarity yet about just what they are.”

“Then why did you accept?” asked Darcy. “By your own confession, I have not yet inspired that which you believed necessary to induce you into matrimony.”

“That is another thing I cannot decipher,” confessed she. “When I consider it, however, I can only conclude that I accepted because of the promise of what I want rather than the current reality.”

A slow smile spread over Darcy’s face as he understood what she was saying. “Then you expect to be happy with me.”

She showed him a saucy grin. “Was I wrong, Mr. Darcy?”