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“Please,” he spluttered, “would you . . . will you marry me?”
So much for a romantic proposal. Never mind. He would have botched it anyway.
Elizabeth gazed up at him in a sudden distress. “But my situation—my reputation, Mr. Darcy, your sister . . .” She blinked back tears. “I thought . . . You cannot marry me.”
The disappointment stung, but it took Darcy less than the beat of his heart to realize that Elizabeth had not said she did not wish to marry him. She had said he ought not marryher. She was trying to protect him. No, not only him, but Georgiana too, even at the cost of her own feelings. The elation that followed his epiphany was nearly overwhelming, and he could not help but smile at her. Never had he been more certain that Elizabeth was meant to be his wife.
“Your father and your friends have kept your reputation safe, Elizabeth, but even had they not . . .” Darcy paused to be sure it was the truth. It was. “Even then, I should have found a way to ask for your hand.” Elizabeth was silent as she considered his offer, and Darcy was in agony as he awaited her response. Fitz had been right—she had been very surprised to receive his proposal. “After all, I cannot always rely upon your sneeze as a signal that you require rescuing,” he teased her. He boldly cupped her cheek with his hand and rejoiced when she leaned into his palm. “As your husband, I will know where you are at all times.”
She glared at him, her spirit returning. “Will you?”
Darcy nodded solemnly. “Given the events of the past week, I think it would be for the best.” He gazed at her with all the love he felt. “I do not think my heart could stand it otherwise.” He tucked an errant curl behind her ear. “I love you, Elizabeth. The only question is—do you love me in return?”
She stared up at him with dark eyes full of longing. “We shall have to ask my father,” she said.
“Is that a yes?” he asked, hope surging through him.
“If you are certain it will not harm you or your sister,” she said earnestly, “then yes.” Her eyes sought his. “My answer is yes.” Elizabeth placed her good hand over his where it still cupped her cheek. “I am not quite sure when it happened,” she said tenderly, “but I do. I love you, too.”
Darcy impetuously bent to capture her mouth, but Elizabeth held her hand up, palm out. “Perhaps we should continue this conversation elsewhere?” Her hand was shaking.
Darcy brushed his lips against her forehead, then grabbed the lamp, holding it out so that Elizabeth could walk before him and still see where she was going.
“By the way,” he said as he stooped to keep from hitting his head on the low doorframe, one hand on the small of Elizabeth’s back, “I have already spoken with your father, and he has given me his approval to marry you. Sir William knows, too. Oh, and Fitz and Miss Bennet as well.”
“I beg your pardon?” Elizabeth exclaimed indignantly.
“Shh,” Darcy replied with a grin. “Perhaps we should continue this conversation elsewhere.”
