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Elizabeth said nothing of Mr Darcy’s visit to her aunt and uncle past the fact that she had ordered tea, and he had gone before he could have a cup.

She was undone by what he had revealed. Did he truly love her?

It had come as such a shock. Swept away by her anger over his treatment of Mr Wickham, she could not fully take in his shocking proposal.

It had seemed nothing more than a jest, or perhaps only another insult.

Not until she was alone in her bedroom could Elizabeth begin to question and to wonder.

It hardly seemed possible that Mr Darcy, the arrogant man who had so clearly shown his contempt for her at Netherfield, was really in love with her.

It was almost too much for her mind to comprehend.

Surely she had not misinterpreted his actions and his words.

She had thought he disapproved of Mr Collin’s proposal out of doubts about herself, or perhaps at best concern over the public spectacle at Mr Bingley’s ball.

But could it have really been down to jealousy, even concern for her? Surely not!

And what about Mr Wickham? Darcy had not denied refusing him the living, but what if it was not down to spite? What if Mr Wickham had tried to run away and elope with a young lady of fortune? That would make him an unprincipled fortune hunter. Albeit a very charming fortune hunter.

Elizabeth paced back and forth in her room, the window open to the unusually mild breeze. She relished the fresh air, hoping it would chase away the confusion whirling through her mind.

She had often thought there were oddities in Mr Wickham’s behaviour — even before they had met in London.

And that was another thing — it would have been very difficult for a soldier to procure leave for a mere cousin.

Yet he had done it. His original leave had only been granted for a week, and it had been far longer since he had arrived.

Could there be anything of substance to Mr Darcy’s warnings?

She shook her head, going to the window to take in a deep draught of fresh air.

Mr Wickham was so pleasant to talk to. Of course, that did not mean he was not a fortune hunter.

She could not very well fault him for wanting to make an advantageous marriage.

If women did it, then men were certainly free to do so as well.

Before the legacy from Great-Uncle Alfie, Elizabeth would have been in the position of needing an advantageous match herself.

Yet to act with calculation, perhaps even to misrepresent his intentions to her, would be a very different thing.

Elizabeth chewed on her pinkie nail, a habit that she had been chided for throughout her adolescence.

But in the absence of Jane and her mother to scold her, and given the tremendous strain she had been under the last few weeks, she had fallen back into the practice.

She would have said no proposal could have been more disturbing than Mr Collins’s, and yet Mr Darcy had handily proved her wrong.

Doubts assailed her. Her aunt had cautioned her about Mr Wickham, too.

Mrs Gardiner’s judgement was usually unassailable.

Could there be anything to what Mr Darcy had said?

It hardly seemed possible, yet that he would have made up such a story simply to discredit Mr Wickham seemed more impossible still.

He had been most reticent as he had told her of the young woman.

And why had he mentioned no name? It was all very odd.

She resolved she must keep a close watch on his character from that moment forward. Elizabeth could not help feeling that Mr Darcy had again ruined something for her.

Yet if he were telling the truth, she would owe him not anger, but the deepest gratitude.

A knock sounded, and her cousin Eloise poked her head around the door. “Mr Wickham is downstairs asking after you,” she said excitedly.

Elizabeth looked at her reflection in the full-length mirror, then followed her cousin down to the foyer, where Mr Wickham waited with hat in hand. “Mr Wickham, how good of you to call. Shall we go into the drawing room?”

Mr Wickham bowed but did not move from his spot near the door. “Actually, I had hoped you would accompany me to Gunter’s Tea Shop. I have not had an ice in ever so long, and thought you might enjoy taking one with me.”

Elizabeth’s heart skipped a beat. “Of course, I should be delighted.”

At that moment, her aunt appeared at the edge of the foyer. Mr Wickham bowed to her. “Mrs Gardiner, I had hoped to invite Miss Bennet out for an ice at Gunter’s Tea Shop. I wonder if you might be willing to act as chaperone?” he asked.

Mrs Gardiner glanced briefly at Elizabeth, but answered readily enough. “Of course,” she replied. “Eloise, go and tell your father that Lizzy and I are stepping out for a little while. If you will give us a moment, we shall retrieve our bonnets.”

Elizabeth followed her aunt at her silent bidding. They hurried up the stairs together. When they had made it past the landing and out of earshot, her aunt pulled her close. “Are you sure you have carefully considered this, Lizzy?”

“Considered what? Going to a tea shop to have an ice?” Elizabeth smiled. “I am very fond of ice.”

“You know that is not what I mean.” They stopped in front of Elizabeth’s door, and she pressed her hand. “I think he means to deepen the connection, Lizzy. Be certain of what you want.”

Her aunt turned and walked toward her own room.

Elizabeth could not help the coil of nervousness that wound around her belly.

There the warning was again, even though her aunt had said little since her first warning when they met Mr Wickham.

Bile began rising in her throat, but she shook her head and went to the window, taking several deep breaths.

She hurried over to her dressing table and retrieved her hat and gloves when a knock sounded at her door. Her aunt called to her from the hall. “It will not do to keep him waiting, my dear.”

Elizabeth slipped out of the room after putting on her hat. She pulled her gloves on as they walked to the foyer.

The carriage ride to Gunter’s was pleasant enough, save for the dark cloud that had settled over her at her aunt’s warning. When they arrived, Mrs Gardiner opted to be seated a couple of tables away, where she could still watch while giving them a modicum of privacy.

The tea house was busy, likely preventing any accusations of impropriety even had Mrs Gardiner not accompanied them. Even so, Elizabeth was glad that her aunt only sat a few yards away, enjoying a cup of tea that Mr Wickham had graciously purchased for her.

“It is a beautiful day, is it not?” He sighed and looked out the window as they waited for their ices to be delivered.

“On such a day, it seemed almost as though anything is possible.” He beamed at her, then leaned forward.

“Miss Bennet, I must confess, I am undone by your beauty.” He took her hand and pressed it passionately.

Elizabeth took her hand away, feeling several pairs of eyes on her. Though the affectionate gesture was pleasing, it was rather too much for so public a place. “Indeed? I agree that the sunshine makes it feel as if there are limitless possibilities. Do you refer to anything in particular?”

Mr Wickham licked his lips, then took her hand again. “I do. Miss Bennet, I should like to ask you something very important.” He smiled, pausing for a moment. “It can come as no surprise to you what I am about to ask.”

Elizabeth’s heart fluttered, then began to race. “Indeed, Mr Wickham, I am at a total loss —”

He chuckled, effectively cutting her off.

“Then I have shielded my feelings better than I thought. Miss Bennet,” he began again.

“I have been unable to think of anyone else — nay, anything else — since first we met. Since I first laid eyes on you, heard you laugh, and saw how gracefully you danced, I have been captivated. From that moment on, you have only confirmed what my heart knew that night — that I would forever love you, that you must be the woman I made my wife.”

He halted, clearing his throat. All the while, Elizabeth had felt a sense of dread settling over her.

She was not ready for this, especially given the revelations that Mr Darcy had so recently brought forward.

At first, she had been determined not to listen to them. Now she was frantic for more time.

His smile seemed genuine enough, with the hint of tears pooling in his eyes. “Miss Elizabeth Bennet, would you do me the greatest honour and become my wife?”

Elizabeth glanced over at her aunt, who, she could see, was watching like a hawk. Her aunt set down her cup, which had been suspended near her lips as the scene unfolded. Mrs Gardiner did not look displeased. Nor did she look pleased, only concerned.

“My love?” Mr Wickham said, calling her back to the present.

The endearment was like a bucket of cold water poured over her head. “I am flattered, Mr Wickham, and gratified to the extreme, I assure you. But I am afraid I am not yet ready to take that step.”

Mr Wickham’s face fell, but he let go of her hand gently, giving her a weak smile. “I see. You think I seek marriage too soon after meeting?” He nodded, but did not allow her to answer. “It stands to reason. Ours has been a brief acquaintance.”

Yet her hesitation was not only caused by the brevity of time for which they had known each other.

Though she enjoyed his company, she could not seem to picture being his wife.

Elizabeth wondered if Mr Darcy’s comments were poisoning her thoughts, making her unjustly suspicious of Mr Wickham. The possibility could not be dismissed.