Page 53 of Colour My World (The Bennet Sister Variations #3)
Longbourn, three mornings later…
Elizabeth waited at the gate. She hummed at the warmth she felt when she spotted Mr Darcy atop Goliath. He dismounted several yards away and walked towards her.
“Good morning, Miss Elizabeth.”
“You are early, she replied.”
“You are here.”
“A coincidence, I assure you.”
“I was hoping for one.”
She glanced at him. “Is that the sort of thing you say often?”
“Only when I mean it.”
He led Goliath to the stables and returned within minutes.
Together they turned down the lane that bordered the empty hedgerows, their boots brushing through the soft damp left by morning mist. The trees stood nearly bare—grey bark and clinging brown leaves—but the air was clean and sharp, as if waiting to be filled with something new.
“You came yesterday as well, she said.”
“I did.”
“And the day before that.”
“True as well.”
She raised an eyebrow. “I begin to suspect you have business with someone in the house.”
“Very pressing business.”
“I am sure Jane is flattered.”
“I am sure she is confused.”
Elizabeth tilted her head. “Well. That leaves—”
“You,” he said without hesitation.
“Indeed.”
“I am courting you, Miss Elizabeth.”
“You are? I do not remember a petition of that sort.”
“You may consider it a fait accompli .”
She laughed and pressed herself against his arm. “Shall we discuss wedding dates and logistiques? ”
“Not today. Today is for discretion.”
“And the next day?”
“That day may require fortitude.”
She laughed before she could stop herself. “You say such things with the greatest severity.”
“I have always relied upon severity. It conceals everything else.”
“And what is concealed today?”
He glanced upward. “Admiration. Hesitation.” He turned back to her. “And a rather dismal inability to flirt.”
“What a shame. I had hoped for a compliment.”
“You may still have one, but it will most likely not come from me.”
“Oh? Are you always so ungenerous?”
“Only with things too easily spent. Compliments are currency for some. I find they depreciate quickly.”
“And if I insisted?”
He glanced sideways at her. “I might say your silence is never empty.”
They walked on in quiet for some time. Elizabeth adjusted to the measure of his stride, as he did hers.
“You disliked me,” he said quietly. “At the start.”
“I did,” she admitted. “And then I held it against you for far too long.”
“And now?”
She looked up at him. “You remain a puzzle.”
“An improving one?”
“Let us say I enjoy the effort.” She giggled.
“You are very good at effort.”
“And you are very good at... stillness.”
He turned to her. “That is a peculiar trait to praise.”
“I did not say it was always welcome.”
He smiled. Roses bloomed about him.
They walked to the edge of the orchard, where the wall met a narrow gate. The breeze lifted the collar of her cloak, and he reached—hesitated—and let it fall again.
“I never expected to be here,” she said.
“Nor I.”
“And yet here you are. Again.”
“As often as I am tolerated.”
Elizabeth stopped and looked up at him. Her heart swelled. “You are more than tolerated.”
“That is more than I had hoped to hear.”
She reached for his hand and pressed it to her cheek. “I was wrong about you.”
“I was wrong about many things.”
“I still do not understand you.”
“I hope you never entirely do.”
“Whatever do you mean by that?”
“Because that would mean we had nothing left to learn.”
The breeze carried the scent of woodsmoke and earth. She folded her arms. He adjusted her shawl. She brushed her cheek against his hand.
“I thought you were a man without feeling.”
“I had hoped to appear so. I could not afford the cost of opening my heart to you.”
“And now?”
He leant in and placed his forehead against hers. “I am eager to pay.”
* * *
Longbourn, three mornings later…
Hill ushered Darcy into the study without flourish. In his future son-in-law’s hand, Bennet noted the precision of the folio: chestnut leather, dark ribbon tied around the width. As though a treaty were being delivered.
“You are early. Again. I am beginning to think you enjoy our company.”
“I do,” said Darcy. “And I come with purpose.”
Bennet took the folio and untied the ribbon. “Shall we begin?”
They sat across from one another. The morning sun stretched across the carpet in polite silence.
“The terms are generous,” Bennet said after a while, flipping a page. “You have anticipated my every objection.”
“Not every. Only the most likely.”
“And my daughter’s dowry?”
“I have matched it, as discussed.”
Bennet turned a few more pages. “And the matter of the younger sisters? You have allowed for occasional visits? You do realise Lydia is a natural disturbance.”
Darcy allowed a ghost of a smile. “I have a room prepared for any of the bishop’s relations. Rochester, that is. Not Canterbury.”
Bennet laughed. “You may yet win me over.”
Darcy inclined his head. “A worthy addition, sir.”
They stood.
“You will not stay to breakfast?” Bennet asked.
“I will not intrude.”
Bennet walked him to the door. “That is a misjudgement, Darcy. Intrusion suggests no one wants you here.”
Darcy glanced toward the parlour. Bennet heard laughter. Kitty and Mary by the sound of it.
“You have brought papers,” Bennet added, “but eaten no toast. That seems uneven.”
Darcy hesitated.
“And if you are to endure my family for the rest of your life,” Bennet said, “you may as well begin with eggs.”
* * *
Her family remained in the parlour; Elizabeth had stepped out to see him off. The air had warmed slightly since morning, though the ground was still soft with dew. She walked beside him toward the gate, her hands tucked into her sleeves.
“You leave on the morrow?” she asked.
“I do. I am…reluctantly expected.”
She took his arm as they turned past the edge of the lawn. “Then why go?”
“Because I must. I have not been a brother in some time, and it is time I made the attempt.”
Elizabeth studied him. “And Lady Catherine?”
He gave a short laugh. “She will learn of my arrival when I darken her doorstep. I do not expect a wreath.”
Elizabeth tilted her head. “You mean to surprise them?”
“I mean to discover what may yet remain,” he said. “Of what I was to Georgiana—and whether it still holds any worth.”
She halted. “You think she no longer holds you in affection?”
“I cannot say. I once believed my presence a comfort. I fear I have made it a constraint.”
Elizabeth was quiet for a moment. “And now?”
“Now I go to learn what remains between us.”
They reached the gate and paused. He rested his hand on it, but did not pass through.
“She may be uncertain,” Elizabeth said, “but I doubt she has forgotten the brother who once stayed close.”
“I hope you are right.”
Elizabeth tilted her head. “You do realise, I live in a world of women.”
Darcy gave her a look—wry and unsure.
“Sisters,” she said pointedly. “They fight. They change allegiances. They say too much or nothing at all. But we remember who shows up. You may not know what Georgiana feels, but if you wish to know it—you must go.”
“And if I misstep?”
“Then you must learn the art of apology, and mean it.”
“That sounds perilous.”
“Perilous to you today. Tomorrow, and onward, it is what we shall call family. ”
He reached for her hand.
“I would not presume to instruct you in brotherhood,” she added. “But I will say this—sisters are not puzzles to be solved. They are persons. And they do grow up.”
He studied her a moment. “You would have made her an excellent elder sister.”
“I still might.” She stared into his eyes. Ask me. I will say yes.
He turned toward the house, released her hand, and touched his temple.
Elizabeth followed his gaze. Her family were pressed against the large window: Jane with both hands over her mouth, Mary with a small smile.
Kitty and Lydia bouncing at the corners, and their mother clapping as though at a pantomime.
Mrs Hill stood with the tea tray and nodded with uncharacteristic vigour.
Elizabeth turned back. Darcy was down on his knee. She could almost smell the roses that stirred around his shoulders.
“My heart was yours before I understood it. It shall remain so, if you will do me the honour, here even before your family, of becoming my wife?”
She ought to have felt overwhelmed. Instead, she felt certain. The moment had come, and it was simple. “Yes.”
He rose and would have kissed her, but she checked him with her hand. “Not before my family.”
“We are engaged.”
Her lips curved. “Engaged, yes—but not wed. I have my character to maintain.”
His laugh was genuine and unguarded. She walked him to the stable, where he mounted Goliath and turned toward the lane. “I shall return. Soon.”
Elizabeth raised an eyebrow. “Bring a wreath. Or Lady Catherine might bolt the gates.”
He laughed again and trotted down the lane.
Her father joined her at the gate. She watched Darcy vanish around the treefall. “He said he had not been a brother in some time.”
After a pause, he asked, “Did you tell him?”
“No.” Elizabeth turned to her father. “And I do not intend to.”
“You may wish to reconsider. A marriage begun with concealment seldom travels a straight road.”
She watched the empty lane. “He holds me in regard for what he knows. I will not ask him to believe in what he cannot see.”