Page 58 of In Want of a Suspect
“I suspect that it isn’t that Lizzie doesn’t care to spend time with you outside of your professional duties, but that she is struggling with the consequences of such a close arrangement,” Elinor said.
Marianne was much more forthright. “Her parents expect you to propose.”
This was not entirely shocking news. No one who’d ever met Mrs. Bennet would fail to realize that obtaining husbands for each of her daughters was her chief mission in life. That didn’t frighten him off like it might some young gentlemen—last night’s revelation that he loved her was no passing fancy. He smiled at the mere thought of her, despite the discomfort of thisconversation. “Well, naturally I want to marry her.”
The Dashwoods let out identical squeals. “I knew it!” Marianne proclaimed. “Elinor, you owe me ten shillings!”
“You had a bet on whether or not I would propose?” Darcy was aghast.
“Not on whether or not you would,” Marianne said, triumphant. “That has never been in question. Just on how soon you would admit it.”
Miss Woodhouse was studying him. “Young ladies do not have the sort of freedom that you enjoy, Mr. Darcy. And enterprising young ladies such as your Miss Bennet must struggle with the constraints of society even more so than those who are content to stay close to home.”
“I know that,” Darcy said, a tad defensively.
“As long as most people believe we ought to be kept in the drawing room, stitching samplers and pouring tea, our lives will always be difficult,” Marianne grumbled. “The trick is to ask how you can make her life easier!”
Darcy felt he knew where this was going. “So I should... propose?”
All three ladies, including Miss Woodhouse, gasped—and not in a good way.
“What?” Darcy knew it was a bit of a hasty thought, but he didn’t think it warranted that level of amazement. “If we were married, then no one would be upset about how much time we spend together!”
“True,” Elinor said, “but marriage is a big step. Have you spoken with her about the matter?”
“Oh, well...” He’d always assumed that marriage was the logical next step—clearly, they were fond of each other, and if Mrs. Bennet knew about even one of the kisses they’d shared, she’d force a marriage that very week. But they’d never talked about it. He’d always justassumedthat eventually they’d get around to it.
“I think that’s a no, ladies,” Miss Woodhouse said. “If I may dispense some advice, Mr. Darcy? Just because you admire her and you spend time together doesn’t mean she is obligated to commit her life to you. She is her own person.”
“I know that!” Darcy felt more condescended to in this moment than he had in the last three months of working with Mr. Tomlinson. “I like that she’s her own person!”
Miss Woodhouse continued, undeterred. “Good. Now, marriagecanbe very advantageous, but even with the obvious benefits there are some drawbacks. Personally, I don’t see the point of it. For example, could she still be her own person, if she were to marry you?”
“Of course!” Why, the mere notion that Darcy would control Lizzie if they were to get married was insulting. “She knows I would never force her to do anything she doesn’t want to do! If I were to marry her, it would be because it would make her life easier, so she wouldn’t be the subject of gossip!”
Marianne gave him a pitying look. “Yes, because that’s the sort of marriage proposal all young ladies dream of.”
Darcy opened his mouth to retort that Lizzie didn’t care about things like that, but then he shut it once more. He thought back to that moment in the drawing room with Josette—not this week, but two years ago. He really, really thought about it, which was something he generally avoided doing.
Oh.
Elinor bit her lip. “Mr. Darcy, I’m sorry—you shouldn’t listen to us. You really ought to talk with Lizzie herself.”
“No,” he said. “This has been... rather humiliating. But enlightening.”
“Good,” Miss Woodhouse said, clearly satisfied. “Miss Dashwood, Miss Marianne, I must depart—but thank you for your help.” To Darcy, she said, “Good luck.” She gathered her things and left promptly, the bell above the door tinkling as she departed.
“Pardon me,” Darcy heard a familiar voice say, and he turned to see Lizzie herself stepping past Miss Woodhouse to enter the shop, a market basket over one arm and Guy at her heels.
“Lizzie!” Darcy exclaimed, setting down his tea and standing. “There you are!”
His heart swelled at the sight of her. Her brows were furrowed, and her mouth was slightly downturned, which was common when she was worried about something. Even with the dark circles under her eyes and her drawn expression, Darcy thought her the most beautiful young lady in all of London.
But when her eyes landed on him, she didn’t light up with happiness. “You!” she shouted. “Where were you?”
Stunned, Darcy merely gaped at her. “I’m sorry about last night, I was detained—”
“You didn’t come! You didn’t send a note! And when I sent Bingley to your house, your butler said you hadn’t come home! We thought you were dead and dumped in the Thames!”