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Elizabeth

“E lizabeth.” Her name on his lips seemed both a question and a plea, hanging between them amidst the ceaseless London clamour. The way he said it—with such tender uncertainty—made her heart constrict in her chest.

Elizabeth stood motionless, the contract from Nocturne Publishing clutched in her gloved hand, as passing carriages and pedestrians blurred around them.

Darcy’s face bore the marks of sleepless nights—shadows beneath his eyes, a certain pallor to his complexion that spoke of distress rather than illness.

She found herself fighting the urge to reach out and trace the line of worry that had formed between his brows.

“How did you find me?” she asked, her voice steadier than she had anticipated.

“Your uncle’s express informed me you were in London,” Darcy replied. “So I assumed you would keep your appointment. I saw you enter earlier and waited for you to come out again.”

A passing cart splashed through a puddle nearby, nearly soaking Elizabeth’s hem.

Without hesitation, Darcy placed himself between her and the street, guiding her towards a more sheltered position beneath a shop awning.

His hand at her elbow was gentle but firm, the familiar touch sending a cascade of memories through her—quiet evenings at Pemberley, shared laughter over books, the gradual dissolution of walls between them.

“This is hardly the place for the conversation we must have,” he said, glancing at the curious stares of passers-by. “My carriage is waiting. There is a small park not far from here. Would you accompany me there?”

The parallel was not lost on Elizabeth. St James’s Park, where he had first proposed their arrangement—was this to be the place where it ended?

She hesitated, then nodded, allowing him to escort her to his waiting carriage.

They travelled in silence, each looking out separate windows, the space between them on the seat seemingly vast despite its modest width.

Yet somehow, even in this silence, she felt more connected to him than she had to anyone else in her life.

The park proved quieter than the bustling streets they had left behind.

Trees stood in orderly rows along gravel paths, their leaves beginning to show the first hints of autumn gold.

They walked a short distance before finding an unoccupied bench in a secluded corner, partially sheltered by an ancient oak.

The dappled sunlight through the branches cast shifting patterns across Darcy’s face, reminding Elizabeth of how she had first seen him in this same changing light months ago—a stranger then, but now someone whose absence had left an ache in her chest she could no longer deny.

“I must speak with you about what occurred at Rosings,” Darcy began, just as Elizabeth said, “I owe you an apology for my precipitous departure.”

They both fell silent, looking at one another in surprise. After a moment, a slight, uncertain smile touched Elizabeth’s lips. “It appears we are of the same mind, at least in this.”

“Will you permit me to speak first?” Darcy asked. “There is much I must address, and I fear that if I do not say it now, my courage may desert me.”

Elizabeth nodded, adjusting her position on the bench so that she might better observe him. She noted how his hands clasped and unclasped, betraying the nervousness his composed face tried to hide.

“I behaved abominably at Rosings, and before,” Darcy began.

“Lady Catherine’s revelation of my role in separating Bingley from your sister was cruel in its manner, but the substance was true.

I did interfere in their attachment, and I did so from pride and presumption rather than genuine concern for my friend’s welfare, though I attempted to fool myself into believing my actions were undertaken out of care. ”

He paused, arranging his thoughts. Elizabeth remained silent, allowing him the space to continue.

“After overhearing your mother’s conversation regarding financial expectations, I allowed my judgement to be clouded. I attributed acquisitive motives to your entire family, and I advised Bingley accordingly.”

“You were not wholly wrong about my mother,” Elizabeth said quietly.

“Her preoccupation with wealth and position has long been a source of mortification to me. Yet you misunderstood Jane entirely. Her temperament is gentle, her emotions carefully guarded, but no less profound for their modest expression.”

“I have come to understand that,” Darcy acknowledged. “My actions stemmed from my anger and my residual upset over the Wickham revelation. It was arrogance of the highest order, and I am deeply ashamed of it.”

He turned slightly to face her more directly.

“When I left Rosings after discovering your whereabouts, I came directly to London. I knew I could not seek you out without rectifying my errors and so my first act was to seek out Bingley. I told him everything—my interference, my mistaken judgement of your sister’s affections, my regret.

I revealed that I had no true understanding of Miss Bennet’s character and had presumed to judge her feelings based on insufficient evidence. ”

“And what was his response?” Elizabeth asked, unable to conceal her interest.

“Initially anger, followed by hope,” Darcy replied. “He departed for Netherfield that very afternoon. I imagine he will have spoken to your sister by now and perhaps, they may be engaged as he intended to propose. In fact, he wished to propose the night of the ball but once again I interfered.”

Elizabeth absorbed this information, she felt a weight lifting from her chest that she had scarcely acknowledged was there. “You have acted honourably in setting matters right with Mr Bingley.”

“It was the least I could do,” Darcy said. “But it does not erase my culpability in separating them in the first place, nor does it address the deeper matters between us.”

His eyes met hers, and she saw in them a depth of feeling that made her breath catch.

He hesitated, then continued with evident difficulty.

“My reaction to discovering your prior acquaintance with Wickham was excessive. While the concealment pained me, I allowed that hurt to magnify when combined with my discomfort at your mother’s calculations.

I began to question everything—whether your family viewed our marriage as merely advantageous, whether your own feelings might be influenced by such considerations. ”

“You thought me a fortune hunter?” Elizabeth asked.

“No,” Darcy replied with such immediate conviction that Elizabeth felt something warm unfurl in her chest. “Not truly. But I permitted doubt to cloud my judgement, and in doing so, I failed to trust in the understanding we had built between us.”

He studied her face, his expression grave.

“I have had ample time to reflect since you left Rosings. I now see that my aunt and uncle’s treatment of you was inexcusable.

They behaved with cold disdain, dismissing you without making the slightest effort to know your character.

I should have been more forceful in your defence. ”

“They acted from their perspective of family duty,” Elizabeth said, surprising herself with the observation. “As did my mother, in her own way. Both seek security for those they love, though their methods differ vastly.”

“Such understanding does not excuse their behaviour,” Darcy said. “I have written to both, making clear that any future relationship with me depends upon their treating you with the respect you deserve as my wife.”

The simple phrase ‘my wife’ sent a tremor through Elizabeth.

Those two words, spoken with such quiet possession, resonated through her being with unexpected power.

Despite all that had happened, despite her own declaration at Rosings regarding annulment, he still considered their marriage real and binding.

“There is another matter I must address,” Darcy continued. “You spoke of annulment.”

“I spoke in anger,” Elizabeth admitted. “The shock of learning about your interference with Jane, combined with the hostility of your family, overwhelmed my better judgement. I needed distance to think clearly.”

“And have you thought clearly in the interval?” Darcy asked, his voice carefully controlled. She could see the cost of that control in the tension of his shoulders, the slight tremble in his usually steady hands.

Elizabeth considered her answer. “My aunt and uncle have been most helpful in that regard. They encouraged me to consider your actions from a broader perspective—to recognise that you had limited opportunity to know Jane’s character, and that my mother’s manner might easily have been misinterpreted by someone unacquainted with her peculiarities. ”

“Mrs Gardiner sounds remarkably wise,” Darcy observed.

“She is,” Elizabeth agreed. “My uncle, too, suggested that your error might be one of judgement rather than intention. A grave error, certainly, but perhaps not an unforgivable one.”

Hope flickered in Darcy’s eyes. “Then you no longer wish for annulment?”

Elizabeth gazed across the park, gathering her thoughts.

The autumn sunlight gilded the trees around them, much as it had at Pemberley when she had first begun to see him as more than just her rescuer.

How far they had come since then—from strangers bound by convenience to two people who had somehow found their way to each other’s hearts despite every obstacle.

“When I fled Rosings, I was certain our marriage could not survive such a breach of trust. Yet these past days have brought reflection. I have weighed your actions against my own concealment regarding Wickham. I have considered the growth of affection between us at Pemberley—affection that seemed genuine and deep, untainted by mercenary considerations.”