Page 28 of The Same Noble Line (Darcy and Elizabeth Happily Ever Afters)

E lizabeth sat near the window of the morning room, her embroidery idle in her lap. Her needle had not moved for some time, her thoughts too wild to focus on such delicate work. She missed Jane terribly—her calm presence, her ready smile. She had written several times to tell her sisters everything she was doing in London, and she was clearly blossoming under Mr. Bingley’s care. She had even deigned to write that she had been mistaken in Miss Bingley’s overtures of friendship.

Jane would be fine.

Notes from Miss Darcy had kept her abreast of her brother’s continuing recovery, and she was profoundly grateful for any bit of news. But she longed for the day he was well enough to visit again.

Elizabeth had known, as she stepped into Mr. Darcy’s carriage to answer the summons to Netherfield, that she was transgressing the boundaries of propriety. But she had not hesitated. How could she, when Mr. Darcy lay ill and calling for her? Yet now, back in the familiar confines of Longbourn for nearly a fortnight, doubt had seeped into the quiet spaces of her heart.

She had spent several nights in a gentleman’s chamber. No matter that she had ensured the presence of a married woman at all times, nor that her purpose had been solely to aid in Mr. Darcy’s recovery. The world was rarely so generous in its interpretations. Had anyone seen her arrive at Netherfield in the dead of night? Had the servants spoken of it? Were whispers already beginning to spread through Meryton? It was one thing to be thought headstrong, another entirely to be considered compromised.

Worse still was the fear that had settled in the pit of her stomach. What if Mr. Darcy himself thought her too bold, too heedless of decorum? When she had first arrived, when she had taken his fevered hand in hers, she had not cared for appearances. He had even mentioned proposing. But he had still been so ill—now that he was recovering, now that she had returned to her own home and must endure the long wait before she could see him again—her confidence wavered.

She knew, when she forced herself to be rational, that Mr. Darcy would understand. He would know that she had come for him, that her presence had been born of care and not of reckless disregard for his reputation or her own. He would still love her.

But the uncertainty gnawed at her, all the same. It infuriated her, this insecurity, this desperate need to know that he did not regret her presence. She had spoken words of love aloud in the quiet of his sickroom, poured all her heart into them as she had willed him to fight for his life. But he had been fevered, barely clinging to wakefulness. Did he remember? Did he know?

She had never been so affected by another’s opinion before, had never cared beyond what was reasonable. But then, she had never loved like this before.

Would he still wish to marry her now?

It was the giggling that pulled Elizabeth from her thoughts at last, and she straightened at once. She could not allow herself to wallow in doubt. Mr. Darcy would recover, and when he did, they would speak. Until then, she must bear the waiting with as much dignity as she could muster.

Mary sat quietly, reading yet another thick volume on moral philosophy, her serene expression unbothered by the chatter of Kitty and Lydia, who occupied the sofa with their sewing. The younger girls were less industrious with their needles than they were with their tongues, and now that Elizabeth was paying attention, she realized that she was their latest subject of interest.

“Lizzy is dreaming of someone,” Lydia teased, her voice lilting with mischief. “One might think she was in love.”

“Yes,” Kitty added. “She has been staring out the window for an age!”

“Jealous?” Mary asked flatly as she turned a page. She did not look up.

“Me?” Lydia cried. “Jealous of Lizzy? How droll.”

Elizabeth turned a withering look on her sisters. “You two would do well to tend to your own work. My thoughts are my own.”

But Lydia was not so easily deterred. “Oh, I know what your thoughts are. You are pining for Mr. Darcy, of course! But he was here earlier and did not ask to see you.”

Elizabeth’s head snapped up at Lydia’s words, her composure faltering. “Mr. Darcy was here?” she asked, her voice sharper than she intended.

Lydia smirked, pleased by Elizabeth’s reaction. “Oh, yes. He arrived while we were in Meryton to visit Aunt Phillips. He went straight into Papa’s book room and stayed for half an hour.” She leaned closer, her expression mischievous. “What do you think they were talking about?”

Elizabeth’s heart quickened, though she struggled to maintain her outward calm. “I think it is none of our concern, Lydia.”

“Oh, but a gentleman like Mr. Darcy, coming to call without so much as a word to anyone else. It must have been something very important!” Kitty added, her eyes sparkling with excitement. “Who told you, Lydia?”

“Sarah mentioned it, and of course I could not rest until I knew all.”

Mary, who had remained quietly observing, set her book down and looked directly at Elizabeth. “If Mr. Darcy spoke with Papa, it was likely a private matter. Speculation will only make you appear foolish, Lydia, and you too, Kitty.”

Elizabeth gave her middle sister a grateful glance, though her thoughts were racing. Why had no one told her that Mr. Darcy had been here? Had it something to do with her behaviour during his illness, and if so, what would Papa have said?

“Perhaps he was asking Papa for his permission to marry you,” Kitty said with a happy sigh.

“What a fine joke, to ask Papa before Lizzy,” Lydia replied. “I should not like that at all. The man I marry will be so in love with me that he will throw himself at my feet.”

“Hardly a sensible way to behave,” Mary muttered. “I cannot say such a man would make a very steady husband.”

“You are so boring, Mary,” Lydia chirruped.

Mary rolled her eyes.

“That is enough, Lydia,” Elizabeth remonstrated. “You ought to focus on your stitching before you ruin yet another hem.”

Lydia huffed but returned to her work, though not without muttering something under her breath about how dull Mr. Darcy was perfect for Elizabeth. Kitty giggled, but the room then fell into a relative quiet.

Before she could return to her own work, Mr. Hill appeared in the doorway, clearing his throat. “Miss Elizabeth, your father requests your presence.”

Elizabeth’s heart stuttered at the announcement. She rose, glancing at her sisters, who were now watching her with open curiosity. “Thank you, Mr. Hill.”

She approached the book room with a mixture of trepidation and anticipation. Her father’s formal summons was unusual. The conversation between him and Mr. Darcy must be the reason for it. She knocked softly before entering, finding her father seated at his desk, his expression unreadable.

“Ah, Elizabeth,” Mr. Bennet said, gesturing to a chair. “Come in, come in. I find myself in need of your opinion.”

Elizabeth took the chair opposite him, folding her hands in her lap. “Of course, Papa. What is it you wish to discuss?”

He regarded her for a moment, his sharp eyes studying her face. “Tell me, what do you think of Mr. Darcy?”

Elizabeth blinked, surprised by the question. “I think very highly of him, Papa. You know as much.”

“Yes, but I wish to hear it from you directly. What is it about Mr. Darcy that you find so admirable?”

Her cheeks warmed, but she answered earnestly. “He is intelligent. No, more than intelligent, he is clever. He cares deeply for his family and his responsibilities. He has shown himself capable of arrogance and irritation, but also growth and humility, and he treats me with great respect.” She paused. “He listens to me, Papa. He takes me seriously.”

“And he is handsome.”

She shook her head at her father. “That is easy to see, but it is not why I love him.”

He smiled and wagged his eyebrows at her. “It does not hurt.”

She sighed impatiently. “No, it does not hurt.”

Papa smiled but then grew sombre. “Now that I have had my fun, I would like for you to think very seriously for a moment. Will you do that for me?”

Elizabeth nodded.

“Would you think so highly of your Mr. Darcy even if he had no grand estate or wealth to recommend him? What if he had a profession instead, like his cousin?”

Her heart knew the answer, but she thought it over as Papa had asked. She thought of living in a modest house, with modest means, but with the man she loved. And she considered living in a grand home but not feeling the same sort of respect or admiration for the man who would take her there as she did for her suitor. After some minutes of contemplation, she glanced up at her father, who was awaiting her answer. “Papa, his character is what matters most to me. Though I should be very anxious were he an officer like the colonel.”

Mr. Bennet raised an eyebrow, his affection for her flickering beneath his thoughtful expression. “And you are certain of your feelings? You are not merely flattered by his attentions or swept up in the excitement of being courted by a wealthy man? A fortune can be fleeting, my girl. He might lose everything tomorrow, but he would still be your husband for the rest of your life.”

He was alarming her, but nothing would shake her faith in Mr. Darcy. “No, Papa. I am certain. I love him.”

At this, her father smiled. “Good. That is precisely how you should feel about the man you wed.”

Elizabeth’s heart swelled, though her confusion deepened. “Papa, has Mr. Darcy asked you for my hand?”

“Not in so many words,” he said, leaning back in his chair. “But I have faith that he will, and I must be certain that before you give him an answer that you understand your own heart.” He observed her for a moment before saying wryly, “I must confess, I find it gratifying to know that my most wilful daughter has finally met her match.”

She had indeed. No man had ever challenged her as Mr. Darcy did. “You approve of him, then?”

“Most assuredly,” her father replied. “Your mother is of course beside herself with delight at your courtship, though we have never announced it as such, and your Aunt Gardiner is overjoyed at the prospect of a connection to the Darcys.” His smile was enigmatic, and Elizabeth could not tell what had amused him so.

“Papa, why do I feel as though there is something you are not telling me?”

His amused expression darkened. “Because there is, Elizabeth. What I will say is this: even if Mr. Darcy were penniless, I believe you would thrive together. And in such a case, you would still have your own fortune to help you both along.”

Elizabeth stared at him, her mind racing. “Papa, has Mr. Darcy suffered a reversal in his fortunes?”

“Does it matter?”

“I believe we have just established that it does not. But I must know how to best help him if he has.”

He cleared his throat and reached into a pocket, withdrawing a handkerchief and dabbing it at the corner of one eye.

Was that a tear? “Are you well?” Elizabeth inquired.

“Very proud, my dear, that is all.”

She was still confused.

Her father reached across the desk to pat her hand. “You have given me the answers I sought. Now, be off with you. I have indulged in enough sentiment for one morning.”