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Darcy fell silent, considering his cousin's words.

There was wisdom in them. Elizabeth had glimpsed the man beneath his public persona and had seemed intrigued by what she saw, but her fears held her back.

If he could show her more of himself, perhaps she might come to believe that the regard he felt for her was true, that it would not fade with time.

He was, by nature and education, a reserved man. But there seemed to be no other way.

And Elizabeth was worth it.

"I am to visit her tomorrow. Perhaps I might invite Miss Bennet and the Abernathys to the opera in the evening," he said at last. " The Peasant Boy is playing at the Lyceum."

"Well, I wish you luck with it," Fitzwilliam said, a hint of wistfulness creeping into his voice. "Though I confess, I had hoped to attend the opera myself. Not by myself, but . . ."

"I am sorry, Fitzwilliam," Darcy said, genuine sympathy in his voice. "Despite what Abernathy believes, you would have made Miss Abernathy a good husband."

"Perhaps," Fitzwilliam acknowledged with a small smile. "Though likely not as good as you will make Miss Bennet, once you convince her to trust you."

Darcy's expression sobered. " If I can convince her."

"You will," Fitzwilliam said with unexpected certainty. "Because for all your vaunted rationality, you have finally committed your heart. Miss Bennet may not yet understand that, but she will. You need only find the courage to let her see it."

Darcy studied his cousin with newfound appreciation. For all his teasing and irreverence, Richard possessed a depth of insight that had caught him by surprise.

"Thank you," he said simply.

Fitzwilliam raised his glass in a small salute. "What are cousins for, if not to provide unwanted romantic advice when one is at one's lowest ebb?"

Darcy wished he could provide the same service for Fitzwilliam. "Indeed."

"So," Fitzwilliam said, settling back in his chair, "this excursion. It is a start, but hardly sufficient on its own. What else have you planned to woo your reluctant bride?"

"I had thought to invite her to Lady Spencer’s musical evening next week," Darcy said.

“That is good, but a play and a concert is hardly enough. You must see her every day, Darcy. Miss Abernathy mentioned the imminent arrival of Mrs. Bennet, so you do not have an abundance of time. And, as you are conveniently engaged, it will not create any talk.”

Darcy pursed his lips.

“Any additional talk, then.” Fitzwilliam finished his drink and set the glass down.

“Truly, Darcy, the scandal has been muted a good deal by your offer and Ellington’s disgrace.

There will always be some talk, but the families that know you best have already dismissed it.

The only way to truly reignite it would be—”

“If Miss Bennet withdraws.”

“So it is Miss Bennet again?”

“She has not given me permission to use her Christian name. I will wait until she does.”

“Good man,” Fitzwilliam said, and stood. “I am off.”

“Will you stay for dinner?”

“I thank you, but no,” Fitzwilliam said. “I promised my mother to dine at home tonight.”

Darcy was glad when his cousin did not invite him along.

He was poor company just now, distracted as he was by the Gordian knot Miss Bennet had presented him.

He paused and shook his head. No, in his thoughts she would always be Elizabeth, though he would not use the name aloud again until she gave him her consent to do so.

He watched Fitzwilliam depart with a mixture of gratitude and apprehension, grateful for his advice.

It had merit, even if the execution seemed daunting.

Every day. Fitzwilliam had suggested he see Elizabeth every day.

The thought both thrilled and unnerved him.

Such constant attention might either win her trust or drive her away entirely—and he was not certain which outcome was more likely.

He sat at his desk and pulled out a sheet of fine stationery. At the very least, he could begin by formalizing his invitation to the opera now rather than waiting until the morning. Perhaps if he chose the correct words, she might glimpse some of the sentiment he had thus far kept concealed.

As he dipped his pen in the inkwell, Darcy found himself considering Fitzwilliam's most provocative suggestion: to make Elizabeth fear losing him more than she feared accepting him. The concept was foreign to his nature. He had never deliberately set out to inspire attachment in anyone.

The quill scratched across the paper as he composed his note, careful to keep his language appropriate yet warmer than his usual formal style. When he had finished, he read it over twice before sanding it, folding it, and pressing the wax seal with his signet ring.

As he rang for a servant to deliver the message to the Abernathys' , Darcy acknowledged to himself what he had been reluctant to admit to Fitzwilliam but that his cousin seemed to know anyway: his feelings for Elizabeth had progressed beyond mere admiration or even strong attachment. He was in love with Elizabeth Bennet. He had known it for some time. This strategy of Fitzwilliam’s was a risk, but it was one he had to take.

Losing her was not something he would be able to bear.

Darcy moved to stand before the fire, his hands held out to warm them. The path ahead would not be easy. Elizabeth's fears were deeply rooted, born of painful observation and experience. She would not be easily convinced.

Yet as he stared into the flames, Darcy felt his determination harden into resolve.

Elizabeth Bennet was worth fighting for, worth changing for, if necessary.

And while he would never be the sort of man who wrote poetry or made public displays of sentiment, he could perhaps learn to express his feelings more openly with her.

The servant entered to collect the letter, and Darcy handed it over with a sense of purpose he had not felt since first announcing their engagement.

With that thought, Darcy moved to his desk to review his other correspondence.

Tomorrow would bring a visit to the Abernathys’ home and hopefully the opera, and with it, the first true test of this new strategy.

Until then, he would prepare himself as best he could for the most important challenge of his life.