He pressed his forehead against the cool glass.
It was only a piece of paper. It bound no one. It committed him to nothing. If she wished never to speak of last night again, the licence could be burned and forgotten. If she wished... something else... then it would be there, ready, waiting.
A precaution.
He repeated the words to himself like a litany, but they rang hollow even in the silence of his own mind.
Because the truth—the truth he could not yet bring himself to face fully—was that he would marry Elizabeth Bennet tomorrow if she would have him. He would marry her today. He would have married her seven years ago if she had not refused him with such righteous fury.
And now, after last night, after the taste of her on his tongue and the sound of her pleasure in his ears, the thought of living without her had become intolerable.
He closed his eyes.
A precaution.
Nothing more.
Yet even as he repeated the lie again and again, a sliver of hope appeared tentatively.
Just in case, nothing more.
He sat in his chair staring at the same column of figures for nearly half an hour when the door to his study opened after a quick knock. Georgiana entered first, bright as the morning itself in a pale-yellow walking dress. Richard followed close behind, his military bearing somewhat relaxed now that he was on leave.
“Brother, you look dreadful,” Georgiana announced without preamble. “Have you slept at all?”
Darcy set down his pen. “Good morning to you as well.”
Richard dropped into the nearest chair with the easy familiarity of family. “She is right, you know. You have a complexion that indicates you have been wrestling with demons all night. Or perhaps with ledgers. Either way, it is not becoming.”
Darcy leaned back in his chair and attempted a semblance of composure. “I am perfectly well, cousin. Merely occupied.”
“A fine May day has dawned outside,” Georgiana sighed, undeterred. “The sun is shining, the air is soft, and Rotten Row will be at its most agreeable this morning. We thoughta drive in the barouche would do us all good. Will you join us?”
Darcy opened his mouth to refuse. There were letters to answer, accounts to review, and a special licence application now winging its way through Doctors’ Commons that he preferred not to dwell upon.
Georgiana’s eyes brightened with hope. “And might Anne come as well? She has been cooped up with her lessons all week. A little fresh air would be beneficial.”
Before Darcy could formulate a polite deflection, Richard added, “Miss Bennet should accompany her, naturally. The child will be safer with her governess close at hand.”
Darcy’s jaw tightened at the casual mention of Elizabeth’s name. The prospect of sitting opposite her in an open carriage for the better part of the morning was both punishment and temptation.
Yet he could not bring himself to disappoint his sister.
“Very well,” he said at last. “I shall have the barouche readied.”
Georgiana’s face lit with genuine pleasure. Darcy rang the bell and gave instructions for Anne and Miss Bennet to be summoned, and for the carriage to be brought round at once.
Thirty minutes later they were descending the front steps of Darcy House, Anne bouncing with excitement, Muffin clutched firmly in one hand. Elizabeth walked beside her, quiet and composed, though the shadows beneath her eyes had not faded. She avoided Darcy’s eyes as they settled into the barouche, choosing the seat farthest from him.
The drive through Mayfair was pleasant enough. Anne chattered about ducks, about clouds, about whether horses preferred carrots or apples. Georgiana answered her with patient good humour while Richard lounged opposite, occasionally interjecting with dry remarks that made Anne giggle.
Darcy said little. His attention kept drifting to Elizabeth. She sat with her hands folded in her lap, her profile turned to the passing streets, the brim of her bonnet casting a soft shadow across her cheek. Every now and then Anne would lean against her side, and Elizabeth would adjust the child’s shawl with gentle fingers.
They alighted at the Serpentine, where the water sparkled under the sun and the paths were already busy with fashionable society taking the air. Anne immediately demanded to feed the ducks. Elizabeth produced a small packet of crumbs from her reticule—clearly prepared in advance—and the two of them moved near the water’s edge.
Darcy remained a few paces behind, watching.
Anne crouched on the grass, tossing crumbs with gleeful abandon. Several ducks paddled closer, quacking noisily. Elizabeth knelt beside her, one hand resting lightly on the child’s back to ground her. The sunlight caught in the dark strands of hair that had escaped her bonnet and turned the fine fabric of her gown almost translucent at the shoulder.