“Oh, Richard!” she exclaimed. “How wonderful! I am so pleased you finally decided on a lady!”
Elizabeth remained perfectly still for a moment, absorbing the statement. Then she inclined her head with quiet dignity.
“I am not under the impression that you are asking for my blessing, Colonel. But if you will permit me to offer one condition, I will give it willingly.”
Richard leaned forward slightly, his attention wholly on her. “Name it.”
“My sister has been hurt before. Deeply. What she needs now, more than anything, is steadiness. A man who will not waver, who will not offer half-measures or pretty words that dissolve under pressure. If you are serious—truly serious—then you have my blessing and my goodwill. If you are not, then I ask you, as a gentleman, to leave her in peace.”
The Colonel did not flinch. He met Elizabeth’s gaze, his usual easy humour replaced by something quieter and more resolute.
“I have never been more serious in my life, Miss Bennet. I have spent the week turning the matter over in my mind, weighing every objection, every practical difficulty. And still I find that my thoughts return to her—to her strength, to the kindness in her eyes, to her beauty. I want to offer her a life of security and affection. I want to be the steady presence she deserves.”
Elizabeth studied him for a long moment. Then she gave a small, decisive nod.
“Very well. Then perhaps it is time you informed the lady herself.”
Richard’s smile returned, warm and genuine. “I intend to do exactly that. With your permission, of course.”
“You have it.”
Georgiana could contain herself no longer. “This is the most wonderful news! You shall be kind to her, Richard. I know you shall.”
“I mean to be more than kind,” he replied. “I mean to be worthy.”
Darcy said little during the exchange. He listened, watching Elizabeth as she spoke. Their eyes met once—not the awkward, charged glance of recent days, but something deeper. There was understanding in it, a shared recognition of how fragile happiness could be, and how carefully it must be guarded. For the first time in many days, the look they exchanged was not a battlefield. It was common ground.
The conversation moved on, lighter now, filled with Georgiana’s eager questions about how Richard meant to approach Jane, whether he would call at her home, whether he required any assistance in composing a suitable argument. Richard answered with good humour, deflecting some questions and meeting others with surprising candour.
Elizabeth contributed where appropriate, her voice calm and measured, but Darcy noticed the faint colour that lingered in her cheeks and the way her fingers occasionally tightened around the stem of her glass.
When the second course was cleared and the dessert laid, Richard turned the conversation gently towards safer waters—the upcoming wedding, the state of the roads north of London, an amusing anecdote about a fellow officer and a runaway horse. The banter flowed easily, Richard’s dry wit drawing smiles from Georgiana and even a quiet laugh from Elizabeth.
Darcy found himself watching her again, the hunger and longing gnawing at his soul. He saw the way she listened, the way she offered small, thoughtful remarks that steered the conversation without dominating it. He saw the subtle grace with which she managed her knife and fork, the way she inclined her head when Richard spoke to her. He saw, beneath the careful composure, the woman who had risen onto her toes and kissed him back with such startling courage.
And somehow, the idea of a future in which she sat at his table not as governess but as his wife did not feel like a reckless dream. It felt possible.
When the meal ended and Elizabeth excused herself, Darcy rose with the others. Their eyes met again as she passed him on her way to the door. This time there was no evasion. Only a brief, shared acknowledgment—not yet resolution, but no longer pure torment.
Richard clapped him on the shoulder as they moved to the drawing room.
“You are quiet tonight, cousin.”
“I have much to think about.”
Richard’s smile was knowing and kind. “As do we all.”
Darcy said nothing more. But as he followed his sister and cousin from the room, the weight he had carried for weeks felt fractionally lighter.
Sixteen
The wedding was ten days away, and Anne Darcy had mastered the curtsy.
Not merely mastered—perfected. She rose from the third repetition with her chin level, her hands folded at her waist, her expression serene. She held the position for a full three seconds before straightening, exactly as Elizabeth had demonstrated.
“Was that right, Miss Bennet?”
“It was faultless, Miss Darcy.”