Page 143 of Honor Requires

At last, Darcy drew a slow breath and rose, offering his other hand to assist her. “We must return,” he said, though there was a reluctance in the words.

Elizabeth accepted his hand and stood, her gaze lingering on his face. “Yes,” she replied.

They began to walk back along the gravel path, their pace unhurried, their steps naturally falling into harmony. For a few moments, neither spoke, but the silence between them was companionable, touched now with a lightness that had not been present before.

“It must remain between us,” Darcy said at length.

Elizabeth glanced at him, though she already understood his meaning. “For now.”

“For now,” he agreed. “Until matters are resolved. Until I may stand before you as I ought, without disguise, without complication.”

She inclined her head, thoughtful but not displeased. “I cannot say I am surprised. Though I fear Jane will think it very odd if she suspects anything.”

Darcy’s lips curved faintly. “Would she not approve?”

Elizabeth let out a laugh. “Approve? She would do far more than approve. If she had the least notion that my affections were engaged, she would have us wed by common license before the week was out.”

Darcy’s brows lifted. “So eager?”

“She has long despaired of me,” Elizabeth said, though her tone held affection rather than complaint. “I have refused more offers than she thinks prudent, and my mother…” She shook her head, her smile turning wry. “My mother has never quite recovered from the disappointment of my returning from Ramsgate unattached.”

Darcy regarded her intensely. “You refused many proposals?”

“I did.”

“And none tempted you?”

Elizabeth met his gaze fully. “None.” The simplicity of her answer carried more significance than any elaboration might have done.

After a prolonged inspection of her, during which his expression seemed to intensify, he bowed his head. “Then I am grateful to them all.”

She smiled.

They went on, the house drawing nearer with each step, the ordered lines of its façade coming into clearer view. Elizabeth felt the world closing in again, the necessity of composure reasserting itself. It no longer pressed upon her as it had before. There was a steadiness within her now, a sureness that sustained her even as they approached the threshold of ordinary life once more.

“You spoke of proposing,” she said after a moment.

Darcy’s expression shifted, his seriousness returning, though it was tempered with warmth.

“I did.”

“And still, you refrain.”

“For a short time only,” he replied. “It is not reluctance that holds me back, but prudence. I would offer you my name and my hand in such a manner as leaves no doubt, no shadow upon it. You deserve nothing less.”

Elizabeth considered him, then nodded gently. “I understand.”

He studied her. “Are you content to wait?”

She smiled, sweet and certain. “I have waited far longer than I ever imagined I should. To know your heart, to have you before me in truth—that is more than I had hoped for. I am content.”

Something in his expression eased at her words. “Elizabeth,” he said.

She did not answer, but her gaze did not leave his.

As they reached a small turn in the path, partially shielded from the view of the house by a line of early-budding shrubs, Darcy slowed.

He turned to face her.