Page 163 of Honor Requires

His gaze lifted to the mirror.

The beard had served its purpose. It had altered him sufficiently to pass unremarked, to create the distance necessary between who he had been and who he had presented himself to be. It had become, in a sense, part of the disguise that had allowed him to move within society without recognition.

It was no longer required.

He rang for his new valet. Brisby entered promptly, his manner composed, though there remained an awareness in his expression that had not entirely faded since their unexpected meeting at Darcy House.

“You sent for me, sir?”

Darcy inclined his head. “You will prepare the razor.”

Brisby did not question him. “At once, sir.” He moved to comply, setting out the necessary instruments with practiced efficiency. The water was brought, the cloths arranged, the blade inspected with care.

Darcy removed his cravat, loosening the final remnants of the persona he had carried for so long. “It is time,” he said.

Brisby glanced at him briefly, understanding passing between them without the need for further explanation. “Yes, sir.”

Darcy took his seat. The transformation, when it came, would be simple, but it marked the beginning of something far greater.

Chapter Twenty-Eight

The note arrived just after breakfast. Elizabeth had not expected one so early, though she had anticipated its arrival. Darcy had called many times since they reached their understanding, and she cherished every moment in his company.

Upon awaking, there had been a restlessness in her, a sense that events long awaited had at last begun to move toward their conclusion. Still, when the folded paper was placed upon the tray beside her, she felt a quickening in her pulse that she could not quite disguise.

She waited until she was alone before opening it. The hand was familiar.

Miss Bennet,

I am to call at Matlock House this afternoon, at Lady Bramley’s kind invitation to tea. It is my intention, at that time, to address the family and to make known what has long been concealed. I trust you will be present.

F. D.

Elizabeth read it twice. The tension she had carried for so long eased. It was time.

Today. The word seemed to echo within her, carrying with it the weight of all that had passed and all that must now follow. If he meant to speak, to reveal himself openly, then the matter of Hargrave and Langford could no longer stand in the way. It must be done. It must be finished.

A warmth rose within her, sharp and bright. A future… She pressed the letter lightly against her palm. A future with him is no longer a dream.

For a moment, she closed her eyes, allowing the thought to settle fully. The years that had stretched between them, the uncertainty, the grief, the endurance of a love she had never relinquished—all of it seemed to draw together into this single, decisive point.

When she opened her eyes again, there was a steadfastness in her that had not been present before. She rose at once. There was much to be done.

She decided to change her gown, dressing with care. She chose not with ostentation, nor with any thought of display, but with a deliberate attention to detail that reflected the importance of the day. Her gown was of a blue that Jane had once declared particularly suited to her, the fabric falling in graceful lines that moved easily with her step. The ribbons were chosen with equal thought, the arrangement of her hair attended to with a precision that she seldom allowed herself.

The shell would rest at her throat, as it always did. She fastened it with confident hands. Darcy’s expression always lightened upon noting it. The thought brought with it a warmth that lingered even as she turned from the mirror.

Jane was waiting for her in the smaller drawing room. “My dear Lizzy,” she said, her eyes bright with a mixture of curiosity and amusement. “You have received the news, I suppose?”

Elizabeth inclined her head, schooling her expression into a semblance of composure. “I have received a note,” she said.

“Your connection with the count has progressed so much?” Jane smiled. “Yes, the Count of Vendicarsi is to join us for tea,” she replied, her tone carrying a lightness that did not entirely conceal her interest. “Bramley was most pleased to hear I extended the invitation.”

Elizabeth allowed the faintest curve of her lips. “Was he?”

“He was,” Jane confirmed. “And I confess, I am not without anticipation myself. Our neighbor grows more interesting with each appearance.” Her sister raised an appraising eyebrow, her expression more knowing than curious.

Elizabeth suppressed the urge to laugh. It is you who will be surprised, my dear Jane. Aloud, she said only, “Will the Earl and Countess be present?”