Page 75 of Dear Friend

Elizabeth stilled, the amusement leaving her expression as colour rose swiftly into her cheeks. “Not mistaken in what?”

“In believing my attentions particular.”

Her surprise was immediate, and Darcy's heart beat harder at the sight of it. He had faced her now, however, and there could be no advantage in retreating behind ambiguity.

Nor did he wish to.

“I have been conscious for some time that my conduct towards you must eventually require greater plainness than I have yet shown.” Darcy held her gaze. “I admire you, miss Elizabeth. Very much. I have sought your company because I wished for it, and if my preference has become apparent to others, I cannot pretend to regret it.”

Colour entered her cheeks.

Darcy knew better than to interpret it. He possessed enough knowledge of Elizabeth's private thoughts already without claiming a right to those she had not chosen to give him.

“I should like permission to pay my addresses to you openly,” he continued. “I would, of course, speak to your father, but I would not do so before knowing that such attentions would be agreeable to you.”

Elizabeth did not answer immediately.

Darcy waited, though every second of her silence seemed considerably longer than it could possibly have been. He had reason to hope. More reason, indeed, than an honourable man ought to possess. Her last letter had told him that she anticipated seeing him, remembered their conversations afterwards, and wondered about his opinions when he was absent.

But those words had not been given to him.

He would not use them now.

“You wish to court me,” she said at last.

“I do.”

Her eyes remained upon his, and Darcy resisted the temptation to search her expression for an answer she had not yet spoken.

“And you wish me to answer you now?”

“No.” The answer came easily, for on this point he had no uncertainty. “I would rather have an answer freely considered than one given because I had surprised you into it. Take whatever time you require.”

“That is very considerate of you, Mr. Darcy.”

“I am not certain consideration deserves much credit when it agrees so entirely with self-interest. I should very much prefer your answer to be one you do not later regret.”

Her mouth curved. “That is a very serious observation for a Saturday morning.”

“I find the subject a serious one.”

“Yes,” she said more quietly. “I believe you do.”

Elizabeth turned again towards the valley, and Darcy made himself do the same. Waiting was difficult, but pressing her would have been intolerable. Whatever knowledge her letters had afforded him, whatever hopes he had permitted himself because of them, this answer must belong entirely to Elizabeth.

“I shall think upon it,” she said at last. “And I promise I shall give you a proper answer when I have done so.”

Relief came first, swift enough that Darcy had to guard against displaying too much of it. She had not accepted him, but neither had she refused, and nothing in her manner suggested that the prospect of his courtship distressed her.

“That is all I ask.”

The smile she gave him then was warm enough to make patience seem, for the moment, entirely possible.

They remained upon Oakham Mount for some time afterwards, their conversation gradually returning to less consequential matters. Yet Darcy could not pretend anything between them was quite as it had been before. He had finally given open expression to an attachment he had carried in secrecy for far longer than Elizabeth could possibly know, and she had promised him an answer.

It ought to have left him entirely satisfied.

Instead, as he sat beside her beneath the clear autumn sky, Darcy found himself conscious of the bitter irony beneath his happiness. He had asked Elizabeth to consider him with perfect freedom, while possessing knowledge of her feelings she had never freely given him.