Page 117 of The Matchmaker’s Mistake

“I gave him my word.”

“Then what were you doing here?”

“He also happened to mention that he would be in attendance at Lady Wexcombe’s gathering with his wife and nieces.”

“I did tell my aunt I wished I could see you again,” she admitted. “I fear my uncle would not have allowed it otherwise.”

“Your uncle is the best of men,” Mr. Darcy told her. “And I was grateful for the information. I came intending to see you from a distance. If you happened to see me, well . . .”

“And then?”

His answer was perfectly dry and perfectly him. “I saw you, separated from your party and appearing quite grey. At that point, my assurance to your uncle seemed less important than preventing you from falling to the floor.”

Elizabeth looked down at their hands. Her uncle had required Mr. Darcy to stay away, and he had obeyed until she needed him. Then he had told her the truth instead of allowing her to believe their meeting was mere chance. A man determined to manage her would not have done that.

“There is one more difficulty,” he said.

“Another?” she asked, feeling playful. “You have been hard at work.”

“I have a great deal of time to make up for. I was in love with you in October, though it took me some time to realise it. I have wasted every month since. I wish you to know that I intend to call very often.”

“And this is the difficulty? My goodness, Mr. Darcy, how often do you mean to call?”

“You will be weary of me by Easter and send me back to Derbyshire.”

“I shall not.”

“You cannot know that.”

“I know it perfectly well. I have just spent a fortnight without you, and I found it very disagreeable.”

“Then we concur,” he said. “I am to court you, and you are not to be rid of me.”

She smiled widely. “Very well then. You may call until my uncle regrets ever permitting it.”

“He may already regret telling me where he would be tonight.”

Elizabeth felt her eyes fill, but she blinked the tears back. “Then you have made an excellent beginning.”

Mr. Darcy regarded her with such close attention that she was obliged to look away. One tear escaped despite her efforts, but before she could brush it aside, he drew out his handkerchief and caught it gently in the cloth.

His hand lingered for the briefest moment. Elizabeth could feel his breath upon her cheek, and her own breath grew short, not from the heat but from how very close they were.

Then he rose and held out his hand. When she placed hers in it, his fingers closed tenderly around her own, and he helped her to her feet with such care that her throat tightened all over again.

He glanced towards the hall, then back at her, and offered his arm. “May we begin now?”

Elizabeth placed her hand on his arm and gazed up at him. “We have already begun, Mr. Darcy.”

He looked down at her hand, then at her, and made no attempt at all to govern his expression.

“But yes,” she added. “Now suits me very well indeed.”

Mr. Darcy led her back into the crowd in search of her family. People made way for him at once, just as they had before, and Elizabeth decided that four hundred people were not nearly so oppressive when the man she had chosen had also chosen her.

CHAPTER 29

The boy was on the third stair from the bottom, and he did not mean to move.