Page 69 of The Engagement at Longbourn

Darcy breathed. He looked down at Elizabeth.

She smiled. “Do not go far.”

“I shall ride to London.”

“I will break the other leg myself.”

Richard laughed.

Darcy walked Apollo down the lane and back.

Nothing happened. It was the most beautiful nothing Elizabeth had ever seen. When he dismounted, his hands shook. She pretended not to notice until Richard led Apollo away. Then she took Darcy’s hand. He looked down at their joined fingers. “Thank you.”

“For threatening you?”

“For being here.”

The lane was empty except for them. Elizabeth glanced toward the bend. “This is where you proposed.”

Darcy’s expression became wary. “So I have been told.”

“You remember.”

“Yes.”

“Most of it?”

“Enough to wake in embarrassment twice a week.”

She laughed. Darcy lifted her hand but stopped before bringing it to his lips. “May I?”

Elizabeth’s smile faded into something softer. “Yes.”

He kissed her knuckles. The courtesy, after the stolen delirious kiss, moved her unexpectedly.

Darcy released her hand. Elizabeth did not let him.

He looked at her.

“I think,” she said slowly, “you may ask me again.”

Every trace of humour vanished from his face. “Here?”

“You claimed sentimental value.”

“Elizabeth.”

She waited. Darcy straightened as much as the healing leg allowed. There was no fever now. No blood, no mud on his coat, no desperation clouding his judgment.

Only the man.

“I loved you badly before I knew how to love you well,” he said. “I admired you while judging the people you loved. I wanted you while believing my wanting sufficient reason to overlook my own arrogance. These months have taught me how much I did not understand.”

Elizabeth’s eyes burned.

“I cannot promise never to be proud,” he continued. “You would not believe me if I did.”

“No.”