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“Yes. And of . . .” He hesitated, which was worse than if he had finished.

“Of my family,” Miss Elizabeth said, completing it for him. “You need not spare me. I can only imagine.” She kept her eyes on the pavement before them. “May I ask what you think? Not of my aunt and uncle. I know what you think of them now, and I am gratified. What do you think of the rest?”

Darcy did not answer immediately. He could not tell her a pretty lie even if he wished to and he did not. “Your mother’s manners are what they were at Bingley’s ball. I have not changed my opinion of them.” He covered her hand where it lay on his arm. “I have only decided that it does not matter.”

He meant it as a compliment to her, but very quickly realised that she had not received it as one.

“Then I am simply an exception,” she said.

“Miss Elizabeth⁠—”

“No, I understand you, sir. You have been honest, and I thank you for it. But a man who courts me despite my family . . .” She paused, and he did not believe she was angry or distressed, only thoughtful. “Consider, Mr. Darcy. If this courtship were to conclude with a nearer connection, how do you know that one day you will not be ashamed not only of my family but of the woman who induced you to tie yourself to them?”

At the next crossing, she let go of his arm to hold up her skirts. She did not take it again.

CHAPTER 15

Elizabeth had not slept well.

Mr. Darcy had been honest with her, and he was not wrong.

Mamma acted just as she pleased no matter who heard her and then cried about her nerves to avoid any consequences. That was bad enough, but she expected her daughters to comfort her even when she had just hurt them. Her father was witty and gentle, but he had to be prompted to his duty and often did not rise to a challenge even then.

But her parents loved her, in their own ways, and had always made certain she had all that she needed. And she loved them too, despite their flaws. But she had been unable to compose a suitable reply for Mr. Darcy no matter how long she tried—she had only kept herself from her rest.

The post arrived while they were at breakfast. Uncle Gardiner broke the seal on a thick letter from Longbourn, read the first page, and smiled at Jane.

“Your father gives his consent, my dear, and his blessing with it. He says he would have preferred to be asked in person, but he supposes Mr. Bingley may be forgiven, since he could not very well propose to you in Hertfordshire while you were in London.” He drew out two folded sheets and passed them across the table. “Your mother has written as well. To you both.”

Jane read first, her colour rising. Then she handed the pages to Elizabeth.

Mamma had filled the page with her effusions and then crossed it. Elizabeth turned it sideways to read the rest.

Four or five thousand a year, Jane! I have always said you could not be so beautiful for nothing and I was right! He will be a very amiable husband, my dear, and you will be as comfortable and happy as you deserve.

Your father insists that my brother escort you both back, so until he is able to do so you had much better stay in London where Mr. Bingley may see you every day. I do not know how I shall bear Christmas with Kitty and Lydia so cross with your father for barring the militia from the house.

Her father had listened to her uncle’s warning. That was good news.

Lydia also suggests that as Mr. Darcy is calling every day with Mr. Bingley that he must be interested in you, Lizzy. If that is true, you must not be missish. He may be very disagreeable, not at all like Mr. Collins, but he seems to like your sharp tongue, and ten thousand a year would make you very comfortable indeed. I would not normally suggest you ally yourself to such a man, Lizzy, but if he is showing interest, it would be a fine thing for you.

Elizabeth read it twice. She was sure that Lydia’s comment about Mr. Darcy had been meant to cause trouble for her when it turned out not to be true.

Well, there was still the possibility of that.

A month ago, she would have laughed and read the best parts aloud. This morning she could only picture Mr. Darcy reading it.

“There is a postscript from your father,” Uncle Gardiner said. “I believe it is meant for you, Lizzy, though he has written it to me.” He found the place and read aloud.

Your warning came in good time. Mr. Wickham had already transferred his attentions to Miss King’s ten thousand pounds, and now Miss King’s uncle has transferred Miss King to Liverpool. I have asked Colonel Forster to keep his officers away from my door, and neither Kitty nor Lydia has spoken to me since. I do, however, have Mary’s approval. Should a gentleman request Elizabeth’s hand, you have my permission to accept on my behalf, for I am quite at my leisure.

Jane was quietly aghast while Aunt Gardiner hid a smile behind her cup. Elizabeth set down her toast.

Mr. Darcy had not told her about Mr. Wickham for his sake. He had told her for Lydia’s, for Kitty’s—and even for hers. He had put his sister’s secret into the hands of a woman he had no claim upon, to protect two girls he could not possibly like, and he had done so before he ever asked leave to call.

That was not a man who would one day be ashamed of her. She did not know what it was, precisely, but it was not that.

Mr. Darcy arrived before noon, without Mr. Bingley. Cora showed him into the drawing room, where Elizabeth sat alone with the letter in her lap. Aunt Gardiner peeked in at them both and continued, leaving the door open.