Page 139 of Colour My World
She turned the page.Strength is not in never falling but rising every time you do.Her heart clenched. How many times had she fallen?
She shut her eyes against the memory of the assembly—the sting of Mr Darcy’s slight—the cutting glance. But that was not all.
She had watched him later—walking beside Jane. Listening to her. Smiling. Not coldly. Not distantly. Gentle. Attentive. And she—she had felt something twist within her. Not quite anger. Not grief. Jealousy.
She had told herself it was concern. That she only meant to protect Jane. But it had been something else. She had wanted his regard. Not his notice but his esteem. And when it had turned, however briefly, towards Jane, it had stung. Had she let that envy fester into certainty?
A sudden restlessness filled her. She stood, clutched the book against her chest, and paced the length of her chamber. She would not entertain the idea that she had misjudged him. And herself, as well.
And yet, she returned to the window seat and resumed reading.
Page Three:The world is full of painted smiles—look beyond them.
She pressed her lips together. Had she not lived among such smiles her entire life? Had she not seen men flatter and women preen, all under the guise of civility?
Miss Bingley. Mr Bingley.
Mr Wickham had unsettled her; hisairetinged with something false.
Mr Darcy had given her no such footing. He had insulted her. And she had condemned him outright. An unease crept into her chest.
She turned the page.Allow her to sketch your character.
Elizabeth stilled. The phrasing struck something deep within her. Sketch. As in outline. As in capture.
Had Mr Darcy wished her to see him as he was rather than how he appeared? Had she even been willing to do so?
Page Five:Do not hesitate.The brevity of it sent a chill through her. What did it mean? That she should act withconviction? Should she trust what she saw rather than what she presumed? She had hesitated before. She had waited for some sign—some assurance that what she saw in a man was true. And she had been wrong.
Page Six:Look at her. With your heart.Her breath caught. It was the first passage that struck her as intimate rather than instructive. Did Mr Darcy see her this way?
The room felt smaller. Warmer. As though she had stepped too close to a flame.
She turned the page. The words on the previous pages had been deliberate, layered with meaning. They demanded she look, decipher, and reflect. Yet this was different.
A single, silent offering. The outline of a hand. By its sheer size, a man’s hand.
Drawn with precision. Dark ink, smooth and measured, each stroke executed with purpose. Not careless, not impulsive, but traced with intent.
Did he mean for her to place her hand against it? To compare? To feel?
She had studied him before, his movements, expressions, his words. But this was something different. This washim, not through spoken pride or rigid propriety, but through the quiet vulnerability of an outstretched hand. Her fingers traced the page, just shy of touching the ink.
A simple gesture—one that spoke volumes. Had he intended this as a request? A plea? A challenge?
Elizabeth swallowed. If she placed her hand atop his, what then? Would she find a connection? Or would it only remind her of all the ways they were misaligned?
Before doubt could speak, she placed her palm against his. Her breath caught at the unspoken connection, the weight of the moment an illumination.
This was not an invitation to possess or forgive. It was agesture that spoke more than words ever could.A bridge.A chance for her to look beyond painted smiles, missteps, and assumptions.
She closed the book and pressed it to her lap, fingers tight around the leather binding. Mr Darcy had given her his words. And he had given her his hand.
But was she ready to take it? She flipped through the rest of the book, but the pages were empty. She held the book upside down, the cover flaps in each hand. She shook the pages like a fan.
A sliver of parchment fell out. She unrolled it.
I have traced my hand. If you place yours atop it, we will have met halfway.
