Page 144 of Colour My World
Elizabeth gasped.
“I did not believe her, not then. I was a young boy, and it was merely a story. And yet, when she died… When she died, that road lay fallow,” he said. “Or so I believed.”
The path narrowed, forcing them closer together. Elizabeth did not pull away.
“My father did not recover from her death. Not truly. His grief consumed him. And I—I became an obligation to him. A duty, rather than a son.”
She squeezed his arm. “You were a child.”
“It did not matter. I was a Darcy, and that mattered more.”
They walked a few more steps in silence.
“When he died, I was not yet two and twenty. One moment after the reading of George Darcy’s final testament, I was master of Pemberly, guardian to my sister, and beholden to no one. It was—” He exhaled. “It was not freedom.”
“And Miss Darcy?”
“Georgiana?”
“Yes.”
“She was thirteen,” he said quietly. “Raised without a mother. Overlooked by our father. There remained only me.”
His head felt heavy. “After his death, I knew not where to begin. I had no notion how to act as a guardian.”
“Yet, you raised her.”
Darcy nodded. “As best I knew how. But society demanded much of me and her. The first circle would shape her into its image, and me as well. And for a time…” He let out a breath. “For a time, I permitted it.”
Elizabeth’s fingers tightened around his sleeve.
“But no longer.” He looked at her; something passed between them.
“I would like to have known your mother.”
The quiet carried them on. Though the air remained crisp, his presence warmed her. Not in heat—but in nearness. In the steadiness of his steps beside hers. In the memory of his voice.
Love.
He had declared it so plainly. So simply. As though the word had lived behind his teeth for years, waiting only for breath and permission.
Elizabeth felt it settle inside her. Something true. Something authentic. She did not yet know what to make of it.
“You said your mother believed in certainty,” she said softly. “Do you believe in it now?”
Darcy glanced down at her, his breath curling between them. “I believe in what I see before me.”
Elizabeth hesitated. “And what do you see?”
He turned towards her with a smile, dimples dotting his cheeks as the air about him bloomed with roses.
“You.”
She did not answer with words. Instead, she tucked her arm more firmly through his, her hand slipping down to find his.
He caught it gently. His glove was warm.
She turned her palm up.
