Page 147 of Colour My World
She reached for his hand and pressed it to her cheek. “I was wrong about you.”
“I was wrong about many things.”
“I still do not understand you.”
“I hope you never entirely do.”
“Whatever do you mean by that?”
“Because that would mean we had nothing left to learn.”
The breeze carried the scent of woodsmoke and earth. She folded her arms. He adjusted her shawl. She brushed her cheek against his hand.
“I thought you were a man without feeling.”
“I had hoped to appear so. I could not afford the cost of opening my heart to you.”
“And now?”
He leant in and placed his forehead against hers. “I am eager to pay.”
* * *
Longbourn, three mornings later…
Hill ushered Darcy into the study without flourish. In his future son-in-law’s hand, Bennet noted the precision of the folio: chestnut leather, dark ribbon tied around the width. As though a treaty were being delivered.
“You are early. Again. I am beginning to think you enjoy our company.”
“I do,” said Darcy. “And I come with purpose.”
Bennet took the folio and untied the ribbon. “Shall we begin?”
They sat across from one another. The morning sun stretched across the carpet in polite silence.
“The terms are generous,” Bennet said after a while, flipping a page. “You have anticipated my every objection.”
“Not every. Only the most likely.”
“And my daughter’s dowry?”
“I have matched it, as discussed.”
Bennet turned a few more pages. “And the matter of the younger sisters? You have allowed for occasional visits? You do realise Lydia is a natural disturbance.”
Darcy allowed a ghost of a smile. “I have a room prepared for any of the bishop’s relations. Rochester, that is. Not Canterbury.”
Bennet laughed. “You may yet win me over.”
Darcy inclined his head. “A worthy addition, sir.”
They stood.
“You will not stay to breakfast?” Bennet asked.
“I will not intrude.”
Bennet walked him to the door. “That is a misjudgement, Darcy. Intrusion suggests no one wants you here.”
