Page 69 of Attempted Compromises
A realization struck him, sharp and undeniable:I love her.
His breath caught as the truth settled within him. The anger he had felt moments before ebbed away, replaced by something deeper, something that made his chest tighten and his pulse quicken. This wasn’t like his marriage to Anne—this was different.
This wasElizabeth.
How had he not seen it before? The way his heart raced at her presence, the way her laughter stayed with him long after she had left the room. She was in his thoughts constantly, her voice echoing in his mind, her spirit woven into his days.
Darcy’s throat tightened as he wrestled with the weight of the moment. Could he truly ask her to marry him under these circumstances? Could he bear to bind her to a man like himself, scarred by duty, loss, and mistakes? Yet, the idea of not asking her, of walking away now, felt equally unbearable.
For a moment, the world narrowed to the woman in front of him: Elizabeth Bennet. The woman he had come to admire, to respect, to cherish. And now, the woman he was being asked to marry.
A throat cleared, jolting him from his thoughts. Darcy blinked, realizing that the room had fallen silent. Every pair of eyes was fixed on him, their expressions ranging from expectation to concern. Mr. Bennet was watching him intently, his browfurrowed, while Elizabeth sat poised, her hands clasped tightly in her lap. She was waiting. They were all waiting.
Darcy inhaled deeply, forcing himself to stand. His movements were deliberate, his posture straight, though his heart thundered in his chest. He turned to Elizabeth, meeting her gaze fully for the first time since the question had been posed.
Her eyes searched his face, and for a fleeting moment, he thought he saw a flicker of fear. But it was gone as quickly as it came, replaced by a quiet resolve that made his chest ache.
He stepped closer, his voice low and steady despite the emotions churning within him. “Miss Elizabeth,” he began, his tone formal, “would you do me the great honor of becoming my wife?”
The words hung in the air, heavy with significance. Darcy held his breath, his heart pounding as he awaited her reply, his future poised on the edge of her answer. For the first time in years, he felt the sting of vulnerability—raw, unguarded, and utterly at her mercy.
Elizabeth sat frozen in her chair, her hands clasped tightly in her lap, her heart pounding so loudly she was certain the others must hear it. Every second stretched unbearably as she watched Darcy’s face. His expression was unreadable at first, his features a mask of calm neutrality that betrayed nothing of his thoughts.
Then, a flicker of something crossed his face—a tightening of his jaw, a darkening of his eyes.
Anger.
It was unmistakable, and her stomach twisted painfully. He was furious, of course. Furious at being cornered into this position, at having his life upended by Wickham.
Elizabeth dropped her gaze to her lap, unable to bear the weight of his pain. Of course he’s angry,she thought bitterly.What man wouldn’t be? He’s being forced into marriage with me—a woman beneath his station, who has been ruined by Wickham’s actions.
When she dared to glance up again, Darcy’s expression had shifted. His features were no longer tight with anger but were now set in a stoic mask of resolve. His back was rigid, his posture impeccable, and his face was devoid of emotion, as though he had donned armor against the weight of what he was about to do.
Elizabeth’s heart sank further.He doesn’t want this,she realized.He sees it as an obligation, a duty he cannot escape.
The thought made her chest ache, a sharp stabbing directly into her heart. She had dared to dream, for the briefest of moments, that he might harbor some affection for her, that perhaps his attention over the past weeks had meant something more. But now, that hope felt foolish and naive.
When Darcy finally rose from his seat, her breath caught in her throat. His movements were slow and deliberate, each step precise and measured as he crossed the room. He stopped before her, his tall frame towering above her, and for a moment, she thought she saw something flicker in his eyes—somethingtender, something vulnerable. But it was gone in an instant, replaced by his familiar unyielding mask.
She wanted to tell him to sit back down, to stop before the words could leave his lips, but she was frozen, caught in the maelstrom of her own emotions. Her breath came shallow and quick, her hands gripping the folds of her dress until her knuckles turned white.
“Miss Elizabeth,” he said, his tone cool and distant, “would you do me the great honor of becoming my wife?”
The words echoed in her ears, heavy with formality and duty.The honor?The phrase felt hollow, almost mocking, when she could see plainly that he was doing this out of necessity, not desire. Her chest tightened further, and she pressed her hands together in her lap to keep them from trembling. She searched his face desperately for any sign of warmth or affection, but found only the same impassive resolve.
The urge to refuse him surged within her. She didn’t want to trap him in a union he would resent. She couldn’t bear to tie herself to a man who would look at her every day with the same grim sense of duty she saw now. Yet as her gaze swept the room, her resolve faltered.
Her father’s stern expression left no room for argument. Jane, pale but hopeful, watched her with wide eyes, silently pleading for her to do what was necessary. The servants, lingering discreetly in the background, had already been whispering. She could hear their voices in her mind, the gossip that would spread through Meryton if she did not accept.
Ruined. Disgraced. Unmarriageable.
Elizabeth’s throat tightened and tears pricked the corners of her eyes. The reality of her situation settled heavily on her shoulders. There was no other choice. If she refused him, her life would be over. She would be an outcast, shunned by society, her family’s reputation in tatters. And yet, to accept his proposal knowing he did not truly want her—it felt like a betrayal of her own heart.
She looked at Darcy, her vision blurring slightly as she blinked back the tears threatening to fall. His face was solemn, his gaze steady. Taking a deep, shuddering breath, she met Darcy’s eyes. She looked down and relaxed her face, trying to appear calm, though her heart felt as though it might shatter within her chest.
She gave a tiny nod.
“Yes,” she whispered, her hands trembling despite her best efforts to keep them still. “I will marry you, Mr. Darcy.”
