Page 107 of Companions of Their Youth
As Bingley and the colonel exited the front door, Elizabeth stepped toward Darcy quietly and offered a faint, rueful smile. “I am sorry for all that has happened today.”
He shook his head at once. “You owe no apology, Miss Elizabeth. You have done more than anyone could expect. It is I who must beg forgiveness—for letting things reach this point.”
Her brow furrowed. “No. You loved her. You did what you thought best. That cannot be condemned.”
“But I did not stay to guide her,” he said, voice low. “I taught her good principles, but left her to follow them alone—and so she followed them in pride and conceit.”
Elizabeth paused, then said gently, “Most young people—of any age—are naturally self-focused. Even the best of parents cannot always prevent it. But with time and guidance, they usually grow into decent human beings.”
Darcy looked at her then, the shadows of the evening softening the sharp lines of his face. “Butyouare more than decent. You are…” He paused, as though the word evaded him, or perhaps as though he feared saying too much. At last, he settled on, “Wonderful.”
Elizabeth felt the warmth rise in her cheeks.
He hesitated. “Miss Elizabeth—I know it has not been long, but I cannot stay silent any longer. I admire you—deeply. I asked your father for permission to court you.”
Her breath caught. “You did?”
He gave a small nod. “He granted his tentative approval—conditional upon your own, of course. And he suggested we keep the matter quiet until the end of the month. He fears we may be… caught in the emotion of the moment.”
Caught in the moment indeed.
Her heart was fluttering so fiercely she could scarce breathe. He had asked her father. Before speaking to her. How strange… and how lovely. How old-fashioned and careful and sincere. The knowledge of it settled in her chest like warmth from a fire, spreading slowly through her limbs.
“May I hope for your approval?” he asked softly.
She hesitated.I do not know him well. Not yet.And yet… she did. She had seen him proud and private. She had seen him gentle, and shaken. She had seen him weep, rage, bend, andrise again. She had seen him love—awkwardly, imperfectly, and fully.
She gave a slow nod. “Yes. Yes, you may.”
A breath escaped him. Something nearly like wonder passed across his features. He took her hand—bare and ungloved—and bowed over it.
His lips brushed the inside of her wrist, just where the skin was softest. The kiss was reverent, light as air.
But it lingered.
And with it lingered something else: the feel of his breath, the faintest tickle of his hair, the quiet brush of his mouth against her skin. She had been kissed by suitors before—but never like this. Never with such care. Never with such unspoken gratitude. She felt it echo down to her very bones.
When he drew back, she found she could not look at him, for fear her face might betray the strange exhilaration stirring inside her.
The door cracked open.
Colonel Fitzwilliam leaned in with a rakish grin. “Darcy, unless you mean to starve your companions into mutiny, you had best come.”
Elizabeth turned toward him, schooling her features. “They are more likely to freeze to death.”
Darcy glanced back, puzzled. “It is not all that cold, especially for November.”
“No,” she said with a sly smile, “but I fear Miss Bingley’s ire could chill the air until the tea ices in the pot.”
Laughter met her words, and with a final glance—one that lingered just a little too long—Darcy departed.
Elizabeth watched him go, her heart a tremble of hope and uncertainty.
He asked to court me, she thought, her fingers brushing the place where his lips had touched. And somehow, impossibly… it already feels like something I have waited for all my life.
∞∞∞
Darcy leaned back against the velvet squabs of the carriage, the rhythmic jostling of the wheels doing little to calm the humming in his chest.
