Page 34 of You Willfully Misunderstand Me

Darcy hesitated, "And, the third matter concerns your family."

Elizabeth immediately understood, "I suppose you wonder what I intend to tell them."

"No, Miss Benet, I wonder what you wish to tell them. I would not ask you to deceive those who love you."

She looked down, her fingers lightly tracing the edge of the book resting in her lap, "I confess, I have delayed thinking about it."

Darcy nodded, his expression understanding rather than critical, "That is understandable." He paused, "But they should hear from you before they hear from anyone else."

Elizabeth sighed softly, "I know."

"I can assist if you wish."

Her eyes lifted, "How?” There was no accusation in the question, only genuine uncertainty. "How can you assist without compromising us both?"

Her words were reasonable and practical. Exactly the sort of concern any sensible person would raise given their circumstances. And yet, they struck Darcy more deeply than Elizabeth intended. For the briefest moment, something in his expression changed. He was not angry or offended, but he owned he did feel the disappointment of her words.

"I understand your concern," he said quietly.

Elizabeth immediately noticed the change in his tone, "Mr. Darcy, I did not mean."

"No," he interrupted gently. "You are right to consider it." He looked toward the fire, collecting himself, "The circumstances are unusual. Any assistance I offer must be weighed carefully." Another pause, "But I hope you will believe that I have no intention of allowing my actions to create the very harm I seek to prevent."

The sincerity in his voice softened her expression, "I do believe that."

Darcy looked back at her, "I would never ask you to sacrifice your reputation for my convenience," he continued. "Nor would I ask you to rely upon my word without consideration. And yet," he added, more quietly, "I should like you to know that protecting you is not a burden." The room went quiet, as Elizabeth held her breadth. "It is not merely a matter of duty, Miss Bennet. I owe you my respect."

Elizabeth looked at him, remembering the man who had once stood before her at Hunsford and spoken with such certainty, and comparing him to the gentleman before her now, one who measured every word not out of pride, but because he cared deeply about the consequences.

"Thank you," she said softly.

Darcy inclined his head, "It is my pleasure, always, Miss Bennet."

For a moment, neither spoke. Then Darcy stepped back, returning the careful distance that propriety required, "I should allow you to rest."

Elizabeth nodded, "Yes."

He reached the communicating door, his hand resting upon the handle, "Miss Bennet?"

She looked up, "Yes?"

“I wish you a good night.”

Elizabeth offered him a slight, hesitant smile, “Good night, Mr. Darcy.”

***

After wishing Elizabeth goodnight, Darcy lay awake in the narrow bed of the small adjoining chamber. His living arrangements this week were a far cry from the comfort of Pemberley's rooms. The mattress was too short, the walls too close, and the unfamiliar sounds of the island made rest more difficult than he would have expected.

But discomfort was not what kept him awake. In fact, his thoughts had little to do with the bed. They were, in fact, next door, with Elizabeth.My lovely, Elizabeth.

He stared into the darkness, one arm resting beneath his head, his mind returning again and again to the evening's conversation. Her question about how he might assist without compromising them both. He could not fault her for it. Indeed, he admired her prudence. And yet, some part of him wished the circumstances were different. Not because he desired to escape responsibility. It was quite the opposite. He wished he had the right to protect her openly.

Darcy thought to write to her family without hesitation, and to stand beside her without needing to explain why. He wanted to walk beside her through the village without theconstant awareness that every kindness, every conversation, every shared moment existed beneath a false arrangement.

The thought was absurd. Only months before, he had offered her marriage and received a refusal that had wounded him more deeply than he had expected. He had believed, at the time, that her answer had ended all possibility. Yet here he was, sharing quiet conversations at night with her beside a dying fire. They were living a strange imitation of the very future he had once hoped to have.

And the cruelest part was that the imitation was becoming increasingly difficult to distinguish from reality. Darcy closed his eyes. If only things had been different. If only he had approached her without pride. If only he had spoken with greater humility and less certainty. If only she had known the truth before resentment and misunderstanding had taken root between them.