Page 33 of Elizabeth Bennet Says Yes to Mr. Darcy

“What else is there?”

She turned toward me.

“Gratitude, which I would prefer to set aside because it complicates my judgment. Esteem. Curiosity. And a certain irritation at your habit of becoming honorable precisely when I would wish to condemn you easily.”

“I beg your pardon.”

“You do not look sorry.”

“I am not.”

She smiled.

We reached a small path bordered by hazel trees. The foliage partially concealed us from the house. Elizabeth removed a glove and brushed her fingers against a new leaf.

“My father told me the terms of your arrangement.”

“They were settled independently of you.”

“I know. That is what allows me to thank you without fearing you will interpret my gratitude as a promise.”

“I will not interpret it as such.”

“You are very cautious.”

“I have learned that my hopes possess an excessive imagination.”

She lowered her eyes to her bare hand.

“And if I were to give you a permission that is not a promise?”

I stopped breathing.

“Which one?”

She extended her hand toward me.

“You may touch me without waiting for me to slip into a rut.”

I took her fingers with a slowness that cost me all my self-control. Her palm rested against mine. She wore no glove. I felt the fineness of her skin, the warmth of her blood, a slight tremor she could not conceal.

“Is this an experiment?” I asked.

“Perhaps.”

“And what result do you hope for?”

“To discover whether my judgment becomes more impaired when you hold my hand.”

“I fear the observation must be prolonged.”

Her laughter was softer than I had ever heard it.

We continued thus, hand in hand, until the voices of Bingley and Jane reached us on their return.

Elizabeth withdrew her fingers before we could be seen.

The absence of her touch was immediate.