Page 143 of What Change Entails

Darcy went utterly still.

Elizabeth wished instantly she had not spoken so plainly.

The silence afterward became unbearable.

Then Darcy said, very carefully, “And do you misunderstand them?”

Her breath caught sharply. There ought to have been safety in evasion. Instead, she met his eyes.

The expression upon his face destroyed every prepared defense she possessed. He was almost offended that she could doubt him.

Elizabeth’s composure faltered completely.

“I do not know what to think anymore,” she admitted.

Darcy took one step closer.

Not enough to touch her.

Enough to make retreat impossible.

“You may think,” he said, each word controlled with visible effort, “that my regard for you has altered in no direction except stronger.”

Elizabeth could naught but stare.

The orchard abruptly felt too small for breathing.

Darcy’s hand raised slightly before stopping midway between them, restraint reclaiming him at the last moment.

“I cannot regret loving you,” he said.

The words struck so directly she forgot every sensible response.

Behind them the picnic carried on faintly beyond the trees. Distant laughter. A dog barking. Lydia shouting triumphantly about something incomprehensible.

The ordinary sounds of the afternoon threw the moment into greater contrast. Elizabeth fiddled with the edge of her bonnet ribbon.

“You should not say such things unless you mean them.”

Darcy gave a short disbelieving breath. “Elizabeth. I have never meant anything more.”

The cruel little doubts Miss Bingley planted struggled weakly against the man standing before her now.

And failed.

Somewhere behind them Lydia yelled, “Mr. Darcy! Horace has eaten another tart!”

Darcy shut his eyes once.

Elizabeth grinned despite herself.

When she raised her head again, he was watching her with such helpless affection that her pulse stumbled painfully.

The picnic, apparently, had not ended with dignity for anyone.

Chapter Sixteen

Asecond week at Pemberley had settled the household into habits none of them would have anticipated upon their arrival. Lydia Bennet had not meant to enjoy Derbyshire so much. Indeed, she had not intended to take any delight at all in her holiday with the Gardiners and Elizabeth. Her enjoyment was rather inconvenient, for she had set out prepared to leave no one in doubt of her suffering. She had intended to endure mountains, old stones, elderly conversations, and scenery with enough tragic dignity to make Lizzy repent every word ever spoken against Brighton. Instead, she had found Georgiana Darcy, Horace, streams, archery, fishing disasters, excellent cakes, a house with enough rooms to lose a whole regiment in, and Mr. Darcy proving himself much less disagreeable than any sensible girl had a right to expect.