Page 83 of The Crown’s Gift
"Papa says improvement consists mostly of discovering the next thing one has done badly," Elizabeth said.
"A hopeful philosophy."
"You prefer perfection?"
"I preferred the appearance of it."
He offered his arm where the path steepened. Elizabeth took it.
At the summit, Hertfordshire opened around them: Longbourn's roof among the trees below, Meryton's church tower, Netherfield broad and pale across its park. The two Bennet houses stood within one view.
Darcy stopped beneath an oak.
Elizabeth's hand remained upon his sleeve.
"The King's gift changed everything," he said.
"Not everything. Mama still objects to ribbons. Lydia still finds mud."
"And you still rescue solemn men from themselves."
"I have rescued no one."
"No. You required me to do it."
He turned toward her.
This time, when he took her hand, there was no interruption.
* * *
"My feelings and wishes are unchanged," Darcy said, "but I am not."
Elizabeth's fingers trembled within his.
He stood before her without the formal grandeur of Hunsford. His coat carried dust from the climb. Wind had loosened one dark curl at his temple. He looked neither like Pemberley's master nor Lady Catherine's nephew, only a man who had chosen honesty without knowing its reward.
"You told me at Pemberley that your feelings were different from April," he continued. "If they have changed again, one word will silence me."
Elizabeth remembered the first proposal: obstacles counted, objections conquered, confidence beneath passion. Now he placed refusal in her hand before hope in his own.
"They have not changed," she said.
Darcy drew a breath.
"Or rather, they continue to change," she added. "For the better."
His eyes closed briefly, as if relief was too strong to receive while looking at her.
When he opened them, he asked, "Elizabeth, will you marry me? Will you share a life with me and help determine what it becomes?"
Tears blurred the familiar landscape.
"Yes."
The word seemed to leave her and enter him. Darcy's whole face changed.
"Yes?"
