Page 114 of Ashes and Understanding
Elizabeth laughed softly. “That sounds very like him.”
Darcy’s voice gentled. “He was… protective. Rightly so. But you ought to speak with him before I address him again.”
“Very well,” she agreed, “but I would prefer that we do not make any formal announcement to anyone—including my mother—until after the ball.”
That coaxed a grin from him. “You wish to postpone the inevitable celebration?”
“I wish,” she said dryly, “to preserve what remains of our wits. The moment she finds out, she will insist on inviting half of Meryton to the wedding and will likely ask if we might be married by next Tuesday with a common license…or in six months with a special license, which she may just demand, whether or not it would even be possible.”
Darcy chuckled. “You have a point. Shall we keep it our secret, then?”
“For now. Just ours. And Papa’s, of course. I may wish to tell Jane, though, and I imagine you will want to tell your cousin and friend.”
“I will tell the colonel, but Bingley cannot keep a secret to save his life. He is too honest and transparent.”
She laughed lightly. He looked at her for a moment more, his expression unreadable and full.
Then he bowed, a slow, reverent gesture that carried far more weight than formality. “Until tomorrow, my love.”
She curtsied in return, lips trembling on a smile. “Until tomorrow.”
As he stepped out into the morning light, Elizabeth remained in the hallway, her fingers brushing her lips, her heart beating faster than it ever had before. The world was still full of danger, still darkened by shadows—but her heart was alight.
She had said yes.
And somehow, that changed everything.
∞∞∞
Elizabeth spent the remainder of the day in a kind of golden haze, drifting through her duties as though she walked in a dream. Her heart was still light with the weight of her answer to Mr. Darcy—her Mr. Darcy—and yet, she had told no one. Even Jane remained unaware. Though she longed to share her happiness, something within her held back. It was too new, tooprecious. She wanted a little more time to feel it privately—to turn the word yes over in her mind like a secret jewel.
There was precious little time to dwell on it, however. With purpose and careful subtlety, Elizabeth set about the task she had agreed to—sowing rumors with the skill of a gardener anticipating spring.
To Mrs. Long, she mentioned that she had caught a glimpse of her assailant’s face, and that to keep Benjamin safe, he would be moved to Netherfield for the ball.
To Lady Lucas, she added that she was almost certain it was the same man who had attacked the insurance agent, and she would most definitely recognize him again.
To Charlotte, she murmured loudly that she would be giving Sir William a full description the morning after the ball, once Benjamin was safe at Netherfield.
Each word planted with care. Each glance deliberately uncertain. Each pause filled with just enough suggestion to spark speculation. The effect was exactly what they needed. Whispers began to pass from drawing room to dining table, trailing behind her like smoke from a candle. Shock and indignation met her in equal measure from all corners of the neighborhood—particularly when it became known that someone had broken into Longbourn in the dead of night. That she and the child were both unharmed seemed only to magnify the drama.
By the time she finally reached her bed that evening, her limbs ached with exhaustion, and her throat was hoarse from so much careful conversation. Yet as she drifted into sleep, her fingers curled loosely beneath her cheek, her last thought was of a man with solemn eyes and an earnest voice, asking her to be his wife.
The next afternoon dawned bright and cold, the kind of winter day where every sound seemed sharper in the still air. Longbourn was a flurry of movement and barely contained chaos.
Elizabeth’s room was awash in soft light as she stood before her mirror, holding her breath while Jane fastened the final clasp at the back of her gown. The fabric shimmered with a delicate sheen, a deep sapphire blue that complemented her dark curls and the pale glow of her skin. It was not a new gown, but with a few clever stitches and the addition of a silver sash borrowed from Jane, it looked nearly new.
“Turn,” Jane said softly, and Elizabeth obeyed. Jane’s fingers tugged gently at the sleeves, smoothing the seams. “It suits you, Lizzy. You will be the most beautiful woman at the ball.”
“I believe the honor will fall to you, Jane,” Elizabeth said. Then she smirked and added, “Though with Lydia not in attendance, I may succeed in being your second.”
“Lizzy!” Jane admonished in protest, though she could not hide a slight smile. “You ought not to say such things—especially not when Lydia might be able to hear.”
Too late.
From the corridor, Lydia’s voice wailed, “Why should they get to go to the ball, when we must stay home like children? I am nearly sixteen!”
“I wish I could stay home,” came Mary’s terse voice. “Be grateful for what you have.”
