Page 166 of Companions of Their Youth
Mr. Bennet reached forward, picked up his knight—and toppled Darcy’s king with a small, decisive thunk.
It was at that moment that Elizabeth opened the study door and stepped inside.
Her eyes flicked between them—her father calm, her betrothed quiet and thoughtful—and then down to the board.
“Papa wins again,” she said lightly.
Darcy looked at her and smiled. “As always. Your father is a man full of surprises.”
∞∞∞
Elizabeth awoke Saturday morning with a heaviness she could not name.
It was not grief, exactly. Nor fear. But something weighty lingered in her limbs, an ache behind her eyes as though she had wept in her sleep. She lay still in the chilled quiet of her room, listening to the low crackle of coals in the hearth. No dream remained clearly in her mind, only a gray impression of unease.
Was it her courses arriving soon? The season’s turn to cold and confinement? The loss of her morning walks? Perhaps Mark’s leaving?
None of it fit. Not precisely.
She rose slowly and dressed with Sarah’s help, smiling faintly at the maid’s chatter. Her heart, however, remained low.
Mark left not long after breakfast. He hugged her fiercely, kissed her hair, and promised to write—though they both knew he was abysmal at letters. His eyes lingered on her longer than usual, as though reluctant to turn away.
Mr. Bennet caught her in the hall afterward, his tone unusually gentle. “Lizzy, just a word—” He glanced about and then led her a few paces aside. “I spoke with Mr. Darcy last night.”
She froze.
He must have seen the flicker of worry on her face, for he laid a hand lightly on her shoulder.
“I told him about Stephens,” he said. “And I want you to know… he took it very well.”
Relief flooded her—swift and disorienting.
“Oh, thank heavens,” she exhaled.
“I know.” Her father gave her a rare, tender smile. “He is a better man than even I first believed. You chose well.”
She squeezed his hand. “Thank you, Papa. For everything.”
He lowered his head and kissed her brow. “I could not have parted with you, my dear Lizzy, to anyone less worthy than he.”
A few hours later, Darcy and Bingley came to call, accompanied by Mr. and Mrs. Hurst. Elizabeth was surprised—but genuinely pleased—to see Mrs. Hurst engaging kindly with Jane. There was still a touch of aristocratic polish in her speech, but the effort was clear. Jane, of course, met her with sweet and gracious warmth.
Darcy, however, was quieter than usual.
He greeted Elizabeth with warmth, but there was something subdued in his gaze—a gravity beneath the civility. It made her pulse flutter, just for a moment, with insecurities.
Did he change his mind, now that he knows?
Her mother broke in then, cheerfully asking after Colonel Fitzwilliam. Darcy's expression stiffened ever so slightly.
“He is with the militia today,” he said, his voice neutral.
It was enough.
Elizabeth felt a jolt of understanding.Wickham. It was today. The execution.
She looked at Darcy again—closely—and now the shadow in his eyes and the heaviness she carried made sense. Not doubt. Not regret. Grief.
