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Elizabeth looked toward the door. Darcy resisted the impulse to close it. She had not asked for more privacy; she might be looking at the means of leaving.

“No,” she said at last. “You did not mistake everything.”

He waited.

“I wished you to kiss me.”

The answer deprived him of whatever sensible question he had meant to put next. Elizabeth’s colour rose, but she did not look away.

“I had been so frightened upon the bank. Then you were safe, and we were laughing, and I was glad to be sitting beside you. I did not stop because I found that unpleasant.”

“Then why?”

“Because I did not know whether I could trust it.”

Darcy’s hand tightened upon the arm of his chair. She saw the movement and shook her head.

“Not you. What I felt.”

“Elspeth?” he asked.

“Yes.” Elizabeth drew a breath. “We have read what she wrote about Nicholas. Whatever he became, she loved him. I felt that, too, in the dream of the birth and the chamber afterwards. I have wanted a man I never met to kiss me, and been frightened when he took my hand. Sometimes the feeling comes before I understand what it belongs to.”

“And you feared that your inclination toward me belonged to her.”

“It sounds very foolish when you say it.”

“It does not sound foolish. I do not know what the dreams give us,” he said. “I cannot promise that I understand them.”

“I would not believe you if you did.”

“No.” He smiled a little. “I thought you might not.”

Elizabeth returned the smile, but her hands remained tightly joined.

“I can tell you what I remember while awake,” he continued. “I wanted you to walk with me again before I had any reason to think a dream might be more than a dream. I wanted you to approve the book I lent you, and was disappointed when you approved only parts of it. I have found excuses to remain in rooms because you were there.”

Her lips parted. He had startled her, though he could not imagine that he had concealed it very well.

“I have also been angry with you,” he said. “On more than one occasion. I do not think an old story obliged me to behave so disagreeably about Mrs. Bell’s chimney.”

“You did listen afterward.”

“Yes. I wanted to prove you wrong first.”

“That is a failing with which I am well acquainted.”

Darcy looked down at his dressing. The bandage was much smaller now. In another week he might cease being reminded of the bank every time he reached for a pen. He did not wish the change between them to depend upon a wound she had helped to bind.

“I should wish for your company if you had never saved me,” he said.

Elizabeth’s eyes filled, unexpectedly. She blinked and gave a small, impatient laugh at herself.

“I was trying to make a very sensible examination of my feelings.”

“Have I interrupted it?”

“You have made it difficult to remain composed.”