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November 23. She ought to have begun with Jane, who had slept well, or with her nephew, whose smallest accomplishments were expected to occupy at least a page of every letter sent to Longbourn. Instead she sat smiling at the paper, quite unable to account for herself to Mary.

Jane and Charles were composing their own letter to Longbourn. They had dismissed her for an hour.

She put down her pen. She might write after she had walked.

She had intended to go downstairs and send for her cloak. At the library door she paused. Darcy had said he would be reading there until lunch; she could think of no good reason to deny herself his company merely because he had not yet asked for hers.

She carried her bonnet into the room.

Darcy stood beside the shelves with a book in his hand. He closed it when he saw her, then looked at her bonnet and immediately set the volume down.

“Were you going out?”

“I was. But I thought you might come with me.”

“I should like to.”

“Good. I hoped you would.”

He smiled and came to her.

“Jane has dismissed me,” she added. “Charles intends to monopolise her until the child objects.”

“Then they will have perhaps a quarter of an hour.”

“Which they ought to spend to advantage.”

“And we?”

“We have no child to interrupt us.”

A sound from the doorway corrected her. Sir entered, saw the bonnet, and hurried forward with a confidence which suggested that neither of them had any right to arrange an outing without him.

“Nor a dog,” Darcy said.

Elizabeth laughed. “He may come. I shall require somebody to admire the scenery if you persist in looking at me.”

“I make no promise to improve.”

She was still smiling when they went into the hall.

The morning was cold and dry. A narrow rim of frost remained in the shaded grass, but the terrace gravel lay clear beneath their feet. Elizabeth took Darcy’s arm and found herself turning toward the view almost reluctantly. She had scarcely seen him alone that morning, and there was nothing in the prospect which she had not admired before.

He pressed her hand against his sleeve. She felt the small movement more distinctly than the cold through her gloves.

At the end of the terrace Sir discovered something interesting beneath a shrub. Darcy stopped to allow him his investigation. Elizabeth looked down across the lawn toward the bare trees.

“Papa will want to know whether you have recovered your favourite chair,” she said.

“It remains available to him. I should like him to return.”

“So should I.”

Darcy turned toward her. “Elizabeth, will you come back to the library with me?”

She knew before he added anything more. Her fingers tightened upon his arm, and the answer which had been waiting for a fortnight seemed suddenly too large for her voice.

“Yes.”