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He called Sir, who came unwillingly out of the shrubbery with nothing to show for his labour but a leaf upon his nose. Elizabeth removed it. It gave her something ordinary to do while Darcy watched her with an expression she could not meet for very long without smiling foolishly.

They left their outdoor things in the hall, and Darcy offered his arm again for the short distance to the library.

Sir followed until a footman crossed the hall carrying a tray. The dog abandoned them at once.

“I hope his character will bear the temptation,” Elizabeth said.

“I shall enquire later.”

Darcy opened the library door and allowed her to enter first. The fire had been replenished while they were out. She went toward it, then turned because she wished to see him coming to her.

He took both her hands.

“I have thought of a great many things I wished to say.”

“I shall be glad to hear them.”

“I am afraid they will not come in the order I intended.”

“Then I must judge them separately.”

He laughed, and the familiar sound steadied her more than any solemn beginning could have done.

“I want to marry you,” he said. “I want you here, arguing with me over books and telling me when I have mistaken my own wishes for everybody else’s. I want to walk with you when we have no errand, and find you in the house when I return. I have been trying to imagine an ordinary day without you in it. I do not like it.”

Her eyes filled before she could answer. She had expected happiness. She had not expected the particular tenderness of hearing him want all the small parts of the life she had already begun to love.

He lifted one hand to her cheek.

“Will you be my wife?”

“Yes.”

She heard how quiet the word was and said it again, with a laugh which trembled only a little.

“Yes, I will. You must allow me some of the ordinary days you have described. I shall not be equal to improving you at breakfast every morning.”

“I shall manage until lunch.”

“And there will be days when you ought to correct me.”

“I shall endeavour to recognise them.”

“You must endeavour to survive them afterwards.”

He drew her to him. She put her arms about his neck and ceased trying to be clever.

His kiss was warm and unhurried. She felt his hand at her waist and the careful way he held her, then the less careful way when she moved nearer. She knew the man kissing her, knew his faults well enough to love him without surprise, and wanted the future he had asked her to share.

When he raised his head, she kept hold of his coat.

“You may tell Papa that I answered without the least persuasion.”

“I mean to write to him today.”

“So do I. We must not send such different accounts that he supposes you have asked another woman.”

“What shall yours say?”