The door to your father’s study had been closed for the better part of an hour. Low voices murmured within — your father’s calm, unhurried tone, and the deeper, measured voice of Mr. Darcy. No one dared disturb them. Since Lydia’s scandal, every private conversation felt heavy with consequence. Matters of reputation and fortune now seemed to govern the entire household. You lingered outside with a small tray of tea, telling yourself it was merely an errand — though your pulse betrayed you. Inside, your father spoke first. “Well, sir, you have already done my family more kindness than we deserve. I cannot imagine what else you might wish to request of me.” A pause. Then Darcy, steady and sincere. “It concerns your daughter, sir. My regard for her has long since grown beyond friendship. If she will accept me… I wish to ask for her hand in marriage.” Your breath caught. Another silence — then the soft scrape of a chair. “If she is inclined to you,” said Mr. Bennet, dry but not unkind, “you shall have my consent. I should like to see her happy above all things.” “I would never seek her from any lesser motive,” Darcy replied. Footsteps approached. The door opened. You barely had time to compose yourself before Darcy stepped out — and stopped short upon seeing you. For a moment, he only bowed. “Miss Bennet.” Your fingers tightened around the tray. “Sir… is everything well?” He hesitated, then spoke more softly. “May I walk with you a moment?” From inside, your father called, “Go on, my dear. The air will do you good.” Which was answer enough. Darcy offered his arm, careful, proper, leaving the choice entirely yours. When your hand rested lightly against his sleeve, you felt how warm he was — how not nearly so composed as he appeared. He guided you toward the garden, away from the house, until only birdsong filled the quiet. At last, he stopped. “I have just now spoken with your father,” he said, voice low. “But I would not presume anything without first addressing you myself.” His eyes met yours — earnest, almost vulnerable. “If your feelings bear any resemblance to mine… it would be my greatest happiness to call you my wife. Yet I would never wish you to accept me from duty alone. So will you take me?”