Chances Come, Ney Mitch [snow like ashes series TXT] 📗

knew his heart. And she believed that he may have been willing to open that heart up to me.

It was time to believe. It was time for faith.

Balling my hand into a fist, I knocked.

“Come in!” Mr. Darcy called on the other side. I entered, to find Mr. Darcy with his clerk, Mr. Gibson.

“Mr. Darcy and Mr. Gibson, good day,” I began. “How do you both do this afternoon?”

“Quite well, Miss Bennet,” Mr. Gibson replied merrily, “quite well. I heard that you and your sisters had a delightful evening last night.”

“Very delightful! I had not danced so much in one evening in my entire life.”

“A young lady should dance as much as she can. It is a delightful activity.”

“I have often prescribed it as one of the best ways to nourish comradeship with our fellow man.”

“Quite so, quite so.”

I looked at Mr. Darcy.

And he looked at me.

“How do you do, Mr. Darcy?”

“I am quite well, Miss Bennet.”

There was something about his eyes as we stared at each other. His dark and black eyes seemed even larger than usual at this moment. I felt as if I was falling into them, and they in turn had widened up to the size of a sea and was preparing to devour me.

However, our lengthy staring at one another was broken when we both recalled that Mr. Gibson was in the room. Embarrassed, we both looked down and Mr. Gibson understood our discomfort.

“Well,” he interjected, “Mr. Darcy, if you do not mind, sir, I wish to go to the kitchens for a spot of coffee.”

“Do so, George,” Mr. Darcy replied.

Mr. Gibson left us alone, closing the door behind him.

Yes, quite alone!

Now that it came down to it, there was such heaviness in the air, and it felt as if the distance between us was short and long simultaneously. Both he and I felt the weight of our emotions, and I wondered if I would ever move from my spot.

“I come with a request,” I blurted out. “Kitty desires more paper, and humbly asks for some more.”

“More paper?”

“Yes.”

“Ah.”

Pause.

“Miss Bennet, I get the feeling that she is not simply writing letters.”

“You are correct, I believe she is not.”

“Then what is she doing with all this paper?”

“I have not the slightest notion.”

“Ah.”

Silence again.

“I will ask her,” I continued, “I promise.”

“Yes. I see.”

“Yes.”

“And I see that you have letters yourself.”

“Yes. I have not read them yet.”

“Ah.”

Silence again.

What was I doing!

I walked to the window and looked out onto the lawn. Fir trees were bright and green, healthy in the winter air. The gardens beyond were slumbering beneath the soil, waiting for spring.

“Mr. Darcy,” I began, returning to my objective. “I have to tell you something.”

“Yes?” he replied, his voice hollow and deep. “What is it?”

“Now, what I tell you, I wish for you to promise first, that you will try and not run away. What I tell you now, is not something that a woman ought to say first. Usually, she has to wait for it to be said, and then respond accordingly. Yet, you once told me that disguise of any sort was your abhorrence.”

I found myself fidgeting with the ribbon at my waist. “You told me that you despised anything else but hearing the absolute truth. I would like you to recall that philosophy of yours, and therefore, have empathy for my situation now.”

I was blathering now, but could not help myself. “I am coming to you, as a woman, who is being earnest and honest. I am coming to you, laying out my soul and my heart for I believe hearing me speak will not make you run. I want to believe that you are stronger than that. I want to believe that you are strong enough to hear a woman admit that she is very much in love with you.”

When stealing a glance at him, I saw his face turn to stone and then he leaned forward.

“What?” he whispered.

“Mr. Darcy, are you strong enough to hear such a thing? I will not proceed until I know that you are.”

“Yes,” he responded, his voice hoarse, “I am. Please continue.”

“Mr. Darcy, you must allow me to tell you how much I adore, admire, and love you. Soon after seeing you once more at Rosings, I found myself developing a passionate attachment to you. And therefore, I shall implore you to kindly consider me, at least. Grant me permission to allow a courtship between us. Consider me. If you do not find yourself in love with me at the end of it, then I shall release you from any sense of obligation. Yet, I stand here now, asking you only for a chance to win your heart. I speak as I am, plain and simple. Will you, my most beautiful friend, consent to a courtship, and give me the chance of winning your hand?”

He simply sat there, frozen. Yet, his silence did not deter me, so I walked up to his desk.

“Come, Mr. Darcy. Will you give me no answer?”

Slowly, Mr. Darcy stood up.

“You have been in love with me for that long?” he asked, his eyes dark and fierce.

“Yes, I have.”

“Why could you not tell me before?” he asked. “All the days that I spent wondering if there would ever be more between us.”

He moved around his desk and took a few steps closer to me.

His gaze was pinned to mine. “You loved me all this time.”

“Yes, I did.”

“Miss Bennet, Elizabeth, can you not see? Can you never see that so much of my days have been spent doing everything I can to get one step closer to your heart?”

“Really?” I asked, my body beginning to melt internally.

“Yes.” His tone was ferocious and desperate. “The days and nights that I wanted to be your husband, and I gave up hope, then took it up again, and felt that if I charmed and made you happy, you could one day love me.”

“I never meant to torture you.”

“Tell me you love me.”

“Only if you tell me