Moving as close to her ear as I dare, I softly speak with the reverence and respect such an avowal deserves. “You must allow me to tell you how ardently I admire and love you … still and always.”

When I last uttered such words to her, I was undeserving. To now have the prerogative to make this affirmation fills me with triumph. I have earned her regard, and my reward is the bestowal of a heartwarming smile. Moments ago I thought I did not have a prayer; now I close my eyes and thank God for second chances.

Elizabeth responds to my declaration. “You are evermore allowed to tell me how ardently you admire…” She blushes prettily and hesitates before finishing, “and love me. I have not yet grown weary of hearing you say so and do not believe I ever shall.”

Teasing, pleasing woman! I manage (rather well, if I do say so myself) to tenderly express her importance to me and to avow all I feel, and have long felt, for her. Genteel lady that she is, Elizabeth cannot openly profess her feelings; but I am overjoyed to behold affection in her fine eyes and to know it is for me alone.

We speak of my aunt’s interference, of Elizabeth’s response to it, and of how her ladyship’s scheme rebounded and gave me hope. We sheepishly discuss Hunsford and our incivilities toward one another but agree we have both vastly improved in civility since that time.

Quite startled by Mary Bennet’s interruption, I cannot help but notice my future sister really should smile more. Such an onion-eyed, unchin-snouted expression is most unbecoming; and her preachy admonishment, directed at Elizabeth, is quickly becoming tedious. Yet she is correct. Because our understanding is unknown, in her sister’s eyes Elizabeth has been scandalously engaged in private conversation with me for far too long. Provoked by Mary’s unsubtle castigation, I am struck with spontaneous ingenuity. I wink at Elizabeth and bestow a kiss upon her hand before turning to her sister.