It was late. The grandfather clock was chiming midnight, and yet Darcy was still in his evening clothes. He should have been in bed already, fast asleep.

But he could not settle. He could not rest. Taking a candle from his bedside table, he strode out of his rooms, his destination clear in his mind.

Down the stairs, into the portrait hall, his dogs trotting at his feet.

There were riches galore in this gallery, portraits of the men and ladies of the Darcy line, going back several generations. As a boy he had studied their faces and clothes, as a young man he had examined the technique of the painters. Tonight he saw none of his ancestors, and heard nothing - nothing but the sound of her beautiful voice singing that charming song.

Reaching the drawing room, he stalked over to the fireplace and set the candle down.

He could see her in his mind as he looked at the pianoforte, the look on her face as she gazed at him. She did not hate him anymore, of that he was certain. She had looked as if she could care for him. Heaven knew she looked tonight as if she belonged in his drawing room, in his dining room. In his life.

Was he right? Was he reading her correctly? Would she say yes, if he asked her - again - to be his wife?

Nerves fluttered in his stomach. He'd been so horribly, painfully wrong before. So arrogant in his presumptions, it never, ever occurred to him that she would refuse. And in doing so, she knocked him off the pedestal on which he'd set himself. His confidence, his identity, had been shaken to the core. With each day that passed since her scathing rejection, the veil was lifted and he could, finally, see himself.

He'd erroneously valued social standing, instead of attending to who the person was and how they acted. The inferiority of your connections. Yes, the Bennets were not high in society. And there was no mistaking that certain behaviors he'd seen were vulgar. The mother bragging about Jane and Bingley, before there was an engagement or even a courtship. The younger daughters flirting heavily with the officers. But if he was truly honest, the actions of Miss Bingley and his very own Aunt could be called vulgar as well. Even malicious. Miss Bingley with her gossip and rude comments to and about the Bennets and others. Lady Catherine with her incessant questions and commentary on everyone's lives, because she felt people of lower social standing were of less quality than she. No, he too had connections that were less than ideal - far less, in his aunt's case. Who was he to speak about inferiority?

Really, he had acted, in his proposal and with Bingley and Jane, just as his aunt acted with everyone. "I'm a Darcy with money, so I must know what is good for everyone else, and I must tell them what is good for them," he sighed to himself. "How perfectly ridiculous."

He jumped as the door creaked open, revealing Georgiana, still in her dress from dinner.

"What are you doing awake, and still dressed? I thought you had retired hours ago." He frowned at her.

"I did, but I couldn't rest. I've been reading and writing, and thinking. I heard you leave your room, and I need to talk to you."

"What is it, dear?"

But Georgiana shook her head at him. "Let us go back upstairs, I do not wish to chance being overheard."

His sister was confusing him more and more by the second. Having run out of the drawing room and through the halls, dashing up the stairs to the family wing of suites, she was now in her sitting room, pacing back and forth as he stared at her.

"What is the matter, Georgie?"

She stopped moving and faced him. "You're going to ask again, ask Miss Bennet to marry you!" she exclaimed.

Darcy sat carefully on a sofa, astonished by her directness. He could not recall his sweet sister ever being so demanding.

"Yes," he mumbled. And thought better of it. If he was going to do this, again, he could not quake like a leaf in a storm. "Yes," he declared. "I am going to ask her again. I have to try, one more time. I can't not."

His response elicited a most unladylike squeal from his sister, who ran to him and kissed his cheek several times. "Oh! I am so glad. I like her so much! I hardly know her, but I feel - I feel more myself around her. She's so kind and lively." She sat next to him and took his hand in hers, squeezing it.

He could not help but smile, seeing Georgie so enthusiastic about something. "How did you know?"

"William, you were staring at her all evening. During the dinner, and then in the drawing room. When she was playing and singing, you looked fit to burst with pride."

"Was I that obvious?" he groaned. Who had seen him in his dream-like state? Everyone?

Her giggles were sweet to hear. "Yes, and not only to me. I noticed Mr. Gardiner looking at you from time to time when Miss Bennet was playing. You had eyes for no one else."

"No, I could not - except for you."

She gave a sigh of pleasure and rested her head against his shoulder. "Just thinking about her being my sister makes me giddy with happiness. I couldn't bear it if you were to ask Miss Bingley. She is like a cat after mice. Always ready to pounce."

His laughter boomed around the room. What an apt description! "Rest assured, Georgie, no matter what Miss Elizabeth says, Miss Bingley will not be my wife. Not ever." What a fate awaited the man who did agree to marry that woman! He would hopefully have a club or estate he could escape to, to get away from her vile temper.

He felt his sister tense beside him. "Do you - what do you think she will say this time?" Georgiana asked tentatively. "You told me you wrote her a letter, to explain."

He hadn't told her all of the reasons why Elizabeth had refused him in April, just about Wickham and Bingley. He hadn't the stomach to admit the rest of his address - which had seemed so reasonable in the moment, but, upon much intense reflection, was cruel and highly reprehensible.

Darcy got up, now needing to pace himself. He clenched and unclenched his hands. Truly, he did not know what she would say. The look on her face, in her eyes tonight - was he reading her correctly? Or was he seeing only what he wanted to see? "I don't know, Georgie. I think she will accept me this time. But I thought that before, and I was quite wrong," he muttered, stalking over to the window. He rested his head against the pane and closed his eyes. "If she does not, then I will not marry. No one else will do."

The room was silent for a long moment, Darcy seeing a grey future, loveless and bleak, if Elizabeth was not in it. His sister's soft query startled him. "William, is it wrong if I pray for a good outcome? Would God attend to something of that nature?"

What a wonderful sister she was. "No, dearest, that would not be wrong. I was praying for the same thing in my mind earlier this evening," he admitted. "I can only hope someone was listening."