All Bets are Off (First Impressions)

24. Twenty-Four

Twenty-Four

Darcy handed her out of the carriage back at Longbourn, the cold air brushing her cheeks as his hand lingered on hers. Snowflakes clung to their cloaks as they approached the door, their steps almost hesitant. Elizabeth’s heart fluttered wildly—not from the cold, but from the sheer improbability of the last hour. She glanced up at Darcy, his expression set with determination, but she could see the faintest flicker of nerves in his eyes.

For the first time in weeks, she felt hope bloom fully in her chest. They were walking into Longbourn together—not as adversaries, not as strangers, but as something new, something unspoken but thrilling.

The front door opened before they could knock, and the sound of Mrs. Bennet’s shrill cries filled the air. “Oh, Mr. Bingley, what is this? Jane, my darling, what is—?”

Elizabeth froze as they stepped into the drawing room. There, in the center of the room, was Mr. Bingley, down on one knee before a wide-eyed Jane, his face a perfect picture of earnest devotion. Jane’s hand covered her mouth, her cheeks flushed pink, her eyes shimmering with happy tears.

“Oh!” Elizabeth exclaimed, startled into a laugh as she halted in the doorway. Darcy stiffened beside her, his brow lifting in a mixture of surprise and amusement.

Bingley turned his head, startled, but instead of rising, his grin widened. “Darcy!” he exclaimed, beaming. “You’ve arrived just in time! I was about to—”

“You will finish later,” Darcy interrupted. “Besides, it looks to me as if your business is already concluded. Miss Bennet, forgive the intrusion, but I must insist on having the room.”

Bingley blinked, his brow furrowing. “The room? But I—”

“Now,” Darcy said firmly, fixing Bingley with a pointed look.

Elizabeth burst into laughter, hiding her smile behind her hand as Jane’s cheeks deepened in color. “Fitzwilliam Darcy!” she exclaimed, mockingly aghast. “Do you always commandeer rooms at the height of romantic moments?”

Darcy turned to her, his expression both solemn and faintly smug. “I assure you, Miss Elizabeth, this is a matter of great importance.”

Bingley, ever obliging despite his confusion, rose to his feet and offered Jane a reassuring smile. “I’ll only be a moment, my dear. I… I suppose I shall… speak with your father?”

“Yes, do that,” Darcy urged. “And her mother, too, if you please. Off with you now.”

Bingley’s face reddened still further, and he gave Jane’s hand a squeeze before allowing Darcy to shepherd him—and Mrs. Bennet, who had been hovering near the doorway—out of the room.

Once the door clicked shut, the drawing room fell silent. Elizabeth turned to Darcy, her eyes sparkling with laughter. “I hope you do not expect me to forget the sheer audacity of that display.”

“I will gladly bear the censure,” Darcy replied, stepping closer. His eyes softened, his voice dropping to a low murmur. “Elizabeth, I have waited too long already.”

Her breath caught as he reached for her hands, his warmth steady and grounding. “And you think now is the time?”

“I do,” Darcy said, his voice steady but his eyes warm with emotion. He stepped closer, his hands enclosing hers with a reverence that made Elizabeth’s breath catch. “Elizabeth Bennet, you are the very center of my thoughts—my better judgment, my every hope for happiness. I am hopelessly and completely in love with you. Will you allow me the privilege of calling you my wife?”

Elizabeth’s lips parted, a soft gasp escaping her before she could compose herself. For a moment, she simply stared at him, her heart thundering as his words wrapped around her like a warm embrace. Then, the teasing glint in her eyes returned. “Privilege, Mr. Darcy? Are you certain you can endure the honor?”

A slow, wry smile tugged at his lips, and he dipped his head slightly. “I would endure far worse, Elizabeth, if it meant securing your affection.”

Her laughter bubbled up, light and full of life, and she shook her head at him, her tears threatening to spill. “Well, then,” she said, her voice trembling as her smile widened. “If you are so determined to endure me, I suppose I cannot refuse.”

Darcy’s smile softened, his thumb brushing lightly over the back of her hand. “You cannot imagine what it means to hear you say that.”

“Then allow me to make it clearer,” Elizabeth replied, her voice steadier now, though her tears shimmered brightly in her eyes. She looked directly into his gaze, her words firm and true. “Yes, Fitzwilliam. I will marry you.”

The relief that washed over his face was almost comical in its intensity, and Elizabeth laughed again, her heart so full it felt as though it might burst. Darcy’s hands tightened slightly around hers as his expression shifted to something deeper, more vulnerable.

“You cannot know how long I have waited to hear those words,” he murmured, his voice thick with emotion.

Elizabeth tilted her head, a teasing smile playing on her lips. “And yet you nearly fumbled the proposal with all that talk of enduring me.”

Darcy chuckled softly, his head bowing briefly as he shook it in amused defeat. “You will never let me forget that, will you?”

“Not as long as I live,” she replied, her grin widening.

“Then I shall endure it gladly,” he said, his tone lighter now, though his gaze remained steady and filled with adoration.

Elizabeth stepped closer, her voice dropping to a tender murmur. “You need not endure anything, Fitzwilliam. Loving you is no hardship for me. It never has been.”

Darcy’s breath caught, his composure faltering just slightly, and then he closed the remaining distance between them. His hands moved to frame her face with gentle care, his eyes searching hers for one last moment before he leaned down and kissed her.

It was a kiss that held everything—every misunderstanding, every moment of longing, every unspoken word that had built between them. And as Elizabeth kissed him back, she felt the weight of the past weeks lift entirely, leaving only joy in its place.

When they finally broke apart, her face was radiant, and his expression was softer than she had ever seen it. He gathered her in his arms, holding her tightly as if to assure himself she was truly there.

“I cannot believe it,” he murmured into her hair, his voice thick with emotion. “You—here, with me.”

Elizabeth tilted her head back to look up at him, her eyes sparkling. “Well, you did rather commandeer the drawing room.”

Darcy laughed, his head bowing slightly in acknowledgment. But then his expression turned thoughtful, his brow furrowing slightly. “Tell me,” he began, his tone tinged with curiosity, “did you ever win your wager?”

Elizabeth’s eyes widened in surprise, and then she burst into laughter, shaking her head. “This is hardly the time to ask such things!”

He arched a brow, his expression mockingly grave. “On the contrary, Elizabeth. It is the perfect time. If I recall correctly, the terms were that you had to break my heart. And as you did not succeed, I must conclude that you lost.”

Her laughter deepened, her cheeks flushing. “I forfeited, if you must know.”

His gaze sharpened with interest. “And what, pray tell, did you forfeit?”

She hesitated, her smile softening as she glanced away. “My Shakespeare collection.”

Darcy stared at her, his brow furrowing in astonishment. “You are telling me that you—Elizabeth Bennet, who despises sentimental poetry—love bombastic, bawdy plays so much that losing them was a wrench?”

Elizabeth laughed, her cheeks flushing again. “They are more than that to me! But yes, I suppose it was a wrench.”

Darcy’s lips twitched with amusement, his eyes twinkling as he teased, “Your taste is appalling.”

She poked his chest lightly, her grin mischievous. “Never fear, Mr. Darcy. I will corrupt your taste in due time, so you will not take offense to mine.”

He laughed again, the sound rich and unrestrained, and she could not help but join him, the two of them standing in the center of the drawing room, surrounded by joy and warmth. Whatever awaited them, Elizabeth knew one thing for certain:

This was the start of everything.

Darcy descended the staircase at Netherfield with a purposeful stride, Georgiana’s letter clutched in his hand. The content of her words had lifted his spirits more than he cared to admit. She had written with uncharacteristic enthusiasm, detailing how she was already imagining Elizabeth as her sister-in-law, and her joy practically leaped off the page. It was a warmth he carried with him now, even as the cool winter air seeped through the hall.

As he approached the door, Darcy spotted Caroline Bingley, stationed strategically near the foot of the stairs. She turned at the sound of his boots and beamed, her smile as bright as it was insincere. He sighed inwardly but maintained a polite, if distant, expression.

“Mr. Darcy!” Caroline greeted, her voice lilting. “You are up and about early today. How very industrious of you.”

“Miss Bingley,” Darcy said with a faint nod, not breaking his stride. “I have business to attend to.”

Caroline stepped into his path, undeterred by his brusque tone. “Oh, but you have been so diligent already, what with all the traveling back and forth to Longbourn. Tell me, are you quite settled on the matter? Or will this courtship remain an… experiment?”

Darcy’s jaw tightened, though he kept his composure. “It is hardly an experiment.”

“Of course not,” Caroline said quickly, her tone shifting to one of affected contrition. “You know I only jest. After all, wagers can be so dreadfully misleading, can’t they?”

Darcy stopped then, fixing her with a cool gaze. “What are you implying, Miss Bingley?”

“Oh, nothing at all,” she said with a flutter of her hand. “Only that I do wonder about that little bet with Charles. You know, the one about proving you could be civil without falling into… entanglements.” She gave him a pointed look, her smile sharpening. “And yet, here you are, thoroughly entangled. Are you certain it is too late for you to cry off?”

“Quite too late for that, I am afraid.”

“Oh, but I would not say so! Charles could be easily persuaded—”

Darcy’s expression remained impassive, but his words were dry. “Your brother’s wager was hardly binding, Miss Bingley. He is free to draw his own conclusions.”

“Indeed, he is. And I am free to lament his stubbornness. Honestly, Mr. Darcy, if Charles had simply agreed to sell that dreadful mill, you would have both profited handsomely, and none of this would have—”

Darcy held up a hand, silencing her. “Charles’s business decisions are precisely that—his business. If he wishes to ruin himself with sentimentality, that is his prerogative.”

Caroline blinked, momentarily stunned by his bluntness. But she quickly recovered, her smile returning with a forced brightness. “Oh, I am sure you mean that kindly.”

“I mean it truthfully,” Darcy said evenly. “And now, Miss Bingley, if you will excuse me, I have somewhere to be.”

He stepped around her, leaving her gaping after him, and strode toward the door. The crisp air outside was a welcome relief as he made his way to the waiting carriage. Climbing inside, he allowed himself a moment to glance again at Georgiana’s letter, her neat handwriting a testament to her growing confidence.

I cannot wait to meet Miss Elizabeth properly , she had written. You must bring her to London soon, Fitzwilliam, and then Pemberley. I think she will love it—and I suspect she will not be shy in telling you what improvements it needs!

Darcy chuckled softly to himself, folding the letter and tucking it into his coat. Georgiana’s insight, though playful, was strikingly accurate. Elizabeth had already managed to shake the foundations of his carefully ordered life, and he found himself looking forward to the ways she would continue to do so.

“Longbourn,” he instructed the driver, settling back against the seat as the carriage rolled forward. Whatever nonsense Caroline Bingley wished to spin, it was nothing compared to the clarity of purpose that now filled him. He had Elizabeth, and with her, he had everything.

Darcy stepped out of the carriage at Longbourn, the familiar house bathed in the golden light of a winter afternoon. The snow had stopped, leaving the world hushed and pristine, and the faint scent of woodsmoke hung in the air. His heart quickened at the thought of seeing Elizabeth again, though he did his best to temper his eagerness.

The door opened before he reached it, and there she was, standing on the threshold with her cheeks flushed and her eyes bright. Elizabeth smiled, that particular smile of hers that sent a jolt straight through him.

“You are becoming rather predictable, Mr. Darcy,” she teased lightly as he approached. “Arriving here with alarming frequency.”

“And yet, you keep letting me in,” he replied, a faint smile tugging at his lips.

“I suppose we shall have to reconsider our hospitality,” she quipped, stepping aside to allow him entry. “Though I suspect you would not take offense.”

“Not in the slightest,” Darcy said, his tone warm as he shrugged off his coat. “I am quite determined to be undeterred.”

As they moved toward the sitting room, laughter spilled out from within, and Darcy caught the distinct sound of Elizabeth’s younger sisters’ voices. When they stepped inside, Kitty and Lydia were perched together on the settee, clearly in the midst of a spirited discussion. Mary sat nearby with a book in hand, though she appeared more interested in the conversation than the pages.

“He’s here!” Kitty exclaimed, nudging Lydia and giggling.

Lydia leaned forward, her eyes alight with mischief. “That took longer than I thought. I win.”

“You do not,” Kitty protested. “The wager was five minutes, and it’s barely been four!”

Elizabeth arched a brow, her arms crossing as she regarded her sisters. “What are you two conspiring about now?”

“Nothing,” Kitty said quickly, though the smirk she shared with Lydia gave her away.

Lydia, less inclined to subtlety, grinned wickedly. “We were just discussing how long Mr. Darcy’s next kiss will last.”

Elizabeth’s cheeks turned a delightful shade of pink, and Darcy coughed, his composure slipping for a moment. “A wager, is it?” he asked, his voice calm but edged with amusement. “And what were the terms?”

“Oh, nothing too scandalous,” Lydia said, waving a hand. “Just a bit of fun.”

“More like a test of endurance,” Kitty added with a giggle, earning a sharp look from Elizabeth.

“You two have far too much time on your hands,” Elizabeth said, though her tone was more exasperated than stern. She turned back to Darcy, her expression softening. “I apologize for my sisters. They seem to have no concept of propriety.”

Darcy stepped closer, his voice low enough that only she could hear. “I find myself rather curious about their wager.”

Elizabeth’s lips twitched, and she tilted her head, her eyes sparkling. “And what would you say if I told you they were wagering on your fortitude?”

His gaze held hers, his voice dropping to a murmur. “I would say I intend to exceed expectations.”

Elizabeth laughed, the sound warm and unguarded, and it took every ounce of Darcy’s restraint not to pull her into his arms right then and there. Instead, he offered his arm, his tone playful but his eyes full of meaning. “Shall we?”

She placed her hand on his arm, her touch light but steady. “If we must.”

As they exited the room, Lydia called after them, “We’ll be counting!”

Elizabeth shook her head, muttering something under her breath that made Darcy chuckle. They stopped in the quieter corridor, and Darcy turned to face her fully, his expression softening.

“Elizabeth,” he said quietly, brushing a strand of hair from her face, “if I may be so bold…”

“You are always bold, Mr. Darcy,” she replied, her voice teasing but her eyes warm.

“Then I shall live up to the reputation,” he murmured, leaning down to capture her lips in a kiss—gentle at first, then deepening as she responded with equal fervor.

When they finally parted, her cheeks were flushed, her eyes sparkling with laughter. “I think you’ve just ruined their wager,” she said breathlessly.

“Good,” he replied, a rare grin curving his lips. “They should never doubt my resolve.”