Chapter 28
E lizabeth stood before the mirror in her room, smoothing the delicate folds of her wedding gown. The green of the fabric caused her eyes to shimmer even more brightly in the light of the crackling fire, its understated elegance a reflection of her own quiet resolve. The lace edging at the bodice and sleeves felt like an embrace of strength rather than mere adornment. Her hair, unbound and cascading over her shoulders, added a softness to her appearance that made her feel both vulnerable and bold.
Her reflection stared back at her, her cheeks tinged with nervous color, her heart a tempest of hope and fear. She had spent the past days rehearsing what she might say, but now the words seemed to scatter like leaves on the wind.
Tonight was the night she would lay her heart bare, come what may.
A knock at the door startled her from her thoughts. She turned as Darcy stepped in, his brow furrowed slightly. “Elizabeth,” he began, his voice low, “I apologize. I hadn’t realized you were not yet ready—”
A faint smile touched her lips. “I am ready,” she said softly.
Darcy’s gaze shifted, and his eyes softened as they rested on her. For a moment, he seemed at a loss for words, his gaze lingering on her gown before returning to her face. “You look…” He paused, as though searching for the right words. “You look beautiful.”
Her heart fluttered at the compliment. Swallowing, she said, “I hope you don’t mind, but I asked Jane if we might have trays brought up so we could dine here tonight.”
His eyes flickered with a mixture of surprise and curiosity. “Here?” he asked, stepping further into the room. “In your chambers?”
She nodded and gestured toward the sitting room that adjoined their two bedrooms. “I thought we might enjoy a quieter evening… together.”
For a moment, he simply looked at her, his expression unreadable. Then, with a slight incline of his head, he said, “As you wish.”
They moved to the adjoining sitting room, a cozy space she had come to think of as their own little retreat within the vastness of Netherfield. The fire burned low and steady in the hearth, its warmth filling the room. A thick rug covered the floor, and the comfortable settee by the window beckoned with its familiar cushions. Outside, the world was cloaked in darkness, the faint outline of snow-covered trees barely visible through the frosted glass.
Elizabeth chose the settee, arranging her skirts carefully as she sat. Darcy settled into the armchair nearest her, his posture relaxed but his eyes watchful. The room felt charged, as though the air itself held its breath, waiting for something to break the silence. The quiet between them was not uncomfortable, but Elizabeth’s pulse quickened as she tried to summon the courage to say what she had rehearsed so many times in her mind.
A knock at the door broke the silence, heralding the arrival of their meal. Two servants entered with trays, carefully arranging the meal on the low table. The aroma of roasted chicken and warm rolls filled the room, but Elizabeth hardly noticed. She focused instead on keeping her composure as the servants completed their task and exited the room with quiet efficiency.
She sat with her hands folded tightly in her lap, waiting until the servants had left them alone. The room seemed to hum with tension, the quiet crackle of the fire the only sound. Elizabeth’s heart pounded in her chest as Darcy turned toward her, his expression open and curious.
The soft click of the door closing seemed to echo, amplifying the sudden stillness. Darcy turned to her, his gaze steady but questioning. “Elizabeth,” he began, “you said there was something you wished to speak to me about?”
She had prepared for this moment—rehearsed it in her mind, gone over every possible scenario—but now, under the weight of his steady gaze, her resolve wavered. Her pulse thundered in her ears, and before she could stop herself, the words spilled forth before he had even finished his last word.
“I love you.”
The silence that followed was deafening. Darcy froze, his eyes widening and his lips parting slightly as though he struggled to find a response. Elizabeth’s cheeks burned with embarrassment. She looked away, the floodgates of her thoughts spilling over in a nervous rush.
“I know I shouldn’t have said that,” she stammered. “I don’t expect you to feel the same. I know I was… forced on you, and you probably see me as nothing more than a duty. I understand that, truly, and I promise I won’t bring it up again. I just… I needed to tell you.”
Her voice broke, her eyes stinging with unshed tears as she faltered, unable to continue. The silence stretched unbearably, and she felt the urge to flee, to hide from the vulnerability she had exposed. Looking down at her fingers, which were twisting furiously in her lap, she blinked to keep the moisture at bay. She felt foolish, exposed in a way she never had before.
Then, to her surprise, she felt his hand cover hers, halting her spiral. His grip was firm but gentle, his warmth seeping into her cold fingers. Elizabeth’s breath hitched as she met his gaze, her heart thundering in her chest. His eyes were soft, filled with an emotion she couldn’t quite name, and his touch anchored her in a way that words never could.
“Elizabeth,” he said, his voice low and steady.
She held her breath, the air between them crackling with unspoken words, and waited.
∞∞∞
Darcy’s breath caught. Did I actually hear that right? Did she just say she… loves me?
For a moment, he couldn’t speak, couldn’t even move, as the weight of her words settled over him. He just stared at her, with her cheeks flushed, her eyes cast downward, her hands twisting nervously in her lap. The words replayed in his mind, each syllable reverberating with stunning clarity.
She loves me.
He hadn’t expected this—hadn’t dared hope for it. Not after the chaos of the afternoon, not after the doubts that had been swirling in his mind ever since.
When Georgiana had burst into Bingley’s study earlier, pale and trembling with fear in her voice, to tell them that Lady Catherine had arrived, he had barely paused to gather his wits before rushing out the door. Bingley had followed closely behind, both men propelled by a mix of alarm and anger.
Darcy could still hear the sharp edge of his aunt’s voice echoing in his memory as they approached the door. His pace had quickened as he’d approached the parlor, the sound of raised voices growing louder with each step. And then, just as he reached the doorway, he heard Elizabeth’s voice—clear, strong, and resolute.
“You will not take them from him. I will fight for him, for us, for our family until my dying breath.”
Her voice had rung with such fiery conviction that it had stopped him in his tracks. Those words had pierced through every doubt and fear he’d ever held. He had stood just outside the door, unable to move, awestruck by the strength and love behind her words.
In that moment, any lingering doubts he’d held about her feelings for him began to dissolve.
In that moment, he knew.
Elizabeth was his everything—his partner, his equal, the woman who would stand by him no matter the storm. Even if she never said the words aloud, even if she couldn’t bring herself to love him in the way he loved her, she cared deeply enough to fight for their life together.
Then Lady Catherine had raised her cane, and the fragile certainty he had begun to feel was obliterated by a wave of pure terror. All he could think was: What if I lose her?
The image of Elizabeth standing tall, her eyes blazing with determination even in the face of danger, would stay with him forever. He had been terrified—utterly, bone-deep terrified—at the thought of losing her. The fear had been a visceral thing, twisting in his gut, but it had brought with it a clarity he could no longer deny. He loved her. Fiercely, completely, irrevocably.
Even now, as he sat across from her in their private sitting room, the memory of that moment burned brightly in his mind. The firelight flickered softly, casting warm shadows over the intimate space. Elizabeth sat on the settee, her wedding gown flowing around her like a vision. The sight of her took his breath away all over again, just as it had when he first entered her room and saw her dressed so beautifully, her hair unbound and cascading over her shoulders.
But then she had spoken, and the world seemed to tilt on its axis. “I love you,” she had said, the words tumbling from her lips with an urgency that stunned him.
Elizabeth’s confession reverberated through him, pulling him back to the present with a force that left him reeling. The woman who had fought so fiercely for their family—who had stood unwavering against his formidable aunt—was now looking at him with a mixture of hope and dread, her emotions laid bare.
Darcy’s mind raced to catch up. Could it be true? After everything we’ve been through, could she truly love me?
But before he could respond, Elizabeth began to speak again, her voice trembling with a mixture of nerves and vulnerability. “I know I shouldn’t have said that. I don’t expect you to feel the same. I know I was… forced on you, and you probably see me as nothing more than a duty. I understand that, truly, and I promise I won’t bring it up again. I just… I needed to tell you.”
Her words were like a dagger to Darcy’s heart. How could she think herself forced upon him? Did she not see how much he admired her, respected her, needed her? As she rambled on, her hands twisting anxiously in her lap, Darcy felt a surge of emotion so powerful it nearly overwhelmed him.
No, Elizabeth. You must know the truth.
He reached out and covered her trembling hands with his own, halting her torrent of words. The touch stilled her, and she looked up at him with wide, tear-filled eyes. For a moment, neither of them spoke, the air between them heavy with unspoken feelings.
Darcy leaned closer, his voice low and steady as he finally found the words he had longed to say. “Elizabeth,” he began, his grip tightening on her hands. “Elizabeth,” he repeated, savouring the feel of her name on his lips. “I love you, too!”
Her head jerked up, her eyes locking with his in stunned disbelief. His thumb brushed over her knuckles as he continued. “I have loved you for longer than I dared to admit, even to myself. But today, as I heard you stand so fiercely for our family—heard you defend me with such courage and passion—I knew without a shadow of a doubt. You are my lover, my partner, my everything. And if I have not said it before, it is only because I feared I could never deserve you.”
Tears spilled down her cheeks, but this time they were accompanied by a shaky smile that lit up her entire face, making his chest ache. “You… you mean it?” she whispered, her voice trembling with hope.
“With all that I am,” he said simply, without hesitation.
Darcy raised her hands to his lips. The warmth in her gaze was unlike anything he had ever seen, and he felt his own heart swell with a joy he had never thought possible. Her smile widened, and she let out a soft, almost incredulous laugh. For the first time in what felt like forever, Darcy felt as though the weight of the world had been lifted from his shoulders.
In that moment, the flames seemed to burn brighter, the world outside their cozy retreat fading into insignificance, the very room around them fading away, until only the two of them were left in the flickering firelight. The love that had grown between them—through trials, misunderstandings, and moments of quiet connection—had finally found its voice.
They were no longer bound by duty or circumstance, or even attempted compromises. They were bound by choice, by love, and by the unshakable certainty that they were meant to be.
Four months later
The warm spring sun filtered through the trees, dappling the carriage interior with flickering patterns of light and shadow as it rolled along the well-kept road. Elizabeth leaned back against the padded seat, her hand resting lightly over her middle. It was still too early to feel anything, but the knowledge of the tiny life growing within her filled her with quiet wonder.
She had been ill for weeks, her stomach rebelling against even the simplest of meals, but the discomfort was worth it. She had refused to delay their journey, determined to leave the stifling city behind and see Pemberley for the first time.
Andrew crawled energetically around the carriage floor, his hands patting at the plush cushions as he babbled a string of cheerful nonsense that made both his parents smile.
Georgiana, seated beside her with a book on her lap, leaning forward with wide eyes. “We’ve reached Pemberley’s woods!” She pointed out the window at a large expanse of trees. “Look, Elizabeth—there’s the edge of the estate!” Her cheeks flushed with enthusiasm as she took in the familiar landscape.
Elizabeth let out a soft sigh of relief, her gaze following Georgiana’s gesture. “At last,” she murmured. The journey from London had been arduous, especially with Andrew’s restless energy and her own discomfort. But she had refused to remain in the oppressive air of the city any longer. The promise of Pemberley had been her beacon.
“Are you well?” Darcy asked, his deep voice laced with concern. He reached over, his hand brushing hers. The warmth of his touch grounded her, and she nodded with a reassuring smile.
“I am fine, truly,” she replied. “Just eager to see your home.” She paused, then amended with a playful glance. “Our home.”
Darcy’s lips quirked into a smile that softened the edges of his otherwise serious expression. Before he could respond, the carriage slowed and came to a stop. He leaned forward, peering out the window. “We’ve reached the ridge,” he said. He tapped on the carriage roof and the carriage came to a stop.
Elizabeth’s brow furrowed. “Are we there?”
He chuckled, the sound low and warm. “Patience, my dear. Come and see for yourself.”
With a teasing shake of his head, he descended from the carriage and extended his hand to her. She accepted, allowing him to help her down. The air was fresh and clean, carrying the faint, earthy scent of the woods. Elizabeth took a deep breath, her senses instantly invigorated.
“Look,” Darcy said, gesturing toward the view.
Elizabeth turned, and the sight stole her breath. Below them, nestled amidst a vast expanse of rolling hills and manicured grounds, lay Pemberley. The stately house was a masterpiece of classical elegance, its stone facade gleaming softly in the sunlight. Wide terraces stretched out before it, leading to lush gardens bursting with spring blooms. Beyond the house, a glittering lake mirrored the azure sky, bordered by weeping willows that swayed gently in the breeze. The entire scene radiated a sense of timeless grandeur, and Elizabeth felt a lump rise in her throat.
“It’s…” Her voice trailed off as she searched for the right words. “It’s magnificent.”
Darcy’s gaze remained fixed on her face, not the view. “It will only become more so with you there,” he said softly.
Her cheeks warmed, and she glanced away, overwhelmed by both the sight and his words. “Thank you,” she murmured.
“You’ve yet to see the best parts,” he teased gently, helping her back into the carriage. As he settled across from her and the journey resumed, Elizabeth leaned her head against the cushioned seat, her heart swelling with gratitude. “Wait until you see more… I’m especially look forward to showing you your new chambers,” he whispered in her ear, causing her to shiver with anticipation.
She gave him a cheeky grin, almost overwhelmed by the depth of her love. The past months had been a whirlwind of change and discovery. Their two months in Hertfordshire after Christmas had been filled with family and unexpected moments of joy. Then one warm day in February, they made the journey to Darcy House, where they would spend another two months.
Those two months in London were filled with a whirlwind of activities, including frequently entertaining the Gardiners. Elizabeth had told Darcy one evening that it was Mrs. Gardiner’s wisdom and encouragement that had given her the courage to confess her feelings. His gratitude toward her aunt had been profound, and they had made certain to show their appreciation during every visit.
Darcy’s family, the Matlocks, proved to be a stark contrast to Elizabeth’s family. His titled relations had initially received her with caution, their coolness a palpable reminder of her new station’s complications. Yet with time—and her own determination—they had warmed. Lady Matlock had even taken Elizabeth shopping, introducing her to the styles and shops that suited her new station. Lord Matlock had surprised her by expressing an interest in diversifying his investments. This led to an introduction to Mr. Gardiner, whose business acumen had impressed him greatly. Their warming acceptance had been a small but significant victory.
And then there was Andrew. Darcy’s confession about the boy’s parentage had shocked her at first. But her surprise was immediately swallowed up in admiration for his integrity. His love and care for Andrew, despite the circumstances, spoke volumes about his character. It had made her love him even more deeply.
If Wickham weren’t already dead, I’d kill him myself , she thought.
Now, as the carriage rolled onward, the warmth of Darcy’s presence beside her filled her with quiet contentment. He glanced at her, his eyes soft with affection, and reached for her hand. She laced her fingers with his, drawing strength from his steady touch.
Her gaze shifted to Andrew, who had finally tired himself out and was nestled against Georgiana’s lap, his small fingers clutching the hem of her gown. The sight filled Elizabeth’s heart with hope for the future. This, she thought, was what she had dreamed of—a family built on love, trust, and shared devotion.
As they descended the hill toward Pemberley, Elizabeth allowed herself a moment of reflection. The path to this happiness had not been without its trials. Mistakes had been made, schemes had been thwarted, and hearts had been laid bare. Yet every misstep, every obstacle, had brought them here, to this moment.
She glanced at Darcy, her heart swelling with love, and thought of how close she had come to losing him before she even realized what he meant to her. A faint smile curved her lips, and she gave his hand a gentle squeeze.
The great house loomed closer, its grandeur no longer intimidating but inviting. She rested her hand over her stomach once more, her heart full of quiet joy. Life had not unfolded as she had once imagined, but in many ways, it was far better.
And as the carriage drew near to Pemberley’s welcoming gates, Elizabeth thought with a touch of wry humor that she owed her happiness, in part, to the attempted compromises that had failed so spectacularly.