Chapter 12
12
D arcy had walked through the night, first the halls at Rosings, then the stables and then the paths towards Miss Elizabeth, his mind racing, his heart beating with a force that shook him, unable to sleep, unsure how to move forward, but certain she needed to know the truth. She must hear it from him. He must defend himself in the very least. Perhaps it might all be a misunderstanding.
Perhaps.
Perhaps was a dangerous word filled with false hope.
He had gone over every possible outcome. Every possible reaction. Every way in which he might lose her forever. He felt prepared as he stepped up to her door; He’d lost his sense. He cared not that he was ready to wake the house just to see her. He lifted his hand, prepared even to talk to Mr. Collins in a robe.
And yet, when Elizabeth opened the door looking as though she was about to rush off into the night, he was at a complete loss. All previously rehearsed thought fled. This scenario of course had never entered his mind.
When he saw her, standing there in the dim candlelight, her nightdress brushing the floor, a coat thrown about her, her hair loose over her shoulders, her eyes wide and full of something that sent fire through his veins?—
He forgot how to breathe.
Because never—never—had she looked so beautiful.
And more—there was hope in her eyes.
And he could not—would not—leave without knowing if it was real.
“Mr. Darcy!” She placed a hand at her chest. “I…” She opened the door wider. “Would you like to come in?”
“Will we wake everyone in the house?”
She looked over her shoulder and then nodded. “Shall we walk outside then?”
He nodded. His chest rose and fell too quickly, his breath unsteady, frantic, raw.
They walked a moment, neither speaking, neither asking what on earth the other was doing in such a state.
Miss Elizabeth turned to him, her smile tugging at full lips, “To what do I owe the pleasure?” She placed a hand at her mouth. Her eyes sparkling with something akin to happiness. Something had definitely changed. Had her feelings changed? Did she love him?
"Put me out of my misery, please. Tell me you do not love me," he whispered. “I am in the height of distress. I cannot sleep. I cannot walk more. The whole of this night I have been tormented. Tell me. I shall explain all to you, but first, say the words and I’ll leave. I’ll convince myself they are true.”
Elizabeth said nothing at first.
Then—She placed a hand on his arm. Her mouth curled in a soft smile.
"I received a letter from Jane," she said quietly.
Darcy stilled.
Her lips parted slightly, her voice unbearably tender. "You saved her happiness," she whispered. "You rescued my dear sister." She took a trembling breath. "I would love you forever for that."
His throat tightened painfully.
But then—she looked up, and something flickered in her gaze. "But that is not the kind of love I am looking for."
Darcy’s breath caught. He exhaled, his fingers clenching at his sides. "I know," he said, voice low, hoarse. He swallowed. "Tell me."
Elizabeth’s lips parted slightly. "I cannot."
A sharp breath rushed from his lungs.
Darcy reached for her hands.
She did not pull away. Her fingers trembled slightly, but she did not pull away.
He stepped closer. So close he could feel the warmth of her, the nearness of her, the weight of every moment between them. "Elizabeth."
She exhaled softly, the sound shaking him to his core.
He closed his eyes for a moment, then—with all the weight of his soul—he spoke. "One word from you will silence my lips forever."
She sucked in a breath.
"But my wishes remain unchanged."
Her fingers tightened around his.
"I love you, unreservedly, undeservedly." His voice broke. "Everything about you."
Elizabeth’s lips quivered.
Darcy’s grip tightened. "Say something.”
She shook her head, tears flowing now, shoulders shaking with silent sobs. “I cannot.” Her whisper came as an emotion filled invitation.
He wiped her tears then gently ran his fingers along her forehead, clearing the hair from her face. She leaned into his palm, accepting his caress with her eyes closed. Then she lifted his hands in hers, brought them to her lips. She pressed their softness in the center of his palm and then returned his hand again to the side of her face.
He could hardly speak, but he could wait no longer. He went down to one knee and begged his petition again. “Will you be my wife?"
Elizabeth let out a shaky laugh, a sound so fragile, so full of wonder and disbelief, that it shattered him completely. She wiped tears from her eyes. Her lips parted, trembling.
Darcy could hardly breathe.
Everything—his entire world, his every hope, his every longing—was balanced on the edge of her next breath.
And then—She smiled. “I never thought I could be so happy…Jane, she deserves this kind of happiness, but here it is for me too. Mr. Darcy, I love you. I have fought it most desperately, but I do. I love you with all my heart. And I can do nothing but accept. Yes, please, yes. I will marry you.”
He stood immediately, swinging her up and into his arms.
Her laugh carried up into the sky, filling the night air and healing every hard thing in his heart. He spun her around and then lowered her to her feet, keeping her close. “I love you Elizabeth. I love you more than I thought I could love another.”
She grinned up into his face, lifting her chin as close as she could be.
He paused only a half breath more and then he pressed his lips to hers, covering them, loving them, loving her. Again and again, he moved his lips over hers until they were both almost lost for breath. “Thank you.” He pressed his forehead to hers. “Thank you.”
She giggled. “Can we marry tomorrow?”
He smiled, ran his thumb along her lower lip. “If only. I shall apply for a special license. And in the meantime, let’s be off to Longbourn.”
She nodded.
They kissed again, slowly, softly, with no urgency but with all the promises of many more kisses whenever and however they wished. When they at last opened up the door to deliver Miss Elizabeth back to her bed, it was with very swollen lips indeed.