Chapter 12
12
E lizabeth woke before the sun had fully risen, the pale light of early morning stretching softly across the floorboards of her room. She was not yet fully aware of what had woken her when she sat up, rubbing the sleep from her eyes.
And then—she saw it.
A folded slip of paper, tucked just beneath the door.
Her breath caught.
Heart pounding, she swung her legs over the side of the bed and padded silently across the floor. Her fingers trembled slightly as she bent to pick it up, unfolding it carefully.
The handwriting was bold, precise, unmistakable.
Meet me in the gardens. As soon as you wake. No one will see us .
_D._
Elizabeth didn’t even try to stop her smile.
Darcy.
He wanted to see her. Now.
She did not pause to think. She did not dare hesitate.
She threw on a simple gown, draped a shawl over her shoulders, and slipped silently through the halls of Rosings Park—moving quickly, breathlessly, as though the entire world depended on what was about to happen.
The morning air was crisp, fresh, untouched by the heat of the day to come.
Elizabeth walked swiftly along the stone paths, her heart pounding harder with every step.
And then—she saw him.
Darcy stood beneath the arch of the rose trellis, his hands clenched behind his back, his body tense with something unspoken.
She slowed her steps, inhaling deeply, steadying herself before speaking.
"Mr. Darcy."
He turned sharply at the sound of her voice, and the moment their eyes met, her breath caught.
Darcy was not composed. Not as he had been before, not as he always tried to be. His coat was unbuttoned, his cravat slightly askew, and though he stood tall and strong, there was something in his face—something raw, something restless, something desperate. For the first time, he did not try to hide it.
"Elizabeth," he said, stepping forward.
She swallowed hard. "What is it? What has happened?"
He exhaled sharply, as if gathering himself, as if this was not how he had meant to do this.
But then, finally—he spoke.
"Come away with me."
Elizabeth’s steps faltered. "Leave with you?" she repeated, voice barely above a whisper.
Darcy nodded once, his entire body taut with conviction. "Tonight," he said. "Pack what you need. I will be waiting at the end of the lane."
Elizabeth could barely breathe. "Where would we go?"
"Pemberley."
She inhaled sharply.
"You would take me there?"
He stepped closer, his gaze fierce, unwavering. "Yes," he said. "I will take you to the town nearby. You may stay with Mrs. Reynolds—she has long been a friend to my family. Or, if you wish, I will take you further. Anywhere you wish to go."
Elizabeth stared at him, her heart thundering in her chest. "You are asking me to run away with you."
His jaw tightened. "Yes."
She swallowed hard. "You are not proposing marriage."
Darcy’s throat worked, his breath unsteady, his hands curling into fists.
"I am not." He lifted her chin with his fingers. “Not yet.”
Elizabeth let out a breathless, shaking laugh, though there was no humor in it.
"Then what are you asking of me, Mr. Darcy?"
His expression darkened, his voice rough with something she did not dare name.
"I am asking you," he said, "to choose your own happiness."
Darcy exhaled sharply, dragging a hand through his hair, pacing now, unable to stand still. "I have tried," he said, his voice strained, as if he were at war with himself even now. "I have tried to accept this, to let you go, to respect your choice. But I cannot. I cannot?—"
He stopped abruptly, turning to her, his eyes burning with something too powerful to suppress. "I cannot live without you."
Elizabeth’s chest ached with the weight of his words.
Her hands shook at her sides.
Darcy saw it.
And before she could pull away—before she could think, before she could stop herself—he reached out and took her hands in his.
Elizabeth let him. She let him hold her, let him steady her, let him be the only solid thing in a world that was unraveling.
"You deserve better than this," he said fiercely. "You deserve more than a life spent silent, more than a marriage built on duty and sacrifice. You deserve to be happy, Elizabeth."
She felt a burning behind her eyes, something terrifying and shattering. "I do not know how," she whispered.
Darcy’s fingers tightened around hers.
"Then let me show you," he said. “Let me court you how you deserve to be. Allow me to win your heart in a proper manner, so to speak.”
Her breath came quick, shallow, unsteady.
"You would risk scandal for me?" she asked.
"I would risk everything for you," he said.
Elizabeth closed her eyes, exhaling shakily.
Her entire life had been spent thinking of others. Of her family, her duty, her place in the world.
But standing here, held in his grasp, hearing the unshaken certainty in his voice?—
She wanted.
"If I go with you… there is no returning."
Darcy’s grip on her hands tightened just slightly.
"No," he agreed softly.
A pause.
Then—softer, fiercer, aching?—
"But you will never have to look back."
She believed him.
The moment stretched between them, heavy with the weight of the choice before her.
Darcy’s eyes flickered down to her lips, but he did not move closer.
But he didn’t push her more.
This choice—this moment—was hers alone.