Chapter 42
CHAPTER FORTY-TWO
D arcy opened his eyes to a wonderland. He did not remember falling asleep, but here they were. Elizabeth—his Elizabeth—was holding him, evidently having nodded off herself. They were alone in his barouche, and his head rested upon her soft lap, her fingers sitting delicately upon his jaw. He reached up, grasped her hand, still gloveless from her earlier ministrations, and pressed a long kiss to her sweet palm.
She began to stir.
He sat up, loath to create so much space between them after the intimacy of their nap and watched as her eyes fluttered open. Did she feel the absence of his body upon hers as much as he did? The chill of separation that tempted him to enfold her in his arms that moment, pull her onto his lap, and lock her in his embrace for the rest of his natural life?
She moved into him, pulling her knees up against his thighs and resting her head upon his chest with a sigh. Apparently, she did.
“Did you sleep well?” Elizabeth asked groggily.
“That was the most restful sleep I think I have ever experienced,” he said, kissing her hair and setting his cheek upon her head.
“Are we getting close to Darcy House, do you think?”
Judging by the buildings they were passing, Darcy guessed that they would arrive within a quarter of an hour.
“And what is the first thing you shall do when you return to your former life of luxury?” He could hear the smile in her voice as she spoke.
“The first thing I should do is go to Fitzwilliam at Matlock House. He needs to know what transpired at Rosings,” Darcy told her with a heavy heart. “He will be crushed to hear about Anne. They have long been close.”
“That would be a kind thing to do,” Elizabeth agreed.
He knew his duty to his cousin, but he also felt keenly his duty to the wonderful creature before him. He could not seek out Fitzwilliam before securing Elizabeth’s hand. She was expecting it, he was sure. After all, would such a woman snuggle into the arms of a man she did not believe fully intended to marry her? His mind flew back to his first proposal and how he had found her in his embrace earlier that day.
He shook his head. Surely, this time it was different.
“And I long to see Georgiana—and to introduce her to you,” he said, resting his hand upon her face and letting his thumb trace the hairline at her temple. “However, I believe the first thing I shall do is order a hot bath and a shave.”
“A shave?” Elizabeth lifted her head, disappointment in her voice.
“You do not expect me to keep my disguise after I re-enter polite society, surely?”
“No,” she said, hesitating. “It is just that…” Her cheeks warmed before him.
“It is just that, what?”
She was clearly flustered. He bent his head to force her to meet his eyes.
“Nothing,” she finally replied with determination. “I presume too much.”
“Elizabeth, you could never presume upon me. Surely you know that by now.”
“It is just that, you shall shave, and I…I shall never have kissed you with a beard,” she blurted and then buried her head in his shoulder. He smiled broadly.
“Would you like to kiss me with a beard?” he asked her with one raised eyebrow. She lifted a hand to cover the part of her reddening face still visible, then gave the barest nod without raising her head.
“Well,” he said, reaching down to lift her chin with his knuckle, “I should never kiss you unless we were betrothed.”
She faced him now, but her eyes were squeezed shut in embarrassment. Did she think he was scolding her? He could not let that stand! This was not what he had planned, but it would have to do.
“Elizabeth, you wondrous, curious, brilliant woman, I love you,” Darcy began, glorying as her eyes shot open and became glassy. “You have battered my impassable walls with your honesty and impertinence. You have dashed my heretofore impervious defences with only the weapons of your innate goodness and kindness. You have taught me to value others by rightly valuing yourself. I am afraid I have quite come to depend on you.”
“I love you as well, Fitzwilliam Darcy,” she confessed in a whisper, as if the world around them might shatter should she speak the words too loudly.
“Will you consent, then, to continue to love me, honour me, and chide me when I am overset by my own pride? Will you teach me balance and empathy when it does not come naturally? And allow me to cherish you, adore you, and look to you for guidance and support? Will you be my wife, Elizabeth, and let me give you all I am for as long as I live?”
“Of course I will! I want nothing more than to be by your side forever.” Her watery kiss landed upon his great grin as she wrapped her arms around his neck. His arms snaked about her waist, and they spent several minutes expressing their affection without words.
Perhaps she was being indulgent, but she simply could not force herself to pull away. There was something thrilling about being so wanted and feeling so secure, wrapped as she now was in his embrace. Elizabeth revelled in the nearness of him—this wealthy, handsome man of education and consequence, who smelled like cedar and lavender and tasted like rich black tea. And who loved her.
He ministered to her so delicately, his palm rising to rest lightly upon her jaw and his fingers trailing behind her ear. They danced upon her scalp as if he were memorising the sensation of her hair against his fingertips. His whiskers tickled her chin, but she knew within a moment that she would welcome his kisses no matter the state of his beard or lack thereof. She would drink in every part of this man as long as she lived. He must have sensed her growing fervour, for he loosened his hold on her, no doubt supressing his own ardour.
He caressed her cheek with his thumb as his lips opened and closed ever so slightly over her own. So slowly, so sweetly did his mouth attend hers, that her eyes drifted closed and her mouth began moving in rhythm with his. He kissed her now, not with a growing passion that might frighten her, but as if he meant to comfort her, to assure her of her place in his esteem.
She laid her hands upon his chest, closed her eyes, and willed herself not to think about the terrors of the morning as she let him convince her with his lips and his fingers and his intimate words.
“So, how was it? Kissing me with a beard?” he asked after they had had a moment to catch their breath.
She schooled her features and began tapping her pursed lips in deep contemplation. “I really could not say,” she replied. “I believe I will need another before I can give a truly informed opinion.”
It seemed her beloved was more than happy to oblige.