Chapter 23
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
“What did you mean by that wink at Miss Elizabeth earlier?” Darcy very nearly demanded some hours later, when the two gentlemen found themselves alone in the billiards room after the Bennets had departed.
He could hardly object to their visits, for Georgiana genuinely enjoyed Miss Mary’s company, and their presence had at least prevented his cousin from directing too much attention towards Elizabeth. Mrs Bennet was still a trial, but he was bearing it well, he thought.
“Ah,” Fitzwilliam said, a slow grin spreading across his face, “so you did see it.”
He chose his cue with what Darcy considered infuriating deliberation. “Did you remark how charmingly distracted she was afterwards? She entirely lost track of the conversation around her for some time.”
“Enough, Richard,” Darcy said sharply. “You pay court to Miss Jane Bennet when she is present, yet the moment she is absent you transfer your attentions to Elizabeth. It is hardly fair to either lady—particularly when you know very well the only reason you do not pursue Miss Jane Bennet in earnest is her want of fortune. Granfield selected you for Elizabeth’s husband in part because he trusted you would not be tempted by it. ”
Fitzwilliam’s expression sobered although Darcy could see the humour had not entirely left his eyes.
“I have always known I must choose a wife with care,” he said after a momentary pause. “I might wish to follow my inclinations wherever they lead, but a second son must be at least a little mercenary. One cannot live upon charm and good intentions.”
“You would not have to,” Darcy began, but fell silent at a warning motion from his cousin.
“I am well aware of your offer,” Fitzwilliam said. “But I have little intention of accepting it.”
He exhaled and, for once, did not smile. “Yes, I was baiting you this afternoon, and I ought not to have done it. “
Darcy closed his eyes briefly. “No,” he said at last, “you should not.”
“While I do not believe Miss Elizabeth was truly distressed by my actions—her distraction seemed born of something else—it was unfair of me to act in that manner.”
Darcy acknowledged his cousin’s words with a moment of silence and then spoke again.
“Tell me honestly, Richard—do you think Miss Elizabeth regards me with any degree of kindness, or dare I say anything approaching affection? The two of us have spoken often since my coming here, yet I find myself at a loss. I have never attempted to court a lady before. I am not even certain whether that is what I am doing, and if it is, I do not know how best to make my intentions understood. Ought I to ask her directly, or continue as I have been?”
He hesitated, then added more quietly, “I already know Granfield will not entirely approve of my suit. Still, he has said he will allow Elizabeth her choice.”
“She does look at you kindly, Darcy, and she is devoted to Georgiana, which can only recommend you,” Fitzwilliam said with a wink.
He met Darcy’s scowl with a smirk, which did nothing whatsoever to improve matters.
“In truth,” he continued more seriously, “I believe that if you were to speak to her as plainly on this subject as you do on every other, you would discover she is at least willing to see where matters might lead. Candour about your intentions can hardly do you harm.”
Darcy considered this for several moments, turning the idea over as though it were a problem in need of solving.
“So I am to tell her that I wish to pursue her?” he said at last. “To ask whether she might permit it?” He released a quiet breath. “Richard, you know how diligently I have avoided the ladies of the Ton. Now that I would like to actually know one better, I find myself entirely at a loss.”
“At least since we have been here, you have never had any difficulty speaking to Miss Elizabeth,” Fitzwilliam said. “You are thinking about this entirely too much.”
“And you think about things far too little,” Darcy returned, irritation sharpening his tone at his cousin’s insouciance.
“Admit that you are in love with the lady, and I shall offer better advice,” Fitzwilliam teased.
“Richard,” Darcy growled, thoroughly at the end of his patience.
“Admit it,” Fitzwilliam pressed. “I know you. I have heard how often you call her Elizabeth and never Miss Elizabeth, and you are not a man who allows himself such familiarity without reason. So own it, and I will give you the very best counsel I possess.”
Darcy dragged a hand across his face in frustration.
“Yes, Richard,” he said at last, “I love Elizabeth. Alhough I had rather my first declaration of it be made to the lady herself than wrung from me over a billiard table.”
At that moment, the door gave a soft creak, and both gentlemen turned towards the sound.
Elizabeth stood upon the threshold.
“You… you love me?” she asked, breathless.
For the first time in his adult life, Fitzwilliam found himself utterly without wit.
Darcy, however, looked as though he had been shot. The colour rose violently in his face; whatever words he might have commanded fled at once, abandoning him to a species of horror made up of equal parts exposure and hope.
Fitzwilliam recovered his composure first.
“Well,” he said briskly, laying aside his cue, “I find I am urgently required anywhere other than here.”
He crossed the room at once. Elizabeth, startled, stepped aside to allow him passage, scarcely aware that in doing so she moved fully inside.
Fitzwilliam clapped Darcy once upon the shoulder as he passed. “Try not to make a cake of it.”
He slipped through the doorway and pulled the door shut behind him with a decisive click.
Elizabeth had not the faintest notion what she ought to say. With sudden, mortifying clarity, she realised that she stood in a room seldom entered by the ladies of the house, the door now firmly shut at her back.
She was in here alone with Mr Darcy.
The instant she had heard her own name spoken amidst his confession of love, she had been practically rooted to the spot, incapable of retreat or advance.
How she had come to step farther into the room she scarcely knew; she had yielded passage to the colonel, and he had departed, leaving them alone with that declaration hanging between them.
She ought to have made some sound—ought to have warned them of her presence. They had clearly believed the door secure, yet it had stood treacherously ajar, and every word had reached her with perfect, breathless clarity.
Darcy continued to stare at her, with something that at first glance looked very like horror. Then, almost as swiftly, she realised it was not horror at all, but terror.
Of what, she could not entirely say. She knew she must attempt something to relieve at least a portion of his concern.
“You love me?” she asked again, her voice steadier now. She was not certain how she had found the courage to repeat his words, but she had known something must be done to break the dreadful impasse between them.
“I do,” he replied, his voice rough, as if in urgent need of fortification.
Almost at once he crossed to the sideboard, where a decanter waited, and poured himself a finger of amber liquid.
“Would you care for a drink?”
She shook her head. “No,” was all she could manage.
Elizabeth watched as he lifted the glass. He began with a cautious sip, but it was followed by a far more determined swallow.
“I do,” he said again. “I believe I have been falling in love with you from almost the first moment I saw you.”
She could not prevent a small laugh from escaping her lips.
“Yes, I know what I said that evening,” he added quickly, colour rising.
“But you intrigued me even then. I have already confessed I was a fool, and I assure you I was not in my right mind. Since that night, every meeting with you has only confirmed my first impression—that you are the most delightful lady of my acquaintance and the one woman in the world most suited to me. These last weeks at Millwood Cottage have done nothing but strengthen that conviction, and although I meant to honour your grandfather’s wishes and leave the field open to my cousin, I found the attempt a great struggle. ”
He gave a short, breathless laugh that did nothing to steady her own.
“Is it very dreadful of me to admit I was relieved when he contrived to make such an unfortunate beginning with you? I knew I had done the same, and had only just begun, in some small measure, to redeem myself. There remained every possibility you might prefer him.”
He hesitated.
“I confess,” he finished more quietly, “I hoped you would not. I knew even then that I wished for you as my wife, but I could not get in the colonel’s way if that was what you wished.”
“You love me,” Elizabeth said, but this time it was not a question.
“I do,” Darcy said again, stepping closer to Elizabeth. “I love you, Elizabeth, most ardently.” He was not quite close enough to touch, and Elizabeth, suddenly aware of the space between them, stepped forward.
She moved forwards until just a few inches separated them. But still, she did not speak.
“Do you—” Darcy began, but then paused. He took her hands in his and brought them to his lips for a light caress.
“Elizabeth, could you ever love me in return? I pray that I have shown you I am not that horrible, haughty man from the assembly, but a man who loves deeply and who wishes to spend the rest of his life with you. Would you—”
He stopped as she shifted yet closer.
“Yes,” Elizabeth whispered.
“Yes,” Elizabeth whispered, and the touch of her breath against his jaw very nearly unmanned him.
“Yes to which of my many questions, Elizabeth?” he murmured, scarcely trusting himself to breathe.
They stood so close their breath mingled, yet he did not dare move or lift a hand to her face, no matter how ardently he wished it, for fear the smallest motion might shatter the miracle before him.
Her lips curved in the smile he had come to love.
“To all of them,” she said. “Yes, I could love you; indeed, I am nearly certain I already do. Yes, I can imagine loving you in return, and one day—before long—I should like very much to be your wife. Yes, we may have to persuade my grandfather that you are, in truth, my choice, but he has told me I may marry whom I wish, and he will not stand in my way.”
Hope rose so swiftly in his chest he feared it might undo him altogether. Instead, a short, incredulous laugh escaped him.
“Elizabeth,” he whispered, leaning nearer, his lips brushing her brow in the lightest of kisses. He did not dare attempt more, unwilling to risk her ire in case it was unwelcome.
“Elizabeth,” he murmured again, his mouth drifting from her forehead towards her temple, as if she were something sacred in his keeping.
“Yes, Fitzwilliam,” she breathed.
He closed his eyes. The sound of his name upon her lips struck deeper than any oath. His heart thundered within his chest, and for a moment, he was forced to gather every fragment of his self-command, lest joy carry him beyond all prudence.
When he trusted himself again, he lifted his arms about her.
She came willingly into his embrace, her own arms slipping around his waist, and in that simple exchange the last of his doubt dissolved. In his arms she was warm and real, and the certainty of her nearly brought him to his knees.
Darcy drew her closer, bowing his head towards hers, holding her as though he feared the world might yet attempt to steal her away.
“You have made me happier than I believed possible, Elizabeth,” he said unsteadily.
Her laughter thrilled him, but then he stopped to consider her. He pulled back, just a little, allowing him to look at her in the eyes. “What is so funny, my dearest?”
“I am happy,” she answered. “You have made me very happy. I cannot even remember why I came to the billiard room now, but I feel certain that someone will come and look for us soon. After all, your cousin knows we are here, and I am still not certain that man is to be trusted. So, to seal our agreement, we must kiss, must we not?”
She looked up at him with such a pert expression that Darcy was tempted to kiss it off her lips. Still, he attempted to show some restraint.
“What agreement is that?” he asked, desiring to be perfectly clear about what had transpired here today.
“You did ask me to be your wife, did you not?” she said, looking up at him with something like alarm on her face.
“I did, or rather, I was going to, but I am uncertain whether you allowed me to ask the question,” he said, trying his hand at teasing, something he had only begun to do with anyone other than his cousin since meeting Elizabeth.
She scowled at him although the upturn in the corners of her lips showed that she was not angry.
“Then ask your question, sir, else I will be obligated to inform my grandfather that you embraced me rather scandalously. He will not be happy about it, but he will doubtless tell you that you must marry me then.”
Darcy shook his head with fond wonder, then stepped back. But he did not release her entirely. Instead, he gathered her hands in his and lifted each in turn to his lips, pressing a lingering kiss upon the back of it before meeting her eyes.
“Dearest Elizabeth, I love you,” he began, his voice far less steady than it ought to have been in a man of seven and twenty.
“I know we did not always agree, and that fault was chiefly mine. The more I come to know you, the more I have come not only to cherish you, but to respect and admire you above every other woman.”
He paused to draw in a deep breath, not for courage, but because he knew this was a moment they would both remember for the rest of their lives.
“You are all I could desire in a wife, Elizabeth. I beg you will stand beside me as my partner and helpmate for the rest of our lives.”
Elizabeth smiled at him, her expression warm and certain.
“Yes, Fitzwilliam,” she said. “Yes to all of that.”
At her answer, he pulled her into his arms once more and kissed her.
It was not a passionate kiss, nor was it entirely chaste, but it was full of promise. In it he felt her trust, her affection, and the extraordinary gift of her choosing him, accepting him as he was.
As before when he embraced her, she seemed to fit against him in a way he could not begin to explain, and he found he did not need to.
Knowing she was his, and that he was hers, was more than enough.