Chapter 24 #2
She stilled but would not turn round lest he witness her sudden lack of confidence.
He stood a mere inch or so behind, and when he softly spoke in her ear, Elizabeth shivered.
“When you again sit at that blank piece of paper, Miss Bennet, will you paint with the warm, brilliant colours you have brought back to my life? Will you depict a rainbow? Will you paint for me—for us—a picture full of promise and hope?”
Her knees grew weak. Me! He was speaking of me!
Still with her back to him, heart near to bursting, Elizabeth knew not whether she was going to become a blubbering fool or a radiantly happy woman who was in love with the gentleman who, it seemed, returned that sentiment.
Smiling and nodding emphatically, she faced him and was rewarded with a huge grin the likes of which she had only ever witnessed on Mr Bingley’s visage.
Although she wanted nothing more than to fall into Mr Darcy’s arms, Elizabeth knew it was imperative that decorum prevail, for he was just that sort of stiffly proper person.
As he stood there, his tall form blotting out the sun, his handsome features, his scent, his confidence, and his very essence, all combined to tickle her fancy and quicken her breath.
In his dark eyes, and on his entire countenance, she witnessed a remarkable expression of pensive veneration.
She could not help but be overpowered by the wonder that she was the object of so great a gentleman’s admiration.
Taking her hand in his, he spoke in the same soft tone as before.
“Miss Bennet, there are two questions that I should like to ask you now. But I shall voice only one, while the other, regretfully, must wait. Once certain people are gone from Strandsmere, the more important question will be asked. Shall we walk again?”
Walk? No. Let us cast aside our hats and run along the cliff, holding hands and laughing, while a gentle breeze tousles our hair. What would be his response to such a childish notion? Would he run with her or follow behind, scowling?
Sedately, they strolled in the opposite direction of the villa. “So, was ‘shall we walk’ your question, sir?”
“It was a question but not the question. The question concerns Miss Hughes.”
That was not at all what Elizabeth had expected. Bewildered, she stopped. “It does?”
“Yes. I must go to Bristol tomorrow. And that made me think that it might please Miss Hughes and her friends if I were to arrange a trip to Bath for all of us. Several times she has expressed a great desire to go there, which leads to my question. I believe Miss Hughes is nearing the end of the expected mourning interval following the deaths of her parents. But would a few days from now be too soon? What is your opinion?”
That Mr Darcy had asked for her perspective pleased Elizabeth immensely, particularly if he also intended to eventually ask for her hand.
“My opinion is that you are a kind-hearted soul, sir. And yes, Miss Hughes did long to visit Bath. However, of late she has made no mention of it. She is perfectly content here in Wyman’s Cove, and I do not believe she would wish to leave any time soon, even for a day or two.
There is, you see… Well, perhaps I should not say… ”
“It was just a thought, Miss Bennet.”
“And a generous thought it was, but I suspect it must remain no more than that. You see, about a fortnight ago, the Bakers, their niece, and I were walking along the beach when we encountered a handsome gentleman wearing a black armband. As we approached, the Bakers recognised him as young Mr Henry Clark of Minehead. Introductions were made and condolences offered. After half a year, he still mourns the beloved grandfather who raised him and bequeathed the house to him. Mr Clark was invited up to Cliff House that day, and he has been a frequent caller ever since. From first acquaintance, he and Miss Hughes seemed smitten with one another. But, because my friend is still in mourning, the Bakers will not allow anything other than polite civility between them. Tomorrow fortnight will mark half a year since Mr and Mrs Hughes’s passing.
Shortly after that will be their daughter’s sixteenth birthday.
The Bakers spoke to me about the possibility of a special birthday dinner for Miss Hughes before I leave for home. ”
“I, too, have something planned for later this month. Perhaps we might combine the two events.”
“That would be wonderful.” Being arm in arm with Mr Darcy, discussing a future together, even if it was only a party, gave Elizabeth such buoyancy that she felt as though she were floating.
After going along in silence awhile, he stopped and turned to her.
“Due to someone else’s use of the term ‘secret understanding’, for me it now has a negative connotation.
But I trust that you and I have made a promise to one another today.
And I hope you comprehend why I wish to wait.
That other question—and, more importantly, your answer—is of such a nature and of such significance that I shall not risk having its outcome marred by any unpleasantness that might ensue were certain others to learn of it. ”
He glanced over his shoulder, and she did the same.
Their three chaperons were engrossed with their paintings but still within sight.
Drawing closer, and closer still, Mr Darcy placed a gloved hand upon Elizabeth’s cheek.
Leaning in, she closed her eyes. Although a layer of fine kid leather was a barrier between her skin and his, she savoured the sensation of his touch.
“Miss Bennet, the reply I yearn for, the answer to both my unasked question and to my prayers, will be foremost on my mind until the moment I may hear it from”—he whispered—“your lips.”
Within reach of hers, his mouth was too alluring, too irresistible, and so very accessible. Surrendering to temptation, Elizabeth took the initiative and gently pressed her lips to his.
It was as though her touch had ignited a fire.
He gently held her face in both hands and pleasurably moved his lips over hers again and again.
The feeling was at once unexpected and explosive.
Fireworks were set off inside her head. She had no concept of how long the ecstasy lasted, for nothing else mattered but the unbelievable pleasure of being kissed by the man she loved.
“Elizabeth.” Her name escaped as a strangled moan when Mr Darcy eventually broke the exquisite contact. “Good Lord, woman.” He stepped away, breathing hard. “My apologies. I should not have—”
“You did not.” Eyes wide, palms over heated cheeks, she stepped back and waited, fearing the consequences of her brazen action.
Was he disgusted by such indecorous behaviour?
Would their understanding be short-lived?
“I am the one who should be apologising, sir. I do not know what came over me. Please believe me that never before have I done anything like…that!” Awaiting his judgment, her heart pounded energetically from passion and from fear.
When finally she was able to look at him, there was a gleam in Mr Darcy’s beautiful dark eyes as he smiled in a self-satisfied manner. “There is no need to apologise, dear heart. But there may be need for a short engagement once I eventually ask a certain question.”
“Then, you are not disgusted?”
“No. Quite the opposite.” Smiling into her eyes, he reached for her fingers.
She expected him to buss the back of her hand.
But he turned it over and kissed her wrist. Only then did Elizabeth wonder where she had left her gloves.
But in cases such as this, when one’s racing pulse is being kissed by Mr Darcy and one’s head is swimming from the sensation, a good memory is out of the question.