Chapter 20
TWENTY
Elizabeth
Elizabeth had been awake since dawn.
She had changed her gown two times, attempted to read the same page of her book severally without comprehending a single word, and paced her chamber until Jane gently warned that she might wear a path into the carpet.
“They will come at eleven,” Jane said, watching her sister with affectionate amusement. “Just as Mr. Bingley promised.”
“I know.”
“And you will speak to him.”
“I know.”
“Then perhaps,” Jane continued, smiling, “you might cease your pacing and come downstairs before Mama begins to wonder at your strange behaviour?”
Elizabeth forced herself to sit—only to rise again a moment later. “What if I cannot find the words? What if—”
“Lizzy.” Jane’s voice was gentle but firm. “You will find them. You always do.”
But when the clock struck eleven and Hill announced the gentlemen, every carefully prepared speech fled her mind.
Mr. Darcy entered behind Mr. Bingley, and their eyes met across the room. For one suspended heartbeat, the world narrowed to just the two of them—his gaze steady and questioning, hers unable to look away.
Then Mrs. Bennet’s delighted exclamations shattered the spell, and Elizabeth was obliged to remember how to breathe.
The visit unfolded as all such visits must: tea was poured, pleasantries exchanged, and Mrs. Bennet held forth upon the superior elegance her eldest daughter’s wedding must certainly possess.
Mr. Bennet, with mischievous composure, offered occasional observations upon the alarming speed with which his wife’s plans multiplied, and speculated whether Kitty and Lydia’s avid attention to the proceedings arose from sisterly affection or from hopes of future application.
Elizabeth contributed little to the discourse. She was far too conscious of Mr. Darcy’s presence—of the quiet gravity in his manner, and of the weight of all that yet remained unsaid between them.
She needed to speak to him. Needed it with an urgency that made her hands tremble.
After perhaps twenty minutes of this polite torment, Mr. Bingley rose with a bright smile. “The weather is remarkably fine today, Miss Bennet. Might we take a turn? I have been longing to show you that particular view from the hill.”
It was an obvious contrivance, but Jane accepted with her usual grace.
“Oh, what a lovely idea!” cried Mrs. Bennet. “Lizzy, you must accompany them. Jane cannot go unchaperoned, not yet, even with her betrothed.”
Elizabeth’s heart leapt. A walk—with Mr. Darcy.
“Of course, Mama,” she managed.
Mr. Darcy inclined his head. “If I may, I should be honoured to join the party.”
“Certainly, certainly!” Mrs. Bennet declared, already ushering them toward the door. “Enjoy the air—but do not be gone too long. Dinner will be at four!”
***
The four set out—Mr. Bingley and Jane leading, Elizabeth and Mr. Darcy following at a slower pace. For several minutes, neither spoke. Elizabeth's heart beat so loudly she was certain he must hear it. Every word she had rehearsed was gone.
"Miss Elizabeth," Mr. Darcy began, then faltered.
She looked up. He was staring straight ahead, jaw taut, hands clasped behind his back.
"I must—there is something I ought to say."
"And I to you," she said quickly, before courage could desert her. "Please, Mr. Darcy—allow me first."
He looked at her then, surprise softening his features. "Of course."
Elizabeth drew a steadying breath. "I owe you an apology. For my conduct toward you in Hertfordshire, for my accusations in Kent, for everything I believed about you that was so utterly wrong."
Mr. Darcy's expression softened. "You have already apologized, Elizabeth. In Bath, you—"
"I need to apologize again," she interrupted.
"Properly. Because I have thought of little else these past weeks, and I need you to understand.
" She met his eyes. "You tried to give me that letter in Kent.
You wanted to explain everything—about Mr. Wickham, about Jane and Mr. Bingley, about all of it.
But I refused to listen. I refused to even accept it.
My prejudice was so strong that I took your attention, your kindness, your attempts to make me understand—and I threw them back in your face. "
"Elizabeth—"
"I let Mr. Wickham poison my mind against you because he was sweet tongued and you were not.
I believed the worst of you at every turn because it was easier than admitting I could be wrong.
" Her voice wavered. "You saved my life from that fire.
You helped a young woman ruined by Wickham's cruelty.
You tried to protect your sister from him.
And I—I condemned you without giving you a fair hearing.
I took everything good you tried to do and twisted it into something ugly because of my own stubborn pride. "
Tears threatened now. "I am so sorry. For all of it. For not accepting your letter when you first offered it. For making you carry it for months, wondering if I would ever know the truth. For being too blind to see who you really were until it was almost too late."
"You see me now," he said quietly. "That is what matters."
"Do I have your forgiveness?" she whispered.
"There is nothing to forgive. You never owed me your trust or your belief.
I had to earn them—and I failed, until Bath gave me another chance.
" He drew a breath. "Since Kent—since Bath—since all that has passed—I have thought of little else but you: the ways I failed you, the man I wish to be, and whether there might remain the smallest hope of regaining your esteem. "
Her heart beat painfully fast. "You have it. You have had it for some time, though I did not know it myself until Bath."
"Do I?" His eyes searched hers. "Truly?"
"Truly."
They had stopped walking. Ahead, Mr. Bingley and Jane were lost in conversation.
Mr. Darcy’s hands trembled before he folded them behind his back, as though by sheer force of composure he might steady himself.
“Then I must ask you something, though the answer may wound me.”
Elizabeth felt her heart thrum wildly, as though it sought escape from her very chest. The air seemed suddenly too thin, her breath uneven, her composure slipping beyond recall.
“What I said to you in Kent,” he continued, his voice carefully controlled, “my feelings and my wish to make you my wife, if those sentiments are still unwelcome, I shall never speak of them again. I will value your friendship and ask no more. But if there is any chance your feelings have altered…”
The words struck her with almost physical force. He spoke of it still. Of marriage. Of her.
“Yes,” Elizabeth said.
She scarcely recognised her own voice. The answer had leapt from her before she could summon sense or caution.
He blinked, as though he feared he had misheard her. “Yes?”
“Yes.” Her breath trembled now. A strange lightness swept through her, half terror, half wonder. “My feelings have altered. Yes, I would consider it. Yes… to everything you ask.”
The words tumbled out, unguarded and urgent.
“I do not know when it changed, only that somewhere between seeing you rescue me in Bath, witnessing your kindness to so many others, observing your conduct toward me and my family there, and reading your letter before returning home, I ceased to see you as the proud man from Hertfordshire and began to see you as…”
She faltered.
The enormity of what she was admitting crashed over her. That he should stand before her again, humbling himself once more. That he should still wish for her. That he had not withdrawn his heart after she had once rejected it.
Her pulse raced. For one dizzying instant she wondered if she had dreamed the entire exchange.
“As someone you could care for?” he finished softly, hope bright in his eyes.
"Yes."
"Elizabeth," he whispered. "I love you. I have loved you for so long that I scarcely remember a time when I did not. If you can truly accept me—faults and all—I shall devote every day of my life to deserving you."
Tears shimmered in her eyes. "You already do. More than I deserve you."
"Then—will you marry me? Not for fortune or consequence, but for love?"
"Yes," she breathed. "Yes, I will."
For a heartbeat he could only stare, then slowly reached for her hand. She placed it in his without hesitation. His fingers closed around hers—warm, sure, and trembling.
"Thank you," he murmured. "For giving me another chance—for seeing me as I am—for—"
"Fitzwilliam," she interrupted softly, using his Christian name for the first time. His eyes widened. "You need not thank me. I am the one who is grateful."
"Then we are both grateful," he said, smiling—an unguarded, joyous smile that transformed his face.
Elizabeth's own smile answered his. "I suppose we are."
Ahead, Mr. Bingley and Jane had turned and were watching with unmistakable delight.
"I should speak to your father," Darcy said. "Properly."
“He will give his consent,” Elizabeth replied. “He already considers you something of a hero for saving my life. And more than that, I believe my father has long held you in particular regard, though he may not always have shown it.”
"And your mother?"
"She has decided you are the very best sort of gentleman. You need not fear her disapproval."
He laughed softly. "And your other relations?"
"The Gardiners already hold you in high esteem. My aunt has been praising you since Bath."
Relief softened his features, though a trace of apprehension returned. "There remains my family."
"Lady Catherine," Elizabeth said.
"Yes—and my cousin. Richard will rejoice; he has long told me I required someone to challenge me. But my aunt—"
"Does not think highly of me," Elizabeth finished.
"I do not care for her opinion on this subject," Darcy said firmly. "She may approve or not as she chooses, but I will not allow her disapproval to influence my decision. You are the woman I love, and I will not relinquish you to please anyone."
Her heart swelled. "And Miss Darcy? Does she know?"
"“When I left Bristol for Pemberley, I wrote to her,” he said. “I spoke of you—of my hopes. Her reply was swift; she confesses herself most eager to make the acquaintance of the lady who has so entirely captured her brother’s heart.”
Elizabeth blinked away tears. "I hope I do not disappoint her."
"You could never disappoint her. Or me." He pressed her hand gently. "You are everything I could have wished for, and far more than I deserve."
"Stop saying that," she said, laughing through her tears. "You deserve happiness as much as anyone."
"Then I am the happiest of men," he said simply, "for I have you."
Ahead, Mr. Bingley had abandoned all pretence of discretion and was grinning broadly, while Jane's eyes shone with quiet joy.
"I believe our chaperones have noticed," Elizabeth said.
"Let them," Darcy replied, his smile turning mischievous. "I have waited months for this moment; I mean to savour it."
"As do I," she whispered.