Chapter 23
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
A particular melancholy overcame Elizabeth as she watched the maid bring in the yellow gown that she had worn to the theatre in London, pressed and ready for the ball to take place that evening at Netherfield Park. The day was a far cry from the last time she and Jane had readied themselves for a ball at the grand estate. There were few expectations of them this time, merely that they both intended to find pleasure in the company of one another. There were no gentlemen to concern themselves with, particularly as their mother was pointedly throwing the entire household’s efforts into Lydia’s appearance in order to impress Mr Benjamin Baldwin. He was their last hope, according to her.
Elizabeth put her hand on Jane’s shoulder to keep her still while she placed flowers throughout her hair.
“Save a few for your hair, Lizzy,” her sister protested.
“I should rather leave my hair as it is, thank you. ”
Elizabeth looked at herself in the mirror and wondered at her future. How many more balls and assemblies would she attend as a young, marriageable-aged lady? Would anyone ever turn her head again?
Later that night, Elizabeth watched as Mr Baldwin led Jane to the centre of the room where all the young couples lined up to dance the first set. Her mother was likely having a fit seeing the man lead her eldest daughter into the dance rather than her youngest. She had to stifle a laugh at the thought of her mother’s hopes and plans being dashed.
Jane’s face had lit with pleasure when the young man had approached to invite her to dance, and though Elizabeth was happy to see her sister receive attention, it did not follow that she was unaffected by the sting of jealousy—which made her feel like a wretched sister. Jane would never resent Elizabeth’s happiness.
Elizabeth was not engaged for the first set—and rather than continue to watch over the many happy dancers, she decided to take in some air. She exited the doors at the back of the ballroom, and found herself on the stone terrace that lined the back of Netherfield Park. The terrace boasted three sets of steps that would take one down into the formal gardens, which she happily toured daily during her stay last autumn—though that felt a lifetime ago.
Elizabeth rested her hands on the railing and took in the view of the night. The length of the terrace was alight with lanterns, and the cool night air was refreshing. A full moon hung low in the sky, illuminating the gardens below. She closed her eyes and breathed deeply.
“You are as lovely as the last time I saw you in that gown.”
The sound of the voice—so warm and familiar—made her gasp. Had she imagined him there? She turned in an instant and took in the tall, handsome form of Mr Darcy stepping out of the shadows and approaching her.
“Mr Darcy!”
“Miss Elizabeth,” was all he said, though his eyes said more. Even in the dark she could see the intent gaze she had come to imagine existed only in her dreams.
“How have you come to be here?”
“Raleigh invited me. I am pleased to see you here,” he responded. It was said with all appropriate propriety, but she heard more in his enunciation of that phrase—more than what he said—and it stirred her insides and brought a blush to her face. Her heart was hammering wildly, and she leaned back on the railing for support.
She looked down at her feet, her mouth dry with anticipation and nerves. “I am pleased to see you as well.”
“Your father was in Kent when I arrived. He mentioned that Raleigh had taken over the lease, and being that he is an acquaintance of long standing, I enquired whether he might be willing to host me while I saw to business in the area.”
“And what business is that, sir?”
“I am seeing to it—just now,” he breathed in his familiar, comforting tone, never taking his eyes from her. The richness of his voice cradled her very heart. A heart that had felt fragile and hopeless only moments ago but now felt as if it would leap out of her chest and right into his arms.
“Did my aunt’s meddling harm you?” he asked.
“Not in the way she intended.”
He looked at her intently, a question in his eyes, “And are you much recovered? Did the rumours follow you?”
“Yes.” She took a deep breath to steady herself. “And no.”
“Dance with me,” he said, stepping closer to her. He was so near she fancied she could hear the beating of his heart, pounding in rhythm with her own .
“What about your cousin?”
“Which cousin?”
“Your betrothed, of course.”
“Anne and I are not betrothed. We never were. I am, neither by honour nor by inclination, bound to her, nor shall I ever be.”
Elizabeth nodded in response, unable to take her eyes from his. Her heart was beating fast, and her breath sped up. He was not engaged—he never was. It had been real—everything she thought had transpired between them in Kent had been true. It had not been merely a dreadfully foolish rendezvous, but something based in real feeling, for them both. She had not imagined it.
She feared what would come out if she attempted to speak. It was difficult—the moments of longing in conflict with her deeply rooted understanding of propriety—every expectation for gently-bred ladies was combating her current desires.
“Did you receive my letter?” she asked very quietly.
“Yes.”
“And you were not upset with my presumption?”
“Of course not. I would do anything to please you. I left for Kent at first light, ready to do all I could for you, for your family.”
The strength of her power over him and his over her, combined with his frank answers and close proximity, made her lightheaded. Mr Darcy reached out to her shoulder and squeezed it gently. His thumb made small circles along the curve of her neck. He breathed a sigh and then ran his hand down the length of her arm, eventually grasping her hand lightly.
“I thought you must despise me for...for that day, in the woods,” he said .
“No,” she said, looking up at him. “Not at all, ever.”
There was a long moment of silent understanding between them, the hurt and misunderstandings fading away as the truth of their hearts was made plain. “Dance with me,” he whispered this time, a quiet petition for her acquiescence.
It was beyond her abilities to deny him. She merely squeezed his hand, nodded and followed him into the ballroom, where partners were lining up for the second set.
Taking their places, he held her hand for a moment longer than was necessary and finally released it. Her body was alert to his every movement and gesture as well as to the loss of his touch.
Looking into his eyes as they waited for the music to begin, it was as if all movement in the ballroom stopped—the music pitched—and the breath left her lungs. It was exhilarating looking at him and knowing he was there for her. The rest of the room dissolved from her vision—it was only him, and her. The two of them—together—as if time stood still.
The dance was memorable, though little was said. It took all of her power to stay focused enough on the dance steps that she would not make a fool of herself in front of the entire neighbourhood. All of her doubts were pouring from her as she kept her eyes on him, intently watching her too. That moment—it was all she had wanted and dreamed of and desired.
When the dance ended, he led her to the side of the room and offered to find them both some refreshment. Her body thrummed with excitement as much as it was grieving the loss of his nearness.
Elizabeth’s mother appeared almost as quickly as Mr Darcy excused himself, leaning in conspiratorially, saying rather too loudly, “I am quite sorry, Lizzy, that you should be forced to have that disagreeable man all to yourself for the set. But I hope you will not mind it; it is all for Jane’s sake, you know, if Mr Darcy is friends with Mr Baldwin. I told you that they would make a lovely match, did I not?”
Elizabeth smiled at her mother’s antics. “I am perfectly well, Mother. And as you see, he is returning to me just now.”
Her mother turned to see him walking in their direction, both of his hands carrying punch.
“Mr Darcy.” Mrs Bennet curtseyed, then looked at Elizabeth pointedly and departed.
Mr Darcy handed her a glass and leaned in to ask, “Have I done something to upset your mother?”
Elizabeth smiled, pushing down a laugh, “She is merely sorry that I should be forced to spend so much time with the disagreeable Mr Darcy.”
He cleared his throat, hand placed across his heart, “Well, I am sorry to hear it. It appears your mother has taken my measure, and she has found me wanting, much like your father.”
“My father?”
“We had words in Kent.”
She suddenly realised they were no longer teasing. “And?”
“And I had determined that there would be a great distance to cross in order to convince your father that I am worthy of you.”
She blushed and averted her eyes.
“Until his letter arrived in London last week,” he said quietly.
She turned to take in his smug expression. “Pardon?”
“I assumed your father wrote in response to a letter I sent him in April—or perhaps in response to our conversation in Kent. But, he merely wrote to tell me of a ball planned at Netherfield. Strange letter, that. But I decided to accept it as an invitation. Would you not agree with my deduction?”
Elizabeth laughed outright. “My father is the reason you are here?”
“Something I said in Kent must have moved him to act.”
It was shocking indeed to imagine her father had any part in Mr Darcy’s arrival. It warmed her heart to know that he was endorsing Mr Darcy’s suit in his quiet, apathetic way.
“Your mother is not the only person in your family with whom I need to make amends.”
Elizabeth raised her eyebrows in response. “Who else?”
“Your elder sister.” He sighed and forged on, “I talked to Bingley when I arrived in London in April. I attempted to right my insult to your sister, to tell Bingley the truth, but I only made a bigger muddle of it. Bingley now seems resigned to adhere to his sister’s wishes for his future, but it could have been different—I could have handled things better.”
He could have, but Elizabeth could not bring herself to begrudge his interference. Not now. Elizabeth waited for him to look her in the eye and then responded with sincerity, “Mr Darcy, there is no one to blame for Mr Bingley’s decisions other than Mr Bingley himself. Jane will endure. She is strong.”
As soon as she said the words, she knew them to be true. It was Mr Bingley who broke her sister’s heart—no one else. No one had forced the gentleman to stay away. And Jane had seemed happier of late. Especially now, as she spied her sister in a cheerful conversation with Mr Baldwin across the ballroom. Jane laughed at something the gentleman said to her, and a soft, pink blush tinted her cheeks.
Elizabeth gestured to the other side of the room. “See there,” she said quietly. “She is enjoying her time speaking to our hosts and their cousin.”
He smiled down at her and said only, “Thank you.”
Then he leaned in, very quietly, to ask, “Do you walk in the early mornings in Hertfordshire as you did in Kent?”
She blushed, “At sunrise tomorrow I shall likely still be here or only returning home, sir; however, I may walk to Oakham Mount once I wake. It is a nice long walk, and I do not believe you have ever visited.”
He nodded and smiled at her, “I shall look forward to seeing the view from the Mount.”
Elizabeth and Jane crawled into bed as the first light of dawn began seeping into their room. Though the night air was cool, the bedclothes felt stifling, and Elizabeth found herself tossing and turning in anticipation for the morning—or better yet, later that morning.
Jane softly reached out, “Are you well?”
“Yes,” Elizabeth murmured. “Only I cannot find a comfortable position to sleep.”
“Are you happy he is here?”
Elizabeth stopped her fidgeting and sighed. “Yes, I am happy.”
“That is all that matters. Find rest, dear sister. He will call, you will see. I am sure of it.”
Elizabeth grinned into the darkened room, wondering what her sister would think of her making plans already to meet him.
“And what of Mr Baldwin? The first and the supper set?”
Jane giggled into her pillow. “I could tease you all the same for your own two sets with Mr Darcy. ”
Elizabeth wriggled into the bed and plumped her pillow to support her neck more fully. “Yes, I suppose you could.”
The quiet seemed to overtake her, and just as she was on the brink of sleep, she heard Jane once more, “How long do you suppose we have together here? I am happy for you, but I cannot help but wish for time to slow down.”
“Mmm,” Elizabeth responded sleepily and wished something of time as well, but not for it to slow. She wished to fall asleep quickly and speed the time until she saw Mr Darcy again.
Elizabeth was the first to wake, and she quietly changed into a favourite morning gown and pulled on her half boots. Food was laid out in the dining room, and she quickly grabbed a roll and poured herself some tea. She was tempted to forgo the meal entirely, but she knew she must calm herself before departing.
Once satisfied, she quietly exited the house and began walking briskly in the direction of her future. Her springtime daydreams of Mr Darcy’s potential affection had been replaced by a deep longing to become his wife. She wished to lift the burdens from his shoulders—to tease, to hold, to love him—to bring him joy. She had seen many sides of him, but her favourite version was the one she was coming to understand belonged to her alone—the tender man, the man who loved to laugh, the man with eyes only for her. She imagined their life together, a life filled with joy, constancy, and contentedness, and she walked more energetically towards her destination.
A thrum of excitement shot through her when she saw his tall form atop a horse, crossing a nearby field, moving towards the woods. She stepped out from the line of trees so that he might see her more clearly. Even at a distance, she noticed the moment he saw her, for a wide smile crossed his face and he turned his horse in her direction.
His smile never left his face as he approached and dismounted. The horse was not to follow them that morning but was tied to a tree conveniently located near a stream.
After giving the great beast a pat, Mr Darcy turned to her. “Good morning.”
Elizabeth waved in the direction of the path, “Shall we?”
He nodded and offered his arm. She felt awash with joy to be once again walking on his arm in the privacy of a quiet, country morning. She felt as if she had come home. She breathed deeply, taking in his presence and the beauty and promise of the day.
They walked in companionable silence towards the Mount, and once they arrived, she began to point out the various locations that could be seen from that vantage point.
“…and over there, you can see the chimneys from Longbourn peeking from amongst the trees.”
“Beautiful,” he whispered, and she turned to see that he watched her and not the view beyond.
Discomfited by his attentions, she turned her gaze back over the small village she had called home her entire life. She felt his hand on her hand, his fingers lightly moving in and out of hers in an effort to gain her attention, which she gave him by turning to face him and grasping his other hand.
“Elizabeth, I want to apologise for my behaviour in the glade. If I had not kissed you that day, my aunt would have had no justification for her threats—no reason to visit your father—and certainly no reason for your father to have thought less of you—”
“Please do not apologise. I am not sorry for it,” Elizabeth whispered back as she squeezed his hands, hoping to calm his nerves.
Recognition of her statement rang through him, and a smile crossed his beautiful, strong features.
“Almost from the earliest moments of our acquaintance, I have come to feel for you a passionate admiration and regard, Elizabeth. You are perpetually on my mind and in my heart—as constant as the sun’s rising and setting—and I cannot imagine living a life without you by my side. I beg you, most fervently, to relieve my suffering and consent to be my wife.”
She bit her lip. Something in his eyes compelled her entire body to shiver with anticipation and pleasure. Her future lay before her, and she squeezed his hands again, attempting to gain the courage needed to respond.
Before she could quiet her desire to tease him, the words were leaving her lips, “This request comes at a precarious time. I recently vowed that I was not to ever marry.”
“Not to marry?” His eyes narrowed, and he flashed a flicker of a smile. “Whyever not?”
“I was certain there was only one man who was best suited to me, and I had been told he was betrothed to another. Besides, I was unsure whether he wanted to marry me as I wanted to marry him. It was quite the dilemma.”
“All you had to do was beckon,” he said. “Any indication that you cared for me—that you would have welcomed my suit—would have carried me to your door in an instant, on my knees. Pray forgive me for not making my intentions clearer from the beginning. I did not know if you would welcome my attentions after my aunt’s interference.”
“I hoped I understood your intentions rightly. It appears I was correct.”
“And, what say you?” Mr Darcy asked her, “Will you not marry me, my dearest, loveliest Elizabeth? ”
“Yes. I will marry you.”
Mr Darcy dropped her hands and held his arms open to her. She stepped closer to him without hesitation. He wrapped his arms around her waist and lifted her off the ground to kiss her forehead and her cheeks, which set off her happy laughter. When he placed her on her feet, his eyes were dark with desire.
He pulled her back from the edge of the Mount, under the cover of trees, allowing for some privacy away from the path. “Thank you, Elizabeth. I shall never give you reason to regret it,” he said reverently.
He laid his forehead against hers. Her breaths, quick and shallow, were a reflection of his own. She hoped he would kiss her and did not have to wait long. A brilliant smile preceded his kiss and commanded her entire body into elation.
Unlike their first shared kiss, she was more inquisitive and insistent—this kiss was less shock and more desire than the first. She had imagined this moment a million times—ever since the first in the glade. If she had another opportunity—if she had another chance to enjoy his embrace—she would give herself over to him more fully. She pressed herself closer to him. His strong arms felt like home—like sanctuary and solace—like a refuge for her pounding heart.
He broke the kiss, placing his hand under her chin, tipping her head back to look into her eyes. His lips hovered over her own as he sought her full attention, his familiar gaze boring into her soul.
Then, playfully, his lips sought hers in slow movements, all while his eyes were on hers. She watched each whisper-soft kiss and could feel his breath coming and going in the space their lips shared. “I love you, Elizabeth.”
“And I love you.” She heard his quick intake of air. What followed would not be called delicate. Mr Darcy kissed her with a determination she did not know he could possess. He deepened the kiss, leaning her against the trunk of a nearby tree, leaving her with no uncertainty as to the depth of his feelings.
She could sense he longed to make up for lost time, and she gave over control to him with reckless abandon, allowing her behaviour to reflect her shared desire.
The grip around her waist tightened, forcing her body to arch against his. A low moan escaped her mouth, causing Mr Darcy to gasp and pull back slightly. “Good heavens!” he said between breaths, “Elizabeth, forgive me.”
He hugged her then, laying her face against his chest. He held her there for some time, resting his chin on the top of her head. She fit him so well. His strong, substantial body pressed against hers managed to both thrill and comfort her. She listened as the pounding of his heartbeat began to slow.
“You do realise,” he said while he stroked her back, “we shall have to inform your father and mother of our decision.”
Elizabeth sighed at the remembrance of reality. “And if I said I did not want to return to face them?”
He leaned his forehead against hers and whispered, “I could have the carriage readied to carry us to Gretna Green. Just say the word.”
What a pretty picture he illustrated—and she was tempted to ask if it were possible, though she scolded him properly, “For shame, sir. I shall not run off as if we have done something untoward, though I do wish we could be married as soon as possible.”
“I could ride for London and secure a licence,” he said with a smirk on his face.
“My mother would enjoy that distinction, I am sure, but please say you will not leave for London. If you do, I shall miss you greatly and wonder if this is all real. Stay here. Marry me here. We can call the first of the banns in three short days and marry as soon as the last is called, could we not?”
“As you wish, my dear.”
She knew he would not concede their privacy just yet, and she was not about to release him either. Her hands moved from their place on his chest to weave through his hair. He seemed to relish her interest, closing his eyes and enjoying the sensation as she brushed her fingers lightly across his cheek and jaw. He was as exquisite as their shared moment.
He responded by pulling her closer once again—showering sweet, soft kisses on her forehead and cheeks and then lower to the side of her neck.
At length, Elizabeth finally relented and said, “It is time, my dear. Let us go to them and share our joy.”