Chapter Eleven #2
“Will you marry me, Miss Elizabeth? Might you one day love a pompous, reticent fool who is entirely besotted by you?”
She pursed her lips. “No.”
Darcy’s heart crashed to his feet.
“But I might care for a reticent, intelligent man with a good deal of wit and”—she smiled—“excellent taste.”
“Please do not tease me,” he begged, hope rising from the ashes of disappointment. “Miss Elizabeth, will you be my wife?”
Miss Elizabeth took a deep breath and gazed deeply into his eyes. There was determination there, but also something soft and warm and delightful. “I will.”
Darcy laughed aloud with delight, then pulled her to him. Her hands rested lightly on his chest, and he covered them with his own. “Elizabeth, may I kiss you?”
She nodded. He leaned in, their noses touched, he tipped his head slightly to one side. He could feel the gentle tickle of her warm breath on his lips . . .
“See, Mamma? I told you!” Miss Lydia crowed.
“Elizabeth Bennet!” There was more excitement that censure in the cry. “I knew it!”
Miss Elizabeth pulled her face away in confusion, and this time, Miss Mary joined in. “But they were going to kiss! Before they are married!”
She rested her forehead against his arm. “I am so very tired of being the source of my family’s entertainment.”
“If we are already doomed, then their sensibilities be damned.” His mood could not be dampened by such paltry annoyances as this. He turned his back to the other women, shielding Elizabeth from their view, and kissed her soundly, though chastely, on the lips.
She burst out laughing, which was not the response he had hoped to elicit. She pointed towards the house.
Mr. Bennet’s book room was in view, and the master of Longbourn was watching through his window. Darcy sighed as the man lifted a hand and crooked his finger, beckoning them inside.
To Elizabeth’s relief, her father was more inclined to make sport of their engagement than be angry with them. Mr. Darcy was left outside the door to the book room, cooling his heels in a way he likely never had been required to suffer before.
“Do you like him, Elizabeth?” her father asked at last.
“I do like him,” she replied softly. “I love him.”
“You love me?”
Elizabeth turned to see her intended standing in the doorway. Filling it, rather. Once again, Mr. Darcy had entered her father’s sanctuary without his permission.
“You really must learn to knock, Mr. Darcy,” Papa said drolly. “Did you think me as much a dragon as your aunt?”
“My aunt has interfered with family matches before, sir, even driving away a very eligible suitor for her own daughter. I cannot discount the power close relations may have on betrothals, particularly when they are so new.”
“Did your aunt truly do that?” Elizabeth asked.
Mr. Darcy nodded his head. He did look a little pale, and Elizabeth decided that their teasing had gone on long enough.
“Yes, Mr. Darcy, let me assure you”—she glanced over her shoulder—“and my father”—Papa smiled fondly at her, and she returned her attention to the man in the doorway—”I love you. ”
A brilliant smile lit Mr. Darcy’s face.
“You should thank Jane, you know,” Elizabeth said playfully, “for she argued your case exceedingly well.”
“She did?” He mulled that over. “The Bingleys will receive an embarrassingly extravagant wedding gift. Does your sister like horses?”
Elizabeth pursed her lips. “I was not certain how I felt, but Jane helped me see that I have been half in love with you for almost two months.”
He grinned. “You called me a cow.”
Elizabeth tipped her head slightly to one side and lifted her eyebrows.
“A man is known by the company he keeps,” she said impishly.
Minx, he mouthed, and Elizabeth pretended to be affronted.
Mr. Darcy finally entered the room to take her hand and lift it to his lips. “By the by,” he murmured, his eyes holding hers, “I also love you, Elizabeth.”
His use of her Christian name only caused a brief hesitation before she said, impishly, “Oh, I know. Jane explained that to me too.”
“A fine mare and perhaps a gelding.”
“A thoroughbred, if you please,” Papa said. “For I have a mind to begin breeding more horses for my stables. It will keep your mother from scheming to send Mary away on the back of a farm horse in hopes of catching herself a husband.”
“Papa!” Elizabeth exclaimed, both vastly amused and a little concerned about how Mr. Darcy might respond.
“I do beg your pardon,” her father said, and addressed Mr. Darcy. “I suppose we can discuss it as we negotiate the marriage contract.”
“Papa, you are not selling me to Mr. Darcy for a horse,” Elizabeth said, exasperated.
“No, you are quite right. Perhaps you should add some sheep as well. What say you, Mr. Darcy?”
To Elizabeth’s great relief, Mr. Darcy laughed. “I say that my solicitor shall have to be very explicit in his terms, Mr. Bennet. For if I give you what your daughter is worth, you shall bankrupt me.”
Papa sat back in his chair, pleased with the reply, and shooed them away.
“Close the door behind you, Elizabeth, and find a bell to hang on him. Too quiet by half for such a large fellow.”