Chapter Two
Darcy
T ime was a strange and wondrous thing. Fitzwilliam Darcy, who had once stumbled away from the rectory in Hunsford with rejection ringing in his ears, could hardly have imagined this moment. Yet here he was, seated in the small parish church, beside his future bride Elizabeth Bennet, listening as their banns were read for the third and final time.
On his other side sat Bingley with Miss Bennet, radiant as always, next to him. The moment was surreal. Darcy had spent so many sleepless nights convinced this future was impossible, yet now it was mere weeks away. The date had been set for three weeks from now, after which time they would depart for Pemberley to spend Christmas as newlyweds.
There was one person missing from the service, a woman who had unfortunately been the most regular of companions. Mrs Bennet, Elizabeth had informed him as they arrived at church, was incapacitated with a headache and would unfortunately be unable to attend church that morning. He could not say that he wasn’t relieved; he had heard enough of his future mother-in-law’s voice these past weeks to last a lifetime.
A light touch on his hand pulled him from his thoughts. Elizabeth had reached out, her gloved fingers brushing his as she clasped his hand for the briefest of moments. She turned to him, her eyes sparkling, a small smile playing on her lips. Darcy’s breath caught. She gave his hand a soft squeeze before withdrawing, her hands returning to her lap with practiced grace. He looked down at the spot where her touch had lingered, marvelling at how such a small gesture could feel so momentous.
The service concluded, and the congregation began to file out into the crisp autumn sunlight. Darcy followed, stepping into the churchyard where the golden leaves of the season drifted lazily to the ground. Before he could gather his thoughts, a stream of well-wishers approached, faces unfamiliar yet warm with congratulations.
“Mr Darcy, Miss Bennet,” an older woman he did not know said, beaming at them, “how wonderful to see such happiness between you both. A perfect match, to be sure!”
“Indeed, indeed,” another chimed in, clutching his hand briefly before turning to Elizabeth with an enthusiastic curtsey.
Darcy stood stiffly, struggling to find the right words as the crowd around them grew. Social pleasantries had never been his strength, but Elizabeth’s composure beside him was unshakable. Her laughter, light and genuine, cut through his awkwardness as she replied with easy grace to every greeting and compliment. She spoke to each person as though they were her dearest friend, her easy manners effortlessly charming.
He glanced at her, wondering-not for the first time-how he had earned her regard, much less her affection. That she had agreed to be his wife still felt like a miracle. And as another wave of acquaintances surged forward to offer their blessings, Darcy steeled himself, hoping he could match the warmth Elizabeth so effortlessly displayed.
“I hope you will take care of our dear Lizzy!” one of the women said in a jovial tone though he was sure he saw a glimmer of steel behind her gaze. “Or we shall come to Derbyshire to steal her back!”
Elizabeth laughed, shaking her head.
“I do not think you have to worry about that! I will be most content, I assure you.”
She drifted away from the group, taking his arm in hers and steering him from the churchyard.
“I hope they have not frightened you. I hardly know them, really, but they are old friends of my mother’s.”
“I am not frightened.”
She smiled at him indulgently, and he realised she had been joking.
“Shall we walk, dearest? It really is a most pleasant day. What a shame Mama is unwell, and had to remain at home. I shall ask Kitty to chaperone us. I am certain that she will get bored and wander off soon enough.”
He blinked, unsure as to her intention. They had walked often these past few weeks, always followed by Mrs Bennet, who saw fit to stop any attempt at private conversation. Before he could ask what she meant, she had darted off to collect her younger sister, who dutifully joined them.
They walked in silence to the edge of the village, the pretty fields of Hertfordshire stretching out ahead.
“Why are we walking here?” Miss Kitty said. “It is too steep, my legs hurt already. Lizzy, this is going to take ages!”
“Stay here, then,” Elizabeth instructed her. “Stay tucked behind that tree, though, and do not go home.”
He opened his mouth to protest that this was hardly proper chaperoning, but Elizabeth had already begun to march determinedly ahead. He often remarked at the quickness of her pace, for she walked far more quickly than he did. She took such joy in nature, an admirable quality indeed. He was certain they would spend many happy days walking Pemberley’s grounds.
Hertfordshire was beautiful in the autumn, Darcy conceded. It had always been his favourite time of year; the sport was fine, the harvest was brought in, and the world seemed to glow in a halo of fire as the trees turned. Pemberley had always been his favourite place at any time of year, a retreat away from the world. Now, there was only one true place for him; by Elizabeth Bennet’s side.
“What a glorious day,” Elizabeth sighed happily. “Come, if we go a little further, we will find my favourite spot. You can see for miles.”
She raced ahead, the ribbons of her bonnet flying behind her and the sound of her joyous laughter echoing in the trees. He could not help but smile, staring at this lovely creature who had agreed to be his wife. He began to walk, the ground crisp beneath his feet. Elizabeth stopped, turning to see him.
“Come along, my love!” she called, beckoning him with a gloved hand. “I did not realise you walked so slowly, Mr Darcy. We shall have to improve your pace if you are ever to keep up with me.”
He did as she asked, increasing the length of his strides so dramatically that he was by her side in mere moments. She laughed in delight, reaching out to him. His hand met hers, and he cursed the gloves that they wore. How he longed to feel the warmth of her palm against his, or to have those silken fingers caress his face…
He swallowed, unsure where such a thought had come from.
They walked in silence as wide-open fields gave way to woodland. Elizabeth paused, staring up at the tree canopy.
“Look, Fitzwilliam. It is as though the trees themselves are aflame. There is such beauty in nature.”
He stopped alongside her, tipping his head back to briefly to glance up at the trees.
“Yes.”
“May we pause here for a time?” Elizabeth asked. “I used to spend hours in these little woods. Mother would never think to look for me, or at least she did not care to, and the little ones could not find me. Even Jane knew not to disturb me here.”
“You would share a private place with me?”
“I would share everything with you,” she said softly. “Surely you must know that.”
“I…”
“Sit with me.”
She slipped off her coat and set it gently on the woodland floor. Before she could sit, he had already shed his own, replacing hers with his. With a swift motion, he brushed her coat clean and returned it to her.
“It is cold,” he told her, “you will catch a chill.”
“Thank you,” she said with a smile. “But so will you. I am wearing more clothing than you; a woman’s dress is made up of several interminable layers. You have only your shirtsleeves and waistcoat to keep you warm. I shall be quite alright sitting on the ground.
He did not wish to think about the layers of clothing she had on, for such a thought lead only to the image of what it would be like to remove each of those layers until…
“I run rather hot,” he told her, his voice rather higher than usual, “I will be fine. Please, sit.”
She sank to the floor, tucking her legs beneath her. He stared at her a moment, enraptured by her beauty. This was a new side to her that he had yet to see; the Elizabeth that emerged when they were alone. Her hands rose to untie the ribbons of her bonnet, and she slipped it off and placed it gently to the floor beside her. Her hair tumbled free in a wild mess of curls, shining in the light that seeped through the trees. Her gloves soon followed, set neatly upon her pile of discarded clothing.
“You are beautiful,” he heard himself say, the words bursting from him before he could snatch them back.
She looked up at him, eyes wide and her perfect lips curling into a smile.
“Sit with me, please.”
Darcy lowered himself to the floor, maintaining a careful distance. His deepest longing was to hold her close and lose himself in the gentle melody of birdsong surrounding them. But he dared not; if anyone happened upon them - despite Lizzy’s assurances of the spot’s seclusion - the resulting gossip would be intolerable. The Bennet’s reputation was delicate enough after Lydia’s scandalous elopement, and he would do nothing to worsen things for the as yet unmarried daughters.
“Fitzwilliam,” Lizzy’s soft voice came, and when he looked up he realised that she had moved herself next to him. “Whatever is the matter?”
“Nothing.”
“Then why are you behaving as though I am diseased?”
“We are not yet married; such intimacy is improper.”
“Then I am improper,” she whispered, “for I find myself longing to be close to you.”
“You do?”
“Yes, Fitzwilliam. I think of little else. Sometimes, I feel as though I scarcely know you, and somehow…somehow you are the piece of my soul I have been missing.”
Darcy’s breath hitched, her words sending a shiver through him.
“Lizzy,” he murmured, his voice raw with emotion. He dared a glance into her eyes, and the sheer honesty of her confession gleamed there, melting his restraint. “You must not say such things, unless you mean them.”
“I do,” she whispered, her voice trembling yet resolute. She inched closer, the faintest brush of her hand against his sending a shock through him. “You have changed my heart entirely, Fitzwilliam.”
Before he could respond, she closed the distance between them, her lips finding his in a kiss that was both tentative and filled with pent-up longing. Darcy froze for a moment; the propriety he clung to teetering on the edge of collapse. But then the world faded - birds sang somewhere in the distance, leaves rustled overhead, but all he could feel, all he could know, was Lizzy.
His arms moved almost of their own accord, encircling her and pulling her closer. The kiss deepened, any restraint they may have had melting away as they finally gave way to their passion. Her hands found their way to his chest, clutching at his coat and tugging him closer still. He found his hands threaded in her hair, the silken strands tangling around his fingers. She kissed him so fiercely he wondered if they would part with bruised lips. He would treasure any mark she gave him, but he did not wish to damage any part of her perfection.
When they finally broke apart, breathless, Lizzy’s cheeks were flushed, her eyes shining with unshed tears. Darcy cupped her face gently, his thumb brushing against her cheek.
“Elizabeth Bennet,” he whispered, his voice hoarse, “you undo me.”
“And you, Fitzwilliam Darcy, have made me whole,” she replied, her voice no louder than a breath.
For a moment, they simply held each other, knowing full well that the world beyond their secluded spot would never approve of this intimacy. But here, in this stolen moment, propriety held no power over them.
“I love you,” he said softly, his words a gentle hum against the crown of her head.
She turned in his arms, looking up at him with adoring eyes.
“I love you, Fitzwilliam. Until my last breath, I love you.”
Darcy’s breath caught at her words, a rush of emotion rendering him momentarily speechless. Her declaration, so heartfelt and unwavering, undid the last thread of his self-restraint. Slowly, reverently, he lowered his head, his gaze never leaving hers.
“Elizabeth,” he murmured, his voice thick with emotion. “My beautiful Elizabeth.”
And then his lips were on hers once more, capturing her in a kiss that was at once tender and consuming. It was as though the world had fallen away, leaving only the two of them in a cocoon of warmth and longing. Her arms slid up around his neck, drawing him closer, and he responded by tightening his hold, his hands cradling her as though she were something infinitely precious.
This kiss was different - deeper, more certain, as though each of them sought to pour every unspoken feeling into it. The tentative hesitations of before had vanished, replaced by a shared understanding of their love’s inevitability.
Lizzy tilted her head slightly, deepening their connection, and Darcy followed her lead, his heart pounding as her fingers threaded through his hair. The gentle rustling of leaves and distant birdsong became a symphony to their passion, and time seemed to stretch endlessly.
Darcy’s hands began to roam tentatively, skimming the curve of her back, the delicate outline of her waist, as though memorizing the contours of her form. Lizzy, too, let her hands explore, fingers tracing the broad expanse of his shoulders and the strong planes of his chest, feeling the steady rhythm of his heartbeat beneath the fabric. Each touch ignited something deeper between them, a shared hunger that neither had dared acknowledge until now.
When at last they pulled apart, the air was filled with their panting breaths. Lizzy rested her forehead against his, her lips curved in a soft smile, her cheeks flushed with a mixture of exhilaration and joy.
“We must go,” he murmured. “I have taken liberties that are unforgivable.”
“What liberties, my love? You have taken nothing that was not mine to give. Would you deny me a kiss?”
“If we were to be seen…”
“Nobody will see us here. Oh, if I had my heart’s desire I would stay here with you forever. You are right, I suppose. We ought to continue our walk before it gets dark.”
He rose to his feet and extended a hand to her. She grasped it, using his steady grip to pull herself upright. Once they stood face to face, their eyes locked. Had this unbearable tension always simmered between them? He knew that it had, for he had dreamt of her for months, but this – this closeness they shared seemed to have heightened.
They walked on, emerging from the woodland and continuing on. The walk was silent, until Elizabeth spoke.
“How often shall we be at Pemberley?”
“I would endeavour to be there more than I have been this past year. If I had a choice, I do believe I would never stray beyond its bounds.”
“Will you show me all that there is to see? I wish to explore it intimately. I am sure nobody knows the place better than you.”
“Every bit of it. We will depart after our wedding and spend our honeymoon there. In time, perhaps we will venture abroad and see the sights of Europe.”
“Where shall we go?” Elizabeth breathed in excitement. “I have seen so little of the world, and yet there is so much I have read about that I should like to see. I would go anywhere with you by my side.”
“I have travelled little compared to others, but what I have seen enriched me greatly. I believe you would enjoy Greece; the architecture is incomparable.”
“I do so enjoy the myths, and the tales of Gods and men. Did you see Mount Olympus?”
“I did.”
“Was it as magnificent as they say? And the Parthenon?”
“It is just as it is written. I will take you there when the seas are calm and the war is over. The heat is least oppressive in the spring.”
“I would so love to swim in the sea there.” she said wistfully, her eyes shining. “I cannot imagine the clarity of the water. I have read that it sparkles like diamonds. Do you like to swim?”
“Yes.”
His mind was at once consumed with a picture of Elizabeth, his Elizabeth, floating happily in crystal blue waters. Her curls flowed wildly around her, the very image of a Greek goddess – Aphrodite, tempting him. This dream-Elizabeth wore nothing, her body lush and tempting as the water glittered around her. No, it was not true to say that she wore nothing – as she drew her hand to her face, the gold of the wedding band that lay in his safe gleamed in the sun.
“Fitzwilliam?” her voice interrupted his sinful daydream.
He cleared his throat, blinking quickly to bring himself back to reality.
“Excuse me.”
He watched as Elizabeth glanced discreetly over her shoulder, her head turning this way and that to ensure they were alone, before her hand slipped into his with quiet confidence. With a contented sigh, she rested her head against his shoulder, their steps slowing in a shared moment of intimacy as they walked, cocooned in their own world.
“I am very much looking forward to our marriage,” she said, squeezing his hand in hers. “I hope you do not think me forward to say so.”
“Not at all. I, too, am greatly anticipating the date. I am glad we are marrying before Christmas, so that we might spend the season with my sister at Pemberley.”
“Your sister is to join us on our honeymoon?” she teased. “Forgive me, I know little of married life, but is that not a little unusual?”
He did not know what to say, though he felt his cheeks heat at her unknowing implication. She drove him mad, unaware of the double meaning of so many of her words. No, not unaware – he was the one who interpreted her innocence wrongly. He was the one who sullied her with his own lust.
“Oh, I have embarrassed you. I was only teasing, Fitzwilliam. I am very much looking forward to welcoming dear Georgiana as my own sister.”
“She is very pleased with the prospect. Each letter she sends me speaks most highly of you.”
“I am very glad she approves. I could not bear it if she did not. Oh, look, we are here!”
She dashed behind him, taking hold of each of his arms. She turned him herself, and he stumbled in the direction she had pointed him in. He blinked in surprise as her arms wrapped around his waist, her warm body pressing against his back. The caress was a mere moment before she had returned to stand in front of him. He longed to mirror her embrace, to hold her just as she had held him for that sweet moment, but he found his arms unwilling to move from his side.
“Isn’t that lovely?” she asked breathlessly. “I know there must be far grander views in the Peak District, and I know now that you are a well-travelled man, but…”
“I think it perfectly lovely, as you said.”
“I shall miss Hertfordshire greatly. I have never been away for long. I always knew that I would return but, now, I shall have a new home – a new life. A new name. Everything will be different.”
“We may return as often as you desire.”
“Thank you. Well, I suppose we must get back.”
“When we are wed, I will take you everywhere. I do not wish to spend a moment without your company.”
“And I would happily be by your side every moment. Will you dine with us tonight?”
“Yes. Though – and I curse this – I must return to London tomorrow.”
“I thought you could not spend a moment without my company!” Lizzy laughed.
“I have been trying to avoid it, but it is no good. If it is not too much to ask, I would ask that you join me for a few days. It would be an opportunity to see our home in London, and to familiarise yourself with our staff.”
“That would be very pleasant indeed. I will stay with my Aunt and Uncle of course.”
“I see no need. We have plenty of room, for you and whoever may chaperone you.”
“It will be my mother, I am certain. She could not bear to be left out.”
“Very well. I am sure Mr Bingley would welcome Miss Bennet joining you in residence at my home. He is not far away. Perhaps while you are in London, you could see to your trousseau.”
“Does Georgiana have a favourite modiste? She is a very elegant young lady, and I would be happy to take her advice. Do I have your consent to write to her? You have told her of the engagement?”
“I have; I wrote to her last night. I wrote to several others to tell them, and yet the news still did not feel real.”
“Your aunt shall be unhappy to hear of it, I am certain.”
“My aunt is unhappy about a great many things; this shall make little difference.”
“Why, Mr Darcy! That is cutting indeed.”
“Will you come to London?” he pressed.
She smiled, nodding.
“I would be glad to. When?”
“I will be occupied for a few days, but Wednesday? I shall be able to give you my full attention.”
She beamed up at him happily.
“Wednesday, then. I suppose I can bear to be parted from you for a day or two with the promise that we will be together before long.”
He was not sure if he felt the same; the thought of leaving, after such a happy reunion, felt as agonising as if they were being parted forever. It was a foolish notion, and there was no avoiding it – he had things that must be done. He could not help but think the reprieve would help him regain his senses; he felt utterly intoxicated, delirious with joy. This walk had only worsened the longing; indeed, the thoughts running through his head required a cold bath.
They walked back the way they had come, finding Miss Kity furiously waiting for them. She stomped ahead, clearly upset at the length of time their walk had taken. Elizabeth laughed off her sister’s fury easily; she would be appeased, he was assured, with a length of new ribbon and something sweet. They proceeded back to Longbourn, the house coming into view all too soon. They entered the garden, and he walked her to the front door.
“Will you come in?”
He shook his head. It would have been polite to come in and to make small talk with the Bennets, but he had no desire to spoil what had been a perfect time in his fiancée’s company. The warmth of her presence lingered, and he wished to preserve it - to cherish the silence that had been so wonderfully spent and leave it unmarred by the sound of his future mother-in-law’s voice. His longing for peace outweighed propriety tonight.
“I will return to Netherfield. Forgive me, but I must decline dinner. I must return to Netherfield and begin plans for your visit. Thank you, Elizabeth, for the most pleasant walk,” he said, his voice steady though his heart was anything but.
“You are welcome,” she replied simply, her smile soft but knowing, as if she could read the unspoken words in his expression.
For a moment, they stood as though on opposite shores of a quiet river. The affection that burned within him was, once more, suppressed by his own nature. It frustrated him to feel so restrained, so bound by decorum when his heart demanded otherwise. Yet, there she was - serene, self-assured, and always just beyond reach. Her amusement played lightly on her features, her eyes glinting as though she had unravelled the puzzle of his thoughts.
“I will see you in a few days, when you come to London,” he said, his tone measured and calm.
“Very well. I will miss you, Fitzwilliam,” she said, her voice softening, the faintest touch of vulnerability threading through her words.
His chest tightened at her admission.
“A few days, that is all,” he reassured her, though his own impatience matched hers.
“Will we often be apart when we are married?” she asked, her question laced with genuine curiosity. Her brow arched slightly, but there was no accusation, only an unguarded hopefulness that threatened to undo him.
“No,” he said, his resolve clear. “I will keep you with me always. It is only propriety that dictates you must remain here while we are unmarried.”
She tilted her head, her lips curving into a playful smile.
“Propriety is becoming rather tiresome,” she whispered, her words carrying a daring edge that made his breath hitch.
Her eyes, bright and unyielding, fixed on his with an intensity that both thrilled and unsettled him. The autumn light danced across her face, illuminating her spirit in a way that made her beauty seem almost otherworldly. In that moment, Fitzwilliam Darcy felt the full force of his fortune, and the weight of his restraint became nearly unbearable. He longed to close the distance between them, to gather her into his arms and carry her away from all the constraints of society.
Instead, he took her hand with care, bowing his head as he pressed a gentle kiss to the soft leather of her glove. It was a small gesture, but it carried the depth of all he dared not say.
“Farewell, Miss Elizabeth,” he said, his voice low and reverent.
She inclined her head, her gaze lingering on him as though trying to capture the moment in memory.
“Farewell, Mr Darcy.”
As he turned and began his walk back to Netherfield, he felt the weight of her gaze follow him. The distance grew with every step, but the imprint of her voice, her smile, and the spark in her eyes remained. The path ahead seemed colder, darker, without her by his side. Yet, beneath his melancholy, a steady flame of hope burned bright.
A few days, and she would be in London. And soon, she would be his.