Chapter 29 #2
“I know. And that is my fault. Forgive me. I was prejudiced against what I considered to be ‘mere popular fiction’, but I was wrong. And perhaps I would have been enlightened a little earlier, had I known you to be Mrs Laurence. I might have known that a mind of such wit and depth as your own would write masterpieces.”
He paused, smiling at her. “Your novels are not just entertainment for the masses.” He held up his hand and looked concerned that he had offended her.
“I am not saying they are not entertaining. But they hold a much higher purpose. Your books are about hope and new beginnings. They are about finding out who you are, and that integrity is more precious than gold. They are about family and unity and so much more that we cannot live without in this world if we are to overcome the darkness.”
Mr Darcy sighed and smiled broadly. “But most of all, they are about redemption. My sister might one day share a painful experience she was forced to endure. She shared with me that your first book helped her to recover, to find happiness again. You showed her she was not a lost cause, even though she had made so many mistakes. I am glad, very glad indeed that she read such a novel.”
“Miss Darcy said that?” Elizabeth breathed.
“Yes, she did,” he assured her.
Elizabeth’s head was swimming from this surprising turn of events. “Can you ever forgive me for lying to you?” she asked. She knew she was taking a bold step in asking him. But she needed to try. “I would not blame you if you said no —”
“There is nothing to forgive,” he said before she could go on.
In the next instant, Mr Darcy had slid off the settee and knelt in front of her. Elizabeth’s heart all but stopped.
“I have been such a fool, Elizabeth. From the first time we met, I knew, perhaps only subconsciously, that my life would never be the same. And now that you have been a part of my life, I cannot imagine it without you in it. I tried to fight my feelings for so long. But I should have told you long ago that you have become like air to me.” He stopped to catch his breath.
“You have bewitched me, body and soul. From this moment forward, Elizabeth, I never wish to be parted from you again. I love you with all my heart.”
Elizabeth’s eyes stung from the tears welling in them. “You do?”
“I do,” he said. “Would you do me the great honour of becoming my wife?”
It was unlike anything she had imagined. Certainly, she had written proposal scenes in her novels before. But there was no swelling music nor any grand gestures. Mr Darcy had simply offered her his heart.
There was nothing else in the world she wanted.
She smiled. “Yes, I will.”
His smile grew wide, and he stood to gather her into his arms. For a long while, they stood in the tiny drawing room, holding each other.
Elizabeth had the sense that she was home.
She finally understood that it was not a place that made up the feeling or even the idea, but the arms of her beloved.
Wherever he was, she would find that sense of belonging, now and for the rest of her life.
He pulled away slightly. To Elizabeth’s mingled astonishment and delight, his eyes lingered on her lips.
They were engaged, after all. Mr Darcy might justly claim a kiss. And oh, how she wanted him to!
Suddenly, Mr Darcy chuckled. “I do hope your publisher will not be too upset with me.”
Elizabeth caught her breath, looking down at her hands as she rested them gently on his chest. “Because he is losing a writer?”
“Losing a writer? Certainly not. I meant only that I fully intend to take up a great deal of your time. You will have less time for writing once I take you back home to Pemberley.”
Elizabeth frowned. “You do not wish me to quit?” she asked in astonishment. Her love was justly proud of the place he held in society. Surely his pride could not admit Mrs Darcy, the mistress of Pemberley, to concern herself with writing Gothic novels.
It was his turn to frown. “Do you wish to stop writing?”
“No,” Elizabeth admitted. She let out a long breath.
“How strange it feels to say that! I have so often felt almost frantic over a deadline, writing until my hands cramp. Or lost sleep over how a book might be received, knowing that my family needs the royalties my books bring. But I thought it only a wild dream that you would love me as I love you, that you would wish to marry me. And if that were possible, I had assumed that burying Mrs Laurence forever would be the price.”
“Never that,” Mr Darcy told her softly. “First, because Mrs Laurence is a part of you, and second, because she brings a great deal of beauty and meaning to the world. Your books are lovely, Elizabeth, and they are important. I should be doing the world a great disservice if I made you stop.”
She closed her eyes, her heart so full of love for him she half-thought it might burst. “Oh, how I love you,” she murmured. “Can this really be happening? Can this really be true?”
Mr Darcy pressed his forehead to hers. “It is true, beloved. I love you, and I want you exactly as you are,” he whispered, sending tingles down her spine.
She was almost too weak at the knees to stand. “I cannot believe it,” she said, a laugh bubbling up from deep inside her.
He leaned away and smiled down into her face. “Besides, Georgiana would be furious with me if I made you quit your writing.”
They shared a laugh, and he took her hands in his, enveloping them in his warmth. He lifted her hands and kissed her knuckles.
Tears spilled over onto her cheeks, and she finally felt able to take a deep breath. At last, she knew what it was to be fully accepted and completely understood. And not only that, she would enjoy this understanding and acceptance from the man she loved and who loved her in return.
She reached up and touched his cheek. “I have loved you for what felt like ages, Mr Darcy. And now, I am afraid to believe you are mine, afraid that I might wake from a dream.”
He reached up and gently wiped the tears from her cheeks with his thumb. “It is not a dream,” he assured her. “I will love you until the day I die. And maybe even after that,” he chuckled.
“And I will love you far beyond that,” she said. She smiled up at him, rejoicing to see his eyes shining with affection and desire.
“Let us marry as soon as the banns can be read,” Mr Darcy proposed. “I should like to go home and start our life together at Pemberley without delay.”
“I suppose I can wait for the banns to be read,” Elizabeth joked. “Just barely.”
“Just barely,” Mr Darcy echoed her softly. His gaze fell to her lips, and he drew in a quick breath. “As we are engaged now…Elizabeth, may I kiss you?”
The answer was on her lips even before she could think. “Yes. Please.”
Mr Darcy lowered his lips to meet hers in a tender kiss.
Slowly at first, warmth spread through her middle, awakening her heart and mind to sensations she had never felt before.
He deepened the kiss, and when she felt she might lose her breath entirely, he pulled back for a moment, then kissed her again, more passionately still.
How did I write about kisses before? Elizabeth thought wildly. I did not know the first thing about them.
“My goodness! What is this?”
Elizabeth and Mr Darcy turned swiftly. To Elizabeth’s chagrin, she saw that not only had her mother returned home earlier than expected, but all four of her sisters stood with mouths agape.
Elizabeth stepped forward to explain, but Mr Darcy held an arm up, effectively shielding her.
“Madam, I am very sorry for my forwardness. Please allow me to explain. I have asked for your daughter’s hand in marriage, and she has accepted me.” Elizabeth smiled, not only at hearing those precious words, but for the joy in Mr Darcy’s voice at claiming her.
Her mother gave a yelp of surprise and pleasure.
“Oh, how delightful! Lizzy is most honoured, are you not, Lizzy? Oh, what a happy day!” she exclaimed.
Without pausing for so much as a breath, she began talking of wedding plans, what his intentions for a wedding trip might include, and whether he intended to invite his new family to Pemberley for an extended stay.
She had heard so much about the beautiful gardens of Pemberley since Lizzy had returned home…
Elizabeth could only laugh. She was too overcome with joy and relief even to mind her mother’s less than genteel manners. After tea, Mr Darcy made his departure and returned to Netherfield to share the joyful news. That night, Elizabeth and Jane sat up talking late into the night.
“Soon, you will know what it means to be this happy, Jane. I am sure of it,” Elizabeth said.
They sat atop her little sleeping pad at the foot of their mother’s bed.
Mrs Bennet had been snoring softly for quite some time, no doubt content for the first time since Jane had been an infant that one of her daughters was taken care of and would soon be settled.
“I can only hope,” Jane said softly. “To have the love of a man like Mr Darcy,” she said, shaking her head as a smile spread over her face. “It is a blessing indeed.”
Elizabeth leaned against the bed frame. “I never knew I could be so happy,” she sighed. “This morning I awoke nearly in despair. Tonight, I am engaged to a man I love more than life itself.”
Jane flashed a mischievous glance over at their mother’s sleeping form. “I believe there is only one person who might claim to be even more delighted than yourself and Mr Darcy — our mother. I have never seen her so content! Indeed, there was not one mention of her nerves throughout supper.”
Elizabeth rolled her eyes heavenward. “This will only be a brief reprieve. I am willing to bet that she will be telling Lydia she needs to find a husband at the breakfast table tomorrow morning.”
Jane laughed. “Well, you will certainly have the means to place foolish bets such as that, now that you will soon be married to a man who has ten thousand a year.”
Elizabeth swatted playfully at her sister. “You know I did not take him because of his fortune!”
Jane giggled softly. “Of course not. But it has made Mama much more forgiving of that kiss she witnessed. I always knew you were a bit of a rebel, Lizzy.”
Elizabeth’s cheeks grew warm at the memory of Mr Darcy’s arms enfolding her, his lips kissing her. “I suppose I cannot argue against that point. First, I began writing dreadful Gothic novels. Allowing my fiancé to kiss me before my wedding day was just a natural progression, I suppose.”
Jane giggled again. It was good to hear her. There had been little laughter in this cottage since they had fallen on hard times.
Only one thing remained missing from Elizabeth’s happiness — that her father had not lived to see it. Mr Bennet would never meet Mr Darcy, nor give him his blessing. “I wish Papa were here,” Elizabeth admitted.
Jane took her hand, giving her a sad smile. “He is,” she said. “He lives on in your smile.”
Elizabeth smiled. “And in your blue eyes.”
Jane nodded. “And in Mary’s philosophy,” she added.
“And in Lydia and Kitty’s mischievous natures. I will never forget how mercilessly Papa used to tease Mama.”
They were quiet for a moment, both of them remembering their father, so much loved, and so much missed.
At last, Jane suggested it was time for bed. Upon curling up under the blankets on her little sleeping pad, Elizabeth was grateful for the chance to share a room with her sister as she had rarely been before. Soon now, they likely would never share a room again.
“I am happy for you, Lizzy. After everything you have done for us over the last few years, you deserve your happiness.” Jane said, her voice growing soft and sleepy.
“And I know one thing more. Our father would have been happy for you, too. Proud of the woman you are, and happy that you have found a man as wonderful as you deserve.”
“Thank you, Jane,” Elizabeth breathed. “That means the world to me.”
As her sister’s breath evened out into sleep, Elizabeth stayed awake a little longer, thinking about what Jane had said.
She could believe it now — that her father would be proud of her if he knew what she had done to save their family.
It did not matter that, as Mrs Laurence, she might be considered almost notorious.
If Mr Darcy could understand her, could see the value in both her sacrifice and her writing, then so could Papa.
At that thought, Elizabeth smiled. She already had a thousand reasons to love Mr Darcy, but he had just given her one more — the gift of truly understanding herself.
“Oh, how I love you,” Elizabeth murmured, picturing his face as she at last gave herself up to sleep, and the certainty of pleasant dreams.