Chapter 11
Chapter Eleven
The trip to Pemberley, though arranged in haste, was carried out with so much mind towards the participants' comfort that Elizabeth could only marvel at the efficiency of the Darcy household.
The carriage, the horses, and the training of all the servants were clearly well-maintained, and she found herself enjoying the long journey despite the recurrent stops necessitated by the distance they were endeavoring to travel.
In an effort to avoid leaving any sort of trail, they changed their approach to each inn separately, with Mr. Darcy inquiring for rooms or nourishment only himself, for himself and his sister, or for his entire party at different times.
There were two stops where only the servants dealt with the innkeepers and stable hands, while Elizabeth and the Darcy siblings remained inside their carriage.
And after various nerve-wracking attempts at maintaining a balance between honesty and subterfuge, they began the last leg of their journey, with an arrival at Pemberley anticipated within the day.
Never before had Elizabeth seen both Mr. and Miss Darcy being as eager as they were today, their eyes shining and their every word reverberating with relief and joy.
Elizabeth had always liked going home to Longbourn, particularly when it followed any sort of separation from Jane.
But never had she longed for home the same way the Darcy siblings seemed to, their very persons growing more and more at ease with each mile they covered.
When Elizabeth finally set eyes upon Pemberley, with its stately facade, its sprawling lands, and its unparalleled blend of nature and comfort, her mind began to understand her new friends' excitement.
And when the staff greeted her, respectful and kind, and when the days that followed rolled from one to the next with joy, cheer, and a lightness of spirit and companionship that Elizabeth had never before witnessed in a home, her heart could no longer remain unmoved.
She loved Pemberley, not because of the impressiveness of its physical assets, but rather because the family that resided there lent her a true home.
And with every extra evening spent in the company of the master of Pemberley, Elizabeth wondered if she should have gone ahead and chosen to be a governess, after all.
It was getting rather difficult to decide if spending time with the honorable, thoughtful Mr. Fitzwilliam Darcy was the best form of encouragement for a woman despairing over the kindness of men or a tantalizing taunt for someone who could never aspire to ever marry a man as outstanding as he.
Did Elizabeth really just think him hateful a mere month ago? She almost wanted to laugh at herself for how misguided she had been.
"I heard from Bingley today," said Mr. Darcy at dinner roughly a week into their stay. Both Elizabeth and Georgiana looked towards him. "He has returned to Hertfordshire and is currently courting Miss Bennet. His letter expresses optimism that they might be engaged soon."
The burst of joy in Elizabeth's chest warmed her thoroughly. "That is wonderful news!"
"Indeed it is." Mr. Darcy smiled, as handsome as ever. "I wish them happy."
"I am glad to hear it."
"So do I, Lizzy, though I don't know your sister," Georgiana said. "I do hope to meet her one day."
"I hope so too," said Elizabeth before she could think it through. What right had she to presume such a future acquaintance? "That is, of course, if your brother permits."
"It would be our honor," said Mr. Darcy.
Elizabeth mirrored his smile. Perhaps she wouldn't have to give up her friends entirely when came the day she no longer needed to rely on their help. At least, through Jane, she may yet call them lifelong friends.
The very thought of having Elizabeth in Pemberley—of her dining with them every night, of her sharing cheerful conversation with him and Georgiana, of her walking the sprawling gardens while dawn wrapped around her—once a forbidden dream, grew quickly to become a reality that Darcy found impossible to ever wish away again.
Had he ever truly thought his desire for her inappropriate? It was hard to fathom now, not when her smile lit up every room she entered, when Georgiana blossomed under her influence, and when Darcy himself felt more light-hearted than he had ever felt ever since Father's passing.
Elizabeth was destined for Pemberley—he saw that clearly now.
And all there was for him to do was to redirect his forbearance not towards resisting her, but rather towards waiting for the hour to come when he could rightfully ask for her hand.
The first two weeks of their stay, though happy, had come with its uncertainties.
Despite their every effort, there was no guarantee that the Bow Street Runners Mr. Bennet was purported to have hired had been successfully thwarted.
Every knock on the door still sent a slight tremor down his spine.
Every messenger made Darcy frown until he could prove the message benign.
But now that they were approaching a month of quiet, the strain of fear that once threatened to crescendo at every possible intrusion had finally abated.
Now, they enjoyed their calls, and their work, and their walks and their evenings in quiet contentment.
Now, they talked of menus and servants and neighbors as if Elizabeth had always been at Pemberley and always would be.
Now, Darcy smiled up from his book as Elizabeth entered the library, her own finished volume in hand.
Since the first week of Elizabeth's arrival, their small party had turned to convening in the library rather than the drawing room after dinner, given how they all ended up searching for books in the library anyway.
But tonight, unlike most nights, only Elizabeth approached, his sister nowhere in sight.
And Darcy felt his stomach twist into an unexpected knot at the significance.
"Georgie feels a trifle fatigued after our attempt at archery today," Elizabeth explained, her smile at ease, as she glided into the room. "I hope you do not mind my coming alone?"
She'd slid into the chair across from his, her usual spot, before Darcy could manage to reply, "Your company is always a pleasure."
"I have been imposing at your house a full month, and you are still as courteous as ever." Her laughter aired the library like a breeze would a room. "Will you ever cease to stand on ceremony?"
"I never do, not with you." Darcy closed his book. There would be no room for philosophy in his mind tonight, not with Elizabeth distracting him in such seductive solitude. "You know me to be a man of no disguise."
"That is true." She smiled, her eyes enchanting as ever. "Although I do not know to consider that a good or a bad thing when I recall our first encounter."
That statement lent him pause. "Was it not at Lucas Lodge? Or, at least, when I accompanied Bingley to call at Longbourn."
The last thing he expected was for her to sputter an awkward laugh. "Now I know myself to be both unhandsome and forgettable. My vanity is wounded, but I suppose rightfully so."
"I fear I do not understand you." Darcy frowned. "Why would our first encounter lead you to such conclusions?"
"Because you said, in no uncertain terms to Mr. Bingley, that you would not dance with me when I was merely tolerable, not handsome enough to tempt you, and slighted by other men."
Her tone sounded light, but Darcy sensed a deeper undercurrent that could not be entirely ignored. He rarely knew what to do when people did not frankly say what they meant, but he knew at the least that he had to tread lightly.
"I must admit I hardly remember this exchange at all."
A mixture of a laugh and a sigh escaped her, and Darcy decided to simply remove himself from his chair and move over to the one directly beside her.
With no Georgiana playing chaperone tonight, she felt closer than ever, and Darcy had to restrain himself from reaching out as he had in his carriage a lifetime ago.
"Forgive me, Elizabeth. Whatever it was that I'd said in a thoughtless moment has clearly affected you more than I had thought possible, and I sincerely apologize. "
"No, no, please don't." Her laugh was shaky. "It is only my silliness and vanity making me think that.”
"Elizabeth—"
"Do not fret. It is not at all a problem."
"Elizabeth." This time, he reached for her hands, and she clasped his fingers back without hesitation. Their eyes met, and Darcy could have sworn all time and space had careened to a halt. There was no one and nothing in the whole entire world, no one but he and the woman he loved.
He swallowed.
She swallowed.
"Elizabeth," he whispered, his voice hoarse to his own ears, "I don't know what may lie in our past, but I hope you know that I have every intention to keep you in my future."
Her lips quivered, slipping into half a smile. "And here I thought you couldn't wait for my next birthday, when you could finally be rid of me."
His lips crashed onto hers before either of them could utter a single word.
She kissed him back readily, her mouth pliant under his own.
Kissing her here, in his own house, without another soul in sight, breached every possible principle he'd always kept when it came to gentlewomen.
But this was Elizabeth, his Elizabeth, and he could not bear a single second of her thinking he cared any less for her than he did.
Softly, slowly, he pulled back, their mingled breathing heavy in the midst of the evening. He opened his eyes, his heart in his throat, and watched her carefully.
And to his eternal joy and relief, Elizabeth smiled.
"I hope you know, Elizabeth," he said gently, "that I hope never to be rid of you."
She licked her lips. She smiled.
"Very well, Mr. Darcy."