Chapter 33
The shriek that rang through the corridor was unmistakably one of delight. “Tomorrow?!”
Elizabeth blinked, startled, as Georgiana’s voice carried clearly through the hall.
Darcy huffed out a breath that might almost have been a laugh. “We may as well invite her in before she bursts through the door of her own accord.”
“Pray do,” Elizabeth said, a faint smile breaking through her exhaustion.
Darcy called out, and the door flew open almost at once. Georgiana hurried in, her face bright with excitement, only to stop short as she took in the scene—their closeness, Elizabeth’s expression, Darcy’s unmistakable relief.
“Oh,” she breathed.
Behind her came Lady Anne, more composed but no less curious, and Richard, whose grin suggested he had already guessed a great deal.
Lady Catherine, who had risen and crossed the room with the aid of her cane, gave her sister a very knowing look.
“Anne,” she said dryly, “eavesdropping does not become you.”
Lady Anne flushed at once. “I was not—at least, not intentionally—I merely—” She faltered, then admitted, “I did not wish to interrupt.”
Elizabeth could not help the small laugh that escaped her.
Georgiana clasped her hands together. “Is it true?” she asked, looking between them. “You are to be married tomorrow?”
Darcy glanced at Elizabeth. She nodded. “Yes.”
Georgiana gave a delighted cry and rushed forward, catching Elizabeth’s hand carefully. “Oh, how wonderful!”
Lady Catherine tapped her cane lightly against the floor, already turning toward the door with renewed purpose.
“Then there is no time to lose. I shall begin making the necessary arrangements at once.”
Elizabeth stared at her. “Arrangements?”
“For the wedding, of course,” Lady Catherine replied briskly, as though it were the most obvious thing in the world. “A proper ceremony cannot simply materialize out of thin air, even on short notice. And it is not every day that one’s daughter is married.”
Lady Anne blinked. “Your—daughter?”
Lady Catherine did not pause. “Come, Anne. I will explain everything. We have no time to waste.”
Lady Anne hesitated only a moment before following, clearly bewildered.
“Georgiana,” Lady Catherine added.
Georgiana gave Elizabeth’s hand an eager squeeze. “I shall return very soon!”
She allowed herself to be swept out with the others. Richard remained, lingering by the bedside. He glanced between Elizabeth and Darcy—who was still sitting next to her on the bed—and a slow grin spreading across his face.
“Well,” he drawled, “I believe congratulations are in order. I shall expect you in the study in… let us say ten minutes?”
A wink followed. “Any later, and I will return to chaperone.”
Darcy gave him a look that suggested a great many things at once, none of which deterred Richard in the slightest.
With a soft laugh, the colonel disappeared into the corridor, closing the door behind him.
Silence returned briefly, then Elizabeth let out a breathy giggle.
“I believe,” she said, pressing her lips together to contain it, “that your family may be nearly as chaotic as my own.”
Darcy huffed a quiet laugh. “I should be very sorry to admit it—but I suspect you may be correct.”
He glanced toward the door, then back at her. “Though I cannot imagine any of them would willingly leave us alone in your bedchamber.”
Elizabeth stilled.
Alone… in a bedchamber…
The realization settled inside of her, quiet and unmistakable.
For all their time together—the walks, the conversations, the growing attachment—there had always been someone nearby. A sister, a chaperone, a passing servant. Even their most private moments had never truly been private.
There had been brief touches. A hand lingered too long. A kiss pressed softly to her glove. Once—just once—a brush of his lips to her cheek.
But nothing like this.
Nothing like now.
Darcy seemed to come to the same understanding at the same moment
Her heart began to beat faster—not from fear, but from something softer, deeper.
Darcy’s expression shifted as well, as though he felt it too. He did not speak. He only looked at her—really looked—and something in his gaze made her breath catch.
Slowly, as though giving her time to draw back, he lifted his hand to her cheek.
She did not.
His thumb brushed lightly along her skin, and then—slowly—he leaned closer.
Elizabeth’s breath caught as his lips met hers.
The kiss was gentle.
Unhurried.
Not tentative—but careful, as though he meant to savor it.
But it was warm—so very warm—and something inside her seemed to melt at the contact. Her fingers tightened slightly against his coat as she leaned into him, returning the kiss without thought or hesitation.
It was warm.
Comforting.
It felt… right.
When he drew back, it was only a fraction—but the space felt suddenly too great.
Her eyes lifted to his, and before she could think better of it, she leaned toward him again.
Something in his expression deepened.
This time, when he kissed her, there was no restraint.
Still tender—still unmistakably his—but no longer uncertain. There was a quiet strength to it now, a certainty that sent a shiver through her. His arm tightened around her, drawing her closer, and she became suddenly aware that she was now practically seated in his lap, held securely against him.
But she did not care.
She nestled into his embrace willingly, feeling the steady strength of him as the world narrowed to nothing but the warmth of his mouth and the quiet, growing intensity between them. Her hand lifted almost of its own accord, fingers brushing lightly against his hair.
He answered with a soft, low groan, deepening the kiss. Her fervor matched his own, and time itself blurred. The world slipped away until there was nothing but him, nothing but this.
Until—
A deliberate clearing of a throat broke through the moment.
“Darcy,” came Richard’s voice from the doorway, far too composed to be accidental, “do you mind bringing my gloves when you come?”
Elizabeth gasped and pulled back at once.
Her breath came quickly, unevenly, and she was quite certain her face must be burning.
She could not bring herself to look toward the door.
Instead, she looked at Darcy.
For one fleeting, mortifying moment, she feared what she might see there—
But there was no censure in his expression.
No regret.
Only warmth.
Only affection.
He gave a low, quiet laugh and drew her gently back against him, pressing a soft kiss to her hair. “How did I come to be so fortunate?” he murmured. “You are perfect.”
“That distinction belongs to Jane,” Elizabeth replied, attempting for dignity—but her voice came out softer, a little unsteady.
He smiled and shook his head. “I do not dare to disagree with a lady, so allow me to say instead that you are perfect for me.”
Carefully, he shifted, lifting her from his lap and settling her properly back against the pillows.
“I had best go,” he added, with a glance toward the door, “before he decides to come in uninvited.”
Elizabeth managed a small, shaky laugh.
He adjusted the covers around her with surprising gentleness. “Rest. I shall have a tray sent up to you. It was already determined that we should all dine privately this evening.”
She nodded.
Reluctantly, he stepped away—then paused only long enough to give her one last look before leaving the room.
The door closed softly behind him.
Elizabeth lay still for a moment.
Then another.
And then, slowly, a smile spread across her face as she replayed every moment in her mind—the warmth, the closeness, the way he had looked at her.
Her fingers lifted absently to her lips.
And then—
A stray thought, entirely unrelated and yet suddenly insistent, drifted into her mind.
Miss de Bourgh.
Was not there a Miss de Bourgh at Rosings?
Elizabeth frowned slightly. If so, then where is she?
∞∞∞
Darcy found Richard exactly as he expected—in the study, already half-settled with a decanter open and two glasses poured.
“Ah,” Richard said, glancing up as he entered. “There you are. I had begun to wonder whether I ought to send a search party.”
Darcy shut the door behind him. “You knew perfectly well where I was.”
“I had a suspicion,” Richard allowed, handing him a glass. “You look as though you require this.”
Darcy accepted it without protest and took a long swallow. The burn of the brandy was sharp, grounding.
Richard lifted his own glass. “To surviving the most extraordinary day I believe either of us has ever endured.”
Darcy huffed a quiet breath that might have been a laugh. “I will drink to that.”
They stood in silence for a moment.
Then Richard said, more seriously, “So. Lady Catherine.”
Darcy exhaled slowly. “Yes.”
“That,” Richard continued, “was not a development I anticipated.”
“No,” Darcy agreed. “Nor I.”
Richard studied him over the rim of his glass. “Do you believe her?”
Darcy considered.
“I believe… that something is amiss,” he said at last. “Mr. Bennet’s actions—his words—this sudden, violent opposition. It cannot be dismissed.”
“But whether she speaks the truth?”
Darcy shook his head slightly. “I do not yet know. I believe that she believes it to be the truth, but it could be nothing more than wishful thinking.”
Richard nodded once. Then, after a pause, he asked, “And you intend to proceed?”
Darcy looked at him questioningly.
“With the marriage,” Richard clarified. “Tomorrow.”
Darcy did not hesitate. “Yes,” he stated firmly. “Nothing that has been revealed today alters my purpose. I did not fall in love with her family or connections—I fell in love with her.”
His hand tightened faintly around the glass.
“And if anything, this only makes the matter more urgent. She is vulnerable—uncertain of her place, her family, her protection. I can only keep her safe by making her my wife.”
Richard watched him for a long moment, then inclined his head. “Very well. In that case, you have my congratulations.”
Darcy let out a quiet breath. “You will still stand up with me?”