Chapter 13
A Better Ending to a Strange Day
“Strumpet!”
“I beg your pardon!” retorted Elizabeth at the same time Darcy stood and said, “Aunt, you forget yourself.”
“That woman,” said lady Catherine, her voice low and threatening, “has come into my home and stolen that which does not belong to her.”
Charlotte took this opportunity to pull Mr. Collins out of the room and into the hall before he could jump into the fray and defend his patroness.
He fell onto the bench there and looked at his wife like a lost puppy.
She could do aught but sit beside him and hold his hand, listening shamefully to what was being said in the parlor.
Darcy pulled his shoulders back and lifted his chin. “I am not your property, Lady Catherine. I cannot be stolen.”
She sniffed. “You were set to marry Anne until she came along!” She pointed angrily at Elizabeth.
“I never wished to marry Anne, as you well know. I told you so years ago, but you have deluded yourself in the hopes of pawning off your undesirable daughter on someone too closely related to despise you for it.”
Lady Catherine gasped. “How dare you!”
“How dare I? How dare you?” Darcy cried, his voice raised.
“You would have saddled your own nephew with that harpy. Did you have no care for my happiness and comfort? For the continuation of the Darcy line or the succession of Pemberley? Apparently not. You have proven yourself to be without honor, decency, or family loyalty. And now you barge into a house that is not your own and berate Miss Bennet, a lady who has done nothing to you and who is of great importance to me, as well as a guest of Mrs. Collins. It seems you have no regard for anyone other than yourself!”
Elizabeth had never seen Mr. Darcy so angry. She pressed her hand into his back, reminding him she was there and offering her support as she could.
“How dare you speak to me like this?” said Lady Catherine, her voice low and shaking. “I am the daughter of the Earl of Blackburn and a member of one of the oldest families in England. You cannot say such things to me!” She banged her walking stick on the floor to emphasize her point.
“I am a Fitzwilliam as well, Aunt, if you have forgotten. My mother was the eldest daughter of the Earl of Blackburn. The current earl is my uncle, the future earl my cousin. The Darcy family is one of the oldest in England, and I am the largest landowner in Derbyshire. You may not speak to me like this.”
His voice was cold and calm, and Elizabeth felt a shiver run down her spine at the venom in his words.
Lady Catherine jerked her head back as if she had been struck. “I see you are lost to every proper feeling. I take no leave of you. I do not wish you well.” She turned with a swish of her skirts and marched out of the room.
Darcy and Elizabeth were silent for a moment, her hand still rubbing small circles on his back and his eyes staring blankly ahead. After a few more minutes of silence, Elizabeth said, “Are you well, Fitzwilliam?”
Without saying a word, he took her hand and pulled her across the parlor, through the empty hall, and out the front door.
He led her around the house to the back of the garden where the foliage was thick and the road too far to see.
He settled on a bench and immediately pulled Elizabeth down onto his lap.
She gave a small squeak, then settled her arms around him and pressed his head to her shoulder, holding him as tightly as she could.
He returned her embrace, wrapping his arms so tightly about her his hands were resting on his elbows. She felt every shuddering breath as it ran through his body and stroked his hair soothingly, cooing sweet nothings to him.
“My very dear,” she whispered into his hair. She kissed his head and stroked his hair and rubbed his back. She called him her dear and her darling and her heart. He continued to hold her so tightly she could not move, but she relished the intimacy, the chance to be the one to bring him comfort.
They stayed that way for some time, until Darcy’s hold finally began to loosen, just a little. She leaned back so she could see his face, his arms still about her.
“How are you, my dear?” she asked gently.
“I am remarkably well, considering the circumstances.”
She smiled and stroked his cheek.
“I do not enjoy quarrelling with my family, but I do very much enjoy being comforted by you afterwards.”
“I shall be sure to be on hand any time you squabble with your cousins.”
She smiled so freely at him, seated so comfortably on his lap, that his heart began to beat faster. Did she know this was where she belonged forever? It was as clear to him as the moon in the sky—luminescent and undeniable.
“Do you have any idea how much I love you, Elizabeth?”
Her smile became even softer and she gazed at him sweetly. “I am beginning to get an inkling, my darling.”
“I never thought I would like being called darling, but I like it when you say it.”
“Then I shall say it as often as you like, my darling. Or would you prefer sweetling?”
He made a face. “That is what my father always called Georgiana.”
“Honeysuckle?”
He shook his head.
“My prince?”
He made a thoughtful face, then shook his head again.
“Hmm.” She tapped her chin in an exaggerated thinking gesture. “My heart?”
His expression softened. “I like that one better.”
She smiled again and rested her forehead against his. “Then I am glad we have an agreement.”
“Do I, Elizabeth?”
“Do you what, my dear?”
“Do I have your heart?”
She pulled her head back from his and met his eyes. “It is less my own every day.”
His lips were on hers in a flash and she was pulled impossibly closer, her heart pounding against his as he ravished her mouth, then made use of their convenient position to place kisses along the column of her neck.
“Oh, Fitzwilliam,” she whispered lowly.
Her voice was like fire in his veins and he redoubled his efforts, running his hands along her back as he kissed and licked and nibbled at her skin. “Elizabeth, my love.” He murmured as he kissed her. “I love you so much I cannot contain it.”
Their eyes met for a moment and she said, “Then do not,” and held his head in her hands as she kissed him, her tongue sliding along his lips and making him groan with pleasure.
Neither knew how long they stayed in the garden, but when Elizabeth next looked up, the sky was darkening.
“Fitzwilliam, look. It is nearly dark.”
He pulled away from her long enough to take in his surroundings. He was unsurprised so much time had passed—or uncaring. He did not bother to analyze his feelings.
He could only care about Elizabeth, seated delightfully on his lap, her weight a pleasant pressure on his legs, her arms about his shoulders, her cheeks flushed and lips red from kissing.
“I am going to marry you one day,” he said, looking directly into her eyes.
Her eyes grew round in response, and he placed a quick kiss on the tip of her nose before rising and escorting her back into the parsonage.