Chapter Eleven
In early autumn Elizabeth and Darcy stood across from one another once again in the ballroom of Netherfield Hall.
The room was filled with their family and friends, but it appeared to all and sundry that they did not know, at that moment, that there was anyone else present.
This was mostly true. An hour earlier, the couple had stood at the entryway and greeted the guests alongside Mr. Bingley, Miss Bingley, Miss Darcy and Mr. and Mrs. Bennet, welcoming everyone to their engagement celebration.
They delighted in the guests’ excitement for the evening and were thankful for all of the well-wishes, which some had travelled quite a distance to deliver.
Georgiana and Mrs. Bennet had been primarily responsible for the event, and their efforts drew much praise.
Elizabeth rejoiced in seeing Georgiana confidently greet friend and stranger alike and even shyly accept the many compliments to the arrangements.
It had been equally pleasing to watch her mother guide the young lady in the planning process and help her move with confidence into the role of hostess.
When the flow of guests slowed and the musicians began to take their places, Darcy turned to Elizabeth.
“Shall we, my love?”
She nodded and placed her hand in his. They moved towards the ballroom, and Elizabeth worked to catch her breath.
Even after a month of courtship—and Fitzwilliam Darcy courted like he did everything else, extremely well—Elizabeth was still not proof against that brilliant, dimpled smile aimed at her.
That, paired with his deep brown eyes shining with happiness and a hint of mischief that never failed to remind her of his passionate kisses, was too much for any young lady to bear, never mind one so hopelessly in love.
She was comforted by the fact that her betrothed seemed as enchanted and disconcerted by her as she was by him.
As he guided her in the first steps of the country dance, Elizabeth got lost in his loving gaze and he got lost in hers.
It was fortunate the dance was a familiar one, or neither would have acquitted themselves well.
This dance was followed by others. Darcy danced with Georgiana next—although not out, she was permitted to attend and dance with himself, Bingley and a Darcy cousin who had travelled from London to join in the celebration.
This was more than enough for her. Elizabeth danced with Bingley and then Frank Goulding before Darcy reclaimed her.
“Sir, I do believe I promised this dance to Mr. Hurst,” Elizabeth protested even as she allowed him to lead her to the line forming to start the set.
“I persuaded him to give you up.” Darcy smiled as they went down the dance.
“And what did you promise him in exchange for this supreme sacrifice?”
“A bottle of my finest cognac.”
“I am flattered to be worth such a price,” she said when the dance next brought them together.
Darcy’s laughing eyes turned serious and he said, “Elizabeth, you must know I would pay any price, give up anything to be with you or for your happiness.”
“Mr. Darcy, you quite undo me with your romantic declarations,” she teased before adding, “I hope you know that I am yours wholly and completely—without any price to be paid or sacrifice made.”
“I do know,” was his solemn answer.
“And my happiness is assured with you.”
Supper was announced, and Darcy took the opportunity of the movement of many dozens of guests from the ballroom to the dining room to lead Elizabeth in the opposite direction and then out into a familiar courtyard.
“A secret assignation, Mr. Darcy. How scandalous.” She moved towards the bench where they had sat together on that fateful night in September. There was a box resting on it now. “What is this?”
“I suppose you will have to open it to find out.”
It was about the size of her palm, light and wooden, with an intricate carving on the top.
“Are these lilacs?” The carved petals were tipped with a pale purple.
“They are. One of our gardeners is also an excellent craftsman. I commissioned this piece before I left with the Bingleys last summer, telling myself it would be a birthday gift for the next summer.”
“What you told yourself was not the truth?”
“Not the whole truth. I was already imagining giving it to you with this inside,” he answered, lifting the lid to reveal white velvet trim upon which sat a ring and a pair of earrings—both stunning. The jewels and the settings reminded her of something.
“Fitzwilliam.” She gently touched them, tracing the rubies set against the gold of the pieces. “These look as though they are a set with the necklace - my birthday gift from your father.”
“That is because they are,” he whispered, bringing his lips close to her ear as he gently tugged on the necklace in question, pulling its ruby heart from her skin. “They are a set given to my mother by my grandmother, my father’s mother.”
“Why did you not tell me this at the time? This seems a vital aspect to leave out when you gave me the gift and your father’s note.”
“I was embarrassed!”
“Embarrassed?” Elizabeth was as discomposed by his admission as she was by the way his fingers continued to stroke her neck and collarbone. “What have you ever had to be embarrassed about, Fitzwilliam Darcy?”
“My father had decided to gift you a piece of jewellery that was a favourite of my mother’s and had a very specific meaning, and if I had told you that it had been my mother’s, I felt as if I might have to share the meaning, and I was not ready to do so.”
“And you are now—is that why I am to have the full set?” she teased.
It was still a rarity to see him discomposed and Elizabeth enjoyed it a great deal, probably more than she should have.
“Before accepting this gift, I feel I am entitled to know what it is I might be agreeing to by donning these pieces.” She laughed, and much to her disappointment, he pulled away and the tiny kisses he had been pressing to her neck and shoulder ceased.
“How do you do that?” he asked, eyes bright and serious.
“Do what?” She reached up to stroke his cheek, and he leaned into her touch.
“Make me laugh when I am uncertain. Make me forget everything but your teasing smile. Make me want you more with each passing moment? How is it possible that I ever thought I could be anything other than irrevocably and deeply in love with you?”
Elizabeth hid her reddened face in his shoulder, still unused to a Darcy so ardently in love he was moved to passionate and romantic speeches.
It was a delightful surprise to find him so willing and able to offer words to name his deep feelings for her—would she ever get used to it? It was doubtful.
“You are distracting me with your beautiful declarations, my dear. Now,” she said more seriously, “will you explain the significance of these pieces?”
“They have been handed down to the future mistress of Pemberley for the past three generations, I believe. You would be the fourth. They are intended to convey both love between husband and wife and connection to the love of the Darcys who came before.” He held her eyes with his, and in them she saw the truth of his regard and love for her.
“Oh my.” Elizabeth felt slightly overwhelmed. “Why would Mr. Darcy have given me a piece from such a collection? What had he meant by it?”
“Of that I am not entirely certain. As you know, I did not discover the gift until after his passing.”
“Could it not be that he forgot their significance and simply wanted me to have the necklace because it fit with his kind and encouraging message?”
“It is possible,” he conceded. “But I think more likely they were a sign of his hope.”
“His hope? Do you mean to say that all those years ago he imagined us, he hoped that you and I would eventually marry?”
“I think it is more than that. I think he hoped we would find the kind of love he and my mother had. The kind of love we have found.”
This potential blessing from the man she had admired so much and still missed so dearly was wonderful to consider, but Elizabeth did not feel there was enough information to make such a leap.
“Of course that is possible,” she allowed. “However, I think it likely he simply found a piece that he knew your mother loved and graciously and generously shared it with me."
“No, when I discovered the necklace and the note, I was confused as to his intent. Then I saw you that afternoon in the lilac grove and I became confused as to mine. But over those weeks as I muddled through my own feelings and intentions—”
“Muddled is right—you were so very vexing,” she interrupted.
“I know, my love, and I am pleased you have agreed to marry me that I might offer my sincere apologies through acts of penance and gifts of atonement for the rest of our lives,” he replied, punctuating his words with a passionate kiss that reminded Elizabeth how very much she looked forward to every act of penance he had in mind.
But after several moments, she recalled them to the gift in question.
“As I was saying before being so delightfully interrupted, when I was able to think somewhat more clearly—after you had gone—I thought back on two conversations I had with my father that seemed to shed light. Shall I tell you of them?”
“Of course.”
“The first was many years ago, after your first birthday picnic.”
With a feeling of dread and bemusement, Elizabeth thought she knew to which conversation he referred and told him so. After some teasing about eavesdropping, feigning sleep and arts and allurements, he revealed that she had not heard the entirety of the conversation after all.
The end, as she understood it, was:
“Her friendship with Georgiana is something I value as well, and I think you make too much of this. It is a childish infatuation which is barely perceptible the majority of the time. It is, for the most part, confined to long looks and blushing.”—Fitzwilliam.
“And the occasional head on your shoulder?”—Mr. Darcy.