Chapter 10
“Jane, you sly thing!” cried Kitty when Jane entered their shared room.
Jane flushed a deep red and Elizabeth asked, “He came to the point at last, did he not?”
Jane could not keep the smile from taking over her face. “He did. We will marry this month.”
Her sisters embraced her, squealing and congratulating her. “I knew he could not resist you in that gown!”
“Kitty!” Jane flushed crimson as her sisters laughed uproariously.
“We had best hurry and change. Dinner will be served soon,” said Elizabeth.
Once their hair was arranged, Elizabeth held up the gown she was to wear that night.
It was a lovely pink color, one of Mrs. Hurst’s, and it would look well on her.
But the one set aside for Kitty was a warm green and cut a little lower in the back.
“Do you mind if I wear the green and you wear the pink, Kitty?”
“Not at all. You know I prefer pink, but I thought you did not like the green?”
“I think it will bring out my eyes.”
Kitty shrugged, preoccupied with her petticoat. “As you like, Lizzy.”
Elizabeth slipped into the gown and Jane did up her buttons. “Lizzy, do you mind—”
Elizabeth cut her off. “It is fine, Jane.”
“Very well.” Jane looked at her suspiciously but said nothing more.
Elizabeth usually took pains to cover her mark.
She did not want to discuss it and she thought of it as a private part of her.
But tonight, she wished to tease Mr. Darcy.
The mark was far from showing completely, but the gown was cut low enough that two thirds of the house at the top of her mark was showing, as well as some treetops to the far left.
Mr. Darcy was curious, and she felt like tempting him. She refused to examine her motives beyond that.
Elizabeth walked into dinner with her head held high and a stomach full of nerves. She had felt confident in her room, but now that she was here, and blatantly flirting with a man far above her in consequence and unmarked besides, she felt her own foolishness.
She had allowed two large curls to hang down her back, just over her mark, so she was provided with a little cover, but it was still odd to feel her hair swishing against bare skin as it was doing.
They arrived in the drawing room just before the butler entered to say dinner was served. Elizabeth was prepared to walk in with her younger sister, but to her surprise, Mr. Darcy appeared at her elbow.
“Allow me, Miss Elizabeth.”
She automatically twined her arm through his, seeing Miss Bingley glare at her from Mr. Hurst’s arm just ahead of them.
“May I say you look lovely this evening? Borrowed gowns suit you.”
She smiled. “I did not know you had a gift for flattery, Mr. Darcy.”
“I speak only the truth, Miss Elizabeth.”
She smirked but said nothing, allowing him to lead her to the seat next to his in the dining room.
She was surprised he dared to upset Miss Bingley, but then Mr. Darcy struck her as the kind of man who did not allow others to dictate his actions.
Darcy pulled out her chair and she sat down, murmuring a quiet thanks as he pushed her chair in.
She heard his sharp intake of breath and supposed he had just seen her mark. Well, he had been curious. Now he knew.
Why was it so warm in the dining room? Darcy resisted the urge to tug at his cravat. Really, someone should tamp down the fire.
Elizabeth sat next to him, sipping her soup like she had not just turned his world on its head.
Her mark—he knew it intimately. He would know it even if it were not the same one that graced his right arm, for it was Pemberley.
As seen from his favorite clearing on a rise a little off the estate road.
He knew the tree that had their initials carved into it.
He had climbed it countless times as a boy with his cousins.
There was currently no swing hanging from it, and no initials either, but he had always presumed those things would come once he had met the lady.
Now here she was, sitting beside him, and completely unaffected, while Darcy felt like the world had just spun off its axis.
Conversation drifted past him, but he was lost to everything.
All he could think about was that he had found her.
His soulmate. She was sitting right beside him at this very moment.
And she was perfect.
Why had he ever doubted Fate? He had raged and argued and felt sorry for himself, and for what? For being granted the most perfect wife he could have ever imagined? For having a soulmate by his side who would intrigue him, entice him, and challenge him in the most delightful ways?
The first course was taken away and it was time to carve a slice of meat for his dining partner.
“Would you like some, Miss Elizabeth?”
“Yes, please.”
She looked at him strangely, watching his every move. Did she feel it, too? This pull towards him that he felt towards her? That he had been feeling towards her since the first time he heard her speak?
“Are you well, Mr. Darcy?” she asked quietly.
“Yes, perfectly well, Miss Elizabeth. Why would you think otherwise?”
“You seem…”
“I seem what?”
Energized. Excited. About to burst. She said none of those things. “Nothing.” She smiled and ate her dinner, cutting each bite into precise squares.
Darcy watched her in awe, feeling oddly privileged that he would get to live his life alongside this magnificent creature.
He had always been proud of his position in life, of his ability to manage his estate and his affairs, of his family and his name.
He had never thought of his wife as someone to be proud of.
Not to say he had thought he would be ashamed of her, but he had simply never thought of pride and his soulmate at the same time.
His soulmate simply was. He was neither proud nor ashamed.
Now, watching Elizabeth Bennet make eating roast beef look like the most graceful dance, he rethought that notion.
He was incredibly proud. Of her, of the fact that Fate had chosen him—out of all the men she could have chosen—to be the husband of Elizabeth Bennet.
It was a very great honor, and he was humbled and awed.
“Mr. Darcy?”
He startled. “Yes?”
“Sir,” Elizabeth spoke quietly, “is aught amiss?”
“No.”
“You are staring.”
“I am?”
“Yes.”
“What was I staring at?”
She shifted her eyes away. “At me.”
“Oh.”
“Yes, oh.”
He felt his face heating. “Forgive me, my dear.” He took a sip of wine, then noticed Elizabeth looking at him with a shocked expression. “What? I am not staring now.”
She looked around the table and ensured the others were busy talking amongst themselves, then said, “You called me dear.”
“I did? When?”
“Just now.”
She was becoming frustrated and he found it adorable. It must be the effect of the mark. He had never felt so moonish in his life.
“Why are you smiling?” she hissed.
“You are lovely when you’re agitated.”
She gasped, then clenched her teeth together, her cheeks flushing.
Darcy smiled cheekily and went back to his dinner.
Elizabeth resettled herself in her seat and turned to speak to Kitty on her other side. Mr. Darcy was an infuriating man and she would not encourage his antics, whatever he intended by them.
Dinner was finished, the fires were low, and the ladies had all gone to bed. Darcy stood in the billiards room, a silly smile on his face. No matter what he did, he could not erase it. He was ridiculously happy and his face insisted on announcing it to the world.
Hurst and Bingley had trounced him at billiards—not that he cared—and gone up to bed.
He could not sleep just yet, so he had waved them off and reset the balls on the table.
His jacket was over a chair in the corner and he had rolled up his shirt sleeves to his elbows.
His mark peeked out the tiniest bit on his right arm, which he usually found slightly irritating, but tonight it was a source of joy.
That mark was the means by which he would be granted his heart’s desire.
Elizabeth Bennet. His soulmate. The most enchanting woman he had ever met.
A figure passed by the open door. “Miss Elizabeth!” he called.
She turned back and peered into the dim room. “Pardon me, sir, I did not mean to disturb you. I was on my way to the library.”
“Finished with your French book so soon?”
“Kitty liked it, so I decided to let her read it and choose another.”
“You sister speaks French as well?” He looked impressed this time instead of surprised, so she did not berate him.
“All my sisters speak French, Mr. Darcy, and quite well, too.”
He raised a brow. “Why do I get the feeling you are laughing at me, Miss Elizabeth?”
“Because I know something you do not, Mr. Darcy.”
She was closer now, rolling one of the billiard balls beneath her palm.
He took another step towards her and said lowly, “I’m certain you know a great many things I do not, Miss Elizabeth.”
She flushed, her breath coming faster.
“Are you not going to tell me?” he asked, his voice teasing.
“Tell you what?” Her eyes were wide as she stared up at him. Somehow, he was standing less than an arm’s breadth from her now.
“Your secret.”
She looked down. “I do not have secrets, Mr. Darcy.”
“Let us call it your prior knowledge then,” he said, picking up his brandy glass and taking a sip. “Would you like a drink?” He tipped his glass towards her.
“No thank you, I do not care for brandy.”
“That is too bad,” he said, wondering if she would like it on his tongue if she did not like the taste of it from a glass.
“Now you look like you have a secret, sir.”
“Fitzwilliam,” he said, his smile back in place though not as wide as before. He had never been a great flirt, but he was enjoying flirting with Elizabeth immensely, and he was not too bad at it if his judgement was to be trusted.
“What?”
“My name is Fitzwilliam, if you would like to call me something other than ‘sir’ or ‘Mr. Darcy’.”