Chapter 8 Mixed Blessings #3
She felt a thrill at the thought of his tender caresses.
It had felt necessary, after their painful journey, to seal their union in such a way, and she was determined to waste not a moment in consideration of their impropriety.
It was for them to forge their path, and this intimacy was theirs alone to know.
She smiled to herself; after so long wishing for his embrace, she was more than happy to discover it such an agreeable place to be.
“You are happy?”
She started a little but was not surprised to find him watching her. It was what he did. “Never more so. You?”
“More than I have the words to express. I fear I will awaken at any moment to discover this but a dream.”
“If it is, then it is an uncommonly authentic one.”
“As are all my dreams of you.”
He held her gaze, unabashed, and though she felt herself colour, she delighted in his characteristic frankness.
Having once accused him of speaking only to amaze the whole room, she better understood now that he spoke only when he could do so with conviction.
If the whole room took it upon itself to be amazed, that was up to them. She chose not to be.
“If my actions so far today have not convinced you I am real, I am afraid you will have to wait until we are wed to apply for further proof.” She smiled at his evident surprise, though with so much regret weighing upon her, she soon sobered.
“I hope your dreams of me were not all nightmares. I have treated you very ill.”
“There is nothing to reproach in your behaviour to me.”
“We both know that is untrue!”
“I do not.”
“Nay, you cannot deny I have been hateful. Certainly, I cannot forgive myself for the things of which I have accused you or the way I have spoken to and about you. In fact, I cannot fathom how you came to love me at all.”
“Fortunately for you, your obstinacy is one of many reasons.” The smile with which he said this faded, and in a more strained voice, he added, “I think it more reasonable that I should wonder how you have come to love me.”
Remorse twisted her stomach, for despite his demurrals, here was proof of how deeply she had wounded him.
“I have come to comprehend you better, and there is very little I have discovered that has not brought me to loving you.” His brow furrowed endearingly, but he spoke not, and she determined to erase his every doubt.
“Your letter did much to improve my opinion.”
He groaned. “You cannot know how I regret ever having presented you with material proof of my resentfulness.”
“I may not have liked it very well at first,” Elizabeth admitted with a smile. “But I have since come to treasure it. It has been a source of great comfort to me.”
“For that alone, I am glad to have written it, but you may burn the wretched thing now. I intend to provide all the comfort you require henceforth.”
Elizabeth was rather diverted by the fluttering this produced in her stomach. “Then there was Mr Bingley’s return.” He looked a little abashed, which was proof enough for her of his part in it. “It was more comfort than you can know to see Jane’s heart mended. They are engaged, did you know?”
“I did not. That is happy news indeed.”
She squeezed his arm. “Thank you.”
“Pray, of all things, do not thank me! They would be wed by now if not for my interference.”
“Nevertheless, I do thank you. It must have taken great courage to speak to him.”
“Not as much courage as it took to hear what he said in response.”
“I can imagine.”
“You mistake my meaning. Bingley was not angry. It was his observations of my behaviour to you that were most painful to hear.”
“Well, then I must thank him, for now, you and I may quarrel about whose behaviour was worse, and that will give you a fine opportunity to admire my obstinacy.”
He stopped walking and turned her to face him, his eyes so focused that she could see flecks of gold glinting in his brown irises. “I cannot laugh about it. Knowing I have pained you has been unbearable.”
Before she could think how to reply, he wrapped his arms around her, cradling her shoulders and head as he whispered a heartfelt apology. With her ear to his broad, solid chest, she heard his heart beating, powerfully and much too fast.
“I forgave you all your mistakes long ago, Fitzwilliam. Pray, I would hear you say that you have forgiven me mine.”
He tightened his hold on her. “Every one.” She did not expect him to continue and was surprised when he added, “Even your decimation of Mozart’s Eleventh Sona—”
She poked him in the ribs before he could finish, laughter bursting from her lips. “Teasing man! Will you always know so easily when I need a laugh?”
“I hope so.” He took her hand and placed it on his arm. When they had walked a short distance, he said, “It is to be ‘Fitzwilliam’ is it?”
“’Tis your name, is it not?”
“It is, though I am little in the habit of answering to it. You do not like ‘Darcy?’”
“I do—very much, as it happens. But you are everybody’s ‘Darcy.’ I have read the adieu in your letter every day since you gave it to me. I am afraid you cannot be aught else now but my Fitzwilliam.”
Clearly moved, he lifted her hand to his lips. “God, I love you, woman.”
They walked on, Elizabeth with a lightness in her heart she had begun to fear forever lost. As they often did, her emotions bubbled over into action, and she reached up to snatch a leaf from the overhanging canopy—which the tree refused to yield.
The resulting flick of the branch showered them both with debris from on high.
She yelped in surprise and hopped backwards, laughing as she brushed bits of foliage from her dress.
Turning with an apology on her lips, she was utterly undone to discover the illustrious Mr Darcy, bespattered with flora, now reaching to pluck a leaf from the canopy.
“You cannot know the pleasure I find in pleasing you,” he said as he presented her with it. “I had long despaired of ever having the privilege.”
“How fortunate for me that your happiness is dependent upon my own,” she replied, accepting it.
He pointed to the leaf. “Had I known pleasing you was so easily done, I should have given you a tree the day we met.”
Oh, how she adored his unexpected teasing! “Do you recall,” she said, turning them back to the path, “when I said at Netherfield there is something new to be observed in people forever?”
“I do.”
“That is what falling in love with you has been like. With every mention of you, every memory or thought, I have discovered more to love.”
“Such as?”
“Such as learning it was you who saw to Mr Wickham’s arrest.”
He instantly stiffened. “Had I but known it was you he hurt, I would have come directly, but I discovered it only yesterday and then…you…it was—”
“Put it from your mind,” she said softly. “I am yours now.”
He exhaled heavily. “Thank God for that.”
At Elizabeth’s request, Darcy stumbled through an explanation of the events that had led him to believe she had died. It was evident she found the entire situation diverting but, she checked her laugh.
“Would that I had known your opinion of me was so soon improved,” he said. “I would have returned in an instant.”
“I daresay you saved yourself considerable effort by staying away. I was not consciously in love with you when I spoke to Mr Wrenshaw, or when I asked Mr Bingley to send my apologies. But I have since courted myself quite effectively on your behalf with memories and hopes and dreams.”
Darcy smiled but begged that she allow him to take up the office of lover henceforth.
Her mumbled, breathless acquiescence pleased him very well indeed.
God, but she was beautiful! Again and again, he looked at her, each time falling further under her spell.
Watching her thus, he soon noticed when her pace slowed, and her head rested more heavily against his arm. “Are you well?”
“My head is beginning to ache a little. Perhaps I have walked too far today.”
“Forgive me, I did not think.” Ignoring her protests, Darcy led her to the low stone wall bordering the lane, spread his coat atop it, and insisted she sit down to rest. For all her bravado, she sank heavily onto the improvised seat and closed her eyes.
He lowered himself to sit next to her and tenderly nudged her bonnet and curls aside that he might examine her injury more closely.
It was an ugly wound, still somewhat swollen and yellowing at the edges.
His chest tightened painfully at the sight.
He cupped her face and placed a feather-light kiss upon her cheek.
She let out a shuddering breath. “How I wished you were there.”
His arms were about her instantly, lifting her in one deft move onto his lap. “I shall never forgive myself for not being, but I am here now and shall never allow anybody to hurt you again.”
She left him in no doubt of her gratitude but, after that, refused to dwell on the matter.
Instead, they employed their time discussing every detail of each other’s lives since Easter.
She remained in his lap while they talked, he tracing patterns on her lower back with his right hand, she toying with the fingers of his left.
In that attitude, they remained until she enquired about the scar on his cheek.
He gave explanation, she kissed it, he kissed her, and she proceeded to prove she had lost none of her talent for discerning his every weakness.
He was forced to abandon the arrangement before he expressed more adoration than the already over-stretched bounds of decency allowed.
“Are you recovered enough to return? I have a great inclination to speak with your father.”
She assured him she was, and they set off in the direction of Longbourn.
“Does it give you much pain?”
“Not very often now. Aside from the odd headache and a little giddiness and this ghastly bruise, I am perfectly well.”
“I never saw a bruise worn more handsomely.”
She laughed. “That is not what your aunt said.”