Chapter 16
WHERE ELIZABETH SPEAKS TO MR DARCY, MR ELLIS SPEAKS TO ELIZABETH, AND ALL ARE CONFUSED.
After learning of his argument with Jane the day before, after the appearance of Mr Wickham, and after bearing witness to her family’s mortifying performance that evening, Elizabeth had been certain Darcy would no longer want anything to do with her; but how wrong she had been!
Her heart was filled to bursting, full of the man before her, and full of gratitude for his generous nature and forgiving heart. Could she honestly have understood him correctly? After all this time, had he truly intimated he still loved her?
“Were you in earnest when you said you would call upon me in London, sir?”
Darcy tightened his grasp upon her hand, pressing it more firmly against his chest as his other moved from her waist to gently cradle the back of her head. “I will call upon you every day if you will allow it.”
Elizabeth smiled. “Not only will I allow it, I shall welcome it.”
“Then it is settled,” he told her as his fingers toyed with a curl at the nape of her neck. Though he treated her with care, she was excruciatingly aware of his touch, especially when one of his fingertips lightly grazed the skin of her neck.
Elizabeth heard as well as felt Darcy’s breath hitch in time with her own.
His ministrations ceased and he removed the hand that had been playing with her hair, placing it gingerly upon the small of her back instead.
A slight tremble in his fingers and quickening of his heart were the only outward indications that he was as deeply affected by Elizabeth as she was by him.
His voice sounded achingly tender when he said, “I fear you will grow heartily sick of me. By now you must know my heart is yours. I cannot pretend to sentiments I do not feel. I cannot feign indifference, not with you. I must know. I must know the depth of your feelings else I go distracted.”
“My feelings?” she said in wonderment. She was firmly within the circle of his arms, his body warmed her like a fire, and their breaths mingled with each exhalation. Surely, he did not doubt her heart belonged to him, that she was entirely, solely, irrevocably his? “Cannot you tell?”
“I have misread you so many times I fear I can no longer rely on my own judgment. I must defer to your honesty.”
“Let there be no doubt,” she told him feelingly, “I am forever altered. My feelings are very different. In fact, they are quite the opposite of what they once were.”
His breath escaped him in a rush, and he released her hand to enfold her completely in his arms. “Elizabeth,” he said on a breath, pressing his lips first to her hair, then her cheek, and her shoulder. “May I speak to your father?”
Elizabeth’s heart skipped a beat, though whether it was the result of the words he uttered, the use of her Christian name, or the exquisite sensation of his lips as they caressed the bare skin of her shoulder with bold intent, she could not discern.
Her mind struggled to form a coherent response. “What will you tell him?”
“I will tell him whatever you wish.”
Through the finely spun wool of his tailcoat, Elizabeth felt the virile strength of Darcy’s heart, its furious tempo in perfect rhythm with her own.
She turned her head and brazenly brushed her lips against his cheek, a featherlight gesture that Elizabeth did not bestow lightly. “What is it that you wish, Mr Darcy?”
“For you to be mine,” he said hoarsely.
The earnest simplicity of his statement moved her beyond words.
Overcome with emotion, Elizabeth struggled against the impulse to weep.
What she must have put him through! The heartache and indignity he had surely suffered because of her must have been considerable, yet after all this time he not only loved her, but wished to marry her—she, Elizabeth Bennet of Longbourn—not Anne de Bourgh of Rosings Park or Miss So-and-So of London.
She said, “Then you may tell him that I am.”
“Dearest Elizabeth,” he whispered. The reverence and adoration in Darcy’s voice as he pronounced her name was irrefutable.
Gradually, his hold upon her loosened, but only so much as to enable him to better see her face.
Elizabeth could not deny the expression he wore as he gazed upon her was that of a man wholly, unabashedly in love.
She marvelled at Darcy’s devotion to her.
Even after her vehement refusal of his first proposal and Lydia’s scandalous elopement and patched-up marriage to a man he rightly hated, Darcy continued to love her.
Overwhelmed, Elizabeth did not dare trust herself to speak, but instead gave him what she desperately hoped was a warm, encouraging smile full of adoration and love.
To her immense joy, Darcy returned it. He soon grew serious, however, and ever so slowly inclined his head towards hers.
Elizabeth’s heart beat so rapidly she feared it would take flight.
Her eyelids fluttered closed, and she felt his breath upon her face, the tip of his nose as it grazed her cheek, and at last his lips, soft and sure as he pressed a gentle kiss to her mouth.
“Mr Darcy,” she said on a breath. She felt his smile against her lips as he kissed her again.
“Fitzwilliam,” he said softly.
“Fitzwilliam,” she repeated tenderly, raising her hand to cradle his jaw.
Darcy drew her closer, deepening their kiss, and Elizabeth was lost.
“Elizabeth Bennet!”
In her present blissful state, encircled in Darcy’s arms, it took Elizabeth a moment to realise it was not Darcy who had addressed her with such fierce urgency, but Mr Ellis.
Gasping, she came to her senses quickly, but not as expediently as Darcy, who had not only released her, but now stood a respectable distance away. The damage, however, had been done.
Mortified to have been caught in a passionate embrace that likely gave every impression of an orchestrated liaison, Elizabeth felt a flush of heat spread from the top of her head to the tips of her toes.
She supposed she ought to be thankful it was her friend and not her mother or Caroline Bingley who had discovered them, else the entire neighbourhood would know of her wantonness.
Nervously, she smoothed her hands over her skirts and desperately tried to calm her racing heart.
Her breaths came quickly. Her lips felt swollen from Darcy’s many kisses, and a wayward curl clung to her face.
She brushed it aside with slightly shaking fingers and looked hesitantly at Darcy.
As was often the case, Elizabeth found his steady gaze fixed upon her.
His countenance was grave, but in his eyes, she recognised his steadfast concern for her well-being.
She attempted to give him a small, reassuring smile, but feared it was more of a grimace. His lips were kiss-swollen as well.
The door closed with a resounding slam that caused Elizabeth to flinch.
Mr Ellis gave the lock a savage twist. “Are you out of your senses to be accepting this man’s attentions?” he demanded in a low, furious voice.
Elizabeth felt her already heightened complexion deepen. “Mr Ellis,” she stammered. “I—”
“What in the world are you thinking? Mr Darcy is engaged to be married!”
Elizabeth stared at him in shock. She could not account for the violence of her friend’s objection to their marrying and was about to tell him as much when she suddenly realised it was not Darcy’s engagement to her to which he referred, but Lady Catherine’s vehement assertion that Darcy was to marry her daughter.
Elizabeth paled. “Mr Ellis,” she said, “Mr Darcy is not engaged.”
Mr Ellis gaped at her as though she had lost her mind.
“Yes,” she amended, “I suppose he is to marry, but—”
“How could you be so careless as to put yourself in such an untenable situation! Your mother will take to her bed, but not before she informs all of England of the sordid details surrounding your ruin!”
Before Elizabeth could form a reply, Darcy moved to stand beside her.
He appeared livid. “I will remind you, Mr Ellis, that you are speaking to a lady whose family holds you in esteem, though at this moment I cannot begin to fathom why. As for my being engaged, it is a highly personal matter that I intend to keep private until my betrothed and I see fit to announce it. I ask for your discretion.”
“My discretion?” he cried indignantly. “Tell me, Mr Darcy, where is your discretion in this business? Where is your honour!”
“Do not question my honour, sir!” Darcy replied angrily. “I must yet speak to her father.”
“Is this supposed to be some sort of joke?”
“No,” Elizabeth said, “Mr Darcy is—”
“A joke!” Darcy demanded heatedly. “I am no trickster, Mr Ellis. I find little humour in such tactics.”
“Oh, come, sir! ‘You must yet speak to the lady’s father?’ It is my understanding the lady’s father has been dead above ten years now.”
“Dead?” Darcy parroted. “Mr Bennet was alive and well not half an hour ago. I demand to know what you are playing at!”
“What I am playing at! What are you playing at, Mr Darcy? You are an engaged man! You have no business carrying on in the licentious manner you have with my friend!”
Darcy strode angrily across the room. “Miss Elizabeth may be your friend, Mr Ellis,” he coldly replied, “but she will soon become my wife. Our engagement is no concern of yours. I have had enough of your interference and insinuations. I would advise you to mind your own affairs and leave me to manage mine!”
In the next moment Mr Ellis’s countenance turned from incensed to incredulous. “Engaged to Lizzy! That is impossible! The engagement to which I refer is your engagement to your cousin, Miss Anne de Bourgh!”
In any other circumstance the dumbfounded look that appeared on Darcy’s face at that moment would have made Elizabeth laugh if she did not already feel as though she might cry.
“You believe me engaged to my cousin?” Darcy cried in wonderment. “Where on earth would you have come by such a notion!”