Chapter 12
Elizabeth’s predictionproved true and timely. The following day, Mr. Bingley visited, alone. Mrs. Bennet made a show of removing the Bennet daughters one by one from the sitting room until only Elizabeth remained, and over Jane’s ready objection, she was made to leave as well.
As soon as Mr. Bingley opened the door to speak to their father, Elizabeth rushed inside.
“Oh, Lizzy!” Jane hugged her with more zeal than at any time since young childhood. “No one can be as happy as I am. He loves me, Lizzy!”
At last, one heart was whole again.
Mr. Bennet congratulated Jane in the manner befitting his state of mind: “It is no surprise that such a genteel, charming daughter of mine will be happily wed. Take care, Jane. You will always outspend your income, for all will take advantage of your good heart, and there you will have no help from your husband, for he is as trusting as you.”
“Oh, heavens, what a statement!” Mrs. Bennet whipped her handkerchief at him. “Exceed their income, indeed! How preposterous!”
Elizabeth hugged Jane again, lest she feel tempted to contribute a single word.
Mr. Bingley called againthe day after Jane accepted his proposal.
He was not alone.
“Mr. Darcy! And Mr. Bingley! How good to see you. Come in, the ladies are at tea presently.”
Elizabeth heard her mother’s voice, and in a moment of panic, realized she was not prepared to see him again. This interaction might be a pleasant coincidence or a moment of tremendous consequence that would forever determine their relationship to one another, and she had been in the middle of lulling her mind into a false sense of peace when Mrs. Bennet’s squealed greeting yanked her back into the present crisis.
They entered the sitting room, and she rose with her sisters to curtsy.
He was still handsome, still serious, his calm eyes the only sign that he did not view his present circumstances as a chore. That was good, she thought.
Mr. Bingley kissed Jane’s hand in an amusingly formal manner. “Shall we take a walk to Meryton? The weather is excellent today.”
“Of course,” Jane answered.
“Wonderful! And would you mind accompanying us, Miss Elizabeth?”
How could anyone say no to a smiling Charles Bingley?
The two women exited the room and retrieved their shawls, Jane furtively darting glances at Elizabeth, who steadfastly ignored them. Mr. Bingley took Jane’s arm once outside. Mr. Darcy waited for Elizabeth to step out, then offered her his arm. It was a formality, a simple act of politeness.
His arm trembled beneath her gloved hand. Just a little.
Mr. Bingleyand Jane walked well ahead of Elizabeth and Mr. Darcy, sharing in private conversation in the security of a permanent attachment long overdue. Elizabeth, for once, hardly knew what to say.
“I have requested that Charles invite Georgiana to stay at Netherfield for a time,” Mr. Darcy announced suddenly.
“How forward of you, though I daresay no one would object to the presence of your lovely sister, least of all Mr. Bingley.” Elizabeth hoped the comment, though full of cheek, would suffice to answer this strange declaration.
“She rarely leaves Pemberley beyond Lambton, for reasons you may understand.”
Yes. There was no Wickham in the shadows, free to plot his revenge. Not anymore.
“Though I have been remiss in my duties as a brother to give her the proper experiences one must have to be out and to enter adulthood, it is not only that cause compelling her travel.”
“Oh?”
Mr. Darcy let go of her arm and retrieved a letter from his pocket. Elizabeth stared at the bold, heavy script on the front. “Somehow, news of your extended stay at Pemberley has reached my aunt, Lady Catherine. Based on those circumstances alone, she has demanded that I cut off all contact with your family.”
Elizabeth did her best not to let the rage that flared within her affect her manner, though it proved a difficult task. “I see.” She increased her pace.
Mr. Darcy reached out and touched her arm. “Wait. Elizabeth.”
Even were it not clear that Mr. Darcy was desirous of her to stop and attend him, and she felt compelled to do so regardless of her personal feelings on the matter of which he had just made her aware, the implied desperation in both the action of touching her and of addressing her so informally would have garnered the same reaction from most ladies regardless, if only to gawk.
He cleared his throat. “Elizabeth. I hope it is not too forward to address you as such when we are alone, given our longstanding acquaintance and the level of trust I believe we have established in one another.”
Elizabeth pretended to ponder for a second. “Not in this case, I imagine. As long as you allow me to address you as Fitzwilliam in turn.”
Mr. Darcy laughed as he exhaled. “No, it would only be fair.”
“Then it is settled… Fitzwilliam.” She smiled and waited for him to continue. If he was about to engage in lengthy apologia for the aristocracy, let him squirm. It was amusing to see him so unsettled regardless.
“My aunt must learn the subtle art of disappointment. I have no intention of removing myself from your or your family’s sphere of influence now or in the future.”
He had not said anything improper or romantic in nature. Why, then, were her cheeks suddenly inflamed and her heart soaring?
“I… thank you. It would be sad indeed if the Bingleys lost a connection to their friend through no fault of any party, save perhaps my questionable stream-exploring skills.”
Smiling, Mr. Darcy said, “It is true that Lady Catherine is unforgiving of innocent conditions that might give rise to rumors and speculation, but that is not the reason I am refusing to heed her command.”
The dirt path and all its various pebbles became the focus of Elizabeth’s attention. “Oh? But it is a reasonable excuse, wanted or unwanted, to keep your distance from us, at least for a time. You have already risked enough.” She looked up at him then, commanding herself to maintain control of her emotions. “No one would fault you for protecting yourself, especially if they knew the lengths you have gone to in order to secure our family’s honor.”
She took a shaky breath and continued quickly to allay any concerns. “You have your wish yet; my father knows nothing of how you helped, nor does anyone else but the parties privy to it. Lydia said something offhand, and I wrote to my aunt. Since no one else can, let me, at least, thank you.”
“Surely, you must know,” he murmured, “I did everything for you.”
It was real. He felt as she did. But was it out of love, or?
“Fitzwilliam, I must know. I must relieve myself of this burden. Before I say more, I must ask… and there is no way to ask without insult—”
“I believe we have traversed the path of slings and arrows before, on the most personal of terms,” he said gently. “Do not be afraid to address me as you have always done: with honesty, with ardent cause, and with the clarity I have come to expect from you.”
“Very well.” She had never hesitated to question him before. The difference now was unmistakable in its cause. “Has the accident in the stream at Pemberley affected your future course of action regarding our friendship in any way?”
To her surprise, Mr. Darcy’s was as perplexed as she felt observing his reaction. “I admit, that was not one of the questions I expected you to ask. Perhaps one about your sister, who I acknowledge I misjudged, but—”
“No, no, this is not about Jane. This is about your perception of me.” Had she ever said something so direct, so without defense? It was only her certainty that Mr. Darcy would never seek to use her behavior against her that made such frankness possible.
He blinked, and his features softened. “Nothing you have said or done has altered my feelings for you in any way save enhancing them. You are too generous to trifle with me. If your feelings are still what they were last April, please tell me so at once. My affections and wishes are unchanged, but one word from you will silence me on this subject forever.”
Relief. An endless countryside expanse of bright joy suffused her. Elizabeth’s smile, though, was tremulous. She could not find the appropriate words. “My feelings in the spring were the opposite of how I feel now. I am ashamed to think of what I said.”
“Then,” Mr. Darcy replied, grasping her hands in his own, grinning, “May I once more, Elizabeth Bennet, ask if you consent to be my wife?”
“I do. I mean, I accept.” She squeezed his hands. The look in his eyes, the guarded look, was finally gone. Perhaps his walls would shield him again from others, but not from her.
Their lips met a moment later, as if all the energy between them needed to fuse, and their bodies nearly collided, so forceful was the desire to touch. She loosened her grip on propriety for one moment and raked her hands though his hair, not knowing what to do with her lips but happy he was holding her.
Mr. Darcy, in her view, was so enraptured at finally being able to kiss her that his hands could not pick a place to settle. He stroked her back, ran his finger through her loose curls until she worried her pins would come out, then stroked along her arms and came to feel her heartbeat before slowly moving over her clothed bosom, still kissing her.
Mr. Darcy broke them apart just as a curious fire kindled in her chest, and she moaned before catching herself and jumping back, horrified he would think her wanton.
“Apologies,” he said, breathing hard. “I have not even spoken to your father yet, and I was ready to devour you in a field.”
“It is all right.” Elizabeth felt her clothes to make sure they were properly in place. “Perhaps we should catch up to Jane and Charles?”
He glanced down the road. “I am willing to hurry if you are, but the trip back to the house might be shorter.” She understood his meaning. It was a long way to walk, alone, without touching each other. Again.
“Perhaps it is best if we go back to the house first.”
She laughed as he took her hand, and they turned around.