Chapter 13 #3
Shortly before ten, Sir William Holbrook rose to take his leave, citing the distance to his estate.
This initiated the general dispersal Darcy had been anticipating, with guests beginning to call for their carriages and exchange final pleasantries.
Elizabeth managed the farewells with perfect composure, thanking each departing guest with specific references to their conversations or contributions to the evening that made each feel valued.
“A most enjoyable evening, Mrs. Darcy.” Lady Ashton’s declaration carried warmth as her husband assisted her with her wrap. “You have restored Pemberley’s reputation for combining elegance with genuine hospitality—a tradition many feared might have ended with Lady Anne.”
“You are too kind.” Elizabeth’s pleasure at the compliment showed in her expression. “We hope you will join us again soon, perhaps for the autumn shooting party Mr. Darcy is planning with Mr. Bingley.”
“We would be delighted.” Lord Ashton confirmed. “Though I fear my hunting days are behind me, I still enjoy the social aspects of such gatherings.”
As the last guests made their way toward waiting carriages, Darcy found himself momentarily stymied in his plans for the rose garden meeting by Caroline Bingley, who showed no sign of joining her brother and Jane in their preparations to depart.
Instead, she had cornered Elizabeth near the fireplace, apparently determined to extend some conversation beyond the natural conclusion of the evening.
“You really must tell me where you found that particular pattern of china, Eliza.” Caroline’s tone carried studied casualness. “While not what one might expect at Pemberley, it had a certain rustic charm that some might appreciate.”
The backhanded compliment, delivered with Caroline’s usual combination of superficial pleasantry and subtle derision, drew a nearly imperceptible tightening of Elizabeth’s smile.
“The service was selected by Lady Anne Darcy shortly after her marriage. I understand from Mrs. Reynolds that it has been used for summer entertainments at Pemberley for nearly thirty years.”
Caroline’s expression faltered at this information, which effectively undermined her attempt to suggest Elizabeth had introduced inferior taste to the Darcy household.
“How... traditional of you to maintain such practices.” Less assurance showed now.
“I always advocate for regular renewal of household appointments. Nothing becomes dated more quickly than tableware.”
“Different philosophies, I suppose.” Elizabeth’s composure remained unruffled. “I find there is something meaningful in using items that connect us to those who came before, especially when they were selected with such evident care and taste.”
Darcy, recognizing that this exchange might continue indefinitely if not interrupted, decided intervention was necessary if their plans for the rose garden were to proceed.
“Miss Bingley.” He approached the two women with deliberate purpose.
“I believe your brother is preparing to retire in order to depart early in the morning.”
“Oh, there is no rush on my account.” Caroline’s practiced smile held despite her recognition and resentment of his attempt to conclude her conversation with Elizabeth.
“I can weather a bit of fatigue this week, particularly since we have had so little opportunity for genuine conversation this evening.”
“I am afraid extended conversation will be possible tonight. Mrs. Darcy and I have private matters requiring our attention once our guests have retired or departed, and Georgiana is still recovering her strength after her illness. Another time, perhaps.”
The clear refusal, delivered without anger but with unmistakable finality, startled Caroline. Her color rose noticeably. “Of course. I would not wish to impose upon family matters.”
Bingley appeared at that moment, his expression suggesting he had been searching for his sister. “There you are, Caroline! We rise early on the morrow. Come, I will escort you to your guest room.”
“I was just explaining to Miss Bingley that while we have enjoyed her company this evening, we have pressing matters to address.” Darcy’s tone conveyed more than his words did.
Bingley, more perceptive than many gave him credit for, understood immediately. “Absolutely. We have that matter to discuss with the steward by the end of the week, Caroline, which requires your presence and mine at Netherfield as soon as possible.”
This fabricated obligation, created to assist his friend, earned Bingley a look of genuine gratitude from Darcy.
Within moments, Charles had smoothly escorted Caroline toward stairs, her attempts to prolong their conversation—and possibly her stay—effectively neutralized by the combined efforts of both men.
As the Bingleys retired, leaving only Colonel Fitzwilliam present among their guests, Darcy turned to find Elizabeth watching him with a mixture of amusement and appreciation.
“That was most efficiently handled. Though I fear Miss Bingley will not soon forgive being so directly refused.”
“Her forgiveness concerns me far less than her departure at present.” Darcy glanced toward the corridor that led to the east terrace and the rose garden beyond. “I believe we had an appointment?”
A soft smile curved her lips, holding both invitation and something deeper he dared not yet name. “We did. Though perhaps we should ensure Georgiana has retired comfortably first? She looked fatigued by the end of the evening.”
“I shall see to Georgiana.” Colonel Fitzwilliam’s approach showed perfect timing. “I promised to deliver a letter from my mother to her that arrived at my London residence just before I left for Pemberley. It will give me an opportunity to ensure she is properly settled for the night.”
“Thank you.”
“Think nothing of it.” Fitzwilliam’s knowing smile suggested he understood the gratitude extended beyond the immediate offer. “Some matters require privacy for proper resolution.”
As the Colonel departed to locate Georgiana, Darcy turned back to Elizabeth, suddenly aware of the conversation that lay ahead. All the planning, all the anticipation, all the careful consideration of what he wished to express seemed inadequate now that the moment approached.
“Shall we walk in the garden?” Elizabeth’s voice softened as she noted his sudden seriousness. “The night is most pleasant, and the roses are fragrant after sunset.”
“Yes. I believe I promised to meet you by the fountain with the white roses.”
As Elizabeth’s hand settled on his sleeve, the familiar contact sending warmth through him despite the layers of fabric separating skin from skin, Darcy felt simultaneously more nervous and more certain than he could recall feeling in years.
He guided his wife through Pemberley’s corridors toward the east terrace and the garden.
Moonlight bathed the rose garden in silver as Darcy and Elizabeth crossed the east terrace toward its winding pathways.
Flowers that had appeared ruby, gold, and snow-white in daylight now took on an ethereal quality in the moon’s pale glow, their colors muted but their scent intensified in the cool night air.
The fountain at the garden’s center splashed in a steady rhythm.
“All our guests appeared to enjoy themselves.” Elizabeth walked beside him along the path toward the fountain. “Even Miss Bingley looked mollified after her performance at the pianoforte received appreciation.”
“The evening was a complete success.” Though Darcy’s attention was focused less on reviewing the dinner party than on what lay ahead. “You handled everything with remarkable grace, from the seating arrangements to Caroline’s clumsy barbs.”
Elizabeth glanced up at him, a smile playing about her lips. “Including her final attempt to extend her visit indefinitely? I confess I was momentarily at a loss for how to refuse without outright incivility.”
“Which is why I intervened. Some situations call for directness rather than diplomacy, particularly when more important matters await.”
They had reached the fountain now, its circular basin surrounded by a low stone wall.
The scent of white roses hung in the air, their pale blooms gleaming in the moonlight like scattered pearls against the darker foliage.
Elizabeth released his arm and moved to touch one perfect flower, her slender fingers gentle against the delicate petals.
“More important matters.” She spoke softly. “Yes.”
Elizabeth had never been one for coy games or artificial sentiments, a quality he had come to value above the practiced charm that characterized most women of his acquaintance. Why, then, did he hesitate to speak the words that had been in his heart for weeks?
“Elizabeth.” Her name itself a declaration in the quiet garden.
“When I proposed to you at Longbourn after the storm, I acted from duty rather than choice. Yet what began as duty has become something entirely different. Something I value beyond any connection or advantage I might have sought in marriage before knowing you.”
A flicker of emotion crossed Elizabeth’s features. “And what is that, Fitzwilliam?”
Darcy reached for her hands, taking them gently in his own as he had once done in the library at Longbourn, though with such different feeling behind the gesture.
“Love, Elizabeth. I love you. Not from duty or desire alone, though both exist, but from genuine appreciation of who you are—your strength, your intelligence, your integrity. Your grace.”
Elizabeth’s hands tightened around his, her eyes widening.
“Fitzwilliam, I—”
“You need not respond in kind if you are not ready.” Darcy wanted to spare her any pressure to reciprocate feelings she might not fully share. “I speak only of my own heart, not to demand declaration from yours.”