Chapter Twenty-Five #2
Elizabeth could no longer meet his eyes without her own feelings welling within her.
Her throat tightened. She pressed her fingers to the roses in the box, as though they might anchor her.
His gifts were not trifles; they were pieces of him—of his very soul.
And he had waited. Hoped. Believed in her.
She looked up, and in his eyes dwelt a tenderness that banished the last of her trepidation.
Elizabeth held the box of silk roses close, as if they could steady the tumult within her.
Her eyes met his once more—so open, so achingly sincere—and for a moment, she simply drank in the sight of him.
The man before her was not the proud, distant gentleman who had once slighted her at a ball.
He was something else entirely—something more.
“I did see the meaning in your gifts.” The words slipped forth, scarcely more than a whisper. “Each one seemed to speak—to say something you dared not put into words. I saw your thoughtfulness in them…your care. But more than that, I have seen the change in you.”
Darcy stilled, every nerve taut, intent upon her every word.
“You are no longer the man who looked down his nose at a country assembly. You have become someone kind. Considerate. Humble and welcoming.” Her voice wavered. “You are a man worth knowing…and worth loving.”
She watched the tension in his frame break, his shoulders lowering as though her words had lifted a great weight. For a moment his lips parted, yet no words came to answer what hers had just bestowed.
“I did not know for certain my admirer was you. But I wanted it to be you.” Her eyes brimmed with tears she refused to shed. “I prayed it was you.”
Darcy stepped forward then, as if he could bear no more distance between them.
The box of roses pressed lightly between them as he lifted one gloved hand to her face, the leather cool against her skin.
His fingers brushed her cheek with reverent care, trailing down to her chin.
He tilted her face up to his, and with exquisite gentleness, lowered his lips to hers in a kiss that spoke all he could not say.
It was a kiss filled with unspoken promises. Tender. Chaste. Filled with meaning. The roses did not so much as bend between them.
When he drew back, her eyes fluttered open to find his gaze still fixed upon her—intense, searching, full of awe.
“Yes, sir,” she whispered, her lips tingling with the echo of his. “I will marry you. How could I not after such exquisite delight?”
Darcy’s laughter rumbled low in his chest, rich with relief and joy.
She gently set the box of roses on a nearby tree stump, and he gathered her into his arms. She pressed her cheek to the fine wool of his coat, breathing in the scent of sandalwood and cedar, a fragrance she would forever after associate with home.
His arms tightened around her, steady and sure.
“Shall I speak with your father?” He pulled away just enough to look at her once more.
Elizabeth smiled up at him, her eyes bright. “Yes. But I warn you—informing my mother might provoke a fit of nerves. Three daughters engaged at once is enough to unbalance even the steadiest of women.”
Amusement lit his eyes. “Perhaps Bingley and your sister would not mind sharing their wedding day,” he said with mock solemnity. “I find I have not the desire to prolong my agony.”
Elizabeth laughed, the sound carrying clear in the crisp winter air. “We can ask them—and perhaps even Mary and Mr. Sanderson would join us. Imagine! Three weddings at once.”
His look held a shade of doubt. “Is Hertfordshire prepared for such felicity?”
She kissed his cheek, rising on her toes to reach him. “With the right groom, it most certainly is.”
They remained there atop Oakham Mount as the sun climbed in the sky, casting gold and rose across the fields below.
The snow sparkled, and a hush lingered, broken only by the soft breath of the breeze and their hushed conversation.
Darcy held Elizabeth’s gloved hand in his own, his thumb brushing over her knuckles with idle affection.
“I cannot believe it is real. That this morning began in disappointment and has ended in…this.” At his puzzled look, she explained the delayed delivery of his note.
He nudged her shoulder. “What a beginning! To think your faith in me was almost undone.”
She laughed. “Yes, but all has come right in the end. And with such a treasure—beautiful silk roses. I feared the last gift was not to come after all. And now I can openly display all the tokens of your affection.”
“I noted you were careful to conceal some of the gifts.”
“Yes. Many were so fine, I dared not show them lest someone find a way to relieve me of my treasures. But the locket—” she placed her free hand over her heart “—I wore close. Every day.”
He took her hand and entwined their fingers.
“And the pearls,” she continued. “I wore once or twice, beneath my gown, where no one could see. The risk was too great.”
His lips twitched. “Miss Lydia?”
Elizabeth gave him a knowing look. “Precisely. She would either steal them outright or make the most ridiculous assumptions. I had no wish to explain myself. Mama would have been hysterical, raving about lost reputations and ruined daughters.”
“It grieves me that I could not be more open, but I trusted you would understand. You see, I firmly believed you would have turned me away had I spoken too soon.”
“You are correct. I did not love you then so well as I do now. And tonight, at the Longs’ Twelfth Night celebration, I shall wear your gifts—all of them—in a manner of speaking. It would not do to come draped in nine shawls.”
He laughed, his eyes searching hers, a question lingering unspoken.
She smiled. “The sapphire pins...”
“And the necklace?”
“And the necklace,” she confirmed. “Though which I have yet to decide. I believe the pearls will go best with my gown.”
He lifted her gloved hand to his lips and brushed it with a kiss.
“Perhaps…we might even announce the engagement tonight?”
At her words, she saw joy kindle in him, bright and unrestrained. “If your father consents, then yes. Let the world know I have won the hand of the finest woman I have ever known.”
It was difficult to say whether her cheeks were blushed by his declaration or the the cold air as they stood together in the hush of the morning, but Elizabeth suspected it was both.
The world slowly awakened around them, as love bloomed steady and sure—enduring, eternal, like twelve silk roses kept in a box of red.