Chapter Fifteen The Resolutions of 1812 #3
"I will love you," she finished, dropping to her knees in the snow beside him, heedless of her silk gown. "I will love you fiercely. Every day. For every year."
"Yes?" he whispered.
"Yes," she nodded many, many times. "Yes, yes, yes."
He let out a sound that was half-laugh, half-sob. He pulled the ring from the box—a stunning pink diamond—and slid it onto her finger. Then he pulled her into his arms.
He kissed her. It was cold air and warm lips, desperation and promise. It was the end of pride and the beginning of prejudice's demise.
And as they kissed, kneeling in the snow, the bells of St George's began to toll.
One. Two. Three.
"Happy New Year," he murmured against her lips.
"Happy New Year," she replied.
They stayed on the terrace until the bells finished ringing, wrapped in each other's arms, ignoring the cold. Her head was resting on his chest, exactly above the spot he used to rub because it hurt. When she pulled back, she saw her dress and laughed.
"Your dress!" Darcy pointed at the wet hem of her ivory silk. "It is ruined."
"It is christened," she shrugged. "It has a story now."
"We should go inside. Before Robert sends out the hounds."
"Or before Lady Catherine comes to check my posture."
They walked back into the ballroom. The atmosphere had shifted. Inside the supper room, the guests were mingling, toasting, celebrating the arrival of 1812.
As they entered, heads turned. It was impossible to miss them. Darcy was dishevelled and triumphant. Elizabeth was radiant and wet.
Robert spotted them first. He marched over, Jane on his arm.
"Well?" Robert demanded. "Did you do it? Or did you just roll around in the snow?"
Elizabeth held up her hand. The pink diamond caught the candlelight.
"Finally!" Robert shouted, grabbing Darcy's hand and shaking it violently. "Welcome to the club, Cousin! We are all mad here!"
"You proposed first," Darcy accused, looking at Jane's hand.
"I panicked," Robert admitted cheerfully. "But she said yes, so it worked out. Congratulations, Miss Elizabeth! You have taken on a terrible burden, but the estates are nice."
"I am very happy for you," Jane hugged Elizabeth, tears in her eyes. "Oh, Lizzy. We are to be cousins."
"Sisters and cousins," Elizabeth hugged her back. "It is a tangled web."
The families converged. The Earl was beaming. Lady Matlock was smug with an "I told you so" expression. Mrs Gardiner was proud.
Georgiana ran to them, abandoning all decorum.
"Fitzwilliam?" she asked, her eyes darting from him to Elizabeth.
"You will soon have a sister, Georgiana." Darcy said triumphantly.
Georgiana squealed. She threw her arms around Elizabeth. "I knew it! I knew it! Happy New Year!"
Lady Catherine approached and surveyed Darcy and Elizabeth's wet dress. She then saw the ring.
She huffed.
"Well," she grunted. "At least it is a good stone. Darcy stones are always of quality. Stand up straight, girl. You will be a Darcy soon. Act like it."
"Yes, your ladyship," Elizabeth replied straightening her spine until it hurt.
Darcy grinned.
"Do not smirk at me, Fitzwilliam. It is vulgar." She tapped Elizabeth's arm with her fan. "Come to tea tomorrow. We have work to do."
"I shall be here," Elizabeth promised.
New Year's Day, 1812.
Fitzwilliam Darcy stood at the window of the morning room in Darcy House. The sun was shining—actually shining—glittering off the melting snow in the square.
Everyone was invited for breakfast in the aftermath of the grand ball. None of them had slept a wink that night, except his uncle, who dozed in his chair when no one was addressing him.
Breakfast was a riot. Robert was recounting the story of his proposal for the third time, embellishing the part about the library fire. The Earl was discussing wedding banns with Mr Gardiner. Georgiana and Elizabeth were looking at fashion plates for wedding trousseaus.
Darcy watched them. He held a cup of coffee, but he was not drinking it. He was savouring the noise.
A month ago, he had stood in this room, rubbing his chest, convinced his life was over. He had been alone, proud, and miserable.
Now, he was surrounded by chaos. He was engaged to a woman who laughed at him, laughed with him, and loved him fiercely. He had a cousin who was marrying her sister. He had an aunt who was teaching his betrothed how to rule the world.
He felt a hand on his arm.
"You are quiet." Elizabeth stood beside him. She was fresh and lovely in the morning light, the ring on her finger flashing as she moved.
"I am reflecting," Darcy said.
"On what?"
"On resolutions." He turned to her. "I resolved to be happy. It seems I have succeeded early in the year."
"You have," she smiled. "But you must keep it up. It is a long year."
"I have help." He brought her hand to his lips. "I have you."
"Then we shall do very well, indeed."
Across the room, Robert raised a toast with a piece of toast. "To 1812! The year the mice roared!"
"To 1812!" the room shouted back.
Darcy turned to his wife-to-be.
"To us," he whispered to Elizabeth.
"To us," she replied.
And as the sun climbed higher over London, Fitzwilliam Darcy did not want to be anywhere else but exactly where he was.