Chapter 11 #2
Mr Gardiner had written briefly, almost brusquely, requesting a meeting at the warehouses at Darcy’s earliest convenience. There had been no hint of reproach, no explanation offered, and yet Darcy could not rid himself of the sense that something decisive awaited him there.
He prepared himself to meet the unknown crisis.
If the rumours had worsened, he would answer for them.
If Elizabeth’s reputation had suffered further consequences, he would accept responsibility without reserve.
He had already determined that he would not allow her to bear the cost of his misjudgement, whatever sacrifice might be required of him.
What unsettled him most was the uncertainty.
The carriage slowed and came to a halt. Darcy descended at once and entered the building, nodding to the clerk who recognised him and led him through the familiar corridors.
He was shown not to Mr Gardiner’s main office, but to the smaller room adjoining it, a happenstance that only sharpened his unease.
The door opened, but Mr Gardiner was not inside. The room contained only a single occupant.
Elizabeth Bennet stood near the window.
For a moment, Darcy could do nothing but look at her.
She turned at the sound of his entrance, surprise flickering across her face before settling into a composed attentiveness he recognised immediately. Yet there was something altered in her manner, a quiet resolve that steadied her posture and held his attention fast.
“Mr Darcy,” she said. “Thank you for coming so quickly.”
“You wished to see me,” he replied. “I came at once.”
She nodded, as though confirming something inwardly. “I asked my uncle to write to you, as I could not ask you for a confidential meeting myself without inviting scandal. I hope you will forgive my boldness, as well as the indirectness of the request.”
“Of course,” Darcy said. “May I ask what has occasioned this meeting?”
Elizabeth gestured toward the chair opposite the desk. “Perhaps we should sit.”
He obeyed without comment, though the act felt momentous in a way he could not have explained. Elizabeth seated herself as well, folding her hands together in her lap. For a brief instant, Darcy feared she might retreat into silence. Instead, she drew a steadying breath and lifted her gaze to his.
“I will speak plainly,” she said. “I have decided not to attend your aunt’s party.”
The words struck him with unexpected force.
“You have,” he said carefully.
“Yes.”
He searched her face for hesitation, for doubt, but found none. Whatever decision she had reached, it had been reached fully.
“May I ask why?” he said.
Elizabeth rose and crossed the room, stopping near the window as though movement were necessary to order her thoughts.
“When I agreed to the plan,” she said, “I believed it the least injurious course. I believed it would spare us both further inconvenience and public ridicule.”
“That was my intention,” Darcy replied.
“I know,” she said. “And I believe you acted honourably.”
The acknowledgment warmed him, though he did not allow it to show.
“But,” Elizabeth continued, turning back toward him, “I no longer believe the plan is honest.”
Darcy stiffened, his eyes searching her face. “In what way?”
“I am not indifferent towards you,” Elizabeth said softly. “Nor can I pretend to be.”
His breath caught, hope flooding through his heart.
She took a step closer, her expression resolute rather than uncertain.
“I asked to see you,” Elizabeth said, “because I could not allow matters to continue under a false pretence.”
Darcy rose to his feet without conscious thought.
“Elizabeth,” he began, then stopped, aware that he had spoken her name aloud.
She did not rebuke him. “I was wrong about you,” Elizabeth said quietly. “In ways that matter.”
His heart beat so loudly he was certain she must hear it.
“I believed your concern for my reputation arose solely from honour,” she continued. “I told myself that you wished only to be free of me, and that this plan was proof of it.”
Darcy shook his head. “Never free of you.”
The words escaped him before restraint could intervene.
Elizabeth inhaled sharply, colour rising in her cheeks, but she did not look away.
“Then let me be equally clear,” she said. “I cannot attend your aunt’s party under the terms we agreed. Not because I fear speculation, but because I have come to understand that I care for you.”
For a moment, Darcy could not speak.
“You care for me,” he said at last.
“Yes,” Elizabeth replied, her voice steady despite the emotion she no longer concealed. “And I will not, cannot assist in convincing the world that I do not.”
The certainty he had sought for so long settled upon him all at once, profound and unmistakable.
He crossed the space between them, then stopped himself, restraining the impulse to reach for her only with great difficulty.
“You must know,” Darcy said, his voice low but unwavering, “that I love you.”
Elizabeth’s expression softened, the last of her guarded composure giving way. “I hoped you might,” she replied.
Darcy exhaled, a sound that was almost a laugh. “I believed you indifferent,” he said. “I believed myself resigned.”
“I believed the same of you,” Elizabeth replied.
He shook his head slowly. “Then we have both been very wrong.”
She smiled. “So we have. And I am glad beyond measure that we have found out the truth in time.”
Darcy took her hands then, gently, but already feeling in his heart as though they were his to hold. “I came prepared to surrender myself to whatever judgement awaited me,” he said. “Instead, you offer me more than I ever dared to hope.”
“I offered only the truth,” Elizabeth murmured, her great dark eyes shining up at him.
“Then let me offer you a truth of my own,” Darcy breathed.
“Elizabeth, I had not known you very long before I began to feel that I was in the greatest danger of losing my heart to you. Each time we have met has only increased my admiration for your intelligence and perception, your sweetness and the greatness of your heart. You and I have failed at what we set out to do, but I believe we have won something much greater. I never wish to be parted from you from this day forward. If you will make me the happiest man in London, even the days before our wedding shall be long to me. Elizabeth, will you marry me?”
She answered him without hesitation. “Yes,” she said. “With all my heart, for I love you even more than I could say.”
Relief, joy, and gratitude surged through him at once. He bowed his head briefly, overcome, then lifted it again, unable to suppress his smile.
Outside the office, the sounds of the warehouse continued unchanged: carts passing, voices calling, the world proceeding with indifferent steadiness.
Darcy scarcely noticed. Everything that mattered stood before him now.