Chapter 20 #2
The air was cool and damp with dew. Mist curled low along the gravel paths, veiling hedges and statuary in a pale, wavering shroud.
Drawing her shawl more closely about her shoulders, Elizabeth set off without aim, guided only by a restless impulse and by the strange certainty that she would not walk alone for long.
So, when a familiar figure emerged from the fog, tall and unmistakable, she did not startle. Although her breath hitched, her steps remained steady.
Mr Darcy approached with a measured stride, his greatcoat unfastened, his boots dark with moisture. When they met, just beyond a low hedge, both came to a halt.
“Miss Bennet,” he said, bowing slightly. “Good morning.”
“Mr Darcy.” She curtsied. “You are abroad early.”
“As are you,” he returned, the faintest smile touching his lips before vanishing again. “I trust I do not intrude?”
“Not at all.”
For a moment they simply stood there, the stillness of the hour stretching between them. But at length he drew a steadying breath.
“I had not meant to remain in Hertfordshire beyond the assembly,” he said, his tone more tentative than she had ever known it. “But I hoped—” His gaze searched hers. “I hoped for the chance to speak with you again.”
Elizabeth lowered her lashes, her fingers brushing against the fabric of her skirts. “Then I am glad I came out to walk.”
He inclined his head, almost as if steadying himself for the words to come.
“After I made you that wretched proposal in Kent,” he began slowly, “and received your well-deserved reply, I believed it was your wish that I keep my distance—that any further pursuit would be unwelcome.”
His eyes met hers, searching and uncertain.
“It was…a painful moment,” she replied gently. “For us both.”
“Yes.” His voice deepened. “I cannot recall that evening without abhorrence. My conduct was indefensible and merited the strongest reproof.” He paused, then added, “And yet, Bingley’s recent letters have led me to believe that time might have tempered your opinion.
That perhaps…” He visibly swallowed. “That perhaps there was room for me to hope. I came to last night’s assembly to judge your reception.
Had you been cold or distant, I would have left Hertfordshire at once. But your kindness gave me courage.”
He stepped closer. “You once accused me of behaving in a manner unworthy of a gentleman, and you were not wrong. When I quitted the parsonage that day, I was angry, wounded, and proud. But it was not long before I realized the veracity of your argument and vowed to take your words to heart. Since then, I have endeavoured to examine myself more honestly—to become a better man. Better than the one who stood before you at Hunsford.”
Her heart stirred at the quiet conviction in his tone.
“I must ask,” he continued, lower now, “did you read my letter?”
“I did,” she said, holding his gaze. “Many times.”
He gave a slow nod, waiting.
“And I have reflected on it,” Elizabeth continued, “and on you, more than I can say. Much has changed since that day. My feelings have…materially altered.”
Mr Darcy’s breath caught.
“I cannot tell you,” he said hoarsely, “what it is to hear you say so.”
He shifted slightly on the gravel, a flicker of hesitation crossing his face. One hand moved to his coat, and when he continued, his voice carried a note of contrition.
“There is another reason I wished to see you. There is an item of yours I have long meant to return.”
From his pocket, he drew something small and gold, its polished surface glinting in the morning light.
“My locket,” she whispered. “I thought it lost forever!”
Mr Darcy looked aside, his expression shadowed. “I found it the morning after your fall. In the grove, beneath the great oak. And, to my shame, I kept it.”
She stared, bewildered, as he went on. “I meant to restore it to you at once, but when the moment came, I found I could not part with it. Perhaps because it felt like some small piece of you I could hold onto. Or perhaps because I hoped it might, in time, give me cause to see you again.”
He stepped nearer and lifted the chain, his hands reverent and sure. As the metal touched her skin, Elizabeth shivered, but it was not from the chill of the October air, rather from the rush of memory it stirred.
She saw the two of them, standing amidst a tangle of overgrown greenery, and she could hear Mr Darcy’s voice, low and uncertain.
“There was a pendant—a locket. I cannot recall exactly, but I remember the warmth of your skin as I clasped it about your neck. It felt…important.”
The recollection wrapped around her like an embrace, so vivid it stole her breath.
Had it truly happened?
To Elizabeth’s lasting frustration, the memories that lingered from her time in Kent no longer formed a complete picture, only fragments, like scenes from a fading dream.
Surely Mr Darcy had never spoken those words.
Surely they had never stood together in a forgotten garden, united in such ardent affection.
And yet…deep within her, she could not shake the sense that they had.
She shook her head lightly, returning to the present.
Mr Darcy stepped back, gazing into her eyes with such intensity it stole her breath.
“Elizabeth, you must know what I am about to ask. But I would not speak the words unless I believed—truly believed—that this time, your heart might answer mine.”
Slowly, she stepped forwards, closing the space between them. The locket radiated a steady warmth at her throat as she reached out and took his hands.
Across from her, Mr Darcy’s gaze held hers.
“Elizabeth Bennet, I feel as though I have loved you in every world where love is possible. I once believed I had lost you forever. But if you will have me, if you will join your life with mine, I vow to spend every day proving myself worthy of calling you my wife. Will you grant me that honour?”
“Yes,” she whispered, her voice warm with joy. “Yes, I will marry you.”
For a moment, neither stirred. Then Darcy released a breath that was half-laugh, half-sob. He lifted her fingers to his lips, then drew her into his embrace.
Their kiss—tentative at first, then certain—sealed a promise that felt as though it had been forever in the making. The world around them fell away, leaving only the steady rhythm of two hearts finding their way back to one another.
When at last they parted, Elizabeth met the tenderness in his gaze. The locket rested against her skin, its weight a gentle reminder of all that had been lost, then found.
Darcy raised her hand once more, brushing it with a gentle kiss. “Shall we begin again?”
She nodded, her smile soft and certain, and together they turned towards the light, following the winding path into the rising sun.