Chapter 19
Of One Mind
Darcy kicked the door closed behind him, tugged Elizabeth’s hand to turn her back towards him, and pulled her close.
Still she said not a word, but as he watched, the look that had decided his heart at the inn returned to her countenance.
Her lips parted, her eyes darkened, and she gave the tiniest gasp—an almost inaudible inhalation that spoke volumes as to her anticipation.
He answered the invitation. Taking her face in both his hands, he lowered his lips to hers.
His neck screamed for him to desist, but other, more demanding urges begged him not to.
He kissed her, and every blank his imagination had attempted to fill these past ten days took form beneath his hands.
No longer must he wonder at the tenderness of her lips or the delicacy of her skin.
Now he knew the softness of the curls at the nape of her neck, the depth of the hollow at the small of her back, the sweep of her hips that perfectly matched the curve of his palms, and the devastating power of her caress.
“What you do to me, Elizabeth!” he mouthed, pulling away slightly and resting his forehead upon hers.
She returned his gaze affectionately, biting her lips as though still able to taste him there.
Words seemed to have completely failed her, but he cared not, for she had left him in no doubt of her feelings.
Raised voices erupted on the other side of the door.
Hardly surprising—he had, with several discreet but not particularly civil hand gestures, asked Fitzwilliam to escort everybody but Bingley, Georgiana, and Mrs Gardiner from the house while he stole this private moment with his newly betrothed.
It sounded as though he would owe his cousin several cases of exceedingly expensive wine for his troubles.
He rolled his eyes, drawing a small huff of laughter from Elizabeth.
“Will they ever forgive you, do you think?” she said softly, finding her voice at last.
He dared the discomfort of a shrug and mouthed, “After the way they behaved towards you and your aunt, I hardly care.” He surprised himself with a smile as he reflected on the scene—Elizabeth’s influence, he was sure, for he would never usually have seen anything amusing in it.
“It was not the way I would have chosen to make my addresses.”
She returned his grin. “You certainly succeeded in amazing the whole room.”
It lifted his heart to be the object of her teasing having come so close to never hearing it again. “I am sorry you were amazed. Would that I had done more to show you how I felt.”
“I blinded myself to it, I am sure,” she replied with a shake of her head. “I thought you disdained me in Hertfordshire and had no reason to think that had changed when I saw you again. Even when you began calling me Elizabeth—”
“I did?”
She smirked. “Aye. I just assumed it was easier for you to say.”
He laughed a little at himself at having done such a thing unconsciously.
It hurt his throat and reminded him of that fatigue which happiness had allowed him briefly to forget.
He led Elizabeth to his desk, where he pulled a second chair close to his own for them to sit next to each other and resumed the conversation on paper.
It was my pride, my unjustifiable conceit, that prevented you from knowing my feelings. I worked hard to repress them until you showed me the absurdity of all my prepossessions. When I realised that I had actually made you hate me, I—
“Hate you!” Elizabeth interrupted. “I thought you were disagreeable and proud when I first knew you, it is true, but it was not long after you woke up at the inn that I began to realise I was mistaken. After that, my opinion of you improved with almost every conversation. By the evening of the last day, I…well, I dearly wished to believe you when you declared yourself.”
Darcy frowned in puzzlement, and she broke into a beatific smile, laughing as she exclaimed, “So I was right not to believe it! You were delirious!”
“Believe what?”
“You told me I had utterly bewitched you.”
He shook his head slightly as he dipped his pen, mindful of his stitches but nonetheless incredulous. What a thing to forget!
I confess, I do not recall saying it, but I beg you would believe it. Never has a truer word been spoken.
On reflection, he crossed out the word spoken and replaced it with mouthed. Elizabeth did not reply but leant forward in her chair, took the pen from his fingers, and wrote,
Mouthed or spoken, I treasure the sentiment.
Darcy reached to take the pen back to reply, but she snatched it away playfully and added to her note.
I am very happy your voice has returned, though, for I like it very well. Nobody talks to me the way you do. You debate with me—as your equal.
He opened the nearest drawer and took out a different pen, which he dipped in the ink and replied,
Elizabeth, you are my superior in every way.
With a look of challenge, she shuffled her chair nearer to the desk.
A second pen is cheating, sir, and you are wrong in the other regard as well. In impertinence—and perhaps in nursing injured Samaritans—I suppose I might claim the upper hand, but you have proved yourself better than I at many other things.
“Name one,” he mouthed defiantly. Her countenance assumed a devilish quality that drew Darcy forward to read what she would write.
I shall not name it, but I cannot pretend to rival the proficiency with which you have demonstrated your affections in the last few minutes.
This answer might have convinced Darcy he was still delusional had the pleasure it produced not been far greater than any he could have conceived himself. He leant on the desk, his arm lying alongside Elizabeth’s as he wrote,
I noticed no deficiency.
Name another.
Her lips quirked and Darcy felt an echoing twitch somewhere inside him that he did his best to ignore, for Elizabeth seemed to grow more serious as she dipped her pen to reply.
You are braver than I am. I should never have been as self-possessed with so serious an injury.
He extended a forefinger to contradict her.
You could not be more wrong; I have never been more frightened in my life. The only thing that prevented me from losing my composure was you.
Whereas you are fearless. Not even Lady Catherine’s scorn could scare you.
She laughed. “Your aunt thinks me an insolent creature, I am sure, but there is a stubbornness about me that never can bear to be frightened at the will of others.” Her smile faded a little.
She put down her pen and turned to face him more fully.
“I am in earnest though, Darcy. There are some things in which I am deficient, and I must be allowed to own them, as you have. You are not the only one to have been taught a lesson this past week. In questioning you so ruthlessly, I learnt many things about myself, few of them good, and I fear I was a far less gracious student than you.”
Darcy opened his mouth to reply, but Elizabeth forestalled him with a hand on his arm and an extraordinary look that was at once ardent and grave.
“You have shared so much with me. I have come to know you better than almost anyone of my acquaintance and…” She paused, looking down at her hand briefly, but continued after a self-conscious smile and shaky breath.
“And though your feelings are of longer duration, I do not believe they are felt any less deeply than my own. You are not alone in emerging from this experience very much in love.”
Elation swelled Darcy’s heart until it pressed painfully against his ribs.
His smile felt unfamiliar, broadened by happiness beyond his usual reserve.
He lifted a hand to cradle her head, his fingers in her hair and his thumb stroking her cheek.
“Dearest, loveliest Elizabeth.” His voice was hoarse and weak, but he spoke aloud, and the words were as soothing to his throat as were her affections to his heart—and her kiss to his lips.