Chapter 28
Darcy
Georgiana and Mr. Bingley accompanied Darcy on every one of his calls to Longbourn for the next several days, and he was hard pressed to find moments to be alone with Elizabeth.
But one morning, they found Elizabeth unchaperoned in Longbourn’s parlour.
She explained that her mother and three younger sisters had all set off for Meryton, and that Jane was in the still room ready to show Georgiana the steps she used to create individual scents for each sister.
“She asked you to attend her little lecture, too, Mr. Bingley, because you asked how the Netherfield still room should be used.”
Under his swollen bruises, Mr. Bingley looked very happy to be invited. Hill stepped up to Georgiana and Mr. Bingley to show the way.
Darcy was very happy as well. “Alone at last,” he murmured. “Should we take a walk or remain indoors?”
“Need you even ask?” Elizabeth smiled cheekily and moved to the foyer to put on her outerwear. Just a few moments later, the two were striding at the energetic pace they always walked.
After achieving a good distance from the house, Darcy said, “I do need to ask one question, Elizabeth, if you are ready to hear it.”
“I would love to hear any question you have,” she answered.
He turned, grasped both of her gloved hands in his, and asked, “Miss Elizabeth Bennet, I love you. It is remarkable to me how many different sorts of feelings are bundled together in that simple three-word sentiment. I long to touch you in the way a man touches his wife, and I am constantly amazed that your beauty seems to grow even though the starting point was that you were the most beautiful woman in the world. I delight in your sparkling personality and your boundless humour, and I admire your integrity and courage and character. I feel as fiercely protective of you as I do my sister, and I feel bereft at the idea of living without you by my side. Would you do me the honour of becoming my wife?”
Elizabeth looked almost as stunned as she had the day he had asked her for a courtship, and he was equally surprised by her reaction. He had specifically said that the courtship would, he hoped, result in marriage; why would she be astonished now?
He did not ask the question, but he felt very lucky that she answered anyway: “Less than a week ago, you said you had strong and steady feelings for me. Now…now you have dazzled me with so much praise and a declaration of love. It is all so fast!”
“Too fast? We can take things at whatever speed you wish, Elizabeth.”
“No, it is not too fast,” she whispered. “I find…that I long for you, too. My answer, of course, is yes.”
Having heard the word long from her lips was enough to send Darcy into heaven, and her positive answer to his question was even more incitement to enticement. Without considering propriety or consequences, without conscious thought of any kind, he pulled her close and kissed her.
Darcy was one of those few gentlemen who hated the idea of having a mistress or using the services of a courtesan.
He knew very clearly that he would hope that his future wife would not have had intimate relations with another, and he therefore felt that he should hold himself to the same standard, even though that went against almost every other person—male or female—that he knew.
For that very unusual reason, Darcy was almost entirely without experience.
He had kissed two girls, when he was quite young, and only knew a chaste version of kissing.
Other than that, he had read quite a good deal, hoping that what he read would translate to practice without too much mortification.
This kiss, only the third of his life, was in all ways different from the fumbling efforts of his youth.
He found that Elizabeth’s firm lips under his tempted him to move his mouth, and she responded in kind.
As he had read, his tongue gently prodding at the seam between her lips resulted in his ability to enter her mouth, to taste her, and he felt his desire increase explosively.
Again, she responded in kind, and he moaned into her mouth.
His hands had been splayed at her waist and back, but hers were flat on his chest, and he felt as if the heat of her gloved hand on his well-clothed body somehow seared through all the layers between them, branding him hers.
But how much more ecstatic he felt to have her arms stretch up so that her hands stroked through his curls and held him closer to her.
A part of him pleaded that he care at least a little for propriety, and he finally pulled back. She startled in his looser embrace; she was breathing heavily, raggedly, and he could hear his breath like an echo of hers.
“That was so wonder—” Elizabeth stopped speaking suddenly, and stepped back, breaking all contact with him. She stood straight, looked him directly in the eyes, and asked, “How many women have you lain with?”
“None.”
Her eyes narrowed. “I was told that if any man ever tells me that he has enjoyed no…intimate relations…with any woman other than myself, that man is lying.”
Darcy looked intently into her eyes. He saw a nervous sort of fear there, but no anger or accusation. He searched for a way to answer, and he could think of no smooth or lovely words. He settled for the bald truth.
“I hope never to be such a cynical man, myself. I have always had…a sense, a feeling, about what is right and what is wrong. My sense of virtue does not always agree with what authorities say, what my parents said, what religious scholars claim. And it ever seemed to me that, if a man wished for his future wife not to lie with another, he should not, himself, do so. It is only just, and fair. I will not ask you if you have been intimate with any man because the way our society is structured, such a question implies utter disrespect of a woman, and I have the utmost respect for you. On the other hand, I would want to be with a woman who feels free to ask me anything and who desires to speak truth as well as to hear truth.”
He ran one hand through his hair, not positive what her sparkling eyes expressed.
He sighed and went on, “My father always taught me that fidelity in marriage is crucial.
But even he urged me to go to courtesans, starting at age 18, saying that I needed to gain experience so that I could one day satisfy my wife.
But I felt that that was incorrect, again picturing the mirror image: a society in which young women were urged to pay experts to teach them how to satisfy their husbands. I did not like that mental picture.
“So I decided to do what I always do, and I read a great deal. Some cultures do not shy away from written descriptions of intimate relations, do not classify such literature as wrong or bad. There are, of course, some books published even within our own society that detail such things. I tried to absorb the lessons from the books, and I assume that you and I will be able to fumble our way into knowing exactly how to bring pleasure to one another.”
“Oh, Will!” Elizabeth’s eyes brimmed over with tears, but her tone and words were happy. “That seems to me to be exactly right. You seemed so competent with that kiss, it just made me worry.”
“Was that your first kiss?” he asked, stepping closer to her again to tenderly hold her body close to his.
“Yes, unless you count a near miss and a fumble I did not enjoy with John Lucas.”
“I had two kisses with girls my age when I was but fourteen years old. I would not say that they were near misses, but I would call them chaste kisses, the likes of which you could share with your mother or grandmother.”
“So your prowess at kissing comes from reading?” She chuckled and cuddled under his chin.
“I gathered some inspiration from reading. Things to try. I must say, the actual sensations of kissing you have blown all the descriptions out of the water.”
“Oh, my goodness.” She laughed again. “I fear we may need to marry soon.”
“I should love that,” Darcy replied.
“I suppose, then, that we should hurry to speak with my father.”
“And give them these,” he said. He brought out from an inner pocket a thick packet of papers.
Elizabeth delighted him by grabbing his hand and hurrying him back to the house. He laughed with joy, feeling that she not only echoed his sentiments, but also his urgency. Was there ever a man more lucky?
Keep that thought, he told himself as he faced Mr. Bennet. Again.
Mr. Bennet nodded his head but neglected to stand. Again.
“Well, Mr. Darcy,” the man said. “Do we have more sensitive topics under investigation that need the shelter of my bookroom?”
“No, sir, we seem to be finally done with all of that. And when I say we, I mean Miss Elizabeth and I; Sir William still has three people in his care, and Bingley is still waiting for permission to settle his sister into a safer care situation.
“Well, it has not been dull, of late, I can say that.” Mr. Bennet seemed a bit more jaded than his words would hint, and he said, “So what can I do for you today?”
“Elizabeth has made me the happiest I have ever been in my life by consenting to be my wife, and as promised, I brought the marriage articles for your perusal and signature.”
Mr. Bennet scowled, and Darcy tensed. But lifelong habits kept his face impassive, and he ordered his shoulders to relax since he was pretty sure Mr. Bennet was deliberately attempting to make him anxious.
He placed the sheaf of papers on Mr. Bennet’s desk. For a second, he wondered if the man’s indolence would dictate that he only glance through them rather than carefully read them.
Darcy almost laughed. It was all the same to him, he supposed; he would take exquisite care of Elizabeth whether or not her father did.
But Mr. Bennet did carefully read them. He held a quill over a blank sheet of paper, ink bottle at the ready, apparently in case he wanted to make any notes for changes, but he read everything without making a single note.
When he looked back up, and his pale blue eyes met Darcy’s dark eyes, Darcy could see that he was impressed.
No trace of sarcasm coloured his smile nor his voice as he said, “‘A bit of an underestimate,’ you said. Apparently you are the master of sarcasm, although I did not even know it at the time. Stealth sarcasm, I would call it!”
Darcy shrugged a single shoulder. “As I said, I do not need to be more conspicuous.” He was pretty sure that Mr. Bennet was shrewd enough to mentally add the incomes from Pemberley, his other properties, and a variety of investments, and to come up with a combined income being closer to forty thousand pounds per annum.
“The amount you will settle on my Lizzy, the pin money, the dowries for daughters; I cannot complain about any of it. You are most generous, and you have my consent and my blessing.” Mr. Bennet sounded neither grateful nor sarcastic; instead, he sounded utterly intimidated. He signed the bottom of the last page.
Darcy said, “Because of my need to get back to my estate, Elizabeth and I had hoped we could marry soon. Naturally, we neither expect nor want an elaborate wedding breakfast. Do I have your permission to set a date sometime in the next fortnight, and to purchase a common license?
“Yes, yes, you two set the date and let me know. I know that her mother would want to have a little notice, but I do not mind if we do the deed later this afternoon.”
There it is, Darcy thought to himself. One part dismissively nonchalant, one part witty but sarcastic.
Darcy bowed himself out of the room and hurried to be near Elizabeth again. He said, “Your father has given his permission for any time. I think you should go over the settlement with me, and then we should decide on a date and purchase the license.”
“Yes, please, to all of that,” Elizabeth said. And the two of them accomplished all three things that day, although not without some drama.
Elizabeth was so overwhelmed by the wealth reflected in Darcy’s settlement, she claimed to be considering pulling out on the grounds that it was absurd to think of her in connection with such a family. But of course she was teasing (for the most part).
When they were deciding on the wedding date, Mrs. Bennet almost fainted at the idea of arranging a wedding breakfast for a man with ten thousand a year (Darcy and Elizabeth, naturally, did not inform her of the actual amount of his income), but then she got actually angry that it was going to be “such a hurried affair.”
“Who could imagine putting together such an event in just ten days?” she lamented. “A wedding breakfast should not be some cobbled-together event!”
They soothed her with the argument that Pemberley needed its master. Darcy said, “One does not earn ten thousand a year without providing oversight of one’s estate.”
Thus they convinced Mrs. Bennet to relent on the schedule and to dive into planning “the loveliest wedding breakfast Meryton has ever seen.”
The walk to the parish church to purchase the general license was most pleasant, but they met several people who insisted on talking with them and even, in one case, walking with them part of the way. On the way home, they took a more indirect and little-used path that Elizabeth knew about.
The best part of little-used paths, of course, was the opportunity to step off the path, unseen, into a copse of trees.
There two young people in love could gain more experience in kissing.
Elizabeth had thought Darcy quite proficient their first time, but when they were finally back at Longbourn, they both wore the smug expressions of the truly accomplished.
Having been invited to dinner, Darcy and Elizabeth bore the giggles of Kitty and Lydia, the judgmental gaze of Mary, the blushes of Jane, and the glare of Mr. Bennet.
The only person who beamed approval of their reddened, slightly swollen lips was Mrs. Bennet.
Darcy so appreciated that unspoken support, he forgave all of the woman’s crassness about “how much pin money Lizzy will have!” and all of her handkerchief-fluttering dramatics about their “hurry-scurry” to the altar.
Later, as he was leaving, Darcy wished Mrs. Bennet goodnight with a kiss on her cheek.
Mrs. Bennet was very pleased and surprisingly calm in gaining such a tribute from her new son.