Chapter Ten #3
“Enough of ‘scandal,’ of shame, of ruination! I put no stock in them and would not give sixpence for the good opinion of anyone so small-minded as to think otherwise. Tell me truly, Miss Tilney: Do you feel that Follett’s wrongdoing should reflect upon you?”
“No. No, I do not.” How bracing it was, to look upon the question so simply. Could it be so easy? This seemed impossible to Juliet—but why? Had the pettiness of society infected her more deeply than she had ever realized?
Mr. Darcy became quieter then. “If your doubts are rooted instead in the duel—and in the weakness in my judgment exposed therein—”
“Do not blame yourself!”
“Is that to be your privilege alone?”
Juliet had rarely felt so fluttery, so unsure of where to look and what to say, and yet so certain as to what to do. “Let me say only what I have said before: Your parents do not approve the match. You are a loving son, and would never be guilty of disobedience.”
“I would.”
She gasped. “Mr. Darcy! You cannot mean what you say.”
“I do, for I have considered the question time and again since we first discussed it. Thus I am wholly certain: If we must defy our families, if I am disowned of Pemberley and all else I would otherwise someday possess, then—yes, Miss Tilney. Still I would disobey my parents to marry you. Would you disobey yours to marry me?”
Juliet gripped one of the stone columns, for its strength alone kept her steady. “I—I do not think they would disapprove of the match merely because your parents do not approve. But they would ask—oh, how would we live?”
“That I know not,” Mr. Darcy said, “but I have some small savings, should it come to that. And perhaps it would not. I do not suggest an elopement, Miss Tilney. Merely an engagement. My parents would be angered that I had proposed without permission, but that anger would subside in time. It is unfair, I know, to ask you to take on such uncertainty—but is not this our truest path? The one likeliest to lead us to each other? Can we not wait together?”
“My parents did,” Juliet whispered. “They waited for each other, for my paternal grandfather’s consent. It was years in coming.”
“Yet it came.” Mr. Darcy smiled once more, and this time, Juliet found herself smiling back.
“Can this be happening?” She scarcely knew she spoke aloud. For his part, Mr. Darcy seemed to have lost his earlier forcefulness, but in its place was a sentiment more gentle, and even sweeter to behold. It could only be called wonder.
Then he seemed to startle. “Oh. I—I seem to have neglected to actually propose. Even though we must wait, my dear Miss Tilney, will you do me the honor of consenting to be my wife?”
She knew every possible objection, and knew that each came from a place very distant from them both, one that could claim no position here. “With all my heart.”
Mr. Darcy brightened with joy. Even as he smiled, he continued to correct himself: “I think I did not ask correctly. I ought first to have expressed the appropriate sentiments—assured you of my expectations—”
Juliet laughed, giddy with astonishment and delight. “You were accepted, sir, so you must have asked well enough.”
“I was accepted.” He took her hand, and she gladly surrendered it. Juliet had run out of doors without gloves, which meant the thrilling warmth of his skin pressed directly against hers. “We are to be married.”
—
The reader will forgive Miss Tilney and Mr. Darcy for being quite overcome at this juncture and for many hours afterward.
While they remained alone together, they promised to very shortly inform their families (yet at such a time and place as to invite as little immediate opposition as possible), to attend to the investigation at hand to the fullness of their abilities, and other such worthy sentiments—though none will be astonished to learn that all these words flowed past swiftly, adrift within the spell that joy and expectation had woven between them.
Once they returned to the house, they attended as best they could, fitting into the activities of those around them and making such observations as they were then capable of.
Few would blame them for being overcome; and even the most zealous advocate for justice would accord the young couple these hours of happy inattention, for the investigation would surely be waiting next morning for them to resume.
How long Juliet lay awake that night, embracing her pillow, laughing to herself from joy, even once or twice coming to happy tears.
Mr. Darcy was willing to defy his parents for her!
She knew the anger they would feel at the disobedience shown by such an engagement—but did not time heal all?
If scandal was forever to be attached to them, if their union reminded society in perpetuity about the portrait and the duel and all the other ugliness of London, why, then…
then she and Mr. Darcy would close themselves up inside Pemberley, read Walter Scott side by side, have half a dozen children, and be happy forever. What need had she of society?
Not all of Juliet’s imaginings were so giddy.
She knew her parents would have grave misgivings, for their own lengthy engagement had been difficult in many respects, and in truth her grandfather General Tilney still resented her father’s willfulness and her mother’s willingness to accept him on such terms. (Her grandfather, at least, normally so fearsome, would be gleeful at the news that she was to wed a Darcy, so much so that it almost pained Juliet to please him so well.)
As for the Darcys, their response would be graver still. Yet she felt that where Jonathan loved, his mother would inevitably follow. Would his proud father do the same? Juliet was willing to be the most obedient daughter-in-law, the most grateful, if only Mr. Darcy would consent in the end!
Yet her happiness overcame all, and she had fallen asleep with thoughts of the wildflowers that grew near her family’s personage, and which ones she might pluck for a wedding bouquet.
Then, but a few hours later, came the screams.