Chapter 32
Elizabeth had been in Hertfordshire for a fortnight so far and had enjoyed every moment of her time amongst her family.
Whether she felt like Lizzy Bennet or Lady Barrington, she was happy to be home.
Unlike her previous visit, with the Gardiners expected to join them, she had decided to stay at Netherfield, close to Jane.
However, she spent most of her time at Longbourn, with her father.
Her mother was either with their guests, with Jane or out sharing her excitement with her friends in Meryton.
The party was large, yet not complete yet.
Mr. Darcy and Mr. Gardiner both had unfinished business in town and were expected to arrive in the middle of December.
While Mrs. Gardiner waited to travel with her husband, Miss Darcy had decided to join Elizabeth and was employing her time most pleasantly with the Bennet sisters and Cece.
Two weeks before Christmas it started to snow and overnight, the whiteness covered the ground entirely, like a fairy tale.
December the fifteenth was a day which Elizabeth would never forget, when all her uncertainties vanished, blown away by the freezing breeze that spread the snow across the fields.
At noon, she was in the library with her father, when the sound of a carriage and then joyful cries startled her. She went to the window, her knees trembling, watching her uncle climbing down, then the children waving cheerfully, then her aunt and then finally him. Darcy.
He held his hat in his hand while the wind and the snow moistened his hair and his face.
He followed the others to the house, glancing around.
He finally entered, disappearing from Elizabeth's sight and she panicked as though he was gone again.
And that instant, out of that silly fear, she understood that she could not lose him.
She hurried out of the library, oblivious to her father calling her.
In the hall, there was complete chaos, with greetings and shouting and laughing.
His eyes met hers, and he stepped forward until he was only inches away. The melted snow fell in drops from his hair and he wiped his face before addressing her. “Miss Bennet. I am happy to see you again.”
She attempted to smile and began to respond properly.
She wished to welcome him, to tell him that she was happy to see him too.
Instead, she stretched out her hand to him and he took it after removing his gloves.
His hands were cold, but his fingers were strong and tender.
A special sort of warmth flowed from their joined hands down inside her body.
She heard herself whispering, “It is not gratitude.”
Darcy stared at her, bewildered, dumbfounded. He said nothing but his expression begged to hear it again. She repeated, “It is not gratitude.”
At that moment Georgiana threw herself into her brother’s arms, the others surrounded him and any moment of privacy was gone for the rest of the day.
The confession released a wave of joy unknown to her before, so strong that she could barely keep it inside. She felt blissfully content but could recognise his torment. She tried to speak to him but it seemed an impossible task, so she only smiled several times, reassuringly.
During dinner, the table, too small for such a large gathering, forbade any intimate conversation.
Eventually, he stole a moment after dinner and approached her, whispering, “Are you certain? Absolutely certain?”
She had no time to reply, as Bingley asked him something and he was forced to respond.
When the party came to an end, the Bingleys, the Darcys, Elizabeth and Cece returned to Netherfield. The storm had grown and the wind blew angrily, while the snow never ceased.
They entered the house in a hurry, each retiring to their rooms as it was very late already. Thoughtful, happy but restless, torn between tears and laughter, Elizabeth was prepared to wait for the next day. There was only one more night.
She changed, put on her robe, released her hair, then tied it with a ribbon, then released it again.
She watched the blizzard outside and the fire in the hearth and reflected on what a storm must have been in his soul. She knew her mind, but he was still wondering and had to suffer until morning. There was only one more night—one night too many.
With little consideration of her scandalous gesture, she left the room. After two weeks, she was familiar with Netherfield’s every corner. With much care, she tiptoed along the hall, stopped in front of the door and after a brief hesitation, knocked.
The door opened immediately like he was waiting. He invited her in, his eyes lingering on her—a vision in a silky, white gown, so different from her mourning clothes, and her hair falling on her shoulders.
He was wearing a thin, unbuttoned shirt that revealed his neck and torso, and trousers.
With their gazes locked, Elizabeth began.
“In vain have struggled, it would not do. I had to come and answer your question without delay. I am certain it cannot be just gratitude and friendship, as I have felt them before and they were different,” she murmured.
“How could it be just gratitude when I miss you every moment you are away and when my knees are weak and my heartbeat rapid whenever I see you? When food, sleep, even the love of my family was incomplete until you arrived?”
Her face was smiling, her tearful eyes sparkling, her red lips moved shyly. One of his hands took hers and lifted them to his chest while the other arm embraced her. They were so close that each other’s scent made them both dizzy.
“You are right, it cannot be gratitude, or friendship only,” he replied hoarsely.
“I might know more than you about business, yet I have no certain answer now. Such sensations as you described have tortured me for a year now, but never before I met you. Last April, I believed it was admiration and ardent love that induced me to propose to you. But now, how can I name my feelings when they are so much more powerful, so much deeper?”
“Could it be anything more than ardent love and admiration?” she whispered.
“Passion, ardour, devotion, yearning, fondness, admiration, care—and much more, all together. And much more...”
They looked at each other in the darkness, lit only by the fire and two lonely candles. Outside, the blizzard shook the windows. Her face was lifted to him and his lowered towards her. Their lips almost touched, and the small distance between them became torturous.
“Mr. Darcy?”
“Yes, Miss Bennet?”
“I believe it is your turn now, sir.”
“My turn?” he seemed lost and she released one of her hands to touch his face. He turned his head and his lips pressed into her palm.
“My turn...” he repeated. “Do I dare ask? Is it not too soon? Should we not wait longer?”
“If you delay the question too long, it might become useless, Mr. Darcy,” she said, then daringly rose onto her toes and brushed her lips timidly over the corner of his mouth.
He remained still for a moment then his lips tasted hers. Shyly, gently, tenderly. She leaned against him and her hands encircled his neck, while his arms embraced her. There was no distance between their lips, their bodies, their hearts.
“I am grateful to you,” he said breathlessly when they finally broke the kiss.
“Grateful that you did not let me wait one more night. That you know my heart enough to imagine that even a few hours would mean more angst. But I still need to ask, I still long to hear your answer. Miss Bennet, would you...”
“Yes,” she replied hastily, her lips pressing against his again.
The storm had ended by the time Elizabeth returned to her room. Nothing more than kisses and tender embraces had happened but they simply could not separate until dawn. Suddenly, one more sleepless night seemed easy to bear.
∞∞∞
Considering the peculiar circumstances of Elizabeth’s mourning, no announcement was made.
The happy news of their understanding was most discreetly shared with the Bingleys, Georgiana and Cece, as well as Mr. Bennet and the Gardiners.
All of them were less surprised than Elizabeth and Darcy expected.
Christmas passed most happily, then New Year came. At the beginning of January, a day before they were ready to return to town. Elizabeth invited her father and Darcy to the library. She was carrying a package and both men looked at her, puzzled.
She opened it and revealed a heavy morning gown, a hat and a veil, all black, that Darcy recognised as being those she wore on the day of Lord Barrington's funeral. The day when she had found that she had become the mistress of all.
With slow movements, she took the clothes and threw them on the fire, under the affectionate gaze of the two most beloved men in her life.