Chapter 2 #2
Mr Darcy dismounted quickly, tying the reins to a low branch before striding towards her.
When he stood only a few feet away, he blurted, “Did you get my gift?” He paused, shook his head, and added with a trace of awkwardness, “the book,” as though she might otherwise mistake him for one of countless admirers showering her with tokens.
Elizabeth’s breath caught, and for an instant she could only stare at him.
Her heart pounded so fiercely she feared he must hear it, yet even as joy rose in her, doubt whispered cruelly: surely he did not mean what she longed to believe.
Could it be possible that this man—this dear man—had thought of her, remembered her, sought her out?
The fragile hope was almost more than she dared allow herself, yet it glowed within her all the same.
At last, unable to contain it, she smiled—the first true smile to cross her face since returning to Hertfordshire.
“I did,” she said softly.
“And did you read the sonnet? It did not starve you?” he asked, with such earnestness that she laughed aloud, both of them recalling the conversation at Netherfield so long ago. The sound drew a smile from him in turn, and for a moment their eyes held.
“I did read the sonnet,” she confessed, glancing down briefly. “Though I must admit, I was uncertain of its meaning—in this particular instance.”
“When I left you at the inn in Lambton,” Darcy said, his voice low but steady, “I was torn. I did not wish to leave you—though your aunt and uncle were with you—yet I feared my presence might cause you greater distress. So I left, and on the way back to Pemberley, I planned. Fortunate it was that my horse knew the road, for I do not believe I guided him at all. My mind was elsewhere—on you, and what must be done.”
Elizabeth’s breath caught, but she nodded, urging him silently to go on.
“As soon as I arrived at Pemberley, I made arrangements to ride to London. I went first to Gracechurch Street, but your uncle was from home. Your aunt received me and mentioned your birthday.”
His expression softened, almost shy. “When I passed a bookshop near your uncle’s house, I saw The Lady of the Lake in the window and thought of you.
I stepped inside to purchase it, and before the bookseller could wrap it, I spied another volume—Shakespeare’s sonnets.
When I opened it, it fell at once to the very sonnet I sent you.
It seemed fate had placed it in my hands.
Through that book and those words, I wished to assure you—of my constancy, of my devotion, and of my resolve to set matters right.
And one day—if you would allow it—that I would return for you. ”
He paused for a moment before continuing.
“I had not meant to encounter you today, but I rode all this way in the scant hope of being nearer to you if only for a short time. Your sister marries early next week, and until then, there was little else to be done.” He stopped abruptly, as though afraid he had revealed too much.
Elizabeth’s heart fluttered at his words. Nearer to me? Could he truly have come for no other purpose? She dared not believe it, yet the hope pressed upon her with a force she could scarcely resist.
“It was you, then, who found Lydia,” she said softly. “It was not my uncle at all.”
“It was my fault,” Darcy replied at once.
“I never should have allowed Wickham to go unchecked for so long. I even considered having him sent to debtor’s prison, but that would not have helped your family.
Instead, my cousin, Colonel Fitzwilliam, assisted me in securing him a commission in another regiment.
Colonel Forster was displeased to have him back, but he agreed to help with the transfer.
His new colonel is a strict man—he will not allow Wickham to behave as he always has.
And I have made certain he will be closely watched.
Your sister will be under stricter oversight there as well.
They will be expected to live within their means and the local shopkeepers know better than to offer credit to officers and their wives there. ”
Elizabeth listened in silence, astonished by his candour, her chest tightening with mingled shame and gratitude. All this—he has done this for us. For Lydia, who has surely earned none of it. Could it be for me he has acted?
“And Miss Darcy? Where is she?” she asked, almost to steady herself. At the moment, she was unwilling to consider what his actions might mean.
“She remains at Pemberley,” Darcy admitted.
“I would not bring her to London until I am certain Wickham is married and gone. I do not believe he would dare harm her now, but I could not bear to have her in the same vicinity. Bingley understood my need to depart in haste; he was to take his sisters to Scarborough, and afterward he intends to join me in London. I was thinking…” His voice faltered, and Elizabeth could not remember ever seeing him appear so uncertain.
Her heart ached at the sight of this normally confident man acting so uncertain. Oh, how changed he is! So earnest, so unguarded—so unlike the proud man I once mocked, she thought. “Yes?” she prompted gently, willing him to go on.
“If Bingley were to take up his residence at Netherfield again, would he be welcome?” Darcy asked. He hesitated, then added almost bashfully, “And if I were to accompany him—would I?”
Elizabeth’s lips curved into a smile, though her pulse thudded in her ears.
“I believe my family would be delighted to welcome both you and Mr Bingley—my sister most especially. Still, I think it best if you wait until a se’nnight after my sister’s wedding has taken place so you might avoid the couple who are to come here for a few days immediately following that event.
There is one matter, however—Miss Bingley implied to Jane last winter that Mr Bingley was courting your sister. ”
“She did what?” Darcy demanded, his voice so sharp that Elizabeth started.
He checked himself almost immediately. “Forgive me. But I am astonished she would say such a thing. My sister is only sixteen years old—she will not be out for at least another two or three years. She wishes to wait until she is eighteen, if not nineteen, before she enters society. I cannot fathom why Miss Bingley would presume to involve her in such a falsehood.”
Elizabeth inclined her head. “I never believed her, but I thought you ought to know. It will be easier for Jane if Miss Darcy does not visit until after she has had time with Mr Bingley. I believe she still cares for him, but how she will respond to his presence, I cannot say.”
Darcy nodded slowly. “But you did not answer my question—would I be welcome?”
Elizabeth drew a steadying breath. “You would be most welcome—by me,” she admitted softly.
“As for the rest of my family, I cannot be so certain. Jane is too kind to harbour ill thoughts of anyone. If Papa and Mama knew what you had done for Lydia, Mama, at least, would greet you with open arms—though I cannot imagine you would take much pleasure in her attentions. Papa… I cannot say. And you, I think, would never wish anyone’s gratitude in such a matter. ”
A wry smile touched Darcy’s lips. “You are not mistaken. When I spoke with your uncle, I made him swear never to reveal my part. I did not want your father—or you—to feel obliged towards me. Truly, I had not expected to encounter you today, but since I did, I find I could not keep this secret from you. Still, I could not bear for your opinion to be altered by any sense of obligation towards me.”
Elizabeth’s composure broke. “Oh, Mr Darcy,” she burst out, “I am affected by what you did for Lydia—but not with gratitude alone. It does not change what I feel for you—it only strengthens it.”
His eyes searched hers, and with sudden urgency he stepped forward, taking her hands into his. “And how do you feel for me, Elizabeth?” he asked, his voice low and fervent.
Elizabeth’s breath caught as his hands closed warmly over hers. For a heartbeat she could not speak; the weight of his question, the intensity in his eyes as they gazed at hers, left her trembling.
“I…” She faltered, lowering her gaze, her cheeks burning as she attempted to force herself to speak the words she knew would change her life. “I do not know if I can find the words,” she whispered after a moment.
Darcy’s grip tightened gently, urging her to meet his gaze. “Tell me only what is in your heart. Nothing more is required, my dearest Elizabeth.”
She lifted her eyes then, her voice unsteady but growing stronger with each word.
“For so many months, I was blind—wilfully blind. Last autumn, I had misjudged you cruelly, and I thought myself above such folly, believing that I was an excellent judge of character. But I was wrong. Your letter convinced me of my folly in that. And then, from the moment we met again at Pemberley, I began to see you as you truly are. Now…” She drew in a shaky breath.
“Now I know that you are the only man I have ever met who matches me in spirit and in understanding. The only man I could ever—” Her voice broke, but she forced herself onward, “—ever love.”
A silence fell between them, broken only by the rustle of leaves overhead. Elizabeth felt her heart hammer against her ribs as she waited for him to respond to her confession.
Darcy’s expression softened, his eyes alight with something that stole her breath away. “My darling Elizabeth,” he said quietly, reverently, as though her name itself was a vow.
The next moment, she felt herself pulled firmly into his embrace, and his lips were on hers, and she forgot everything else.