Chapter Nineteen
Darcy
T here had been but a few occasions in his life when Fitzwilliam Darcy had lost his composure. The first had been on the day of his father’s death. The second when he had rescued Georgiana from the clutches of Wickham. The third had been on the carriage ride from his wedding back to Pemberley.
Today would be the fourth.
Of course, only Elizabeth Darcy could compel him to act in such an ungentlemanly manner, not once but twice. For months, he had denied his feelings, shoving them aside because of his mistaken belief that she was beneath him. In truth, however, he had known for some time that he was falling in love with her, but he had stubbornly refused to admit it, to himself or to anyone else. His mind had been so preoccupied with uncovering the cause of the scandal, so bent on clearing both his name and Elizabeth’s, that he had managed to keep his feelings at bay.
At first, he had thought his urgency arose from the stain on their reputations—but now he could no longer deny the truth. It was love that had driven him all along.
He had kissed her.
He held the kiss for a moment, but then, as if in sudden awareness of what he had done, he pulled away, his heart pounding in his chest. He looked down at her, expecting to see the same surprise and confusion mirrored in her features. Her cheeks were flushed, her eyes wide with astonishment, and once again, he caught the delicate fragrance of rose perfume—the very scent that had become his favourite since she had begun wearing it.
She was a vision of beauty, of grace, and, despite his earlier misgivings about her family and the environment in which she had been raised, she was perfection.
A mix of affection, love, and fear stirred within him, challenging his resolve. Could he truly admit that all his struggles to suppress these feelings had been in vain? Yet, at the same time, he feared that she might not share his sentiments, that this impulsive gesture might irreparably harm their marriage.
In truth, he was unsure how to proceed. He must have appeared somewhat gormless, staring at her and fumbling for words that never seemed to come. He didn’t know her feelings, and he dared not speak his own, not yet.
He glanced nervously at the door of his study.
“I… I believe it would be best for me to take my leave now,” he said, turning away. He knew he shouldn’t run, but it was a habit he had long cultivated, especially when matters of Elizabeth’s heart were involved. It was cowardice, he knew, and yet, he could not seem to stop himself.
“Please don’t go,” Elizabeth said, her hand reaching out to grasp his arm, stopping him in his tracks. She looked up at him with concern, yet her cheeks betrayed the warmth that had crept across them. He gazed down at her in surprise, he had expected her to wish for distance, to retreat from him after his hasty actions—but no, she clearly did not desire that.
“Elizabeth, please, do not—” He began, his voice wavering. The urge to flee was overpowering, yet he knew she would not allow him to run away this time.
“Mr Darcy, please,” she interrupted, her grip on his arm tightening slightly. “I cannot bear the thought of you distancing yourself from me after that kiss. I seek no promises nor assurances, but I would prefer your company a little while longer.”
Elizabeth’s quiet strength was something he had long admired, and seeing her so resolute in her request steadied his nerves. He glanced from her face to the door, and, after a brief moment’s hesitation, he took a half-step back towards her.
“I… I apologise,” he said softly. “I lost myself. I do not know what came over me.” He spoke truthfully, though not entirely—he knew exactly what had overtaken him, yet it was more difficult to admit it aloud.
“I do not care what came over you,” she replied firmly. “Whether it was madness or confusion, I cannot allow us to leave this room without discussing it, lest we revert to squabbles and unspoken words.”
Her tone was soft but determined, and it was clear that she did not share his sense of embarrassment. She stood before him, tall and resolute, her eyes fixed upon his, and he could not help but relax. She had a hold on his heart that he had long struggled to understand, and with her encouragement, he knew he could not run from the situation.
“I can agree to that, Elizabeth,” he said, his voice softening as he stepped back to allow her to sit, before he returned to his desk.
“Are you feeling quite well?” she asked gently, her gaze full of concern for him. He sighed and ran a hand down his face.
“In truth, Elizabeth, I do not know. I fear our marriage may yet deteriorate because of my own actions, but…” His voice trailed off as he looked at her, unsure how to proceed with his thoughts while she watched him with such care.
She reached across the desk, placing her hand on top of his, and he resisted the urge to pull it away. Her touch was warm, and he did not wish to hurt her.
“You need not fear,” she said softly. “But you must speak of it, or else we shall remain in this state of uncertainty.”
He gave a small sigh. “But each time I lower my guard with you, I find myself acting in a manner unbefitting a gentleman. I fear this will make civility difficult between us.”
Elizabeth’s eyes softened. “And yet, each time we speak, we find a way to continue civilly. And now…” She paused, her fingers tracing the brooch he had given her, “this time, I believe we must move beyond civility.”
A cold fear gripped Darcy’s chest at the thought that perhaps she had already decided to distance herself from him, but her next words calmed his heart.
“If you feel so strongly about me to have kissed me,” she continued, her tone light, “then I believe civility is not enough anymore.”
Darcy blinked, relief washing over him. “You retain such cheer despite everything,” he remarked with a slight smile. “Are you not displeased with me?”
“I am not displeased with the kiss,” she said, her words sending warmth to his chest. “What vexes me, however, is that you thought to leave immediately after.”
“I apologise again. It was neither decent nor kind of me, and it is a habit I must break,” he said, his smile turning rueful.
Elizabeth chuckled softly. “It is,” she agreed. “But that can come with time.”
“Indeed,” Darcy replied. “So… what shall we make of our relationship now that this has occurred?”
Elizabeth sighed, withdrawing her hand from his and leaning back in her chair, her brow furrowing as she thought. “As I said, I shall not demand what you cannot give. If love and romance are not yet within your power to offer, I will not ask for them. But I do ask that we look beyond mere civility.”
Darcy nodded, relieved. He had feared she would ask too much of him, too soon, but her words reassured him that she understood his hesitations. Though his feelings for her had blossomed, they had yet to take full form. He could not, in good conscience, offer her what he did not yet fully understand himself.
“I am grateful that you do not ask me to rush into something I am not yet prepared for,” he said sincerely. “And I am grateful that you have never urged me to give more than I am able.”
“It is the least I could do for you,” she replied softly. “You have done much for me that I do not think you realise, and I cannot bear the thought of pushing you into something uncomfortable.”
“You need not praise me when I am the one who has caused the most turmoil,” Darcy murmured.
“Simply acknowledging your faults is praise enough,” she answered, smiling. “That is more than many men in your position could say.”
Darcy chuckled softly, a grateful warmth filling him. “Dear Lizzy, you hold me in high regard,” he said, his voice thick with emotion. “I will endeavour to be more than civil, as long as I can expect the same from you.”
“Of course,” she agreed with a smile. “We will both do our best to make this marriage work, beyond mere civility.”
Darcy nodded, and in that moment, something shifted within him—he knew he would give her more, when he could. And then, with a sudden smile, Elizabeth added, “And I must say, it is not lost on me that you called me Lizzy just now.”
Darcy blinked, surprised. “Do you mind?”
“Not at all. Only those closest to me may call me so, and I am pleased you have chosen to do so,” she replied.
“I am glad to hear it,” he said, his heart lighter. He gave a small bow, then stepped closer, his gaze soft. “And I will make an effort not to run from difficult conversations or emotions. You deserve more than that from me, as my wife.”
“Thank you,” Elizabeth said, her smile radiant.
“I… I will take my leave now,” she said, standing. Darcy stood as well, walking around the desk to take her hand.
“You are more gracious than I deserve,” he murmured. “May I make one last request before you go?”
Elizabeth looked up at him, her brow raised in curiosity. “And what request would that be?”
Darcy smiled, stepping closer until their foreheads nearly touched. He looked down into her eyes, so full of warmth and affection.
“May I kiss you again?” he asked softly, as though his voice alone could shatter the delicate spell between them.
Elizabeth blushed, her lips curving into a tender smile. “You may.”
And, with that, Darcy leaned down to kiss her again. The world outside his study ceased to exist, and for the first time in his life, Darcy knew that nothing would ever be the same again. Elizabeth had stolen his heart, and he would spend a lifetime cherishing it.
His Lizzy.