15. Saint James’s Park, London—Monday, 18 December 1809
Darcy was never happier than when he was walking next to Elizabeth.
They had visited so many of London’s varied natural places, pockets of green, large and small, in which they could enjoy trees and shrubbery, birds and each other; that day, he had invited her to Saint James’s Park, but he could not find a chaperone.
Mr Gardiner had written a note back saying that he would send his housekeeper, one of his most trusted male servants from his import company, and Elizabeth to the park for two hours. Standing by his own carriage, Darcy was currently waiting for the Gardiner coach.
He was relieved that Mr Gardiner had worked out a way Elizabeth and he could visit the park; actually, he was impressed by almost everything about both Mr and Mrs Gardiner.
Still, they would not always be able to help him with his need for a respectable chaperone.
Darcy told himself that he would find a service by which he could hire a reputable chaperone when needed.
He had heard of such services, but he knew no name or direction, so it might take time to discover them.
Or, Darcy thought, he could just marry Elizabeth more quickly than planned—or at least, attempt to do so. The wedding would require at least two approvals: from Elizabeth herself, and from her father, or perhaps her uncle on his behalf.
Marrying sooner rather than later actually sounded like an excellent plan, and Elizabeth did seem to favour his suit…
but he hated to hurry the process unless there was a better reason than “I cannot find a chaperone for today’s outing.
” A hurried courtship was likely to cause gossip, especially when one of Britain’s “most eligible” bachelors was concerned.
Darcy rolled his eyes at himself for thinking of the label he had so reluctantly worn for the past four years.
Feeling a bit impatient, he paced back and forth.
When he heard the clatter of approaching wheels, he adopted his stance next to the carriage again.
He was disappointed to see that it was not Elizabeth’s…
however, just a few moments after feeling the frustration of waiting for the better part of his party, he saw another coach—and her hand waving to him.
Unlike their other destinations, Saint James’s Park was very formal, with rigid geometric designs of planting in the French style. There was a long, rectangular canal—with mute swans swimming, just as they had experienced two days before—symmetrical rows of trees, and geometrical paths.
The two servants bowed to Darcy and indicated that they would wait with the carriage. Darcy promised to have Miss Bennet back in good time, and then he turned to Elizabeth and, with a big smile, he offered his arm.
“I am very happy you could come today,” he said. “I was wondering if you have ever seen pelicans before.”
“I definitely have not. I have read that they eat fish, which explains why the meadows and forests and fields of Hertfordshire were not overrun by fish-eating birds with gigantic beaks.”
“Well, there have been pelicans here in this park for more than a century—and the royal bird keepers have been supplying them with raw fish. However, the pelicans sometimes catch their own dinners, eating creatures that live in, near, or on the pond, including pigeons or even waterfowl.”
Elizabeth turned to him with a look of horrified interest in her eyes. “So…we might see pelicans…and we might even see a pelican eating a duck?”
“We might.”
Only the first supposition panned out, but Elizabeth seemed immensely satisfied with the sight of a group of pelicans arriving and huddling together on the sun-warmed rocks near the canal. They began to use their long bills to clean and smooth their feathers.
After their bird-watching successes, Darcy led Elizabeth to the western side of the park.
There, cows roamed, nibbling on hay that had been spread over the brown grass.
Eight girls outfitted with buckets waited for orders, and Darcy surprised Elizabeth by whisking a pewter cup out of one of the pockets of his great coat.
“A cup of milk, please,” he ordered from one of the milkmaids.
“Yes, sir,” she said with a smile.
Darcy watched Elizabeth’s eyes widen as the milkmaid positioned Darcy’s cup under one of the nearby cow’s udders and pulled a frothy stream of warm milk directly into the cup.
He paid—or, rather, overpaid—for the milk and handed the cup to Elizabeth.
She drank some, then shared the cup with him, and they enjoyed a minute of passing the cup back and forth, sharing the fresh, rapidly-cooling milk.
“They also serve a syllabub, but—”
Elizabeth laughed and shook her head. “Too early for such, Mr Darcy.” Their milk finished, Darcy shook the cup and restored it to his pocket before checking the time and announcing that they should make their way back to the Gardiner carriage.
As they walked, Elizabeth said, “Mr Darcy—”
He interrupted, saying, “Nobody can hear you; you should use my Christian name.”
She smiled up at him but playfully adopted a stern voice as she said, “We are hardly alone, sir!”
Then her smile was replaced with a solemn expression, and Darcy knew better than to interrupt again.
“I have very much enjoyed all of our outings, but in the upcoming days, starting tomorrow, I will be staying home. If you wish to see me, of course, you may come to the house to call. The reason is…well, my aunt is still a week away from the start of her confinement, but she believes that the signs indicate…. She thinks the babe will come early. I have helped her with preparations, but now I need to help her by staying home.”
“Ah, thank you for telling me. The lecture tomorrow night?”
“I regret to say that neither my uncle nor myself feel capable of going. But you may call any day you wish, and I will report how things are going whenever I can.”
“Of course.” Having reached the carriage, Darcy kissed Elizabeth’s hand and helped her mount the step into the carriage, and he watched her ride off.
“Any day you wish” happened to be every day.
Darcy dressed for a formal call and rode to Gracechurch Street every day for three days.
The first two days, he was shown into the parlour, and Elizabeth soon joined him.
The reports were blessedly uninteresting: “My aunt continues to feel that the time is almost upon her, and she remains well.”
The two spoke about plays and books, music and memories. It did not seem the right time to propose, and they did not speak much about the future.
The afternoon following the lecture, Darcy told Elizabeth everything he could about it, and she listened with great attention and intelligent questions.
On the third day he called, he was told that Miss Bennet was busy.
There was enough tension in the housekeeper’s stance and a quality of sound in the house that let him know that Mrs Gardiner had been correct: the baby was indeed coming early.
He asked in a low voice, “I hope that everything is proceeding well. I beg you to inform me if there is any way in which I could help.”
“There is no need, sir, but thank you. Perhaps you might call again tomorrow?”
“Of course.”
The next day, he arrived at the very earliest minute of a polite call, and soon after he took a seat in the parlour, a radiant Elizabeth swept into the room.
“He is here! Both mom and baby are healthy, and his name is Thomas Andrew, and he is perfect!”
Darcy had risen as soon as she entered, and he had taken her hands because the sheer amount of emotion Elizabeth was able to share made the moment dramatic—in the happiest possible sense.
Somehow, Darcy found himself saying, “That is wonderful news! Will you marry me, Elizabeth?”
The maid who had taken a seat in the far corner gasped, and Darcy was as startled as she.
It seemed so inappropriate, to barge into Elizabeth’s happy news with something that should have had its own, especially set-aside time.
He blushed, feeling ridiculous, indecorous—but then he realised that Elizabeth was not upset or even much surprised.
She squeezed both of his hands and said, “Yes, I will. I would love to marry you.”
And then—Darcy felt even greater heat in his cheeks, and elsewhere, and he shot the maid a look that resulted in her abandoning the room.
Darcy tugged on Elizabeth’s hands so that she was close enough to embrace.
He lowered his head, ready to retreat if she wished, but she just smiled a bit and began to close her eyes…
The kiss started out very gentle. Just a brush of his lips against hers. But then he raised up one of his hands to cup her face, and turned her just so, and he kissed her again, more insistently. Her breath caught, but her welcoming response was unmistakable.
Elizabeth’s abandoned hand was now flat on his chest, and he somehow felt the sear from the contact through coat, waistcoat, and shirt.
He let go of her other hand and brought up his to tenderly hold her jaw, his fingers digging into her hair—which he had longed to touch the first day he had laid eyes upon her.
Her newly freed hand had stolen around to his back, and she pulled him even closer.
Darcy kissed her over and over, each kiss sealing a promise.
He would always treasure her laughter. His mouth moved the tiniest measure to the right for another kiss: he would always support her interests.
Aiming a kiss squarely on her lower lip, which he suckled briefly: he would protect her and their children at all times, in all ways.
Touching his tongue briefly to hers: he would consider her happiness above his own.
There were so many kisses and so many silent promises, Darcy realised that he had called forth too prominent a demonstration of his ardent love. He eased his body away from Elizabeth’s, gave her a series of chaste pecks along her jaw, and then pulled more firmly away.
He studied Elizabeth’s face as she slowly opened her eyes.
Her lips looked rosy and a bit swollen, but the biggest change in her was that her eyes were dreamy and perhaps even dizzied rather than sparkling and dancing.
She said, “I had no idea that kissing could be…so wonderful. How could it be so wonderful?”
Darcy was too busy to respond—too busy thinking of repugnant things, ensuring that he would be able to present a composed-looking exterior.
Elizabeth narrowed her eyes in suspicion. “You have done this before! How many women have you kissed before me?”
Repugnant things were swiftly banished from his mind as Darcy startled at Elizabeth’s words. “None!” he answered. You are the only woman I have ever loved, and you are the only one I have ever kissed.”
“Oh. Good. I…you seemed to be quite adept, sir.”
Darcy’s cheeks heated again, and he feared he would spend the rest of his life the colour of a radish, but he addressed Elizabeth honestly.
“I have read a book—one of those books that people keep in a locked drawer rather than on a bookshelf. It had several rather detailed descriptions of kisses. And on my eighteenth birthday my father took me to a…well, to a very high-class brothel, is what it was. He said I had to know what goes where, since my eventual bride would not. But I did not kiss the…courtesan…. And I never went back. It seemed…honestly, it was more embarrassing than pleasurable, and I was very busy. At first I was busy with my classes at Cambridge, and then my father got sick, and then he died.”
Elizabeth looked searchingly into his eyes as she offered her condolences, as she had during other conversations.
He nodded and they silently embraced.
She finally responded to his words, speaking softly: “I have never read one of those books, and naturally I have never been even close to a brothel, but I did grow up on a farm, and I am pretty certain I know what goes where.”
It was a sure thing, now: he would spend the rest of his life in a thoroughly reddened state. Darcy said, “I understand the farm reference, but there are other configurations that lead to pleasure. According to the book I read, at least. Quite a few others, actually.”
“Oh, my!” Elizabeth covered her face with both hands, and as Darcy saw her shoulders shake, he became horrified. He must have frightened her, or disgusted her, or both—but was she truly crying?
“Elizabeth, I—”
He had no idea what to say, but she dropped her hands, and he saw that she had been laughing rather than crying. “I apologise for my laughter, but I felt so very mortified, and you looked just as discomfited.”
“But you will still marry me, even though…the courtesan and the book?”
“Of course. Thank you for your honesty, and I apologise again for getting a case of the giggles. Better now, perhaps, than on our wedding night.”
Darcy found himself once again concocting images of repugnant things. He shook his head at her and said, “I am going to be discomfited for the rest of my life, I fear.”
“I am confident,” Elizabeth said with a little nod, “that we will become easier with each other on these sorts of topics. Do not worry, William, you will stop blushing someday.”
Hearing her finally call him by his Christian name felt overwhelming, and Darcy sank down on the nearest chair. “Oh, what you do to me….” he murmured, realising that there were only so many repugnant things in the world.