Chapter 19 The Yellow Sprigged Muslin #3
Darcy made his way back to Rosings. She never said she did not love me. That she feared the disparity between their families and how the ton would react to their marriage made him wonder how long she had been expecting his proposal.
Elizabeth Bennet was the woman he wanted to marry, and, regardless of anyone else’s opinion, he would marry her.
I love her too much to let her go. His aunt and uncle would be forced to embrace his wife, simply to show family unity.
She said she trusts me, so I must believe all will be well.
Darcy imagined being married to Elizabeth and realised he still grinned as he entered his aunt’s drawing room.
Lady Catherine shrieked, “Darcy! Where have you been?”
If she only knew.
“Richard has been recounting the ridiculous behaviour of the recruits he is training.”
Elizabeth hurried up the stairs to be alone; her nerves settled in the quiet of her chambers.
She picked up the book she had left beside the bed, but try as she might, she was unable to concentrate on the words before her.
Her thoughts were consumed by what had just transpired in Charlotte’s sitting room.
He is so tall, so handsome, and more intelligent than my father.
How is it that Mr Darcy has come to propose to me?
Have I misjudged the sincerity of his affection?
Why am I so afraid to admit how much I care for him?
I have come to admire him these past weeks in Hunsford, but is it enough?
Is my hesitation to acknowledge my true emotions due to my initially injured pride or solely fear for my future?
Finally, Elizabeth found sleep, but sometime in the middle of the night, she sat bolt upright. I love him, I do, but I am so afraid we will not be happy together. It would be better for him if he married a woman with a large dowry and the right connexions.
Shortly after the sun rose, Elizabeth donned her yellow sprigged muslin and hurried to meet Mr Darcy. She found him leaning against a tall oak tree, fidgeting with his gloves. “Good morning, sir.” She smiled
“And a very good morning to you. Is there something you wish to tell me?”
Elizabeth gazed into his eyes and saw only tenderness. “I have no idea what you mean.” She tapped her finger on her chin playfully.
“Do you have an answer to the question I asked you last night?”
She looked off into the distance before replying. “Not yet—it is an important decision that will affect the rest of our lives.”
“May I ask why you are hesitating?
She paused before responding. “I am afraid that marrying you would lead to your discontent.”
“Discontent? Why?”
“As soon as you realise I have failed to live up to the expectations you have for your wife and mistress of your homes, you will be miserable. I fear your disdain for me would lead me to overwhelming despair. I spoke last night of my parents’ unequal marriage and I will not do something that might make us both terribly unhappy. ”
He tucked her hand in his arm as they began to walk.
“I could dismiss your fears and say that your doubts are unfounded, but I understand your hesitancy and would not wish you to accept me if you were not certain. I assure you I have never had a moment’s interest in any of those so-called proficient young women of the ton. ”
They had taken but a few steps when Elizabeth’s boot slipped on a patch of mud. Darcy caught her before she could fall, but lost his own balance in the action, sending them both spinning—until they collapsed to the ground in laughter.
“Oh, no. My pretty yellow muslin!”
Darcy wiped a spot of dirt from her cheek, grinning, as he helped her gain her feet.
“I must make sure to change before Mr Collins sees me. He already believes I am positively medieval,” she said, wiping her grimy hands on her already soiled skirts as the usually fastidious Mr Darcy brushed the dirt from his own breeches.
“I suppose we should not tell anyone how we came to be in this situation.”
“When you do accept me, I pray you will not wish for a long engagement,” he said as they turned back to the parsonage.
She quirked her eyebrow. “Are you not assuming too much, sir?”
“I am hopeful—allow me to reassure you that I foresee nothing but a beautiful life for us as man and wife. Once we are betrothed, do you wish to wait to marry?”
“Indeed not—if we are to be wed, I will allow my mother just enough time to plan a celebratory breakfast worthy of the master of Pemberley!”
“And its future mistress.”
“Well, we shall have to see about that.”
He raised her hand to his lips. “I shall not rush you, but pray remember how ardently I love you.”
She smiled to herself as she walked away.
Once she had returned to the parsonage, Elizabeth took the back stairs to her chambers.
What am I waiting for? He assures me of his love and I know I love him.
Shall I accept him tomorrow? A fresh bowl of water sat on the washstand, and she used it to clean her hands.
She knelt before her trunk, looking for a clean pair of stockings, when she came across a book entitled Runaway by Jeff Bigler.
She opened it to the first page and laughed aloud.
It is a truth universally acknowledged that some couples go to great lengths to avoid planning a wedding.