Chapter 40
Chapter Forty
Darcy had been encouraged by Mrs Bennet to pick blossoms, and while they were lovely, he felt awkward holding them. What was he to do with his hands without crushing the flowers or setting them down, thereby insulting the lady of the house?
Miraculously, his sister approached, and he was able to hand her one of the flowers.
Miss Elizabeth trailed her by a step, and when he saw her, noting something new in her expression, he held one out to her.
Time seemed to still as they regarded one another.
He was certain she would walk away, or worse, take the blossom, drop it, and crush it with her heel.
Instead, she reached for it, their fingers touching for just a moment, but it was enough to send a chill through him.
“Thank you, Mr Darcy,” she said. Her face appeared full of questions, but before she could ask any, Mrs Bennet announced in a grating voice that it was time for Mr Bennet’s toast, and called for all in the garden to return inside.
While the others began to walk, Miss Elizabeth said, “Mr Darcy, might you linger a moment?”
Darcy agreed too quickly, though she did not appear to be alarmed by his hasty reply. Georgiana looked over her shoulder, and, a smile playing at her lips, continued on.
Once the group had disappeared into the house, Elizabeth turned to him. As she did, she tucked the flower he had just given her behind her ear, a gesture so charming it nearly undid him. He fought every urge to launch himself at her, to wrap his arms around her, and kiss her until the sun set.
“Mr Darcy, your sister explained the reasons for your quick departure the night of Mr Collins’s death.”
An unpleasant shock ran through him.
“I shall not tell anyone what she told me, but I felt—I needed you know that I understand now. There is nothing I would not do for my sisters, and should something grave befall one of them, I would ignore all else to reach or rescue them. I understand why you did not tarry or wish to explain yourself.”
“Then you forgive me?”
When she nodded, he let out a breath. One he felt he had been holding for months.
“I also feel compelled to tell you, Mr Darcy, that Mrs Jenkinson knew of our…intimacies at Rosings. She is the one who told your aunt. The two of them were insistent that you were intended for Miss de Bourgh and saw me as an impediment to that union.”
Darcy’s mind swam. Mrs Jenkinson. “I shall write to my cousin to disabuse her of this falsehood. How could she be so na?ve—”
“Hopeful,” put in Elizabeth. As ever, she saw more good in people than he could manage.
He pressed his lips together for a moment, then acquiesced. “Hopeful. That is all well and good, but Mrs Jenkinson must be dismissed.”
“Have you that power in another’s household?”
“I…I shall, at the very least, allow my knowledge of the matter and my bottomless anger be known to both. Can no one be trusted?” He felt his temper rising.
“George Wickham. My sister’s wretched chaperone, Mrs Younge.
Associates of my parents and various relatives scheming, desiring bits of our fortune.
Now Mrs Jenkinson. This is why I trust no one. ”
“That seems very harsh.”
“I have seen the world.”
She paused. “Is that not from Candide?”
This broke him from his fury. “You read it?”
“Of course. And did not my father loan you his copy?”
He nodded, filled with joy at her recalling details from this literary masterpiece, but then his mood darkened. “There are few people whom I really love, and still fewer of whom I think well. The more I see of the world, the more am I dissatisfied with it.”
“Mr Darcy,” she said, moving half a step closer, “I understand your view of the world being sullied by negative interactions, but does it not occur to you that there is more of the world that is good and kind and beautiful?” She took the blossom from behind her ear and, to his astonishment, tucked it in the top buttonhole of his coat.
She patted the lapel, and heat ran through his entire body.
He looked down, admiring how the orange petals stood out boldly against the dark blue superfine wool, and when their eyes met, her smile dazzled him even more.
“Miss Elizabeth,” he began, but his voice caught. He cleared his throat and fought back tears—tears of joy and tears of fear, for she might reject him once again. “You are all that is good and kind and beautiful in this world.”
She froze.
But she did not run away.
So he continued. “When I am with you, I feel lighter. I am hopeful and I feel…I feel…” He looked into her warm eyes and finally had the courage to say, “At peace.”
She lifted a hand and pressed her fingers to her lips. Lips he wanted to kiss, but he could not do so with their friends and family not fifty paces away.
Past the lump in his throat, he pushed out the words, “Might I tell you another secret?”
She nodded, taking his hand, which thrilled him.
“I…” His voice was ragged, so overcome was he by her forgiveness and her touch.
“I would wish for you to know that I was the one who secured the funds for Mrs Collins. Her husband had paltry savings, and, feeling responsible for his— I know he stepped into the road, but I, well—as I have the means to do so, I arranged for a sum to be provided under the condition that she believe it was Mr Collins’s money.
I beg you to keep this secret, as you are keeping Georgiana’s.
It is a lot to ask, but I fear your sister might refuse my assistance, and even if she would accept it, I prefer she think well of her husband and not see her wellbeing as linked to me. ”
Elizabeth’s eyes were wide, and her lips, her perfect lips, were parted and moving slightly, as if forming more questions.
“Might I beg you to keep my confidences?” he asked.
She nodded, still speechless, which was remarkable for one such as her. He loved her words and her questions, loved her voice and her passion, so he added, “Tell me what you think.”
“I think…” She blinked rapidly. “I think you are wonderful!” She brought her hands to her cheeks. “I think you are kind and generous and thoughtful, and I feel ashamed that I judged you harshly.”
“No.” He took her hands from her face and held them. “You had every right to believe ill of me.” Then he brought her hands to his lips and kissed them, first the knuckles on her right hand, then her left.
She sighed.
“Please, Miss Elizabeth, do me the great honour of becoming my wife.”
She stood frozen, and he feared she would refuse him.
Instead, she squeezed his hands and nodded ever so slightly.
“Is that…an affirmation?”
She nodded again, more strongly this time.
“Yes, Mr Darcy. Yes!” Relief smoothed the lines of worry from her face, and she stepped to him.
He could nearly taste her on his lips when she leapt back.
He feared she had already changed her mind, but she whispered, “It is my sister’s day.
And Mr Bingley’s. We ought—” She caught her breath.
“Mama would want to make a fuss at this wedding and then announce it to the world.”
“Then let us keep it to ourselves for a while more.”
They laughed knowingly.
Then Miss Elizabeth’s eyes turned up to the second-floor windows. He knew she was thinking of Mrs Collins, but she straightened her spine, smiled at him, and said, “We ought to return to the gathering.”
She began to walk ahead. He resisted the urge to snatch her hand, spin her around, and kiss her, but he did say in as low a voice as he could manage as he wrestled with his desire, “Miss Elizabeth.” She faced him, her eyes dancing with delight, and he lost his voice entirely.
“Yes, Mr Darcy?”
“I…Shall I call on your father tomorrow?”
She looked over her shoulder at the house and then back at him. “The hours will crawl until he has agreed, but yes.” Then she scampered away and disappeared into the crowd.