Chapter 43
Chapter Forty-Three
The next afternoon, Elizabeth waited outside her father’s study with bated breath, knowing Mr Darcy was within pleading his case.
Mercifully, Kitty and Lydia had gone with their Mama to Meryton, purportedly to shop for ribbons, but in reality to boast and receive congratulations on Jane’s wedding and compliments on Jane’s beauty, as well as the quality of the breakfast, either experienced in person or told by acquaintances.
The door cracked open, and Mr Darcy, wide-eyed, emerged. Elizabeth studied him, wondering at his expression. He said, “Your father wishes to speak with you before making a determination.” Though still unsmiling, he winked at her, and it was enough to assure her that all was not lost.
She hurried in to her father.
“Shut the door,” he said. He was sitting behind his desk, his chin resting upon tented fingertips.
Then he leapt up and walked about the room, looking grave and anxious.
“Lizzy,” said he, “what are you doing? Are you out of your senses to be accepting this man? When we were at Rosings, you mentioned having kissed him, but have generally acted as if you hated him.”
“No, Papa. Only after Mr Collins’s…accident. And the assembly just after we met.” She laughed. How earnestly did she wish that her former opinions had been shared more moderately, or not shared at all.
He stood before her, his face imbued with wonder.
“Lizzy, I have given him my consent. I should never dare refuse a man of his consequence anything. But Lizzy, I know you could not live happily with a man you did not respect or, even more importantly, adore. Dear child, spare me this uncertainty and potential grief by assuring me that you can both adore and respect him.”
“He is a wonderful man, Papa. Honest and true and loyal. He makes me laugh.”
“Laugh? Lizzy, I ask again if you have lost your senses.”
“You have seen him under dire circumstances.”
“We all know him to be a proud, unpleasant sort of man.”
“Pray, do not speak of him in such terms. There is so much goodness in him, Papa. He is funny and kind, and I…I love him, Papa. Truly, I have loved him for longer than I dare admit.”
He stared at her, and stared. In the silence, all she heard was her heart pounding in her ears.
“Well, my dear,” said he at last, “I have no more to say. If this be the case, he deserves you. I could not have parted with you, my Lizzy, to anyone less worthy.”
She rushed to her father and squeezed him tight. “Thank you, Papa!” She ran for the door, opened it, and launched herself at Mr Darcy.
He stumbled back, but wrapped his arms around her, kissing her temple over and over, and finally asked, “He said yes to you, as well?”
She nodded and stepped back. Happy tears were streaming down her face. “Mr Darcy—”
“Perhaps just ‘Darcy’ now.”
She wiped her face with the back of her hand. “Not Fitzwilliam?”
He twisted his mouth. “I prefer Darcy.”
“Darcy,” she said with a relieved sigh.
A clearing of the throat startled them both. Her father was in the doorway, brows raised, so she threaded her arm through Darcy’s, and steered him out of doors, calling, “Thank you, Papa!”
As they entered the garden, he asked, “And how shall I address you?”
“Elizabeth. Or Lizzy.”
“Not Eliza?”
“That is just what Charlotte calls me. I cannot even remember how it began.”
“Beth?”
She squished up her face. “You may find a term of endearment all your own.”
“My wife.”
She covered her face, unable to believe she was awake and this was to be true.
He stopped walking, peeled her hands away and kissed one cheek, then the other. “When it comes to pass, I shall call you ‘wife’ and never tire of it.” He kissed her gently on the lips, and she sank into him, knowing this was the best feeling of all.
An upstairs window banged shut, and they froze. Mary.
Elizabeth would no longer feel guilt for loving Darcy, so, not wishing for Mary to dampen their joy, she suggested, “Let us move farther from the house.”
She walked them deliberately to the woods, to the very spot where they had first kissed.
They stood close but not touching, and her heart pounded so intensely she thought he might hear it.
To give herself a moment, she looked above their heads, marvelling at the deep green of the leaves and how the sunlight streamed in here and there, hearing birds calling to one another and the skittering of small creatures on the ground nearby.
She loved this spot and hoped that, even after they were married, they might come here and stand together, appreciating its perfection.
He took her hand, flipped it over to kiss her palm, and she fairly melted. She felt her knees weaken, but he put his arms around her to bear her up. She lifted to her toes and they kissed. And kissed. And sounds and sights fell away until it was just them in all the world.
She pressed her lips to his neck and let her tongue poke out just the slightest bit so she might taste him.
He was musk and evergreens and salt, and she wanted more.
She kissed from his Adam’s Apple to his chin, and heard him groan.
At first, she thought it might be a bad sound, but when she paused, he pressed himself tighter to her, so she continued, now tracing his jawline, now behind his ear. The groan deepened.
Then he gasped and stepped back. “Miss—Elizabeth, we dare not.”
She froze, and the only sound between them was their jagged breath.
She burned within. She wanted him. Every part of him.
She stepped closer and took one of his hands, bringing it up so his fingers traced along her chest where the fabric of her gown met skin. He shivered. “Please,” she whispered, “I do not wish to wait another moment to be with you. Completely.”