Chapter 21
The Success of the Campaign
Elizabeth had scarcely any notion how much time passed after she placed her hand in Darcy’s.
The world seemed to contract to the library, the fire on the hearth, and the earnest expression in the face before her.
He drew her toward him slowly, giving her every opportunity to retreat.
She did not. When his lips met hers, the kiss was warm and reverent and astonishingly tender for a man who had once seemed carved from reserve.
Elizabeth had kissed no one before. She had no basis for comparison.
She knew only that the moment seemed new and strangely inevitable, like some part of her had been moving toward it from the first evening he had attempted, with increasing desperation, to apologize for his behavior at the assembly.
Darcy lifted his head and rested his forehead lightly against hers.
“Elizabeth,” he murmured, and the way he said her name made her wish never to hear it spoken differently again.
The library door burst open.
Thomas and Toby stood upon the threshold like two avenging cherubs, Lydia peering over their shoulders.
For perhaps two seconds, all three stared.
Then Thomas threw both arms into the air.
“Finally!”
Toby bounced so violently that Lydia was obliged to seize the back of his jacket to prevent him from launching himself into the room.
“We did it!”
Lydia pressed a hand to her mouth, though this did nothing to suppress her laughter.
Elizabeth sprang backward, cheeks blazing.
Darcy, to his credit, retained a degree of composure, though the color in his face deepened considerably.
Thomas whirled and tore down the hall at full speed.
“Papa!” he shouted. “Come without delay!”
Toby took up the cry.
“Mr. Darcy is kissing Lizzy!”
Elizabeth covered her face.
“I shall never recover.”
Lydia, wholly unsympathetic, leaned against the doorframe laughing so hard she could scarcely stand.
“I told them it would work.”
Within moments Mr. Bennet appeared in the doorway, spectacles in hand and a book still tucked beneath one arm. His gaze moved from Elizabeth’s crimson cheeks to Darcy’s expression and then to the three younger conspirators vibrating with triumph.
“Well,” he said. “This appears to be a matter of some consequence.”
Elizabeth lowered her hands slowly, though color still burned across her cheeks with enough force to make retreat seem vastly preferable to remaining where she stood beneath the combined attention of the room.
Lydia’s laughter continued unabated somewhere near the doorway, while Thomas and Toby gazed upon the entire scene with the unmistakable satisfaction of generals surveying a successful campaign.
Darcy, however, did not appear amused.
Not displeased, certainly, but composed with an effort she recognized at once. His shoulders had straightened almost imperceptibly, and there was in his expression a steadiness that quieted something of the chaos surrounding them.
Mr. Bennet removed his spectacles entirely now and folded them in one hand.
“Well?” he prompted mildly.
Darcy’s gaze shifted briefly toward Elizabeth before returning to her father. That single glance unsettled her more than the twins’ announcement ever could. There had been embarrassment in the discovery, certainly, but nothing in his expression resembled regret.
The realization stole her breath for one alarming instant.
Thomas tugged upon Toby’s sleeve. “Do you think he shall ask now?” he whispered with very little actual whispering involved.
“Toby,” Elizabeth said weakly, “please do not assist further.”
“We already assisted,” Toby replied proudly.
“You assisted far too much,” Lydia informed them between renewed laughter.
Mrs. Bennet appeared in the hall at that moment, drawn no doubt by the commotion. Her eyes moved rapidly across the assembled group, took in Elizabeth’s expression, Darcy’s posture, the twins’ triumphant faces, and sharpened immediately with comprehension.
“Oh,” she said.
The single word contained entirely too much understanding.
Darcy drew a measured breath.
“I must apologize,” he said, his voice calm despite the color beginning to rise slightly along his collar. “This was not how I intended matters to occur.”
“No?” Mr. Bennet asked dryly.
“No, sir.” Darcy paused. “Though I cannot regret the reason for it.”
Elizabeth’s pulse betrayed her all over again.
Darcy stepped forward without hesitation, though Elizabeth, watching him closely now, recognized the effort beneath that composure.
He had faced crowded assemblies, difficult negotiations, and men far more intimidating than her father without visible uncertainty.
At present, standing in Longbourn’s hallway while Lydia attempted unsuccessfully to suppress laughter behind him, he appeared very nearly nervous.
The realization impacted her with profound and unforeseen intensity.
“I had intended,” Darcy began carefully, “to request a private audience with you, Mr. Bennet, before speaking further.”
Mr. Bennet glanced meaningfully toward the twins.
“That possibility appears to have been removed from us.”
“Yes, sir.”
Thomas brightened. “We helped.”
“So, I understand.”
Elizabeth covered her eyes briefly.
Darcy’s mouth altered very slightly then, not fully a smile, but something warmer restrained only by circumstance. The expression vanished almost immediately when he turned back toward Mr. Bennet.
“I would not willingly show disrespect to your household,” he said. “Nor would I wish Miss Elizabeth placed in an uncomfortable position.”
At that, his gaze shifted toward her again.
The room seemed suddenly much too warm.
Elizabeth could not look away.
For one suspended moment, the noise surrounding them receded entirely. The twins, Lydia, the open doorway, even Mrs. Bennet hovering nearby—all faded beneath the quiet intensity of his attention.
And beneath it, unmistakably, lay vulnerability. Not precisely confidence or assumption. Hope would be a more accurate descriptor.
Something inside her melted.
Darcy spoke again, more quietly now.
“Had Miss Elizabeth given me any reason to believe my regard unwelcome, I should never have presumed to proceed.”
Elizabeth’s heart stumbled painfully against her ribs.
Mr. Bennet’s expression changed almost imperceptibly at the words. Some trace of humor remained, but beneath it emerged something more thoughtful.
“And has my daughter given you encouragement, sir?”
Elizabeth nearly expired upon the spot.
Darcy did not answer immediately.
Not because he lacked certainty, she realized, but because he would not speak for her where such matters were concerned.
That restraint alone might have undone her entirely.
At last he said, “I believe she has shown me more kindness than I deserve.”
The answer, so sincere and wholly unguarded, silenced even Lydia.
Elizabeth stared at him.
This man—this grave, proud, occasionally insufferable man—stood before her looking as though her opinion carried the power to alter the course of his entire future.
And suddenly she understood with perfect clarity that he loved her far more deeply than she had ever permitted herself to imagine.
“Sir, I have asked Miss Elizabeth to marry me, and she has done me the great honor of accepting.”
Mr. Bennet studied him for a long moment.
“At last.”
Darcy was confused.
Mr. Bennet turned to Elizabeth. “My dear, be so good as to wait in the hall.”
Elizabeth hesitated.
Darcy gave her a look of such reassuring affection that she obeyed, though not without reluctance.
The door closed behind her.
Lydia seized both of her hands. “Was it very romantic?”
Elizabeth laughed helplessly. “You are the last person to whom I ought to confide.”
Thomas and Toby danced around her in a state of complete and unrestrained victory.
“We told him he was too slow.”
“He finally listened.”
“We should receive some credit.”
“More than some.”
Mrs. Bennet emerged from the drawing room, Jane and Kitty close behind.
“What is all this noise?”
Lydia drew herself up with dramatic importance.
“Mr. Darcy has proposed to Lizzy.”
Mrs. Bennet’s eyes widened. Jane clapped her hands in delight. Kitty gave a shriek and embraced Elizabeth before she could defend herself.
Mrs. Bennet kissed Elizabeth’s cheek and then, with remarkable discipline, refrained from demanding details.
“We shall wait,” she said, though the brightness in her eyes suggested that waiting cost her dearly.
The interview in the library seemed to last a century.
At last the door opened.
Darcy emerged first.
The tension in his features had vanished, replaced by an expression Elizabeth had begun to treasure. Relief. Happiness. Wonder, as though he still found his good fortune difficult to credit.
He crossed the hall and took her hand.
“Your father wishes to speak with you.”
Elizabeth entered the library with her heart pounding.
Mr. Bennet stood beside the hearth. His usual irony had melted into something much more serious.
He held out his arms.
Elizabeth went to him.
“My dear girl,” he said, kissing her brow, “I have had the privilege of acting as your father for nearly ten years, though I have loved you as one of my own from the first.”
Her eyes filled.
“You have always been my father.”
He cleared his throat and patted her hand. “That is gratifying, because I should be deeply offended to learn otherwise.”
Elizabeth laughed through her tears.
Mr. Bennet guided her to a chair and remained standing before her.
“I ask only one question, and you must answer honestly. Do you love him?”
“Yes.”
The word came without any sign of reluctance.
His shoulders relaxed.
“And Mr. Wilson?”
Elizabeth shook her head.
“He is a good man. He will make some woman very happy, but I do not love him. I could esteem him greatly. I do esteem him greatly. It would never be what I feel for Mr. Darcy.”
Mr. Bennet nodded.
“You have chosen wisely.”
He turned toward the fire, one hand resting upon the mantel.