Chapter 13
Thirteen
Downstairs, the only matter yet to be settled was how her mother was to be told that her second daughter—the one she had so often declared unmarriageable—would be married in less than a se’nnight.
There could be little doubt that such news would throw her into paroxysms of delight; yet Elizabeth found she had no patience for them at present and prayed that someone else might be obliged to endure them.
Not long before, Mrs Gardiner had, with quiet care, repeated some of Mrs Bennet’s earlier remarks—how certain she was that Mr Darcy would soon tire of her and abandon the match.
The words had stung more than Elizabeth cared to acknowledge, though her aunt had urged her to disregard them entirely.
She resolved to try, though she could not quite succeed.
A sudden determination seized her. Rising, she said, “Since there is nothing left to decide, I would like to go for a walk. Would anyone care to join me?”
As she expected, Fitzwilliam stood and offered to accompany her. It was late in the afternoon, nearly time for dinner, but no one protested, and the two soon prepared to go out. Mr Bennet had retired to his study a short time earlier, and it had been agreed that no one would dress for dinner.
Earlier that afternoon, several arrangements had been settled.
Georgiana was to share a room with Mary, the two having agreed upon it themselves once it was known she would remain at Longbourn.
In addition, her uncle Phillips had sent word that Fitzwilliam had secured the use of the great house at Stoke for the next month—an unusual arrangement; but as the house stood empty, the owner had agreed to let it for so short a term, no doubt influenced by the price offered.
When they stepped outside, leaving their sisters and the Gardiners behind, they were quiet at the beginning of their walk. So much had been discussed that day, and much had been revealed.
Though the arrangements for a hasty wedding had been readily agreed upon, two—or perhaps three—matters still troubled Elizabeth.
The question of how to inform her mother was vexing, but not insurmountable.
Mrs Bennet might prefer the time to arrange a more splendid affair, yet she would be delighted to boast of a daughter advantageously married.
Given her certainty that Fitzwilliam would desert her before long, she ought to be convinced that a quick wedding was in everyone’s favour.
It was Jane’s odd behaviour, however, that most occupied her thoughts.
Before she had much time to consider the matter further, Fitzwilliam spoke from beside her.
“We need not hasten the wedding if it troubles you,” he said quietly at her side, obviously having misread her concern.
Elizabeth shook her head. “I would not wish for that. We might, however, delay our wedding trip for a few days, now that you have secured lodging nearby, so that we may support my parents as they determine what is to be done with Lydia. She must be sent to school, where she will no longer be influenced by Mama, nor be able to influence Kitty.”
Drawing in a steadying breath, she slowed her pace and closed her eyes, trusting Fitzwilliam to guide her for a moment.
“Will Papa do as he has said he will if we are not here to insist? He agreed to engage a companion for the younger girls, but will he still think it necessary if Lydia is sent away? If Jane insists upon remaining at home, she may comfort Mama, but Mary and Kitty will continue to be overlooked.”
“If Miss Bennet does not go to London, then perhaps one of your other sisters might?” Fitzwilliam said. “Miss Mary might like to go to Pemberley with Georgiana, which would be of benefit to them both, do you not think? Then Miss Catherine can go to London?”
Considering this, Elizabeth nodded. “My aunt is a wonderful example for anyone, and Kitty has always enjoyed my cousins. It should not be their responsibility to do what my parents will not, but I suppose it might be best for everyone. I still think that if he were to engage a companion, it would be the best, for a companion might also be of aid to Mama, but it may simply be wishful thinking to believe that she might change.”
“I would be content to remain in Hertfordshire for a few weeks after the wedding, but you must promise that we will not attend too many social gatherings,” Fitzwilliam replied, to Elizabeth’s evident surprise.
“I have at last learnt my lesson regarding how I ought to behave in company, but I would still prefer to spend as much time as is feasible alone with you.”
The warmth that rose in Elizabeth’s cheeks was immediate and impossible to conceal, though she answered with outward composure.
“Perhaps we might allow everyone to believe we have gone to London for a short time before returning north. As you have said, Georgiana and Mary seem to be getting on—and surely she will be well enough with my family for a few days.”
Fitzwilliam inclined his head in agreement, but his attention had already shifted. His gaze moved beyond her, briefly assessing their surroundings, before returning to her face with quiet resolve.
“We are finally alone, Elizabeth,” he said softly.
Before Elizabeth could fully consider his meaning, he covered the hand she had resting on his arm and gently drew it away.
He took her hand in his own as he led her a few steps further along the path, where the trees arched more closely overhead and the house was entirely out of view.
There, he turned to her again—nearer than propriety ought to allow, even for an engaged couple—yet she found she had little inclination to protest.
“Elizabeth,” he murmured, her name scarcely more than a breath.
His other hand rose, pausing only briefly before settling at her waist, light enough to withdraw, should she wish it.
For an instant, she sensed the question in the touch—but she did not answer it with words.
Instead, her fingers tightened slightly upon his sleeve, and that small encouragement was all he required.
He drew her closer, until his arms fully encircled her.
For a moment, neither spoke. The air between them seemed to still as everything else seemed to fade away. Elizabeth’s gaze lifted to his, and she saw there a tenderness that nearly caused her breath to falter.
“You cannot imagine,” he said quietly, “how difficult I find it to exercise restraint when I am with you. I am astonished that your uncle did not insist that someone accompany us.”
The words, low and earnest, sent a fresh flush to her cheeks, yet she did not look away.
“I should be very sorry,” she replied, her voice softer now, “if you were always successful in exercising your vaunted restraint. We shall be wed very soon, Fitzwilliam.”
Something in his expression shifted—amusement, affection, and something deeper all at once—and then he bent his head.
The touch of his lips began gently, almost tentatively, as though he wished to reacquaint himself with hers.
Elizabeth felt the hesitation—and answered it to the best of her ability.
Her hand, which had rested uncertainly against his arm, moved to his shoulder as she leant into him, her touch silently bidding him to deepen the kiss.
He responded to her unspoken encouragement, drawing her closer still, until she was held fully in his embrace.
Elizabeth relished the sensations he was awakening, her awareness narrowing to the warmth of his touch and the steady closeness of him.
They had had so little time alone since their engagement; even during the journey southward, they had never truly been unchaperoned by someone travelling with them.
Now, at last, there was no one to interrupt them.
Her fingers tightened slightly at his shoulder as she leant nearer still, no longer uncertain, no longer hesitant.
Whatever reserve had first marked his touch had vanished; there was a quiet certainty in the way he held her now.
It was not the same as those first few kisses shortly after their engagement; it was as though, now that the plans were firmly in place, he had at last allowed himself to believe that she was truly his.
For a moment, she forgot everything beyond him—her mother, her sisters, the various concerns that had pressed upon her thoughts all day. There was only this: his arms about her, his lips moving on hers, and the sensations their connexion awakened in her.
Even as she yielded herself completely to the feeling, she felt him begin to withdraw, a little at a time.
He still held her tightly, but the movement of the kiss slowed and gentled, more restrained until at last he drew back—but not far. His forehead remained near hers, his arms still about her, seemingly reluctant to release her entirely.
Elizabeth did not move away. Her breath was still uneven, and she found she had no wish to put distance between them. For a moment, neither spoke.
“Wednesday seems an interminable wait,” he breathed.
“And yet,” she murmured, her voice wavering slightly, “we must endure it. I do not think I find it much easier than you do—particularly if you are to kiss me in such a manner again.”
With a smirk that Elizabeth could only describe as slightly rakish, Fitzwilliam bent forward and captured her lips a second time.
It was many minutes before they regained their composure, and longer still before they were able to return to Longbourn.