Chapter 37
Elizabeth picked up the purse from the table and placed it upon her lap.
“Do you wish to leave?” he asked.
Elizabeth shook her head, secretly enjoying the teasing note in his voice, and in an instant, her composure returned. “Certainly not.”
Those few words settled the atmosphere between them at once. There was friendship, ease, and an understanding that neither felt the need to disguise, a freedom they had never known before when together.
She placed the purse back upon the table, but he seemed already to have guessed her intention. Perhaps not the cameo itself, but the money he had given to Wickham.
“I have no interest in anything contained in that purse.”
Elizabeth inclined her head, accepting his decision without argument. “Thank you,” was all she said.
“I am waiting for something else,” he replied with sudden impatience. “What is it you wished to tell me?”
“I think you already know,” she replied, attempting to evade the question, though a smile appeared in her eyes.
“I require considerably more than a smile, Miss Elizabeth.”
“Once, you called me Elizabeth.”
“And yet you have never called me Fitzwilliam.”
“Fitzwilliam,” she murmured, her face still bright with a smile.
“It is still not enough,” he decided.
“What do you expect? That I should propose to you, so that you may refuse me?”
Darcy burst into laughter, and Elizabeth found herself thinking that perhaps his little sister had been right, for never before had she heard him laugh in such a manner. He was genuinely amused, surrendering himself completely to a mood he made no effort either to conceal or restrain.
“Yes, I should very much enjoy refusing you. I should like to see your face and discover whether you would be astonished, angry, or something else entirely.” He paused, his gaze fixed upon her face, watching for the slightest change.
“But I would not risk it,” he finally said, laughing again, though more softly this time.
“Then what? What do you expect from me?”
“A reason not to refuse you,” he said, suddenly serious.
For all her intelligence and long practice in verbal skirmishes, Elizabeth was so stirred that she simply failed to understand. “A reason not to refuse me?”
“Yes. What reason could there possibly be?” he replied, returning to his teasing manner. “What could you possibly offer that would interest me sufficiently not to refuse you?”
At last, she understood, though she said nothing.
As she did not answer, he decided to continue with determination.
The truth had to be spoken eventually, though certainly not in the manner in which he had spoken it in Kent.
It must be expressed as a proper acknowledgement, lightly playful and wholly generous, of another person's life and all that accompanied it.
“From a material point of view, I do not see what you could offer me…”
“Good heavens, Fitzwilliam, but we live at Netherfield now,” she replied.
He adored her tone. He delighted in the ease with which she entered into his game, though there were still things to be said.
“Your family…”
“Very well, there is no need to continue. I am sufficiently ashamed by Lydia, but do not forget the rest of us.”
“Well, there you do have something to offer me, for when I came to know some members of your family, I realised that you live together in affection, whilst we merely respected one another…”
“Well said, Mr Darcy.”
“Fitzwilliam,” he corrected. “Let us not surrender a single step of the progress we have made thus far.”
“Fitzwilliam,” she agreed. She spoke his name in such a manner that he scarcely restrained himself from rising and taking her into his arms. He desired her like a madman, and for the first time since he had known her, he could acknowledge that truth he had refused to contemplate for so long.
Looking at her, at her smile, and seeing the future somewhat more clearly, he allowed himself a little more playfulness.
“What remains, dear lady? What else could you possibly give me?”
“I am an accomplished woman,” she declared with such solemn emphasis that he burst into laughter once more. It did not suit her in the least, yet she was delightful in the role…in any role, in fact.
“I grant you that, but I doubt you would achieve great success in ordering a feast for a hundred guests at Pemberley…if I agreed to marry you, of course.”
“I should have Mama to assist me…”
“No feasts at Pemberley,” he decided. “At least not during the first year. But you, being accomplished, are a gift I gladly take.”
"I will be Georgiana's sister," she said, and his heart ached with happiness at those words.
"That I accept with gratitude," he murmured. "You are a very skilful negotiator, Miss Elizabeth…But still it is not enough."
"My body?" she said, and deliciously blushed, as it was the first time in her life she had dared to be so bold with a man. But looking at him, she finally accepted he was not just any man but the love of her life and the man who would, probably after that interrogation, propose to her.
To her surprise, he failed to answer; her words had shocked him. He looked at her body, nodded then replied in a strange, harsh tone, "We will discuss this point later, Miss Elizabeth…though not much later, this 'body conversation' is essential to me."
Still blushing and yet certain of its meaning, she murmured, "So it is for me."
Looking at her, feeling the promises in those words, he knew for certain that she would be a good wife and a marvellous mother, but also the woman he had never dreamt might one day belong to him, full of passion, the one who would surrender to his love while conquering him at every moment.
"My trousseau?" she finally said, to dissipate, for a few moments, the incredible emotion that had engulfed them both.
And he laughed again, "No, Miss Elizabeth, in that direction I think it is better not to offer anything—"
"What are you saying? That I am not elegant or properly dressed?"
She was falsely angry, but it suited her as well.
"Properly dressed…perhaps, elegantly…well, your future husband, whoever he might be, will have to allocate an important sum to arrive at elegantly."
“Well, then wish for him to be rich.”
He saw her laughing and grinned, for she was mocking him, and nothing delighted him more.
They stood in silence for a few moments, and she murmured, “No trousseau then, but I could bring my father's bookcase and help fill the one at Pemberley.”
Her voice faltered. More than anything, she wished that Mr Bennet could have given her away to this man who resembled him in so many respects. She wished her adored father could have witnessed her happiness and shared in it.
Her eyes filled with tears.
“Elizabeth Bennet,” he whispered, “if I see a sole tear on your countenance because you are remembering Mr Bennet, I shall rise from this chair, take you into my arms, and…never discover the whole truth.”
“I offer my love,” she said, and the tears began to fall.
In a single movement, he rose and gathered her into his arms, for that was the only thing he had been waiting to hear.
His arms closed around her with feverish urgency, yet once they stood together, they paused to savour the extraordinary sensation of simply being near one another.
Their happiness was all the greater because, in one way or another, both had refused to imagine what it might be like to belong to each other.
The stillness did not last. Suddenly, it was no longer enough merely to touch.
They wanted far more. The arms that had first enclosed her tenderly drew her nearer still, until they reached that impossible point at which love seems to abolish all distance.
His lips left burning traces along her neck, and Elizabeth, who until then had only imagined love, discovered that reality was something entirely different and overwhelming.
When his lips finally claimed hers, a moment of panic seized her, but he whispered that she need only trust him, and she surrendered herself completely to his care.
They kissed for endless, enthralling moments; whenever they thought they might part, they discovered that separation was more difficult than either could bear.
In the end, however, Darcy was the one who drew away, despite her protests.
“Open your eyes, Elizabeth,” he whispered.
She obeyed and looked directly into his.
“The discussion concerning your body…”
“It is yours,” she said with a languor entirely foreign to her usual nature.
“I have not yet asked you to marry me.”
“Then ask me at once,” she commanded. “But—” She paused and looked at him.
They returned to their former seats, for if they were to speak, they needed to see one another clearly, and any further closeness seemed dangerous. In a moment, words might easily be forgotten in favour of kisses.
“But what?” he asked.
He hesitated only briefly before asking; there were no more fears or misinterpretations between them. Elizabeth Bennet had told him she loved him. That was enough.
“But I think you must also tell me why I ought to accept you.”
“Quite right,” he agreed at once and added in haste, “Because I am elegant.”
“That I cannot contest,” Elizabeth said. She had admired his elegance and refinement even when she detested him. “I shall not be obliged to provide your trousseau. Anything else?”
“Because your family will never be in need of anything again.”
Elizabeth hid her face in her hands, and he was kneeling beside her chair, trying to see what had happened.
“Please do not cry. In the end, it was concern for your family that led to your refusal, and I believe this is the first thing I must do if we are to be happy together.”
“Thank you,” she whispered.
She caressed his face with both hands, but he rose immediately, for the temptation to kiss her again was too great whenever he stood close to her.
“Except Mrs Wickham. I do not yet know what is to be done with them, and in that matter you must not interfere.”
“I shall not,” she promised, strangely relieved.
“What exactly is in your purse?” he asked unexpectedly, unable to conceal his curiosity.
“The cameo.”
She removed it from the purse and handed it to him.
Darcy opened the case with a smile Elizabeth had never seen before. Perhaps it belonged to the young man who remembered his mother.
“I should never have given it to you if somewhere in my heart I had not hoped you would one day become my wife.”
“You still have not proposed to me, Fitzwilliam Darcy!” she exclaimed with faint irritation.
“Have you obtained everything you wished for?”
Elizabeth considered the question for a moment.
“Pemberley, this house, and everything else you own will still be yours. It is, after all, the law,” she said. “But I need to know that you will care equally for all our children. I do not wish what happened to the colonel, or to us, ever to happen to them.”
“May we postpone that discussion until later, when our child or children are a reality?” he asked. “What I can promise now is that we shall decide everything together, whether it concerns a child's future, Pemberley, or anything else.”
“That suits me perfectly.”
“Is that truly all you want?”
He was looking at her with that mischievous expression which one of their children would surely inherit, and she smiled.
“Yes, that is all.”
“So you do not wish to hear that I love you.”
“Oh, Mr Darcy,” she replied, “I have known for a very long time that you loved me.”
He looked at her, trying to maintain a serious expression whilst waiting for her to continue.
“But you still have not proposed to me!” she exclaimed with faint irritation.
“That is true,” he replied, rising to his feet.
Elizabeth hoped he would take her into his arms again, but instead Darcy opened again the cameo case and, with the utmost care, fastened it around her neck. He looked at her thoughtfully for a moment before saying, “It is not enough.”
He disappeared without a word, leaving her alone in that beautiful room, which, it seemed, would soon become her drawing room in London. But he left the door open, and, quite unintentionally, Elizabeth overheard Georgiana ask, “Did you propose to her?”
His laughter filled the hall, but no answer came. Instead, he spoke quite reproachfully, “I hope you have not been standing in the hall ever since you left.”
At that, Elizabeth could restrain herself no longer. She stepped out of the room and declared, “No, Miss Darcy, he did not propose to me.”
And the scene became both amusing and touching, with Georgiana staring at her brother in disbelief, close to despair. “Then what have you been doing for the last hour?”
Darcy looked from her to Elizabeth. He wished not to laugh, but failed entirely, which only made Georgiana more indignant.
“Good heavens! She will leave again, and you still will not do what ought to be done.”
Then she turned fully towards Elizabeth and said, “Miss Elizabeth, would you like to be our wife—”
“Georgiana!” he cried.
“His!” she continued, pointing at her brother.
The hall filled with laughter, his and Elizabeth's alike, whilst Georgiana looked on in bewildered consternation.
Elizabeth, however, felt sorry for her. She stepped forward and embraced her.
“Well, yes, I should like to be both brothers' wife…or at least his.”
This produced such happiness in Georgiana that she no longer knew whom to embrace first, him or her. In the end, she embraced them both.
“Good heavens, I am so happy.”
“May I remain alone with my fiancée now?” asked Darcy. “Without any more listening at doors?”
“I was not listening at the doors,” she protested, but blushing at the same time, as it was certain that at a moment or two she had indeed listened, hoping to hear what she had wished for ever since she had seen her brother dance with Miss Elizabeth at Pemberley.
Elizabeth, knowing exactly what would have happened in their house with all her sisters listening, gave him a reproachful look, perhaps the first of a long series of alliances between his wife and his sister.
“Come,” he said impatiently to Elizabeth, taking her hand and leading her towards the staircase.
Then he stopped, for Georgiana had not moved from the spot and was still watching them with undisguised affection.
“You had better send urgent messages,” he said. “Ask the colonel and Mrs Cooper to dine with us this evening…and do not forget Mr and Mrs Gardiner and Miss Kitty.”