Chapter XXXII #2
“Thank you, Mr. Gardiner. Please call me Darcy or Fitzwilliam.”
Before the evening ended, their engagement was formally acknowledged by those whose good opinion mattered most. Plans were quietly discussed, practical difficulties considered, and every proposal seemed to strengthen rather than diminish the joy that filled the house.
For the first time in many months, Darcy found himself looking towards the future without the shadow of uncertainty.
And Elizabeth, watching him across the dinner table, thought she had never seen him smile so often.
***
As the evening drew to a close, the conversation gradually turned from emotions to practicalities.
Special licences, travelling arrangements, Ramsgate, and Pemberley were all discussed in turn until Mrs. Gardiner, who had remained unusually thoughtful, suddenly smiled.
“I believe we have overlooked one rather important matter.”
Elizabeth looked up.
“What have we forgotten?”
Mrs. Gardiner looked at her niece with affectionate amusement.
“You will be Mrs. Darcy. Your mother would want to build a new wardrobe or at least start it.”
Elizabeth tilted her head.
“My dear, you are about to become Mrs. Darcy.”
The words, spoken so simply, seemed to affect her.
Mrs. Gardiner continued. “The mistress of Pemberley cannot start her life with only the wardrobe of Miss Elizabeth Bennet. There will be calls to receive, neighbours to visit, dinners, journeys… You shall require an entirely different wardrobe.”
Elizabeth looked almost alarmed. “I had not thought so far.”
“I suspected as much.”
Darcy, who had listened in silence, finally spoke. “If Miss Elizabeth permits it, I believe the difficulty may be easily remedied.”
Every eye turned towards him.
“My aunt has always employed Madame Lefèvre in Bond Street. She has dressed Georgiana for several years and has a reputation for accomplishing the impossible.”
Mrs. Gardiner smiled knowingly. “I believe that is precisely what we require.”
“I shall ask her to attend tomorrow.”
Elizabeth looked at him. “Just like that?”
A faint colour appeared in Darcy’s cheeks.
“I fear I am acting from entirely selfish motives.”
Mr. Gardiner laughed. “I begin to suspect, Darcy, that your greatest talent is solving our problems.”
Darcy glanced towards Elizabeth. “I merely wish to spare my future wife unnecessary concerns.”
Elizabeth smiled, though she secretly suspected he enjoyed solving problems almost as much as he enjoyed removing them.
The following afternoon, Elizabeth arrived at Darcy House expecting nothing more extraordinary than another quiet conversation.
Mrs. Barnes welcomed her with a smile that betrayed just enough satisfaction to make Elizabeth immediately suspicious.
“Good afternoon, Miss Bennet.”
“Good afternoon, Mrs. Barnes.”
“If you would be so kind as to follow me, miss.”
Elizabeth did so willingly enough until she realised Mrs. Barnes was leading her, not towards the morning room where Darcy usually received her, but to one of the larger drawing rooms overlooking the square.
She paused.
“I believe you have mistaken the room.”
Mrs. Barnes’s smile widened almost imperceptibly. “No, miss.” She opened the door.
Elizabeth stopped upon the threshold.
The room had been transformed.
Lengths of silk, satin, fine muslin and velvet lay draped over tables and chairs. Open pattern books displayed sleeves, bodices and pelisses. Boxes of ribbons, lace and delicate trimmings occupied every available surface.
Lydia and Georgiana hurried to meet her, their faces alight with excitement. Three elegantly dressed ladies rose and curtsied. Elizabeth scarcely saw them. Her gaze travelled slowly across the room, from one impossible display to another, until at last it found Darcy.
He was watching her – not the silks, nor the seamstresses, only her. He stood. “Now, Miss Elizabeth,” he said with a look that was half apology and half amusement, “I know what you are going to say, but…”
Elizabeth looked at him for several moments before she trusted herself to speak.
“No… I do not believe you do.”
She suddenly understood something she had never fully appreciated before. Darcy did not merely love with words. He loved by anticipating every discomfort before it reached her.
He looked genuinely uncertain. “Have I done something wrong?”
Without a word, she crossed the room.
The seamstresses, Lydia and Georgiana instinctively fell silent.
Elizabeth took both his hands, forgetting for the moment that one was still injured. “You have done something no one has ever done for me.”
She looked around the room, then rose on her toes and whispered so only he could hear, “For the first time in my life… I feel truly cherished.”
Darcy’s expression softened. “You are to be my wife.”
He turned towards the waiting ladies. “Ladies, may I present Miss Elizabeth Bennet, my betrothed.”
The three ladies curtsied together. “It is an honour, miss.”
Miss Lerhart stepped forward carrying a small notebook. “Mr. Darcy has informed us that time is rather against us.”
Lydia laughed.
“That is because they are in far too much haste to be married.”
Georgiana smiled at Elizabeth. “I believe my brother would have married you yesterday, if he could.”
Darcy made no attempt to deny it. “That is a perfectly fair observation.”
Elizabeth laughed, shaking her head. “You are all conspiring against me.”
“On the contrary,” Darcy replied. “We are conspiring for you.”
Miss Lerhart smiled politely. “If Miss Bennet will permit us, we shall begin with colours and fabrics. Measurements may wait until later.”
Darcy looked around the room with an expression that suggested he had already exceeded the limits of his knowledge.
“I suspect,” he said, “that my usefulness has now come to an end.”
Lydia grinned. “Indeed. You have excellent taste in fiancées, but I doubt you know anything whatsoever about sleeves.”
Even Miss Lerhart smiled.
Darcy inclined his head with complete seriousness. “I freely confess the point.”
Darcy started toward the door with visible reluctance. “I believe I shall only be in the way.” He looked towards Miss Lerhart. “Ladies, I leave Miss Bennet in your care.”
He paused.
“I ask only one favour.”
“Sir?”
“Do not be reasonable.”
Elizabeth frowned. “Mr. Darcy?”
He smiled at her.
“Spoil her as outrageously as your consciences permit.”