Chapter Fifteen The Resolutions of 1812 #2
Lady Catherine huffed. She walked past Elizabeth, staring at a portrait of an ancestor who seemed particularly miserable.
"My daughter," she said abruptly, "does not wish to marry him. She told me so. She said he walks too loudly."
Elizabeth bit the inside of her cheek to keep from smiling. "I have noticed he has a firm tread."
"If Anne will not have him... and if he will not have Anne..." Lady Catherine turned back. "Then I suppose the compact is void. And I am left with a beloved nephew who needs a wife."
She looked at Elizabeth again. This time, the look was not dismissive. It was assessing. It was the look of a stable master inspecting new horseflesh.
"You are not rich," Lady Catherine listed. "You have no connections. Your uncle sells rum."
"Excellent rum," Elizabeth murmured.
"But," Lady Catherine continued, ignoring the interruption, "you are not afraid of me. And you are not afraid of him. Fitzwilliam needs a firm hand. He needs a woman who will not swoon when he broods. He needs management."
"I am fairly adept at management, your Ladyship."
"I suspect you are." Lady Catherine sighed, a sound of supreme resignation. "Very well. If my daughter cannot have him... you will do. You have good teeth. And you stand up straight."
Elizabeth felt a strange warmth. It was not affection, exactly, but it was respect.
"Thank you, Lady Catherine."
"Do not thank me yet. Being mistress of Pemberley is not a game. It is a burden. The tenants, the accounts, the social obligations... do you think you can manage it? A gentle girl from the country?"
Elizabeth met the older woman's gaze. "I do not know everything, your Ladyship.
But I am willing to learn." She took a step forward.
"In fact, you are the daughter of an Earl.
You have managed a great estate alone for years.
You know what is required." She paused, then offered the olive branch.
"Will you teach me? Will you show me how to be the mistress Pemberley deserves? "
Lady Catherine blinked, stunned. No one ever asked her for advice. She usually imposed it.
"Teach you?" she puffed up her chest. "Well. Well, of course I can teach you. Someone must. We cannot have you shaming the family with improper menu planning."
"I would be grateful for your guidance," Elizabeth said honestly.
Lady Catherine tapped her cane. A small, terrifying smile appeared on her face. "Very well. We shall start tomorrow. Your posture is adequate, but your curtsy is rustic. We shall fix it."
"I look forward to it."
"Go on then," Lady Catherine shooed her away. "Go find him. He is probably brooding in a corner somewhere wondering where you are. Men are useless without direction."
Elizabeth curtsied—rustically—and retreated. She had survived. More than that, she had tamed the gorgon. She practically ran once she was out of Lady Catherine's sight, of course, her heart beating arrhythmically.
The supper dance was the centrepiece of the evening, and Darcy claimed it with a determined glee in his eye.
"You look triumphant," he observed as he led her onto the floor. "Did you win a wager?"
"I won an ally," Elizabeth smiled, taking her place opposite him in the set. "I have just come from the gallery. I spoke with Lady Catherine."
Darcy nearly tripped. "You spoke to her? And you lived to tell the tale?"
"Very much alive and thriving. We have reached an accord. She has agreed to teach me how to be a proper mistress of a great estate, and I have agreed to let her criticise my curtsy."
Darcy stared at her as the music began. "You asked her to teach you?"
"I appealed to her vanity. It was very effective. She actually smiled, Fitzwilliam. It gave me goosebumps."
Darcy laughed. It was a free, open sound that drew eyes from the surrounding couples. "You are brilliant. You have tamed the Leviathan."
"I simply reminded her that we are on the same side. We both want you to be managed properly."
"Is that what I am to expect? Management?"
"Constantly," she teased as they circled each other. "I intend to manage your brooding, your reading habits, and your tendency to stare."
"I only stare at you," he murmured, his hand tightening on hers as the figure brought them together. "And I have no intention of stopping."
The dance was a blur of motion and light, but for Elizabeth, the world had narrowed to the man in front of her. She saw the way his eyes tracked her. She saw the tension in his jaw, a nervousness that belied his confident movements.
"You seem anxious," she noted during a promenade. "Is the truce holding?"
"The truce is holding," he assured her. "But the clock is ticking."
"The clock?"
"New Year's Eve," he said. "Midnight. It is significant."
"Is it?" She looked at him innocently. "I thought it was merely a change of date."
"It is a change of everything," he said intensely. "Or I hope it will be."
Elizabeth felt a flush rise in her cheeks. She knew. Of course she knew. But seeing him like this—vulnerable, eager, stripping away his pride layer by layer just to stand before her—made her heart ache with love.
Across the room, she spotted Robert and Jane. They weren't dancing. They were standing near the punch bowl, looking guilty and ecstatic. Jane raised her hand to wave, and a flash of sapphire caught the light.
Elizabeth gasped. "Look."
Darcy followed her gaze. He saw the ring. He saw Robert's smug expression.
"He did it," Darcy groaned. "The scoundrel. He proposed before midnight. He stole the moment."
"He stole a moment," Elizabeth corrected, squeezing Darcy's hand. "Not the moment. Not our moment."
Darcy looked back at her. The frustration vanished, replaced by a heat that made her knees weak.
"No," he agreed. "Not ours."
The dance ended. The room began to clear as guests moved towards the supper room.
"Come," Darcy said, ignoring the flow of the crowd. "I need air. And I need you."
He did not wait for an answer. He led her away from the ballroom, away from the noise, towards the glass doors that led to the terrace.
The terrace was cold, but the cold was bracing. The snow had stopped, leaving a world of stark contrasts—black sky, white ground, and the golden spill of light from the ballroom windows.
He led her to a stone balustrade overlooking the garden. He did not let go of her hand.
"Are you cold?" he asked.
"No. The excitement keeps me warm."
"Elizabeth." He turned to her. He was nervous and magnificent in equal measure. "I had a plan. I had a strategy. I was going to wait for the bells. I was going to make a speech about resolutions."
"I like resolutions," she whispered.
"But I find... I find I cannot wait for the bells. I cannot wait another second."
He took a step back, giving her space, giving her the choice.
"This year..." he began, his voice shaking slightly. "This year began with me as a man I do not like to remember. A man who was proud. Closed. A man who thought he knew the worth of everyone he met."
"You were protecting yourself," she defended him.
"I was hiding," he corrected. "And then I met you. And you looked at me with those eyes, those fine, unforgiving eyes, and you saw me. You saw the man I was, and you challenged me to be better."
He reached into his pocket.
"My resolution for the New Year," he began, "is not to be the Master of Pemberley. It is not to be the nephew of an Earl. It is to be the man who deserves you. To be the man who makes you laugh. The man who buys you books and stands by your side against the world."
He pulled out the ring. It was a simple velvet box, but in his hand, it held the weight of the world.
"I do not offer you perfection, Elizabeth. I am still learning. I am still stubborn and proud. But I offer you my heart. Completely. Irrevocably."
He knelt. In the snow, on the terrace, Fitzwilliam Darcy knelt before her.
"Elizabeth Bennet. Will you do me the honour of becoming my wife? Will you resolve to tolerate me for the rest of our lives?"
Elizabeth looked down at him, at the fear in his eyes, and the love reflected in their depths. She thought of the man who saved his sister, who rode to Longbourn in the cold to speak with her father, and the man who apologised to her for saving her sister from an unworthy man.
"I will not tolerate you, Fitzwilliam," she said, her voice choking with tears.
His face fell.