CHAPTER THIRTEEN
A Different Answer
The roof remained attached.
Elizabeth came down before eight in a pale green walking dress. She found Darcy already in the morning room, standing beside the unopened doors to the terrace.
"You are early," she said.
"I was advised that Bennet family emergencies begin at breakfast."
"Then you are just in time."
Sir Thomas entered carrying a letter marked with the royal seal.
Lady Bennet, behind him, had abandoned cap ribbons in her haste. "It is from the Queen. Hill says the messenger came from Windsor. Open it, Mr Bennet."
"The seal has survived a hundred miles. It may survive another chair."
He sat and broke it.
The letter was in Queen Charlotte's hand.
The King's health had deteriorated. He would withdraw from public life, and the Prince of Wales was expected to assume duties as Regent.
In a lucid interval, His Majesty had spoken of Hertfordshire and asked whether the gentleman who saved him still made good use of Netherfield.
The Queen wrote that she had assured him Sir Thomas did.
Sir Thomas stopped reading.
Lady Bennet took the page when his hand lowered. Her voice softened as she finished aloud.
His Majesty remembers not only the life preserved that day, but the family whose fear he witnessed afterward. He hopes your daughters prosper. I was pleased to tell him they do.
Silence filled the room.
The King had not died, but the man who had laughed over a sugar plum in Meryton and later placed a sword upon Thomas Bennet's shoulder at his knighting was slipping beyond the reach of gratitude.
Sir Thomas went to the window.
Elizabeth laid a hand on his arm. "Papa."
"I delayed answering his last letter for two months because Morris and I disputed a grain account. I thought there would be time."
"There may still be."
"Yes."
He did not use hope to deny the fear.
Darcy remained near the door, giving the family space. Sir Thomas looked toward him.
"You came to walk with Elizabeth. Do not allow an old man's sentiment to consume the morning."
"The morning is yours, sir."
"No. Help us answer before you go, if you will. Elizabeth has waited long enough for her morning."
Lady Bennet crossed to her husband and took his hand. "We shall answer together. I remember everything the Queen wore."
"That will comfort the King."
"Do not laugh. He liked my peacock ribbon."
Sir Thomas laughed anyway, but he raised her hand to his lips.
Darcy and Elizabeth left through the terrace doors.
For a while they walked without speaking. The park was fresh after rain. Oakham Mount rose beyond the southern fields, its path curving through beech and oak.
"I am sorry for the King," Darcy said.
"Papa has known his illness worsened, but knowledge at a distance is tidy. A letter makes it real."
"My father's final illness was the opposite. I saw every decline and still believed the end impossible."
Elizabeth looked at him. "How old were you?"
"Two-and-twenty. Georgiana was eleven."
"You became master and parent at once."
"I tried. I mistook not failing for knowing how."
They reached the lower slope.
"Papa says improvement consists mostly of discovering the next thing one has done badly," Elizabeth said.
"A hopeful philosophy."
"You prefer perfection?"
"I preferred the appearance of it."
He offered his arm where the path steepened. Elizabeth took it.
At the summit, Hertfordshire opened around them: Longbourn's roof among the trees below, Meryton's church tower, Netherfield broad and pale across its park. The two Bennet houses stood within one view.
Darcy stopped beneath an oak.
Elizabeth's hand remained upon his sleeve.
"The King's gift changed everything," he said.
"Not everything. Mama still objects to ribbons. Lydia still finds mud."
"And you still rescue solemn men from themselves."
"I have rescued no one."
"No. You required me to do it."
He turned toward her.
This time, when he took her hand, there was no interruption.
* * *
"My feelings and wishes are unchanged," Darcy said, "but I am not."
Elizabeth's fingers trembled within his.
He stood before her without the formal grandeur of Hunsford. His coat carried dust from the climb. Wind had loosened one dark curl at his temple. He looked neither like Pemberley's master nor Lady Catherine's nephew, only a man who had chosen honesty without knowing its reward.
"You told me at Pemberley that your feelings were different from April," he continued. "If they have changed again, one word will silence me."
Elizabeth remembered the first proposal: obstacles counted, objections conquered, confidence beneath passion. Now he placed refusal in her hand before hope in his own.
"They have not changed," she said.
Darcy drew a breath.
"Or rather, they continue to change," she added. "For the better."
His eyes closed briefly, as if relief was too strong to receive while looking at her.
When he opened them, he asked, "Elizabeth, will you marry me? Will you share a life with me and help determine what it becomes?"
Tears blurred the familiar landscape.
"Yes."
The word seemed to leave her and enter him. Darcy's whole face changed.
"Yes?"
"You demanded only one word. Must I provide references?"
He laughed unsteadily. "I may require several repetitions."
"Then yes, Fitzwilliam Darcy. I will marry you."
He lifted her hand to his lips. The kiss lingered against her knuckles, warm and reverent. Elizabeth's breath caught.
Darcy lowered their joined hands but did not release her. "I love you. I have attempted to express it better than I did at Hunsford and discover the feeling still exceeds the language."
"Your language has improved."
"Sir Thomas's questions were instructive."
"Papa knew you would ask today?"
"He knew I intended it."
"And said nothing to me."
"He claimed that was the point."
Elizabeth looked toward Netherfield. "He will be insufferably pleased with himself."
"I shall endure it."
She turned back. "Will you? You must endure much worse. Mama will discuss lace before dinner. Lydia will ask whether Pemberley has handsome tenants. Mary may love Georgiana more than either of us. Kitty will sketch your nose from every direction."
"You forgot Lady Catherine."
"I was listing difficulties. She is an occupation."
Darcy smiled, but seriousness returned.
"Elizabeth, my aunt may not relent quickly. Some relations will be cold. I cannot promise you will never feel their disapproval."
"I do not require you to control them."
"No. But I will not leave you to meet it alone."
"That is enough."
He touched her cheek with the backs of his fingers. The gesture was tentative, asking. Elizabeth leaned into his hand.
Darcy bent slowly, leaving Elizabeth every opportunity to refuse. She raised her face.
His lips touched hers with exquisite care.
For one suspended moment, both remained still. Then Elizabeth's hand tightened on his coat, and Darcy kissed her again with warmth restrained by the open hillside and every promise of the future. His free hand rested lightly at her waist.
When they separated, his forehead touched hers.
"I have wanted to do that since Longbourn," he whispered.
"When I wore Miss Bingley's ill-fitting gown?"
"Before."
"At the assembly?"
"After I discovered my stupidity."
"That narrows nothing."
He laughed against her temple.
They began the descent slowly. Halfway down, Elizabeth stopped.
"I must tell you something unflattering."
"Only one thing?"
"When I first saw Pemberley, I wondered whether being mistress of it might alter a woman's feelings."
"Did it?"
"It altered my understanding. Mrs Reynolds and the tenants showed me who you were where you felt responsible rather than judged. But the house did not make me love you. You did."
Darcy's expression became grave with feeling. He lifted her hand to his lips. "Then I am grateful the house introduced us."
"Pemberley will be offended to receive so little credit."
Near the foot of the mount, they met Lydia and Kitty walking with Miss Harwood. Lydia saw their joined hands immediately.
She stopped so abruptly Kitty collided with her.
"You are engaged!"
Miss Harwood closed her eyes.
Elizabeth released Darcy's hand too late. "Lydia—"
"You are. Mr Darcy looks almost happy."
"I am entirely happy," Darcy said.
Lydia stared at him, then shrieked and embraced Elizabeth. Kitty followed with tears. Miss Harwood offered Darcy a composed congratulation while attempting to herd the girls away.
"We shall not tell Mama before Lizzy does," Kitty promised.
"Of course not," Lydia said. "We shall only arrive first."
They ran.
Elizabeth looked at Darcy. "Our private happiness has approximately four minutes."
"Then we should walk slowly."
They did, though Lydia's voice could be heard from the terrace before they crossed half the lawn.
Lady Bennet met them at the doors.
Her face moved from triumph to tears so quickly that even Elizabeth was unprepared. She embraced her daughter, then Darcy, then apologized for embracing him and did it again.
"Ten thousand a year—no, I shall not speak of money. Pemberley! That is not better. Oh, Lizzy, you will be so far away."
The final fear emerged beneath every boast. Elizabeth held her.
"We shall visit. You will come to Pemberley."
"In Derbyshire? The roads are dreadful."
"You have never travelled them."
"Then I am unbiased."
Darcy said solemnly, "I shall order repairs before your first visit."
Lady Bennet looked at him, uncertain whether he joked, and began to laugh.
Sir Thomas waited in the library. Darcy and Elizabeth entered together.
"Papa," Elizabeth said, "Mr Darcy has asked me to marry him."
"Has he? How unexpected."
"You are a terrible man."
Sir Thomas stood. His humor faded as he looked at their joined hands.
"And you are happy?"
"Very."
He opened his arms. Elizabeth went to him.
"Then I am happy too," he said into her hair.
Darcy looked away to grant them privacy, though emotion tightened his own face.
Sir Thomas released Elizabeth and held out his hand to Darcy.
"Welcome to the family."
Darcy took it. "Thank you, sir."
"You may call me Sir Thomas until after the wedding. I must preserve one advantage."
Elizabeth laughed through her tears.
That evening, when the household finally quieted, Sir Thomas answered the Queen's letter.
He wrote of Jane's coming marriage, Mary's successful presentation, Kitty's drawing, Lydia's useful observation, and Elizabeth's engagement. He wrote that Netherfield prospered.
Then he added one final line.
Your Majesty asked whether I made good use of your gift. I have tried. The estate secured my family, but the obligation taught me to know them. Whatever good followed began in the breath you recovered and the life I understood I had neglected.