CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE Three Months
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
Three Months
Three months after Darcy fell from Apollo, the lane where Elizabeth found him had changed.
Winter still held the fields, but snowdrops appeared near the hedges.
The mud remained, naturally. Elizabeth suspected the mud would outlive them all.
Darcy stood at the place of the accident with a cane in one hand.
Apollo stood twenty yards away, held by Richard.
The horse had been recovered two days after the fall at a farm nearly six miles distant.
Darcy had visited him at Netherfield but had not yet mounted.
Today he intended to.
Elizabeth was opposed. “Dr. Morrison said you may begin riding next week.”
“This is next week.”
“He meant after Tuesday.”
“It is Monday.”
“Exactly.”
Darcy looked at Richard. “Why did you bring her?”
Richard grinned. “Because I enjoy fairness.”
“Traitor.”
Elizabeth folded her arms.
“You are fond of that word.”
Darcy looked at Apollo. The horse shifted, snorted, and tossed his head.
Elizabeth’s irritation faded. “You are afraid.”
Darcy went still. Richard suddenly found the horse’s bridle fascinating. Darcy’s jaw tightened.
“I am not.”
“Fitzwilliam.”
He looked at her. She rarely used his Christian name.
His resistance altered. “I remember the fall,” he said.
“Of course you do.”
“I remember the sound before I struck the ground.”
Elizabeth stepped closer. “There is no shame in waiting.”
“I know.”
“Then why are you determined to mount today?”
“Because if I wait until I am no longer afraid, I may wait indefinitely.”
She studied him.
That, she understood. “Very well.”
He blinked. “Very well?”
“I reserve the right to say I told you so if you fall.”
“I would expect nothing less.”
Richard brought Apollo forward. Darcy spoke softly to the horse and ran a hand along his neck.
Apollo leaned into him. Mounting was awkward.
Richard held the saddle. Darcy used a block to reduce strain on the injured leg.
For one terrible second, when Apollo shifted beneath him, Darcy’s face went white.
Elizabeth’s heart stopped.
Then he settled.
Apollo stood.
Darcy breathed. He looked down at Elizabeth.
She smiled. “Do not go far.”
“I shall ride to London.”
“I will break the other leg myself.”
Richard laughed.
Darcy walked Apollo down the lane and back.
Nothing happened. It was the most beautiful nothing Elizabeth had ever seen. When he dismounted, his hands shook. She pretended not to notice until Richard led Apollo away. Then she took Darcy’s hand. He looked down at their joined fingers. “Thank you.”
“For threatening you?”
“For being here.”
The lane was empty except for them. Elizabeth glanced toward the bend. “This is where you proposed.”
Darcy’s expression became wary. “So I have been told.”
“You remember.”
“Yes.”
“Most of it?”
“Enough to wake in embarrassment twice a week.”
She laughed. Darcy lifted her hand but stopped before bringing it to his lips. “May I?”
Elizabeth’s smile faded into something softer. “Yes.”
He kissed her knuckles. The courtesy, after the stolen delirious kiss, moved her unexpectedly.
Darcy released her hand. Elizabeth did not let him.
He looked at her.
“I think,” she said slowly, “you may ask me again.”
Every trace of humour vanished from his face. “Here?”
“You claimed sentimental value.”
“Elizabeth.”
She waited. Darcy straightened as much as the healing leg allowed. There was no fever now. No blood, no mud on his coat, no desperation clouding his judgment.
Only the man.
“I loved you badly before I knew how to love you well,” he said. “I admired you while judging the people you loved. I wanted you while believing my wanting sufficient reason to overlook my own arrogance. These months have taught me how much I did not understand.”
Elizabeth’s eyes burned.
“I cannot promise never to be proud,” he continued. “You would not believe me if I did.”
“No.”
His mouth moved faintly. “I can promise to listen when you tell me I am wrong. To speak when silence would be cowardice. To respect the people who matter to you even when I do not understand them. To make Pemberley your home, not merely mine.”
Elizabeth’s throat tightened.
“Miss Elizabeth Bennet, will you marry me?”
She pretended to consider.
Darcy stared.
She let him suffer three seconds. “Yes.”
His eyes closed.
Elizabeth laughed through sudden tears. “Yes, Fitzwilliam. I will marry you.”
He opened his eyes. “May I kiss you?”
“That depends.”
“On what?”
“Whether you intend to faint afterward.”
He laughed.
Then he kissed her. This kiss was nothing like the first. It was careful at the beginning, almost reverent.
Elizabeth touched his coat, then his shoulders.
Darcy’s hand came to her cheek. When she leaned closer, restraint warmed into certainty.
The world narrowed to cold air, the rough wool beneath her fingers, and the astonishing gentleness of a man she had once believed incapable of bending.
When they parted, Darcy rested his forehead against hers. “I remember the first one,” he murmured.
Elizabeth smiled. “So do I.”
“This was better.”
“Much.”
From around the bend Richard shouted, “Have you finished proposing? I am freezing.”
Elizabeth burst out laughing.
Darcy closed his eyes. “I may kill him before the wedding.”
“No. Georgiana would be upset.”
“Then afterward.”
“Perhaps.”
They walked home together, slowly because of his leg and because neither wished to hurry.