Chapter 7
SEVEN
Elizabeth’s favourite moments of the past week had been from the day before, followed by Monday, which had been largely spent in Northampton.
It was all because of Mr Darcy. The day after his arrival, when they had spoken in the walled garden, he had said he could not say why his family and friends valued him.
But, after spending the past days observing him, she did.
When she contemplated it, as she had late into the previous night, she could trace how her sentiments had changed since reading his letter the morning after their argument in Kent.
It should not be a surprise to her that they had continued to evolve until it had become possible that she might love him, if it were what he still wished, to the present, when—as mad as it seemed—she knew that she did.
Yesterday had done the trick. The way he had compared her to the three men he considered his closest friends, she had known he was saying that he was drawn to her because she, like them, had characteristics he appreciated, that she was the sort of person he wanted in his life.
That should not be shocking, given he had proposed to her, but it told her that his feelings for her were not simply infatuation or because he found her pretty.
Then there was the way he looked at her—truly looked at her.
It was like she was falling into a deep well, but not a scary one—although she was a little frightened by her feelings for him.
No, it was one where she would find the best sort of comfort, that of being at home and belonging and never having to be alone.
She rose early and, after peeking out of the window to ensure it was not raining, dressed for a walk, hoping she might encounter Mr Darcy.
He must have seen that she no longer disliked him, indeed, that the opposite was true.
She wanted to hint that more was possible, if he did not balk at the notion of proposing to the same woman a second time, especially one who had been rude and hateful.
I suppose, if necessary, I could propose to him!
She laughed, glad she was alone, knowing she would not dare to do so, but wishing she could.
After wandering in the gardens for several minutes, she saw him. He was walking towards her, and when she smiled, he returned the gesture. They said good morning, and he asked if she would care to stroll with him, indicating a path that would take them away from the house; she agreed.
“Miss Darcy is not with you this morning,” she observed.
He shook his head and mumbled something about her writing to their aunt, but he did not say which one.
Elizabeth knew of at least three—two maternal and one paternal—and briefly dreamt of them being her aunts.
She did not especially like Lady Catherine, but from what she had heard the Darcys and Lord Halsley say, the other ladies were nothing like her.
For a while, they rambled and chatted, mostly about their surroundings, places she would like to visit—there were many—poetry, and the benefits to children of being encouraged to explore the natural world.
“You depart in two days,” he said.
Elizabeth nodded. “Papa confirmed it was his intention last night. You leave for Derbyshire tomorrow, I believe?”
“Yes, we are to Pemberley. Some of our relations will be visiting soon. Colonel Fitzwilliam’s parents and their eldest son, Bramwell, and my father’s brother and his family.
Bramwell and my cousin Rebecca Darcy are lately engaged.
” He laughed, and she looked at him. He was especially handsome when he was relaxed and amused.
Clearing his throat, he explained, “They have followed a…tumultuous course. He was supposed to marry another lady, one his parents had selected when he was a child. Bramwell was not especially inclined towards her, but he saw it as his duty. A month before their parents intended to announce their betrothal and arrange for the marriage, she very publicly announced her engagement to another man.”
“Oh, how dreadful!” she cried. “Your poor cousin.” It did not escape her notice that his family had selected a bride for him too—Miss de Bourgh. Had he once been inclined to marry her, seen it as his duty, even if he did not love her? One day, she might ask him.
In response to her comment, Mr Darcy scoffed. “The very next morning, he was at my uncle’s house, proposing to Rebecca. I believe he proposed three—no, four—times before she accepted.”
“No!” she said, astonished and, admittedly, entertained.
“That is exactly what she kept saying.”
Laughter burst from Elizabeth. It was seldom that he made a joke.
He grinned and held out an arm to her, which she took, and as they continued to slowly walk beside a small stream, he said, “As Rebecca tells the story, Bramwell neglected to tell her that he loves her, that he is happier with her in his life than he could ever be without her, that she…that she is everything to him.”
There was a change in his voice she imagined was unintentional. She did not know what exactly had happened between his cousins, but she strongly suspected that he might as well have been speaking of himself, and what he believed he had neglected to say to her that terrible evening at the parsonage.
Elizabeth nibbled the inside of her lip, her brow furrowed, and thought of how to word what she wanted to say.
At length, her voice low and serious, she said, “I believe what is most important is that, in the end, they did learn to understand each other. I presume your cousin Rebecca received the assurances of his regard she needed, and that, in turn, gave her permission to care for and trust him. With mutual respect and affection, I believe most couples can prevail over trying circumstances.”
Their steps slowed and then stopped, and they stood, facing each other. Speaking as tentatively as she had, Mr Darcy said, “Even weeks, months of misunderstanding?”
“Even the occasional rather dreadful row,” she whispered, managing not to look away, despite how intense his expression was, like the sun was shining through his eyes. Her heart raced.
“Do…do you think another couple—” He let out a gust of air and averted his gaze for a moment before again meeting her eye and continuing.
“We part tomorrow, and I must know… For the sake of my future peace and happiness, I must know that I have taken every possible opportunity. Miss Bennet—Elizabeth—do you think you and I might prevail over our past misunderstandings, that your feelings for me might change?”
She struggled not to grin like a fool and throw herself into his arms. Overcome with unexpected and unwelcome shyness, she had to look away from him.
“I think it is entirely possible that, as impossible as it seems, they will become…the opposite to what they once were, what I thought they were. These last few days, I have wondered if I have ever understood myself, when it comes to you, if I constantly sought to find fault and insult so that I could tell myself I despised you, thus it did not matter that you did not like me, even though it is obvious to me now that…”
“That?”
“That it is entirely possible I never truly disliked you, not entirely, no matter what you did.” She had been disappointed and angry at him, but if she had despised him, she could not have learnt to love him.
“What I should have told you at Easter was that being near you, hearing your voice and laughter, it fills a part of me I did not know was empty. That is what I should have said.”
Her gaze steady on his, every ounce of her courage fully engaged, she said, “You could tell me now, if you still wish to.”
His lips parted, and she observed as he examined every inch of her countenance, probably attempting to understand what she meant. If necessary, she would be more direct, because this was their moment—she knew it was.
“If I still wish to marry you?” he said and immediately went on.
“I have never stopped wanting it, never stopped loving you and knowing that, no matter if you rejected me a dozen times, I would not—could not—stop. I love you more today than I did in Kent, more than I did yesterday, and every day, I promise you, Elizabeth, every day, you will know how I treasure you.”
Her muscles aching from how widely she smiled, she laughed. “Then I suppose I ought to marry you.”
Apparently out of words, he took her face between his hands, and kissed her.
They were late to breakfast, and her father peered at her, his brow furrowed in confusion.
She supposed it was because she could not contain her glee, and Mr Darcy was smiling and jovial, in marked contrast to his usual quiet demeanour.
She was engaged to Mr Darcy, he would speak to her father that day, and they would share what they had decided regarding arrangements—assuming he approved.
The necessary conversation took place immediately after the meal, and the noon hour found their entire party together in a bright, airy parlour having an impromptu celebration.
Elizabeth and Mr Darcy sat together on a small sofa, each with a hand resting on the space between them, their fingers nearly touching.
In answer to Miss Darcy’s—Georgiana’s—question, Elizabeth, with her eyes steady on her betrothed, said, “That is correct. Once your relations have been to Pemberley, your brother will return to Hertfordshire, where we shall be married before the end of August.” Turning to her future sister-in-law, she added, “I hope you will come with him.”
Georgiana looked at her brother, who nodded, confirming it was his wish.
Mr Bennet said, “Please do, my dear. I shall point to you and instruct my younger daughters to emulate your behaviour, even promise to raise their allowances if they do.”
Elizabeth laughed. “Oh, Papa! Georgiana, he is teasing you.” While she too would be glad if her sisters acted more like her, it was not right to admit it.
“If I am permitted to attend, I would like to be at the wedding,” Lord Halsley said. “After all, I credit you being together at Haelthorpe for this happiest of outcomes. It does not matter what came before, it is meeting here, at my estate, that made the difference.”
Mr Darcy assured his godfather that he would be most welcome, and as her father spoke to the earl about what they might do at Longbourn, were he to visit, Elizabeth and her Mr Darcy gazed at each other, their fingers at last touching, and soon entwined, just as their lives had become and would always remain.