Chapter Twenty The Lanterns of Vauxhall #2
“A necessary one,” he confessed, his voice dropping to that resonant timbre that never failed to make her knees unreliable. “I fear my family lacks subtlety, but they compensate with enthusiasm. I asked them to provide me with a few moments of your undivided attention.”
“You requested their assistance to isolate me in a pleasure garden?” she asked, pressing a hand to her chest in mock scandal. “Mr Darcy, I am shocked. What would Lady Catherine say?”
“I suspect she would demand the removal of all lanterns and the installation of a moat,” he replied, the corner of his mouth twitching. “But I find I no longer care what my aunt would say. Not when you are standing here, looking at me like that.”
“Like what?” Elizabeth breathed, suddenly aware of how close they were. The noise of the gardens—the laughter, the music, the distant fireworks—faded to a distant hum.
“Like I am not a complete fool for hoping,” he said with a shrug.
The words stole the breath from her lungs. She had spent so many months seeing only his pride, his reserve, his infuriating certainty. Now she saw the man beneath it all—the one who had bled his heart onto paper and had endured Mr Collins for days on end.
He offered his arm once more, and this time his voice was quieter. “Will you walk with me, Elizabeth?”
Hearing her Christian name spoken in that deep, warm tone sent a cascade of warmth rushing through her chest.
“I will walk with you anywhere, Fitzwilliam,” she whispered, slipping her hand into the crook of his elbow.
He guided her away from the noisy central pavilions, down a secluded promenade known as the Lover’s Walk. Here, the crowds thinned to a sparse trickle, and the glass lanterns overhead cast a soft, golden glow upon the gravel path. The air smelled of roses and night-blooming jasmine.
As they turned a corner, Elizabeth gasped.
The path ahead was lined with dozens of tall iron stanchions.
Wrapped around each one were garlands of vibrant red roses, their rich crimson petals glowing under the light like living jewels.
The sweet, heady fragrance filled the cool evening air, wrapping her in its embrace.
Further down the path, standing beneath the sweeping branches of an elm tree, a solitary violinist played.
The melody was soft, slow, and achingly beautiful, the notes drifting through the trees like whispered secrets.
Elizabeth stared at the roses, then up at the man beside her. “Fitzwilliam,” she breathed, her voice catching. “What is this?”
“I always prefer a quieter approach, you know that about me by now,” he murmured, slowing their pace until they stood in the heart of the blooms, bathed in the violin’s gentle serenade.
“Though I admit, I may have exaggerated my aversion to theatricality. When the occasion calls for it, I find I can be quite dramatic.”
“It is beautiful,” she whispered, her eyes stinging with unshed tears. “It is breathtaking.”
“You once accused me of lacking conversational skills,” he said, turning to face her fully.
He took both of her gloved hands in his, his thumbs tracing the delicate lace at her wrists with a tenderness that made her breath hitch.
“You told me I was a disdainful man who spoke only to insult or to deliver dictatorial proclamations. And for a long time, you were correct.”
“Fitzwilliam, I—”
“No, let me speak,” he urged softly, a shy smile breaking across his features.
It was the most unguarded expression she had ever seen on him, and it made her heart ache with love.
“I spent my life allowing my pride to build a fortress around me. I convinced myself that status and consequence were the only things I required. When I handed you that letter in Hunsford... that disaster of a letter... I was a man drowning in his own folly.”
Elizabeth squeezed his hands, her vision blurring. “We were both foolish. I judged you upon the slander of a scoundrel, and I refused to see the truth of your character.”
“But you see it now, do you not?” he asked with a note of uncertainty.
“I see a man who cares for his sister with boundless devotion,” she managed, her voice steady and clear despite the tears threatening to spill. “I see a man who protects his friends, even when it costs him. A man who lines a garden path with red roses simply to make me smile.”
Darcy released one of her hands and reached into his waistcoat pocket. He withdrew a small, velvet-covered box.
“I promised myself I would not bungle this a second time,” he whispered, holding her gaze with an intensity that made the rest of the world vanish. “There is only a question tonight, and I pray to God a bumblebee does not descend to interrupt me.”
A startled laugh escaped Elizabeth’s lips. “I cannot guarantee the behaviour of the local insects, sir. The gardens are full of surprises.”
“I am willing to risk it,” he vowed, his voice rough with emotion.
Darcy opened the box. Nestled within the velvet rested a magnificent sapphire ring, its deep blue depths enhanced by a foiled closed-back setting, and encircled by a halo of glittering rose-cut diamonds set in fine silver over a heavy band of 22-carat gold.
The stunning ring caught the lantern light and threw a kaleidoscope of colours into the shadowed evening.
“Elizabeth Bennet, you have overthrown every certainty I ever had. You have taught me how to laugh at myself, how to value wit over wealth, and how to love without condition or reservation. I do not wish to spend another day of my life without your voice challenging mine, without your laughter warming my days, without your hand in mine. Will you confer upon me the greatest felicity of my existence? Will you do me the honour of consenting to be my wife?”
The world seemed to hold its breath, the sounds of the crowds fading, leaving only the melody of the violin around them.
Elizabeth gazed at the man before her—the proud, difficult, wonderful man who had once been her greatest adversary and was now her dearest love. She saw his hope, his strength, his fears, and the undeniable truth of his affection.
“Yes,” she said, her voice catching on a sob of pure joy. “Yes, Fitzwilliam. Yes, yes, yes—I will gladly be your wife.”
Darcy let out a sound that was half-laugh, half-sigh of soul-deep relief. His hands trembled only slightly as he slid the ring onto her finger. It fit flawlessly, as though it had always belonged there.
His arms came around her, enveloping her in a warm embrace.
Their lips met in a kiss that erased every misunderstanding, every harsh word, and every barrier that had ever stood between them.
It was tender, fierce, and perfect—a promise sealed under the canopy of Vauxhall’s lanterns, with roses all around and music drifting through the night air.
When they finally drew apart, foreheads resting together, Elizabeth laughed, a little breathless. “You know,” she whispered, “if your cousins are watching from the bushes, they are never going to let us live this down.”
“Let them watch,” Darcy murmured, pressing another soft kiss to her temple. “I have never been happier and I want the world to know.”
“Huzzah!”
A loud, booming cheer shattered the romantic moment.
Elizabeth and Darcy sprang apart, turning their heads to the sound.
Bursting from behind a dense cluster of rose bushes came the Fitzwilliam and Gardiner delegation.
The viscount was clapping his hands together with deafening enthusiasm, cheering as though he were at a horse race.
The colonel was whistling through his fingers.
Mr Gardiner was beaming, his arm securely around his wife, who was wiping a tear from her cheek.
Georgiana was bouncing on her toes, squealing with delight, while Anne clapped politely, an expression of supreme satisfaction on her pale face.
“We witnessed the whole thing!” Lord Keathley shouted, bounding down the path with Jane laughing beside him. “Flawless execution, Darcy! No stuttering, excellent posture! I give it full marks!”
“You were eavesdropping?” Darcy demanded, his face burning. “All of you?”
“Of course we were,” Anne stated reasonably, embracing Elizabeth. “You did not honestly believe we would miss the grand finale? I wagered Richard five pounds you would not weep, Fitzwilliam. Pay up, Colonel. His cheeks remained dry.”
“I was not going to weep,” Darcy grumbled, and wrapped an arm securely around Elizabeth’s waist, refusing to let her go.
“It was a near thing.” The colonel laughed, tossing a coin to Miss de Bourgh. “I saw his jaw tremble. He was very close.”