Chapter Twenty The Lanterns of Vauxhall #3
“I was not,” Darcy retorted, though the wide grin on his face ruined his austere defence.
“Oh, Lizzy,” Jane sighed, rushing to hug her sister tightly. “I am so happy for you. So, so happy.”
“Thank you, Jane,” Elizabeth whispered, hugging her back. She turned to survey the grinning crowd of intruders. “I suppose privacy is a foreign concept to this family?”
“We are a collective,” the viscount declared proudly. “Your business is our business. And speaking of business, I believe we were promised a dinner!”
The atmosphere shifted into a boisterous celebration. Darcy slipped his hand into Elizabeth’s as the group began the walk to the private supper boxes. He leaned down, pressing a quick, secretive kiss to her temple.
“I apologise for my relatives,” he murmured. “They are pests.”
“They are wonderful,” Elizabeth corrected, admiring the sparkling ring on her finger. “And I am going to enjoy being a part of them.”
The private supper box Darcy had secured was a masterpiece of indulgence.
The table groaned under the weight of roasted fowl, delicate pastries, and the spun-sugar creation Robert had promised—a towering structure resembling a swan that tasted strongly of peppermint.
Glasses of champagne were raised, toasts were made, and the laughter was abundant.
“I must confess, Darcy,” the colonel remarked, slicing into a piece of meat, “I am astonished by your talent for grand gestures. I never thought you had it in you. Bravo!”
“Thank you, Cousin,” Darcy replied, his thumb gently stroking the back of Elizabeth’s hand under the table. “I shall share advice when your time comes.”
Jane beamed from across the table. “You both appear so joyful. It is such a lovely sight to witness.”
The viscount leaned close to Jane, his voice dropping into a register of theatrical sorrow. “I am overjoyed for them, truly. Though it does remind me of my own tragic, solitary existence.”
Jane laughed and shook her head. “You are hardly solitary, Lord Keathley. You have half of London clamouring for your attention.”
“But not the one I desire,” he sighed, resting his chin upon his hand.
Jane lifted an eyebrow but made no comment.
Mr Gardiner chuckled, raising his glass. “To the future Master and Mistress of Pemberley. May your lives be filled with as much joy as you have brought to us this evening.”
“Hear, hear,” Lord Keathley echoed, clinking his glass against Jane’s.
Elizabeth took a sip of her champagne, her free hand resting comfortably in Darcy’s under the table.
She observed the wonderful group of people gathered around them.
The Fitzwilliam family had embraced her aunt and uncle without a single trace of the snobbery she had once expected.
They were loud, opinionated, and fiercely loyal.
As the dinner concluded, the strains of a waltz drifted over from the main pavilion.
“A dance is required!” the viscount announced, gesturing for Darcy to stand up. “You cannot conclude such a momentous evening without participating in the festivities.”
Darcy turned to Elizabeth, his expression inviting. “Shall we?”
“I believe it is mandatory.” She smiled, accepting his hand.
The waltz was a relatively new addition to polite society, and Elizabeth had always found it thrillingly intimate.
As Darcy placed his hand on her waist, drew her close, and the distance between them vanished.
They moved to the sound of the music, twirling across the paved floor beneath the stars, while the moon hung full and bright in the sky, casting a silver sheen over the gardens.
A sense of peace settled over her. The man holding her was no longer a haughty stranger or a brooding enigma; he was her future.
“You are quiet,” Darcy observed, guiding her gracefully through a turn.
“I am simply enjoying the view,” she replied, gazing at his eyes.
Near the edge of the dance floor, Darcy’s cousin and Jane were watching the whirling couples. The viscount stood close to her sister, his head bowed to catch her words over the music.
“They are happy, are they not?” he whispered.
“Yes,” Jane replied. “They are happy.”
He nudged her shoulder with his own in an affectionate gesture. “Who knows,” he murmured. “Maybe we will be happy one day too.”
Darcy pulled Elizabeth a fraction closer, the world spinning in a blur of silk and starlight. “Are you prepared for the return to Hertfordshire?” he asked, a teasing lilt in his voice. “I suspect your mother’s reaction to our news will be audible all the way in London.”
“My mother,” Elizabeth said with a laugh, “will likely demand a parade through Meryton. And she will undoubtedly require her smelling salts at least twice per hour. I can only hope my father will be present to offer his customary sarcastic commentary to keep us grounded.”
“I shall endure the fainting and the parades gladly,” Darcy vowed, spinning her gracefully. “So long as you are beside me.”
“I shall be right beside you,” she promised. “Through the parades, the overbearing aunts, and whatever absurdities your cousins invent next.”
“Then I am the most fortunate man in England.”