Darcy laughed. It was a release of enormous tension, and the sound of his unrestrained mirth added to hers.
“Georgiana would heartily agree. You are always astute in your observations, Miss Elizabeth.”
Elizabeth considered his words and stopped chuckling. She stepped away from his embrace and turned to face him, her chin high in defiance. “No, sir, with that I cannot agree. When you are the topic, I cannot get on at all. In taking your measure, I have been a great deal less than astute.”
“Is that why you have kept my letter? To remind yourself I am a wretched man?” His eyes grew solemn.
“No, that is not the reason.” She could feel the colour rising in her moist cheeks.
“I once said I would not flatter you, but I find I must. You are not like other ladies. You are quite lovely when you cry. How is it you prevent your face from crumpling? And when you blush, as I see you doing now…well, what man could resist you?”
“You could, quite easily, one night in Meryton.”
“Very early in our acquaintance, I lost any ability to resist you. Since returning to Rosings when Anne died, I have fought every minute to regulate myself.”
She turned away to hide a smile of relief. He was teasing her. Was he similar to her in teasing only those he loved? Dare she accept his whispered confession?
She drew herself to her full height and nodded her head. There was nothing for it but to be as truthful as she would wish him to be. “Mr. Darcy, there is something you have done for which I owe you my gratitude.”
Darcy’s eyes widened a little. “Gratitude for flattery?” He could not follow her thoughts.
“Gratitude for saving my life. Your portrait, sir—”
“I do not comprehend you,” Darcy interrupted.
“The morning I first viewed the de Bourgh jewels, when your aunt meant to…” She stopped, took a breath, and continued. “What I am about to tell you lays me bare, Mr. Darcy. You will know it all, for you will soon leave, and I must explain why I fainted the morning of the murders.”
He thought it odd… He remembered Jane Bennet saying something similar: …knowing it all. Perhaps it was a family affectation. Darcy looked away, confused.
“When Lady Catherine was called away, she insisted I take tea and see the jewels without her… I would have too. I would have had a cup of tea and a slice of cake. But I saw your portrait, and it distracted me. In that moment, seeing your smile, it was as if you were smiling at me. I admitted to your image that my feelings for you had materially changed. I cried for all I had so wantonly, stupidly, thrown away. Your smile…I lost my appetite.” She paused. “Oh! That does not sound as I intended it to! I mean, rather, um… I was very taken with your smile. Very. And then I knew myself.”
They each made a particular study of the grass at their feet, suddenly too awkward to speak further.
It was Darcy who next gathered his courage. “Miss Bennet, it seems to me, in these last few moments, you have used some sort of arts or allurement to cause me to reveal that the desire and love I have previously expressed to you are undiminished. If you think better of me, enough to consider courtship and eventual marriage, if you have not yelled away all your feelings, tell me so at once. If you do not think you love me enough to tolerate me day upon day for the rest of our lives, then I shall never speak of this again.”
“I…I cannot believe it. You do love me? Your whisper was not a tease?”
Darcy only nodded, his eyes pleading.
“That is why I kept your letter. I never had a love letter before. I did not know it for that when I first read it, but now I appreciate what you were trying to say. I was unjust—so needlessly spiteful. It was wrong of me. I was wholly mistaken in you. Yet you still love me?”
“I shall always love you.” He was earnest.
“So I shall always love you, Mr. Darcy. I own I have come late to the fight, but now I know my heart.”
He blinked a moment and held out his hand. “You are accepting me? Miss Elizabeth Bennet will marry me?”
“I have already accepted you. You will think me unforgivably forward.” Elizabeth pulled the letter from her pocket, untied the ring, and held it in her palm. “That morning, when I was so enamoured of your portrait, this one little pink stone, of all the de Bourgh treasure, sparkled at me. It is the only piece to be saved.” She took in a deep breath for strength. “As I left the hallway, I stopped before your picture and pledged myself to you with this.
“Is it possible for a lady to select her own betrothal ring, or must the gentleman always provide it?” She placed the ring in Darcy’s open hand. She was astonished and breathless at the change in his countenance. His eyes were warm and his aspect thoroughly sincere. “Mr. Darcy,” she whispered, “you are an irresistibly handsome man when you smile.”
“Now that you have consented to have me, I shall always smile if it pleases my wife.” He spoke softly, slipping the ring onto her finger. “Will you have me, Elizabeth?”
“Yes, I shall have you. Name the day.” She felt a heat spread from his gentle fingers up and across her chest. She beamed as he kissed her hand.
“May I ask: what made you smile in the portrait?”
“Georgiana was there, tweaking me. Before Wickham’s advances to her, she was a typical younger sister. She was no doubt calling me her ‘bugly-rother’.”
“I knew you would reserve such a smile only for someone you truly love.”
Darcy kept hold of her hand, which he had raised to his face, and smiled against her palm. “She lost her confidence, but since meeting you, she seems to be…unfolding again. She is following your lead as I had hoped she would when I proposed in April.”
Elizabeth inhaled. “Why did you not tell me so? I would not have thought so ill of you had I known you considered me a good example for Georgiana.”
“I did not practice those addresses as I am sure was abundantly clear.”
“Did you practice for today?” Her eyes were merry, and she was enjoying the way he held her hand against his cheek and lips.
Still smiling, he murmured, “No, Elizabeth, this all comes very much as a surprise.” Darcy lowered his face to hers and drew her into an embrace.
Elizabeth’s fingers on his cheek instinctively guided his lips to hers. She had wanted him to kiss her since seeing his portrait.
Darcy’s hands caressed her neck, his thumbs rubbing her earlobes. He feared alarming her but did not hesitate to turn his mouth on hers, forcing her lips further apart and tentatively running his tongue along the length of her upper lip. After allowing himself the heavenly miracle of kissing her, he gently slid one hand to the middle of her back. He revelled in the sensation of her bosom pressing into his chest before giving her mouth a final taste and pulling away.
It was everything Elizabeth hoped a first kiss would be. He was gentle but insistent. When he pulled her tightly against his coat, she felt her knees weaken.
Their eyes opened and met. Silently, Darcy tilted his head with a devilish half smile.
Elizabeth nodded her understanding.
Darcy tossed away his hat, and they enjoyed several much longer and more thorough kisses as she moulded her body to his and, at long last, tousled his curls.
Colonel Fitzwilliam stood at a window in the drawing room at Rosings, absently sipping coffee and gazing down the long view of a sheep-filled pasture. Georgiana was plinking at the pianoforte in an irresolute manner, which complimented her cousin’s mood. As he pondered sending the Rosings sheep to Pemberley—where the colder Derbyshire winters would increase their wool yield—and giving the meadows over to a herd of charmingly grouped cows, Darcy emerged from the west side of the park with Elizabeth Bennet on his arm. And not only was she on his arm, Darcy’s hand was over hers, stroking it. They looked to be quite happily engaged in conversation an
d appeared more than friendly.
“Georgie?”
“Yes, Cousin?”
“I think I might be witnessing the solution to the mystery of the formerly lively Miss Elizabeth brooding so around your brother, and I believe her sadness is ended.”
Georgiana crossed the room to join him at the window. As they watched, Darcy bent to plant a series of kisses upon Elizabeth’s upturned face: first on her closed eyes, lowering to her nose, and then lingering on her lips.
“What can this mean?” Georgiana asked in surprise. “I knew he continued his regard for her, but he told me yesterday that he thought her to be lovelorn over someone who did not return her affection.”
“Clearly your brother grew a… er.” The colonel stilled himself from using a crude military phrase before his sheltered ward. “Darcy has developed the courage to pay his addresses again, and knowing Miss Elizabeth as I do, we can safely assume that this time he has been accepted.”
“Wait. What are you saying? My brother had proposed to Miss Elizabeth before? And he said nothing to me?” She looked at her cousin in confused query.
“It is true, Georgie. During the week after Easter, just before we left Rosings, Darcy proposed and was summarily refused.”
“But for the duration of our stay, she has always looked at him in unguarded moments with what I would call fondness,” Georgiana protested. “And the day we had our tea in Anne’s rooms and spoke of Pemberley, I would have said she felt more.”
“Would you?”
“Well, yes. I am sorry to pain you, Cousin, but even as you were shilly-shallying about deciding whether or not to court her, she would constantly look to my brother with the utmost concern. Her first thoughts were not of you, but rather, she was afraid of giving pain to him.”
“I know you are right. The night before her sister arrived, I had determined to talk to her about Darcy. I could never have married her once I believed she was falling in love with him. When Jane Bennet arrived and I had the chance to make a shameless fool of myself”—the colonel sighed, remembering how Charlotte Collins had frowned at him—“well, other problems arose, and Miss Elizabeth released any claim on me.”
They continued to watch the couple in the park. “Darcy was furious with me and wrote immediately to Bingley.”
As the colonel spoke, Darcy looked up at the house and saw the two figures in the window. He waved boyishly, took Elizabeth by the hand, and began running.
Georgiana smiled. “It does seem Miss Elizabeth is disposed to laugh at my brother as I have been told she used to do.”
Rather than entering the house, Darcy and Elizabeth approached the window, and Darcy motioned for Colonel Fitzwilliam to open the glass. “She has accepted me!” he announced when his cousin and sister could hear. Darcy showed her hand with its shining pink diamond.
Elizabeth was blushing with the knowledge that the colonel and Georgiana had most likely observed Darcy kissing her.
“Cousin, send a phaeton to Hunsford to fetch Mrs. Collins and Miss Bennet. Go find Bingley and bring Mr. Bennet. I am of a mind to celebrate!”
“Bit early in the day, is it not?” the colonel asked. He was surprised to find his inclination was to confer privately with Charlotte Collins about Darcy’s intentions and Elizabeth’s inclinations—what she knew and when she knew it. There was a no-nonsense precision about the mind of Charlotte Collins, which the colonel had come to appreciate nearly as much as his memory of her shapely posterior. The woman could be positively military in her manner.
Darcy objected. “It is never too early for champagne!”
Chapter 20
Preparing for Two Weddings
5 April 1812
What can have happened? I still know no more than I did when Darcy and Alex left yesterday morning. That Mama is saddened and somewhat subdued by the loss of male company to lord over is no great mystery, but I cannot think why EB should be so. Yes, she still stands on her hind legs to Mama, but her eyes were not merry as she explained her travel plans, which seem so brave! But EB is anxious to leave our little corner of Kent as she had planned. The luxury of the conveyance that removes her matters little.
It would come as a surprise to EB, but I should very much wish to correspond with her. I sense a kindred spirit. I am certain her view of the world is not far from mine. To marry is not her first object, for I think very little encouragement on her part would have secured Cousin Darcy.
This is why I would correspond with her: she might make an excellent companion for me when I allow my little scandal to be known. It would soothe me to hear that her preference is for a single life, and she will need employment. It is difficult for a woman with no income of her own.
No, I must not allow her to depart next Saturday without managing some future means of communicating with her. I like her company, and if she will not have Darcy or Alex, I cannot suppose she wishes for any man.
I must finish my wine. My pains come and go but worsen when I lie flat. Perhaps I should pass the night partially reclined upon my chaise lounge. Or there is that divine tincture of opium from London. I am sure Dr. Roberts would not approve. As I float away, I shall pretend Mr. C is at me again as he was at our last tryst, for that always calms my nerves. —A de B
Friday, 1 May 1812
Gracechurch Street, London
Darcy pondered being unsettled by the prospect of meeting Elizabeth’s relations in trade. Was not the Bingley family a mere generation removed from their business? He imagined tradespeople grovelling after and discussing nothing but money. Further, it was generally supposed by his acquaintance that the merchant class constantly pushed themselves and their wares—whatever such might be—forward to increase revenues. And yet, his honesty must admit that every marriageable woman in the ton behaved the same.
However, today was Elizabeth’s birthday. She was now one and twenty, legally independent of her father. Mr. Bennet encouraged him to take her to Gretna Green, and Darcy was not certain it was in jest. For her part, Elizabeth insisted she wanted no gift other than his attendance at the party in her honour hosted by the Gardiners. He decided, given the lengths of praise Elizabeth heaped upon this aunt and uncle, that it was better he stand aside and observe.
The Darcy carriage stopped in front of a lovely home that took up half the length of the street from a mews entry to a lane. It could be lifted and transported to any address in Mayfair and not be found wanting. Darcy stood next to his carriage as the Bingley barouche arrived.
“Darcy!” Bingley emerged from his equipage. “Allow me a moment before we go inside.”
“Here, on the street?”
“We must be united as bridegrooms. Jane has had a letter from her mother, and she fears Mrs. Bennet will draw out setting any date for our wedding. As Mrs. Bennet has not yet responded to Miss Elizabeth’s letter announcing your betrothal, I say we prevent any delay with a double ceremony. Jane is keen for it. My sisters think the idea indelicate. ‘Country manners,’ they call it, but I believe Mr. Bennet will agree. I would like to be married in a month’s time.”
Darcy clapped Bingley on the back. “Excellent plan.”
May 1812
Hertfordshire
Netherfield Park was duly opened, and Bingley and Darcy were ensconced therein. Georgiana made quick friends with Kitty Bennet. Lydia was put out, and Kitty was delighted to at last be someone’s particular friend rather than waning in her younger sister’s boisterous shadow. Mary committed the deadly sin of envy when she heard Georgiana at the pianoforte, but with the influence of a book of sermons for young ladies and Georgiana’s eager offer to play duets, Mary’s misplaced pride in her own playing was gentled.
Darcy did, with great reluctance, depart for a week to the north for the planting. Georgiana removed to Longbourn for the time he was away. The travel to Pemberley was not so easy, and he
was away nearer a fortnight than not. Still, he did not stay as long as was his custom. His steward, Mr. Belper, and his housekeeper, Mrs. Reynolds, completely understood his leaving almost as soon as he had arrived. They were pleased beyond measure to know a new mistress was on her way to them, and their master’s light heart told them the future of Pemberley was to be a happy one. Darcy set in motion the restoration and improvement of the master and mistress’s suite of rooms, which he had not done since inheriting. If the work was not complete in the three weeks before his return with Elizabeth, they would camp in a guest suite.
A mere ten days before the double ceremony was to take place on Wednesday, 10 June, Colonel Fitzwilliam arrived unannounced at Netherfield in a Rosings chaise and four. It was no hardship, as Bingley’s family would not arrive until two days before the wedding, but the colonel’s agitated manner led Darcy to suspect something was afoot.
That afternoon, Darcy called at Longbourn to take tea with Elizabeth and was surprised to find Charlotte Collins with her in the drawing room. Mrs. Collins wore a gown of pink and pale blue, and both ladies were beaming.
“Mr. Darcy!” Elizabeth hastened to him and he took her hand to kiss. She whispered, “Charlotte has told me the most splendid news! She and Colonel Fitzwilliam are to marry!”
The lady was blushing furiously as Darcy bowed over her hand saying, “My congratulations! Why are we whispering?”
Elizabeth told the tale in a low voice. “Charlotte is afraid my mother will accuse her of stealing our thunder, but she and your cousin wish for us to stand up with them.”
Darcy could not recall ever seeing Charlotte so nearly undone.
“Will you, sir?” she hissed happily.
Darcy looked back and forth between the two women. Elizabeth appeared glad of the notion. He could not deny her even though he thought Mrs. Collins coming so soon out of mourning was at least slightly improper. Could it be that his cousin had done something to necessitate the expedited ceremony? That scoundrel! I shall never let him live it down.
A Will of Iron Page 22