His snicker filled the compartment.
“Pray, tell me, sir.” Elizabeth asked. “Would you share a favorite memory which would provide a hint of her character?”
Darcy smiled and looked up to the cloth-covered ceiling as his chin rested on his thumb and index finger. A few minutes went by until he replied.
“My mother loved the spring flowers more than the cultivated roses in our formal gardens. Like her, and I believe like you as well, Georgiana was drawn to the same.”
Elizabeth nodded her confirmation. She loved sunny daffodils, a carpet of white field daisies, fragrant narcissus and hyacinths, and stately tulips that swayed in the gentle breezes of early April.
“After father died, Georgie would spend hours sitting amidst the flowers, right down in the middle of them. Should she wander off, we always knew where to find her.” He chuckled, dropping his hand down to clasp hers. “She would leave a squashed patch of bent and broken stems behind when she finally stood. It took years before she figured out how we knew where to look. She is a silly goose whom I adore.”
Elizabeth’s smile came easily. The memory was precious for its tenderness and for the enlightenment that she and Miss Darcy would start their friendship with something in common.
“Thank you, William.” She squeezed his fingers. “Then I must share a story so you will better know my personality. Whether you will appreciate the similarities or worry for the future of your gardens, I cannot know.”
“Pray, tell me, my dear.”
Hazy sunlight shone through the pewter-colored clouds and bounced off the glass beside her, settling over the upper portion of his face. His eyes emitted warmth enough to melt her heart. Elizabeth was beginning to believe the emotion she was feeling was love for this man. She sighed.
“I was in my eleventh summer when I had caused my parents consternation to the point that they told me I would be confined to my room for a great length of time.” She shook her head as he did the same. “You can imagine how horrid I found the prospect. The blue sky beckoned me into the fields.” She swallowed. “I see your question, Mr. Darcy, and cannot imagine you will let me proceed until I confess my sin.”
He smiled, then nodded.
“I see how you are, sir,” she teased back. “A finer gentleman would never expect me to reveal I am less than perfection itself, would he?”
“Ha!” he laughed. “I do not want perfection, Elizabeth Bennet. I would be bored in minutes with someone who never erred. Think of how fruitless it would be to try to live up to the standards she set. No, I will cherish your imperfections as I pray you learn to overlook mine.”
“Then you, William, are the finest gentleman of my acquaintance.” She rested her free hand over where theirs were joined. “Be prepared to be shocked.” She dipped her head as if she was embarrassed. She was. “My father had a book in his library on animal husbandry. The drawings were some of my favorites. As I grew older and more educated, I realized what some of the illustrations depicted. To my father’s chagrin, I borrowed that volume and ran to the Lucas home to show their eldest daughter what I had learned. Within seconds of Charlotte’s father glancing at the page, the book was taken from me and slammed shut. I was roughly escorted home and presented to my parents as a bold wastrel who had no business being in an adult’s bookroom.”
“My mother was extremely angry, insisting on harsh punishment. My father? He told Sir William that he would see justice was served and then offered clemency.” She guffawed. “As soon as Charlotte’s father left, my papa laughed until tears poured from his cheeks. Many minutes passed before he was able to compose himself and explain how inappropriate it was to have his daughter teach the neighbor girl how a foal came to be inside a mare.”
Joy bounced from one inside wall to the other. Even stoic Thornton surreptitiously wiped moisture from the corners of his eyes.
“However, the story does not end quite yet.” Elizabeth breathed in deeply. “For penance, I decided to gift my parents with something I knew they appreciated almost as much as his books and her salts.” She grinned. The memory was sweet. “You were correct, William. Like your mother and sister, I do love the first flowers of the year. Unlike your female family members, I spent little time learning of them. My father loved tulips and had chosen each bulb and carefully tended and cultivated them until he had a small patch exactly the shade he wanted. Therefore, when I picked every pink tulip found in that particular area of our garden to take to my mother, whose favorite color is the pale blush on the petals, I was unaware the flowers would not grow back until a whole year had passed.”
Elizabeth continued. “I put the blooms behind my back so they would be a surprise when delivered to my mother. When my father saw them, he revoked his leniency and demanded I go to my room. However, when my mother spied the precious blooms, she said, “stuff and nonsense, Mr. Bennet. She is a good girl to bring her mama a gift to lighten my heart and make me smile.”” By then, Elizabeth snorted. “Thus, at one point, each parent had insisted on severe consequences only to have my actions forgiven in almost the same breath, or, vice versá. It was not until they conferred later when they realized what they had done. By then, I had returned outside feeling blessed for having the oddest parents I knew.”
“Dear lady, I have no doubt you will be a wonderful friend to Georgiana. To my gardeners? To this day, I believe they cringe when my sister strolls through the flowers. I would not be at all surprised if they did the same to you.”
“And, you, William? Will you keep me from your blossoms?” Tilting her head, she peered directly into his eyes. She closed her own to capture what was clearly reflected in his—understanding, compassion, empathy, sandalwood and citrus, love.
“Not at all. You are welcome to disassemble, remove, or plant whatever and wherever you choose. The park is ten miles around so there will always be plenty of blooms to fill the house with the fragrance of the season and decorate the land with stunning beauty.” Lifting her hand, he placed a kiss on the back of her gloved knuckles. “It must be fate, your coming to an estate so well suited to your proclivities.”
Movement outside the window caught his attention as the horses slowed dramatically. Buildings similar to others found in small communities throughout England appeared on either side of the carriage. With a tip of his head, he exchanged places with Mrs. Carr, now sitting across from Elizabeth. They could be seen. Propriety would be maintained.
After the second time of Darcy waving to someone outside one of the businesses, he offered, “We have reached Lambton.” Glancing back outside, Elizabeth watched as, almost one by one, each muscle on his face relaxed. “We are but five miles from home, Elizabeth.”
Pemberley.
She wanted his confidence; that certainty of welcome, protection, and stability. Would she still have frightening dreams within its walls? Would she recover her sureness, her fortitude when she walked through the entrance to the rooms inside? Would she feel the safety he professed?
Pemberley. So much rested on the promise of his estate. So much rested on him.
Elizabeth fought her fears as she stared at the firmness of his jaw and the determined expression he bore. Squaring her shoulders and lifting her chin, she decided then and there to do her all to trust in him.
Suddenly, he turned towards her with a look so tender, her instinct was to blurt out words she could never take back once mentioned. Three of the most powerful words in the known vocabulary of all mankind.
Sniffing, she caught a whiff of resoluteness. Sandalwood and citrus.
She was home.
SEVEN
Lovely. Just, lovely.
Never had a building been so perfectly situated. Even in the starkness of the November afternoon, the setting sun gilded the western walls, transforming the stone into glowing jewels framed by a backdrop of tall trees surrounding lush lawns and walled gardens. Elizabeth’s feet itched to walk every inch of the vista in front of her.
The horses had been clim
bing since they left Lambton behind. They stopped, at the urging of the driver, alongside the highest point of a hill. Elizabeth turned back from where Darcy had escorted her when the team of greys started stomping and scuffing their hooves on the gravel. Their noses lifted like they had caught the faint smell of their stalls. Like their master, they were ready for home.
“Shall we go?” he asked.
They had stood in silence since their arrival at the wide spot in the road. He had not asked her opinion, nor had she offered it. Elizabeth had not needed to express in words what her heart felt. For the first time since Darcy had spoken of his estate, she understood. Her initial impressions of Pemberley were security, solidness, and safety. Yes, she easily observed beauty, grandeur, and stateliness. But, unlike Miss Bingley’s gushing over the magnificence of the prospect, Elizabeth sensed peace wrapping her in its protective embrace. She would love it here.
Taking his hand as he helped her back into the conveyance, Elizabeth smiled at him. His returning expression indicated his pleasure at her assessment. The day had been wonderful in every way.
Earlier that morning, prior to reaching Lambton, Darcy had taken advantage of a long stop to rest the horses to walk Elizabeth away from Mrs. Carr and Thornton. His familiarity with the area was to their benefit as he directed Elizabeth to a garden encased by a low wall where they could be watched, but could speak privately at the same time.
“My dearest,” he hesitated. A brief quiver of his hand was the only evidence of his nervousness. “You are too generous to trifle with me. If your feelings are what they were when we left Longbourn, pray tell me so at once. My affections and wishes are unchanged.”
Furrowing her brows, she inquired. “What is it you want of me, William?”
“I have declared my love for you twice. More than that, I have striven to show my regard for you with each gesture, with each word, so you have no doubt of my attachment to you.” He whispered the words. Facing her, he held each of her hands with the gentlest touch. “I find…I need…I want hope. That is all.”
“All?”
He shrugged. “I have an intense desire to welcome you to my home as my betrothed, being engaged to marry, rather than a courtship alone.” Shrugging again, his words ran together. “I desire nothing more than to stop by the rectory and petition Mr. Pullman to read the banns in the morning after service. I long for them to be read the next two weeks so we can be married the day after it is done. I yearn for you to be my wife.” Dropping her hands, he turned from her. “My timing in asking this of you is most definitely badly done, and I sincerely apologize for…” He doffed his hat and ran his hand through his hair.
“For loving me?” she offered as she walked closer. “For wanting me to be your wife?” Boldly, Elizabeth placed her hand on his shoulder only to have it fall under her fingers. “William, do not fear my response, I pray you.”
He stepped away from her, leaving her palm extended towards him, her fingers missing the contact. Sandalwood and citrus.
“In truth, I do fear the words you might speak, Elizabeth.” Valiantly, he lifted his chin and moved until he was again in front of her, standing so close she could feel the warmth of his breath in the cold northern air. “Before you stands a man who will never love another, a man whose every thought is how best to nurture and protect your tender feelings.” His hand brushed over his mouth. “I am aware I press you towards my goal—what is best for me, what it is that I want. Nevertheless, I…” Darcy shook his head. “Pray, forgive me. I am a selfish being with no right to ask for a declaration from you. The harm forced upon you…I…” He dropped his chin. “Forgive me.”
“No!” Elizabeth fisted her hands, unsure if she wanted to pummel him for thinking so poorly of himself or strike herself for making this good man doubt his own course. “I…I would be delighted to receive an introduction to Mr. Pullman. I would be even more pleased to hear this man I have yet to meet proclaim to everyone in the chapel your intentions to marry me the morning after the third Sunday. And I will offer to you, with the level of honesty you have shown me, that I have discovered my own feelings are in agreement with yours.” Relaxing her fingers, she placed her hands in his. “I will marry you, William. I will be your wife. I will arrive at Pemberley as your intended bride.”
“Why?” His question was weighty in its simplicity.
“Because I will never love another.” Her response was equally straightforward.
“You love me? Truly? You love me?” The depth and breadth of his wonder surprised her.
“When we were quite young, Jane and I would spend hours giving serious consideration to the type of man we longed to marry. I cared not for fairy tales of castles and kings, of knights on white horses, or of a handsome pirate who would sail England’s shores until he found his greatest treasure in me.” She chuckled, and so did he. “What I hoped for was a good man who was not afraid to show me affection and respect, a man who would know my deepest, darkest secrets and love me in spite of them…or because of them.” Sandalwood and citrus. “Had I not encountered Lt. Wickham in the field, my loss in not coming to know your true character would have haunted me for my lifetime.” She dropped his hands and grabbed his lapel. “I find I simply cannot let you go.”
“Then, do not.”
His fingers pulled at the ribbons of her bonnet. He cared not when it dropped to the ground. Immediately, his long arms wrapped around her as he held her in the sweetest embrace. “You love me.” It was no longer a question.
“Can love grow from adversity?” she asked. “I believe so and I can state this with conviction because I am convinced I love you with my whole heart and soul. With my strength and my might, I adore you, Mr. Fitzwilliam Darcy.”
“Marry me?” he whispered as she rested her face on his shoulder, her nose buried in the most comfortable place on earth. “Pray, do me the honor of accepting my hand in marriage, Elizabeth Bennet. Please do.”
“Or?” She smiled, brushing her lips against his skin. He softly rubbed his chin against her forehead.
“Or, I will sail my ship to wherever you are and swoop down from the yard arm to capture you and carry you off to Gretna Green. I will ride my white stallion to the wall outside your chambers and climb the trellis leading to you, stealing you out from under your father’s nose and riding off to Scotland to wed.”
“Will you not be my king?” she teased, pleased he understood her whimsy.
“You are already my queen, my love.” He smiled. “You have been for many weeks.”
She sighed and closed her eyes. Sandalwood and citrus. Affection. Tenderness. Good will. Love.
“I will be your wife.” She squeezed as close to him as she could get. “Yes, I will marry you.”
This kiss took her breath away. And his.
“Thank you for the honor.” He breathed each word slowly, dotting each one with the touch of his mouth on hers.
Mrs. Carr cleared her throat.
“We should send her to Scotland.” Mr. Darcy declared in no uncertain terms.
Elizabeth’s laughter filled the garden. “I quite agree, sir.”
The midwife lifted her brow. Without speaking her mind, she walked back towards the coaching inn where Thornton was packing warm bricks in the carriage for their feet, turning every few steps to make sure they followed. They did.
***
Now that the carriage and four was moving rapidly towards Pemberley, Elizabeth pondered her future. Realization settled over her that she had not been anticipant. Her expressing her innermost emotions to the man seated across from her was as right as anything she had ever done.
The closer they came to the grand house, the more details were exposed to her. Instead of seeing the grounds groomed into submission, there were lovely areas where the plants had been allowed freedom to grow as they pleased. To her, this revealed another layer of the master of this estate. As restrained as he kept himself—well, at least when he was not close to her person—she was delighted to s
ee he would not always be formal in his place of residence. Here, he was as free as the vegetation growing around and under the trees.
“You continue to surprise me, William.” Accompanying her expression with a lift of the brow and a small grin, she thrilled to see his dimples.
“How so?” Leaning forward, he reached for her hand, ignoring the cautioning stare of the older woman seated alongside Elizabeth.
“I would never have believed it possible to see you entirely relaxed and in comfort. Your home does wonderful things to you and I eagerly await learning more as you reveal its secrets and yours over the…”
“Over our lifetime,” he interrupted, grinning.
“Yes, a lifetime of surprises, I believe.” He gave her fingertips a gentle squeeze and sat back on his seat. “I should wonder at what I will learn about myself here at Pemberley.”
He nodded once, the smile vanishing into the air. “I hope you learn what I have done and what my sister has gained from being here as well.”
She comprehended he spoke of the failed elopement.
“She has regained her footing and walks the grounds with confidence. I continue to be proud of her maturity, although her years are youthful. By the time she makes her debut, she will add dignity to the name she bears.”
“What a lovely thing to say.”
Elizabeth thought of her own sisters. She knew Jane was attracted to Darcy’s friend from Netherfield Park, Mr. Bingley. Mary, the middle child, rarely spoke of matrimony and seemed to despise as futile the social gatherings in Hertfordshire. The two youngest, Kitty and Lydia, were left to run wild by an indolent father and a flighty mother. She loved her parents, but would not want a marriage similar to theirs. The havoc their attitudes wrecked on their daughters could have been easily avoided had they learned to work together in harmony.
Something: Old, New, Later, True: A Pride & Prejudice Collection Page 23