by Jann Rowland
At that moment, a small ray of sunlight pierced the rustling foliage above, illuminating her face like a halo, and Darcy thought she smiled in response. A few strands of hair had escaped her coiffeur and waved in the lazy breeze, prompting her to raise one slender hand to push them away, an unconscious action Darcy found enchanting. The conversation of the other ladies ceased as Darcy and Fitzwilliam approached, but Miss Bennet did not seem to hear their coming.
Then she opened her eyes.
As that bright, glorious gaze fell on him, it seemed to Darcy like she did not understand what she was seeing for the briefest of moments. Then comprehension dawned and she gazed at him, a half-smile, one reserved for him, adorned her features.
It was at that moment Darcy knew he was lost. Indecision had plagued him, turned to determination to avoid losing what she might have brought to his life. That had now turned to adoration, the likes of which caused his heart to beat a painful cadence in his breast, loud enough he wondered why it was not audible to everyone else in the dell.
“Mr. Darcy,” said she, her voice as soft and light as a wisp of wind.
“Miss Bennet,” was all he could say in reply, so full was his heart.
Whatever happened from this time forward, Darcy knew he would face it with her, for any thought of prudence was gone, washed away amid the churning froth of a torrential river, never to return. This was the woman with whom he would spend his life. It could be no other way.
Chapter XXVIII
Something changed again in Elizabeth’s dealings with Mr. Darcy, and it all stemmed from the day he had found her in the company of his female relations. Mr. Darcy before his coming to Snowlock had been eager yet reserved; there was little of reserve in this Mr. Darcy.
In those few days they spoke of many things Elizabeth might not have thought she would ever speak with anyone, matters she had kept secret from anyone other than Jane. It seemed to Elizabeth that she laid her whole life and person bare before Mr. Darcy, yet the knowledge did not daunt her at all. There was a strange and comforting sense of belonging, of knowing she could speak to him of anything at all, and the gentleman would not judge her. Quite the contrary, for her dreams, her fears, her hopes for her future—all she betrayed to the gentleman, who treated each piece of herself that she offered to him as if it were a prize to be treasured.
In return, Elizabeth learned everything she could of Mr. Darcy, for he was as open with her as she was with him. Even matters of which she believed he had not spoken with his closest relations, such as the most intimate details of his relationship with his father and his troubles as a child. It was through this that Elizabeth gained an ever greater understanding of the gentleman and learned something of why his attentions to her had been uneven. And then what happened after would change her life forever.
“I believe I have spoken before of my father’s character,” said he one day while they were walking in the gardens. “What I have not told you much of is the tutelage I received under his care.”
“Do you speak of anything specific?” asked Elizabeth, curious as to what he referred.
Mr. Darcy turned and looked out over the gardens, but he saw nothing of it. For a moment she thought he had forgotten of her presence, such was the introspection that had fallen over him. Then he began to speak, the words halting at first, then growing stronger.
“In essence, my father trained me much as many other young men have ever been trained. Though he was never harsh, my father was a stern man, and as knowledgeable about estate matters as any man who has ever lived.”
“Your training must have been a true education then,” said Elizabeth.
“It was,” said Mr. Darcy with a wry smile. “Though I shall not say I was ready to assume the responsibility for the family legacy when my father passed early, I would not have been as prepared as I was without his exacting standards.”
“You owe much to your father.”
“I do,” replied Mr. Darcy. The gentleman seemed to struggle for what to say next, such that for a moment he did not speak. Then he glanced at her and said in a voice low and difficult to hear: “For my success as an estate owner I have much to thank my father, but in other ways, having him as a mentor was a detriment.”
In some respects, Elizabeth had expected this, and as such, she remained silent, waiting for Mr. Darcy to explain, which he did after walking a brief time. This was difficult, as evidenced by the way he kicked at the gravel as they strolled, his face set in a mask of stone.
“As I have said before, my father was a man of not much emotion. To him, everything was duty. From my earliest memories, I recall my father speaking to me, not only of managing the family estate but of other matters too. You see, I do not believe he would understand what I am contemplating at this moment.”
The reference in Mr. Darcy’s words was readily apparent, but still Elizabeth felt her breath catch in her breast. Knowing, however, that her excitement was premature, Elizabeth forced it down, willing herself to listen.
“Though my mother esteemed my father,” continued Mr. Darcy, “he married her for no other reason than that she was the daughter of an earl. The history of my family is littered with brides of the nobility, and he saw it as his duty to do likewise, to increase my family’s prominence and wealth.”
“It is surprising to me that your mother grew to esteem him so much, if he could not return the sentiment.”
A soft smile was Mr. Darcy’s response. “Though my memories of my mother were those of a child, I remember her well. She was a woman who could not help but love others and showed it in everything she did and said. My aunt, if you ask her, will speak at length about my mother, for they were very close.”
“What a mismatched couple!” exclaimed Elizabeth. “Your mother must have suffered being married to such a man.”
“In many respects I believe she did. My mother was a bright light to me, Miss Bennet—I loved her more than I have ever loved anyone else. Her death was . . . difficult.”
“Yes, I can see that, Mr. Darcy,” said Elizabeth.
The gentleman turned away, again to marshal his thoughts Elizabeth suspected. When he turned back to her, it was with a determination that was such an essential part of his character.
“What this all leads me to is my father’s thoughts concerning my future. For he often spoke to me of my duty, and his words concerning Pemberley and my stewardship of the family legacy were not the only things of which he spoke. He often instructed me concerning what he considered my duty, including upholding the family name, his thoughts of our connections, and whom I should look to for my future wife.”
Elizabeth could not stifle her gasp. “Your father would never have approved of me!”
“No, he would not have. Were my father still alive, I suspect he would have threatened to disown me for my recent actions toward you. At the very least, even if he had not been willing to disown me, his objections would have been strenuous and loud.”
A pain Elizabeth had never felt entered her heart as she looked on this man, who was baring the deepest secrets of his past and his relationships with his parents to her. Could she still expect Mr. Darcy to overcome the objections his father had raised in his mind by the way he had been raised?
“How you have suffered,” said Elizabeth, her voice overflowing with compassion, determined to consider his feelings rather than your own. “While I would in no way suggest your father was a tyrant, it is clear his character has had a heavy impact on you. I cannot imagine it, as I shared a close relationship with my sire.”
The words she spoke were not explicit, but Darcy thought he knew her well enough by now to divine her thoughts. It was fortunate for them both that Darcy had decided his father would not rule him with his prejudices any longer, for he was certain Miss Bennet was considering distancing herself from him to avoid creating a situation where he would be required to go against his father’s wishes.
“My suffering, Miss Bennet, if there is any such, has been
brought about by my slavish devotion to the memory of a man who did not know how to express his emotions. To some degree I am my father’s son, cursed with the same reticence which was so prominent in him. But I mean to follow his example no longer.”
Darcy stopped walking and turned to her, noting with pleasure how she obliged him by putting the full measure of her attention on him. The sunlight shining down on them seemed to illuminate her, her light mingling with that above them. She was an exquisite creature, he reflected, one whom any man must feel fortunate if he could provoke her love and devotion. Darcy determined to be that man.
“As you have pointed out, my father would not support what I am contemplating, nor would he have remained silent about it. Though he respected my uncle, I believe he held Lord Matlock in some disapproval, for he had much more pride of position than my uncle, who has greater reason for it.”
Miss Bennet nodded. “I understand, Mr. Darcy. I have no desire to come between you and the memory of your father.”
“The memory of my father,” said Darcy, “is colored by my experiences and what I now understand, being an adult myself. While I revered him for those strengths of character he possessed, I do not wish to be like him. There is one other important factor of which we have not spoken, but which I would make known to you.”
For a moment, Darcy thought she might object, turn her attention back to her concerns, but she nodded, motioning to him that he should speak.
“While my father’s response to our recent activities would be without question, I believe I also know my mother’s.” Darcy regarded her, caressing her beloved face with his gaze, hoping to reassure her of his devotion. “My mother was a loving woman, as I have said, and though she was afflicted with some of the shyness Georgiana possesses, she was in character something like my uncle or even more like my aunt. If my mother were here to witness our relations with each other, I have little doubt she would support us with enthusiasm, regardless of what my father might have said on the occasion.”
“I think, Mr. Darcy,” said Miss Bennet, “I would have liked to meet your mother. She sounds like a lovely lady.”
“She was,” replied Darcy, though emotion rendered his voice fragile. “It is this that sustains me, Miss Bennet.”
The nod with which she answered was distracted, and she looked to him, trying to make him out. “Then I do not understand; if these things held you back before now, how did it change?”
Darcy laughed, feeling freer than he had in a long time. “A letter from my aunt sent to inquire why I had not come to Snowlock. I cannot explain what happened, Miss Bennet, but the letter, combined with my longing to be here induced a curious measure of impulsivity into my character. When confronted with this, I dashed off a letter to my aunt, informing her of my intention to arrive on the morrow, and here I am.”
The smile with which the woman regarded him was brilliant, for it seemed to Darcy that she understood what he was trying to say. “Though I would not say that one should be impulsive at all times, I think it can be easier occasionally.”
“What about now?” asked Darcy.
“You will have to clarify your statement, for I do not understand your meaning.
On the contrary, Darcy thought her sly smile suggested she knew exactly what Darcy referenced. Darcy was not disinclined to explain, however, and he stepped closer, catching her hands, raising them to his lips one at a time. Then he fixed her with a tender look, noting the flushing of her cheeks, a sight which pleased him.
“I had not thought to do anything other than bare my heart to you, Miss Bennet, for I thought you deserved to know why my behavior has been erratic. It seems, however, that now is a propitious time, for my heart rebels against the prospect of delaying for even a moment more.
“Given all I have said, I believe you understand more of my heart than any other, including my dearest relations. As such, I lay it before your feet and offer it to you as a man, a husband, and a lover. Will you do me the honor of becoming my wife?”
Though the playful part of Elizabeth’s character suggested a teasing response might forthcoming—and it would have delighted Darcy if she had—her response was as serious and solemn as his entreaty.
“Of course, I will, Mr. Darcy. Nothing would please me more.”
“Thank you,” breathed Darcy, raising her hands to his mouth again, and bestowing several kisses on them. “With you to help me, I do not doubt I can overcome this reticence I inherited from my father.”
“But you already have,” said Miss Bennet, favoring him with a brilliant smile. “Based on your accounts of your father’s character, I cannot imagine such a man ever speaking such a beautiful proposal to a woman.”
When Darcy hesitated again, she reached up and cupped his jaw with her palm. “Do not feel that reticence is a curse, Mr. Darcy, for it is not. Not everyone possesses an open temperament, and those who are more careful in speaking are not any less estimable. If I was not convinced you would make an exemplary husband, if I thought for a moment I would end heartbroken as your mother did, I would not have accepted. You are not your father, Mr. Darcy. I would not have you live under his shadow any longer.”
The gratitude with which Darcy regarded the precious woman seemed to fill her with shyness. Darcy vowed at that moment to always remind her how grateful he was, how she had saved him from the life his father had lived.
“It would please me,” said Darcy after a moment, “if we could dispense with formality now that we are engaged.”
This time she unleashed the full measure of her teasing, for she grinned and said: “But if I refer to you by your Christian name, your family will think I am speaking to them.”
For the first time in many years, Darcy released a laugh of such mirth as it overwhelmed his composure. Soon Miss Bennet joined him, and they laughed with abandon for some moments, a release of the tension provoked by their conversation. This was what Darcy could look forward to—years of love, laughter, and contentment in the company of this wondrous woman. Darcy found that he could hardly wait for it to begin!
“Then I would ask you to call me William,” said Darcy when their mirth had run its course. “As you know, that is how my sister refers to me.”
“Yes, that would be acceptable,” said Miss Bennet—Elizabeth, as he could now call her. “For myself, my friends and family often call me ‘Lizzy,’ though I have heard others say ‘Eliza.’ As that name was most recently on the lips of Miss Bingley, I would prefer you did not use it.”
Darcy chuckled and shook his head. “Elizabeth is a distinguished name, the name of queens. I should not wish to take from the honor of that name.”
“Ah, but did you not know, William? I am not an illustrious person. It is my preference to be myself rather than attempting to be something I am not.”
“A noble endeavor,” said Darcy. “If you will forgive me, I shall continue to consider you the queen of my life.”
“If you must, I shall not protest.”
“I must,” affirmed Darcy. “Now, let us return to the house, for while I might wish to have you all to myself, we must observe the proprieties.”
With happiness overwhelming, Darcy accepted her dainty hand into the crook of his arm, and they made their way back to the house. This day had been the most auspicious day of his life, for, with her acceptance of his suit, Darcy knew he could not help but find that happiness that had been missing from his life. That happiness had always seemed out of reach. Now, however, he could not wait for the future.
It should, perhaps, not have been a surprise that the family knew their situation before they ever reached the house. While Elizabeth would not accuse the Fitzwilliam family of spying, it was clear from the moment they entered that the matter was not hidden. If Georgiana flying into her arms, laughing and crying, while Charity and Rachel gathered around, with the others looking on, were not enough evidence, the first words from Georgiana’s mouth put the matter to rest.
“A sister! I am finally to
have a sister!”
The family laughed at the youngest member’s tenacious focus on Elizabeth, who accepted her embrace with pleasure. Being a sister to Georgiana would be no hardship.
“Oh!” exclaimed the girl, pushing away from Elizabeth with chagrin. “But that means you or William must depart, for it would not be proper for you to live in the same house when you are engaged!”
“I think we may bend the rules a little, Georgiana,” said Lady Susan, laughter in her voice. “Not only is Elizabeth to return to Hertfordshire soon, but the engagement is not binding until Elizabeth’s guardian has given his approval.”
Though relieved, Georgiana soon gasped anew. “But then you shall return to Hertfordshire, and I shall be left here. How am I ever to part from you?”
“A parting of a few weeks will not result in your utter devastation,” said Elizabeth, all but laughing at Georgiana’s antics. “And you will marry and move into your own home, will you not? Shall we not be separated then?”
“That is far into the future,” said Georgiana. “For now, I wish to stay with you!”
“Then you shall have your wish,” said William. “For I received, only this morning, an invitation from Bingley for us to return to Hertfordshire and stay with him. Though I know he is preparing to move to his new estate, I believe I may be of some assistance to him.”
“But then what shall you do when I move to Jane’s house?” asked Elizabeth. “My sister has insisted on it, and I only intended to stay a few days with the Collinses.”
“Bingley has told me that Netherfield’s dower house is sound,” replied William. “I shall stay there.”
“It seems you have it all planned,” said Lady Susan. “I should have expected it of you, Darcy, for you were always a meticulous planner.”
