by Meg Osborne
Elizabeth sat up, shivering a little in the cool night air and pulling the sheets once more up to her shoulders. She wrapped her arms around her knees, and laid her head down upon them, wishing she could quiet her thoughts, and at the same time relishing them. It was ridiculous, unlikely, impossible - yet also, true! She realised with a grin that she did care for Mr Darcy. She cared that his opinion of her be right and good, she cared that he valued her as an acquaintance, that he sought her company, that he felt the same for her.
“It is too much to hope for,” she whispered, trying to dismiss the hope that rose in her chest before it lodged there too long. “Surely he has a hundred ladies more eligible than I vying for his interest.” She knew, for there had been at least one or two in the room with them that evening, angling to catch his eye. Yet she was the only one he had danced with, she who he sought to converse with, and when she was busy, he gave all his notice to her family, seeking to engage them in conversation, and find some common ground that might exist between them. It was a kindness - kindness to her family, and to her. Surely that was some indicator of where his heart lay?
Realising that there would be little enough chance of sleeping tonight, and wanting desperately for some advice, she hopped out of bed just long enough to locate a candle and some writing paper. She propped herself up, awkwardly, on one elbow, and began a note to her sister.
Dearest Jane,
Oh, how I wish you were with me, for I have many things to puzzle over and miss your ability to advise me...
Writing passed the time, even if it was not conducive to sleep, and the first sounds from the street began to permeate Elizabeth’s room as she finished the letter, folding it with a flourish and sealing it quickly, before she could think better of it. She had poured her heart out to her sister, trusting that Jane would keep her counsel, and write back with all haste to advise Elizabeth on what she ought to do.
Blowing out the candle, she stifled a yawn, and rolled over, hoping that she might manage at least a few hours of blessed sleep before the household awoke, and, her tangled thoughts smoothed out in the pages she had penned to Jane, a moment later she was fast asleep.
Chapter Twelve
Darcy awoke far earlier than was his habit. He waited awhile, debating what to do with his day, before deciding first of all on a walk to clear his head. He was restless for some activity, and despaired of the silence of his townhouse, missing the sounds of his friend and yes, even Caroline Bingley, which would have offered him some distraction from his own tumultuous thoughts.
Tumultuous was the wrong word, entirely, for his thoughts were not unpleasant, though they were unprecedented. He had not been a man to fall in love easily, setting himself entirely apart from Charles on that score. Where his friend was prone to romance and gave his affection completely at the smallest encouragement, Darcy tended towards the opposite manner, keeping his heart and his feelings locked tight within his chest, and doubting such a feeling would ever be possible to him. In fact, he had privately scorned Charles for his affections, crediting his own fortitude at never once falling prey to affairs of the heart. He believed in love, had witnessed his parents’ own relationship, and held onto it still in his heart as a standard to which all other relationships should be judged. Never once having found a woman he considered worthy of marriage had made keeping his heart closed off all the easier.
Until now.
Elizabeth Bennet is no more suitable for me in London than she was in Hertfordshire, he told himself resolutely, as he strode out of the door and into the early morning bustle of the London streets. He navigated his way past other pedestrians, barely noticing any one of them, so consumed was he by his own thoughts. Elizabeth Bennet was not changed - and yet, she was different. Or rather, he was different. How could he think of her the same way, knowing now what he did about her character? She had not acted rashly or been at all guilty of the rumours that swirled around her, and upon finding the young woman responsible for such defamation, had treated her with kindness and permitted that the matter might be dismissed quietly, without any further notoriety for either party. Darcy marvelled at her, still. And in their own interactions, too, there was an ease, a lightness that had not existed between them in Hertfordshire. She was still predisposed to tease him, but now her words came sprinkled with something approaching affection. She nudged him as she would her friends, her sisters, and it was done with respect for him as a person, not with the intent to demean or disparage. In fact, he wondered that he had ever thought her capable of such a thing. Truly, she was unlike any woman he had known before, incapable of artifice or cruelty, and possessing a wit and intelligence that added to, rather than detracted from, her beauty.
Beauty? Here I draw the line, he lectured silently. And yet even that was fruitless. He was duty bound to admit that yes, Elizabeth Bennet was beautiful. She might not possess the same classic traits inherent in her sister, but her features were striking, and her dark hair set off her blue eyes in a way that could not easily be ignored. Last evening, in spite of the fashion and finery adorning every woman surrounding her, Elizabeth and Elizabeth alone had shone out as the most beautiful young lady present, and he had been honoured to be seen often in her company, as if she bestowed on him the same favour as a princess upon a knight of old.
He groaned aloud, coming forcefully to a stop. What nonsense! She must have bewitched me entirely and caused me to leave hold of my senses, to think such things. Come, Darcy, you are a rational, logical creature! Do not give way to lovesickness at the mere notion of affection.
Affection, yes. It was true he felt a deep and abiding affection for Elizabeth. One that had come to full attention last evening, with his recognition of Elizabeth Bennet as she was, and the doing away with of any confusion with the other Elizabeth Bennet he had heard such unfortunate stories about. Yet it had begun earlier, in Hertfordshire, that very day they had met. He recalled the way she had run, with abandon, across the grounds around Netherfield, and collided with him quite by chance. The collision had knocked his whole world off-kilter, and he was certain, now, that it would never be righted again until she was by his side once more.
This realisation gave his movement purpose, and he turned on his heel, retracing his steps and then continuing beyond the street where his own house could be found. Gradually the wide, elegant streets became a little narrower, the houses a fraction shabbier, and those people walking the streets wore clothes a season or two out of style, well-worn and mended, but still presentable enough. Darcy drew his lips into a grimace. This would be the Cheapside he had heretofore felt no need of visiting, and yet that very morning he could think of nowhere else he could possibly be. He paused to get his bearings, and locate Gracechurch Street, and then the house that must belong to Mr and Mrs Gardiner. It was not an unpleasant property, and he rallied against the uncharitable thoughts he had once harboured against the people who lived and worked here. How proud I have been, he thought, ashamed of his previous opinions, and how rigidly he held onto them. And how much I regret it now. What matters it if the young lady one loves is not absolutely an equal in material matters, provided she is equal in character? Elizabeth Bennet is more than my equal, forgiving where I would have borne a grudge, laughing where I scowl, ever kind, patient, cheerful in company. If she accepts me for my wealth alone I shall count myself fortunate, and work to deserve her for myself in addition.
He hesitated a moment longer, thinking he would reason himself out of this action which was surely folly, and impulsive folly at that. Instead, and to his surprise, his resolve grew stronger, his sense of urgency all the more pressing. It was that that pushed him forward, so that before he was quite conscious of doing so, he had reached the door, and lifted his hand ready to knock, when the thick oak gave way before him, and the figure he had scarcely ceased to think of in the past twelve hours appeared, as if conjured by his own mind.
“Miss Bennet!” he exclaimed, stepping back a pace.
“Mr Darcy? Wh
at are you doing here?”
***
Elizabeth was more than a little startled to find a gentleman on the front steps of the Gardiners’ house. Still more so to recognise him as Mr Darcy himself. She coloured a little beneath her bonnet, blaming it on the icy blast of cold air that had hit her when she pulled the door open, and not, as was perhaps a more accurate assessment, her happy surprise to see the very man she had hoped to see standing right before her.
“What are you doing here?” she repeated, when he did not offer an answer straight away.
“I...was out. Walking. And I noticed the street -” Darcy turned and pointed, exaggeratedly drawing her attention to the sign. “I recalled this to be the very street upon which your aunt and uncle lived, and so I took it upon myself to call, as I happened to be here. Quite by chance, you understand.”
“Indeed.” Elizabeth struggled to hold back a laugh. He appeared to be incapable of falsehood, for his words came out both stilted and too quickly, with an affectation of ease that was nothing close. He cleared his throat and turned back to her.
“And what brings you out so early?”
Elizabeth waved her letter at him, proof positive that one of them, at least, had reason to be precisely where they were.
“I have a letter to post.”
“I see.” Darcy stood still a moment, before an idea seemed to occur to him. “Perhaps, then, I might accompany you. It seems unnecessary that we both walk deliberately alone, now that Providence has seen to cross our paths again.” He appeared to think this comment rather amusing, and risked a thin smile, which she returned with enthusiasm, rather gratified to see that he was determined to please her, and yet to put her own desires first.
“Very well.”
They began to walk and had not gone more than a few steps, before Mr Darcy cleared his throat and searched for a fresh topic of conversation.
“Might I enquire after the health of your aunt and uncle?”
“They are very well, I believe,” Elizabeth said. “I left them to their breakfasts, preferring to see to my letter and take my walk early.”
Mr Darcy nodded, and they fell back into silence.
“And your letter, it is to your friend?” He frowned, raking back through his memories for a name. “Miss...Lucas?”
“My sister,” Elizabeth said. “Jane.”
“Ah.”
Elizabeth was unsure whether to be amused or touched by his evident desire to befriend her, now, and she felt the warmth of affection well up in her chest. He was not fond of small talk, that much she had already gleaned from their few interactions, and yet he attempted it, for her sake. There was an edginess to his activity that gave her to understand him to be nervous, which fact confused her. When had Mr Darcy ever been anything other than entirely assured of himself?
“And what of you, Mr Darcy? Are you well?”
“I’m sorry? Well? Why, yes. Quite well.” He paused. “And you, Miss Bennet, are you-?”
“Very much so.” This time she could hold back her laugh no longer, and he stopped walking, turning to regard her with a flash of surprise or irritation, Elizabeth could not quite determine which.
“Mr Darcy, I rather fancy that you did not find yourself in Gracechurch Street by accident, much less at my uncle's door. From what I know of you, you leave very little to chance, and so if you wound up here this morning it was of your own choosing.”
“Very well,” Darcy admitted, after a moment's pause. “I concede you are right in that and credit your perception.”
“Thank you.” They began to walk again, and Darcy’s apparent anxiety receded, just a fraction. Elizabeth continued with her inquiry.
“I would assume you intended to call upon my aunt and uncle, until your plans were abruptly upset by my sudden arrival on your path.” She smiled, apologetically. “I only hope I do not delay you too much by forcing you to walk a little way with me first.”
Another moment's silence, and then Mr Darcy spoke. His voice was soft but smooth, and he spoke with such calm that this time it was Elizabeth whose nerves swept over her. Her heart began to beat faster, and the palms of her hands grew clammy in spite of the cold morning. She clenched them inside her gloves, hoping her anxiety did not show.
“Actually, Miss Bennet, here I must contradict your assessment, for I did not come to visit with your aunt and uncle, although I hope we will return thither soon, that I may see them again. In truth, I wished to see you - that is, to speak to you.” He glanced around them, muttered an indeterminate curse, and returned his gaze to hers. “I scarcely know what I am saying, nor what reception it might have, yet I cannot but speak, and hope that you will hear me with patience and a measure of compassion. The truth of the matter is this. It has come to my attention, somewhat suddenly and to my own great surprise, Miss Bennet, to realise that I have come to think of you as more than a mere friend. I know our acquaintance has been but brief and at least half of it spent in wrong understanding of one another, but I hope, after last night, that now we might view each other a little more clearly, and so I dare to speak of my heart and trust you will not dismiss me out of hand.” In an instant, his hand had found hers, tentatively and covertly, so that nobody but they themselves could possibly be aware of the motion. “Miss Bennet, I scarcely thought it possible, but an evening’s reflection assures me it is not only possible but certain. I love you. It is folly to imagine you feel the same way, but I might hope that you could come to care for me, in time.”
His voice was little more than a whisper, and he spoke so fervently that Elizabeth felt her attention caught and held in the intensity of his gaze.
“Mr Darcy, I -” she began, ready to dismiss him for speaking so rashly, so suddenly, with such little encouragement. Instead, she saw the deep glow of affection in his dark eyes, noticed the quiver in the set of his jaw and realised that this was not a speech he had made by habit, or indeed ever before. He spoke from his heart, and she would not condemn him for it. How could she, when her own feelings mirrored his? “I hardly know how to respond,” she said, meekly. “What ought one to say to such a declaration?”
“Say that you will be my wife,” he said, simply. “Will you marry me?”
Elizabeth could not help but compare this simple, hopeful plea to the almost-proposal she had received from Mr Collins scarcely a few days previously. He had assumed to know her, when he had hardly begun to. He had presumed her desire to marry him so completely that he did not even pause to ask her opinion. Mr Darcy, on the other hand, who had every benefit of rank and wealth to recommend him, whose proposal she ought not even pause in accepting with both hands, just as quickly as she might, was gentlemanly to a fault, waiting patiently to receive her answer. He said nothing more, and, when her answer was not forthcoming, released his hold on her hand. This sparked her into action, and she squeezed her hand in his, to bid him remain where he was.
“I can hardly believe you mean it,” she whispered. “We are so different -”
“And yet we are similar, too,” he protested. “Surely you see how well we complement one another, how well we might build a life together.”
And then, in those short words, she did see. She imagined walking through the rest of her life by Mr Fitzwilliam Darcy’s side. The people she would meet, the house she would be mistress of, in imagination, only, at present, but an estate she would come to know well in just a short time, she knew. Another sister, in Miss Darcy. And friends! Friends like the Huntingtons, like Mr Bingley, and her dear sister who she did not doubt would be receiving her own proposal in the days to come, if she had not already. And Elizabeth knew without any doubt that there was only one answer she could give.
“Yes, Mr Darcy,” she said, with a bright smile that she soon saw reflected in his own tense features, as they digested the truth of her words. “I will marry you. Of course, I will marry you.”
Chapter Thirteen
“I cannot believe it! It is some trick, surely, that you have played upon
us!” Mrs Gardiner, the first beyond Elizabeth and Darcy themselves to hear the news, threw up her hands in rejoicing, before gathering first her niece, and then her soon-to-be nephew to her in an embrace.
“No trick!” Elizabeth laughed. “And it surprised me just as much.”
“Surprised us just as much,” Darcy corrected, as soon as he could extract himself from Mrs Gardiner's arms. “I confess I did not intend on coming to London to find myself a wife, and yet having done so I do not suppose I can fault the plan.”
He felt as if a heavy burden had been lifted from his shoulders, one he had not even been aware of carrying. Once Elizabeth had accepted his proposal - which he could scarcely remember giving, only that he mumbled some dreadful sort of prose and then waited an eternity, certain that she was poised to refuse him and crush his hopes forever, only to be rewarded with those few sweet words. Yes, Mr Darcy, I will marry you. He turned to his fiancée and smiled, feeling for perhaps the first time in his life completely happy.
“I cannot imagine you will wish to remain here any longer, then!” Mr Gardiner said, inviting the couple to sit, and summoning some refreshments. “You’ll want to go home, Lizzy, and tell your parents.”
“Yes,” Lizzy said, hesitantly. Her features dropped into a frown, and Darcy felt his own happiness waver a fraction.
“What is the matter, dear?” he asked. It felt strange to use such a name for her, and yet right at the same time. She could no longer be “Miss Elizabeth Bennet” to him, after all, nor would be again. In just a few short weeks she would be Elizabeth Darcy, and that thought brought him more joy than he had heretofore thought possible.
