by Anne Morris
The crunch of footsteps made Elizabeth turn, and Mr. Darcy was there, dressed more informally than she had ever seen. She reckoned that he had just returned from shooting.
“Mr. Darcy,” Elizabeth smiled, unable to contain her pleasure at seeing him.
“Elizabeth,” Mr. Darcy answered, coming up to her. “We returned earlier than expected. Mr. Hurst fell and has hurt his ankle.” His arm was offered, and Elizabeth took it. “And I looked outside and found the last flower in bloom out in the gardens.”
“You do have the prettiest compliments,” she said taking hold of his arm.
Mr. Darcy walked Elizabeth down the path with its low box hedge or lawn on one side or the other until they came to a corner of the pathway where there was a cypress which had been trimmed into blunt obelisk shape. Mr. Darcy hid their bodies behind it so anyone looking out from the house could not view them. Both his hands came to clasp her elbows as he looked down at her.
“Elizabeth, you have to know how much I love and adore you. I have not been able to forget the pleasure of your company after I lost it, back in London, and it would make me the happiest of men if you accept my hand in marriage.”
Elizabeth’s joy burst powerfully through her and out of her as the love that she felt for Mr. Darcy wrapped her in many layers, and she felt complete. Her eyes and cheeks and lips all sparkled with what Elizabeth was experiencing, just then, and her arms came up to his chest.
“Yes,” said Elizabeth eagerly. “You already have my heart. You may also have my hand.”
“Elizabeth!” Mr. Darcy cried as those hands on her elbows pulled her into a firm embrace. She could hear the rapidity of his heartbeat as they held each other in their shared joy. Darcy leaned back to look at her, then pressed a kiss against her lips. Not a gentle one, like the ones from the previous day, but full of passion and longing and love. Ones which Elizabeth returned with equal ardor. Darcy pulled back to look at her again.
“I am always pleased with what I find outside,” Elizabeth teased.
Darcy found he needed to kiss her again for such a statement. This one was even more passionate than the first as his arms tightened to ensure she did not get away as his kiss expressed how powerful his feelings were.
“I will leave on your heels tomorrow for London, and get a special license,” declared Darcy.
“A special license!” Elizabeth exclaimed.
“Yes,” he pressed kisses on her temple. “I would have you as soon as your father allows—as soon as he lets you go. You flew away from me so quickly at the beginning of the summer and made me miserable. I don’t want to wait too long to claim you,” Darcy explained.
“I did not wish to fly away from you; I had not wanted to be pulled away,” explained Elizabeth. “It was difficult to leave London because I knew I was leaving you.”
They both shared how valuable they found the other. How their love had grown since their chance meeting at Fitzwilliam House. How much they both had thought longingly of the other during the endless summer months. Elizabeth did not ask about his cousins, all of her thoughts were on more immediate things like his hands on her, or his lips on her temples, cheeks, and lips when they heard the crunch of footsteps on gravel. Darcy pressed one last, quick kiss on her lips before he placed her properly on his arm.
“We are about to be discovered, I fear,” Mr. Darcy recited. There was Miss Bingley who turned the corner and then stopped short in surprise at finding them.
“Mr. Darcy! Miss Elizabeth…” Miss Bingley called over to them. “I had not known you were to go outside...truly,” she declared through clenched teeth.
“I seek exercise every day, Miss Bingley. If you do not, I highly recommend that you attempt it,” was Elizabeth’s reply.
“I heard about poor Conrad’s injury from Louisa,” said Miss Bingley as she came over to take Mr. Darcy’s other arm. “She’s all in a flutter about her dear husband. Wives have the care of their husbands in such a situation. If you were hurt in a shooting accident, Mr. Darcy, who would look after you?”
“My wife would, Miss Bingley. My wife would,” Darcy repeated, glancing down at Elizabeth before looking at Miss Bingley on his other side. She seemed to brighten under his glance.
“Oh dear!” Caroline called out. They had been moving slowly, but Elizabeth knew the reason for her outburst, it was beginning to rain. “I hate having to run, it is so undignified,” exclaimed Miss Bingley. She also was obliged to let go of Mr. Darcy’s arm so she could pick up her skirts, and the three of them hurried inside, out of the rain.
Jane was sleeping, and Elizabeth was thankful that her sister was not awake to see her flushed cheeks and bruised lips when she returned to her sister’s chambers. Elizabeth was able to stare at herself in the mirror, right a hairpin or two, and consider that Mr. Darcy had asked her to marry him. She looked at her reflection and thought that it did not reflect the happiness she felt inside—that face staring back at her. Elizabeth knew she was happy. Elizabeth felt that theirs was a love that was rarely found—they had a special connection. She had once asserted that she would only marry for a deep and abiding love and knew she had found that with Mr. Darcy.
Yet Elizabeth was able to remain calm. Mr. Darcy had only just asked for her hand. He had not yet solicited her father’s permission nor had they settled on any other details except that he was to go to London for a special license. Mr. Darcy felt she had slipped away once, and he did not wish to let her get away again. Elizabeth wondered how quickly they would marry; how quickly would all of this take place? She and Jane would return to Longbourn tomorrow, (the carriage was to come to collect them in the morning). Would he visit her home on his way to London and ask for Mr. Bennet’s permission on his way? How many days after until they married?
Jane felt well enough to come downstairs to join the party that evening. How would the evening progress? Elizabeth was not sure she would find time to speak intimately with Mr. Darcy before she left Netherfield. She thought how unfair that was, for Miss Bingley would be certain of monopolizing him.
Caroline Bingley’s eyes turned to Mr. Darcy when the men joined them after the separation. Elizabeth could not help but turn her eyes to Mr. Darcy’s as well. She thought the attraction between her and Darcy had to be obvious, but no one made any comment during dinner. They had been separated at the table to the despair of both. With Jane at the table, Elizabeth had been seated, not across from Mr. Darcy, but down from him which made any sort of discussion difficult. But Elizabeth could not help how often her eyes wandered across to his. How often she found him looking back at her, but a dinner table does not allow for intimate conversation.
Mrs. Hurst and her sister went to fuss over Mr. Hurst, who came limping into the room, because of his injury. A cane had been found for him to use, and Hurst stationed himself on a sofa with a lot of bluster about what a bother the injury to his ankle was. He promptly fell asleep, even before his wife fetched him a cup of tea.
Mr. Bingley was full of joy and attention towards Jane. The warmth with which he piled the fire, plumped the cushions, and suggested minute solicitudes for Jane’s care showed his affection for her. Bingley had her move to the other side of the fireplace that she might be farther from the door and a perceived draft. He then sat next to her and talked scarcely to anyone else.
There was no suggestion of cards. Mr. Darcy said a polite greeting to Jane, that he was glad she could join them, before he took up a book and steadfastly avoided looking at Elizabeth. Elizabeth did the same, as did Miss Bingley. It was difficult for the two unacknowledged lovers not to wish to sit together, in a huddle separately from the company as Jane and Bingley did. Mr. Darcy sat with his book; his eyes fixed on the page. Elizabeth sat on a sofa opposite similarly glued to her book, though their thoughts were really on the other.
Miss Bingley’s attention was engaged in watching Mr. Darcy’s progress through his book. She was perpetually either making some inquiry of him or looking at his page. But Caroline could
not win him to a conversation. He merely answered her question and read on. Elizabeth was having a difficult time remaining studious as she found the figure of her lover on the couch across from her distracting. Perhaps Miss Bingley noticed her glances from book towards Mr. Darcy, but the young woman yawned, threw aside the book she was also not reading, and cast her eyes on her rival.
Miss Bingley stood and moved to stand in front of Elizabeth.
“Miss Elizabeth, do consider walking about the room with me. It is very refreshing after sitting too long, and did you not assert that exercise is something I should attempt every day?”
Elizabeth was surprised and under no misconception as to the reason behind Miss Bingley’s request, but she acceded to it. Elizabeth put aside the book, accepted Miss Bingley’s arm, and they began walking about the room together.
“You are correct!” Miss Bingley declared. “Exercise does improve my mood and outlook.” But she succeeded in her object which was to distract Mr. Darcy from his book. He laid it down in his lap and watched the two of them. Miss Bingley invited him to join them. Darcy declined.
“I had sufficient exercise with shooting and a walk before tea,” stated Darcy. “Besides, I suspect you are only parading around the room as you wish for me to admire your figures. I can admire them more easily as I sit here by the fire.”
“How shocking! How is it that gentlemen get away with making such speeches?” declared Miss Bingley.
“Perhaps he is flirting with us, just a little,” offered Elizabeth. She could not help seeking Darcy’s eyes and smiling. She thought his twinkled in return.
“So you think he is either teasing…or flirting?” questioned Miss Bingley, and Elizabeth could tell which she would rather think.
“Yes,” agreed Elizabeth. “He said he was admiring us, did he not?”
“Oh yes!” Miss Bingley admitted, and she took her companion’s arm, and they walked a little ways away from Mr. Darcy. “Do you really think he is flirting with us?”
“I discovered in London, Miss Bingley, that there is a playful side to Mr. Darcy. He is not so reserved that his good humor does not peep through once in a while.”
“He always seemed so aloof and reserved to me,” said Miss Bingley, who suddenly seemed quite keen to ascertain Elizabeth’s view’s about Mr. Darcy.
“He is a complex man, but he is not dour. He actually can be agreeable company once you get to know him,” assured Elizabeth, who whispered in a soft voice.
Miss Bingley took Elizabeth’s words to heart and suggested cards as the best use of their time. But Mr. Hurst, that prolific card player, was asleep, and his wife did not seem inclined to leave his side. Jane and Mr. Bingley did not wish to leave the proximity of the fire which only left three to play. Playing cards with Miss Bingley meant that she dominated the play with conversation and not with observation (either to her cards or to the unannounced lovers). Elizabeth and Mr. Darcy found time to touch fingers under the table. Should anybody be watching from afar, they might well assume they were cheating.
Jane was not at her best, health-wise, however, and wished to retire at a decent hour. With reluctance, Elizabeth left the card table and Mr. Darcy and went to bed. She wondered about opening up her heart to Jane, but Elizabeth felt as if she had barely had a moment to share all of her feelings with Mr. Darcy, so held her tongue and kept her news for another day.
They breakfasted early, and then the Longbourn carriage was there to collect them and take them home again. And though Elizabeth had wished for a final private farewell with Mr. Darcy, such a meeting did not occur. She hoped to see him if he stopped at Longbourn on his way to London.
CHAPTER TWENTY
Darcy was anxious. It had been a long-drawn summer when Elizabeth had flown away from him. Now that he had finally secured her hand, Darcy wanted to ensure that nothing would prevent their marrying quickly.
Back in June, he had merely considered himself to be just beginning to fall in love until he had lost her. Then Darcy realized how much he loved her and how painful it was to lose at love. Perhaps all those heartaches Bingley experienced were real. The battle to win her had been a difficult one even if it had primarily been an invisible one, understood by no one, and shared with no friend, even though Bingley came to stay at Pemberley after his heartbreak at the end of the Season. Darcy did not share about his own. It never wavered, his love for Elizabeth, despite having to wait for the notice of her father’s marriage, and the necessity of directing Bingley to lease a house in Hertfordshire.
But Darcy had found her, proclaimed himself, and Elizabeth still loved him. He was going to travel to London to acquire a special license. Darcy would need to ask her father’s permission, but he did not fear any opposition on that front. Darcy was the sort of man any father or mother dreamed of as a husband for their daughter.
The women were downstairs earlier than they usually were most days, and though Darcy stared at Elizabeth across the breakfast table, he could not consider a way to affect a private conference before the carriage from her father’s household came to collect her. Darcy joined in the general goodbyes as the rest of the Netherfield residents said farewell to these unexpected guests before she was gone with one last serious parting look and a firm handshake.
Darcy ran upstairs to his rooms and rang for his valet, Allen, telling him to pack a small bag and to have his horse saddled; he was to ride to London. There was sufficient daylight for Darcy to reach his house in Town before nightfall. He also eschewed Allen’s company (which greatly disgruntled his valet), saying it was to be a short trip, and he would be back at Netherfield soon enough.
The road to London lay along the River Ver, just on the other side of the village. He said goodbye to his friend Bingley and Miss Bingley. Both were confused as to his sudden departure, but Darcy claimed he had received a letter of business and wished to return to London to handle it in person. After all, getting married was business, was it not? Bingley’s sister appeared almost upset by his departure, but when Darcy assured both of them that he would return in two or three days, her appearance eased.
That road to London was also the road to Longbourn. Just on the other side of Meryton, it left the village and split into three tracks, running south to London and north to Luton, but the crossroad took it past Lucas Lodge to the Bennet’s home.
As he headed out of the village, Darcy wrestled with himself about calling at Longbourn and formally asking for Elizabeth’s hand. It would delay him, delay getting to London, and then delay getting back to her, much as Darcy wished to. He decided not to call on Mr. Bennet as he reached the last house that constituted the village.
There was a small wood which essentially marked the edges of the river, with scrubby undergrowth underneath, and Darcy passed through its shade thinking of all the circumstances which had led him to this point. The unique array of coincidences, and his manipulations, to find this fascinating and beautiful woman and claim her as his own. What was it about Elizabeth’s dark and fascinating eyes which so captivated him and continued to enchant him?
Who was to say how love worked? Darcy knew that there was no other woman for him. He had spent enough time in London, quietly looking, to tell that he wished for a wife like Elizabeth. One who loved and cared for the man and not the accouterments of station and money.
Darcy came to the crossing over the River Ver, a worn stone bridge, which was wide enough for a carriage with sturdy, thick railings. He stopped his horse to peer upstream. A figure in a dark orange coat was visible on the west side of the river. Darcy dismounted, leading his horse across the bridge and then tied him to a tree. He wound his way underneath the canopy of trees on the other side of the river for a number of yards before he called to her.
“Elizabeth,” Darcy said her name softly and gently and reverently.
She turned, startled, but so delighted to see him as evidenced by her smile that he was surprised at his feelings. There was a final something which gave way, a box which unlock
ed as though only Elizabeth Bennet had the key. His love for her ranged from the earth to the sun, from morning to night, from yesterday until forever and would endure without end.
“Mr. Darcy!” exclaimed his love.
“I was on my way to London, but I spied a bright ray of sunshine under the melancholy of these trees and decided that I needed to investigate,” he explained.
“I love your compliments,” Elizabeth said as he came up to her. Darcy did not offer her his arm but stood before her with his arms at his sides. He ached to reach out and hold her. Darcy wanted to kiss her again.
“I am inspired,” he responded. That was the truth, and valor won. Darcy reached out one arm and then the other to her. Elizabeth moved in closer and his arms wrapped around her shoulders and waist, and they were kissing. A passion between them sparked by their love as warmth and desire and devotion took over them. Finally, they broke apart and stood with their arms in a tight embrace.
“You smell of sunshine and grass and roses and even a little of shade,”
Darcy remarked.
“How can I smell of shade?” Elizabeth asked of his shoulder. She laid the flat part of her cheek there, though her hold did not waver.
“I cannot explain it,” was Darcy’s answer. “It is like the scent found beneath these trees; the scent produced because of the enveloping branches. They encompass and protect us from the elements, but they also provide shade…” Darcy tightened his hold around Elizabeth. “I love you. You have made me the happiest man in all of England. Such is a cliché, I know. And yet, after our encounter in the gardens, I believe I have finally figured out how a man can fly: to find happiness with the right woman to love.”
“Birds must be very happy,” Elizabeth proposed, and he could feel her chuckle as she lay against his chest.
“I think you are right. Dearest, loveliest, Elizabeth,” he said. Darcy pulled her slightly away from him and leaned over to press his lips to hers. His arm snaked around her, and Darcy ran his hands down her back as his kiss deepened and as Elizabeth returned it with an equal passion.
