B00CO8L910 EBOK

by KaraLynne Mackrory

  A slow smile began to grow at the edges of his mouth and his heart came alive in his chest as he saw the ‘alterations’ she had made. His initials, before so elegantly alone, were now surrounded by dozens of tiny whimsical bluebells. Bluebells were her favorite wildflower, he remembered, and more significantly, they were the flowers that surrounded them at Pemberley when they shared their first kiss — their only kiss.

  Darcy all but wept with relief, and his hand began to shake with the feelings that were coursing through him. He looked at his other handkerchief, the one soiled with brandy stains, and compared his decorous initials with the one he held in his hand. He rather preferred this decidedly feminine alteration.

  He was astounded by what he thought she was intimating by embroidering the bluebells. Could she really still love me? Could she really have forgiven me? The thought was so delicious to Darcy that he laughed out loud and cried out a prayer of thanks.

  He seized the short note and read it again, smiling so widely that his face began to hurt. She wished to give him comfort. It was more than he deserved, but he was not fool enough to let such an opportunity pass him by if indeed she was offering him another chance. Springing up from his desk, he placed the now cherished note into his pocket, and while still holding the returned linen, Darcy hastened out the door to find his sister.

  He found her sitting in the music room at her piano. Her hands were at her face, and he could hear her quietly weeping. Immediately, he felt terrible remorse for the way he had spoken to her, forcing her to flee the room. Joining her directly at the instrument, Darcy lifted her chin with his finger until she looked at him.

  “I am so sorry, Georgiana. Please say you will forgive me for my abominable behavior just now. I should not have spoken to you as I did.”

  Georgiana sniffled. “It is all right, William. I am more disappointed in Elizabeth’s package than I am upset with you. Her response to my letter made me think that she wished for . . . for something else,” Georgiana stammered, realizing she did not wish to upset her brother further by expressing what she had hoped.

  “You wrote Eliz . . . Elizabeth a letter?” She had been Elizabeth to him for so long, and now with his renewed hope, he cared not what it suggested to his sister.

  Georgiana’s eyes twitched when he used Elizabeth’s Christian name, unsure whether she should proceed. “I wrote to her when Richard told me why you had been so distressed. I told her all about my past with Wickham, hoping she would not blame you.”

  Darcy reached for his sister’s hand and squeezed it. “I am sure you found her to be a sympathetic and understanding friend.” His heart soared again, thinking of how lovely and good Elizabeth was and that there was still a chance he might convince her to be his.

  “Yes, she was very gracious, but I had thought —”

  Darcy interrupted her. “Darling, you were correct in your assumptions, at least I think you were. I hope we both are.” He handed her the cloth, and she looked at it without comprehension.

  “It is my handkerchief, only she added bluebells,” he said triumphantly.

  “It looks beautiful, but I do not understand. How are the bluebells significant?” She looked up at him with clear, innocent eyes.

  Darcy swallowed, realizing, of course, that she would not know about their first kiss. Naturally, he had said nothing to her about it, and certainly, he did not wish to discuss it with her now. He laughed as he mused that an event so significant to his life and one of the happiest moments, thus far, was obviously not significant to anyone else. Had not the world stopped spinning at that moment? He was sure that it had. How was he to explain why Elizabeth’s needlework was so monumental?

  “When we were at Pemberley, Elizabeth seemed to enjoy the field of bluebells near the lake very much, my dear.” I know I did.

  Georgiana’s face lit up. “Then she is saying she loves you! Why else would she hint at her happy time at Pemberley with us? Oh, that is so romantic, William!”

  Darcy smiled back at his sister. “I do not know whether she is quite professing her love, but I am determined to find out.”

  “Will you go to her then?” Georgiana clutched at her brother’s sleeve with excitement.

  Darcy was suddenly overcome with emotion: the happiness he was experiencing, coupled with his sister’s, and the thought of seeing Elizabeth again. He could only manage a nod. She threw her hands around his neck for a quick hug and then pushed him quite forcefully off of the piano bench, nearly causing him to fall onto the floor.

  “Georgiana!”

  “Oh!” She covered her mouth with her hand. “I am sorry, William, but you really must go to her this instant. Hurry! You have not a moment to lose!”

  Darcy laughed and agreed with her. With purpose, he quickly strode out the music room door. He issued the requisite orders to have his trunks packed and then called for a carriage. He had two stops to make in Town before he could be on his way. He was not taking chances this time that anything would delay his marriage to Elizabeth if he were fortunate enough to gain her hand. A stop at his solicitor’s office for the copies of the settlements that he had drawn up before going to Bingley’s wedding and then another to the Archbishop for a special license were in order.

  * * *

  Although Elizabeth’s mood had lifted significantly since receiving Georgiana’s letter, she was still anxious about how her own response might be received. She surmised at least by now that he would have received her package and seen its contents. Her heartbeat quickened every time she thought of it. She bit her lip and looked back down at the sampler she was attempting; the occupation of her needlework was not helping her to think of something else. Every attempt to concentrate failed her. She even found herself embroidering bluebells, regardless of whether they were the intended flower. She would then have to un-stitch the flowers and begin anew.

  She looked at the rest of her family assembled about her. Her father, with a book, had chosen to sit with the family that evening after dinner instead of retreating into his book room as he had for nearly twenty years. His arm was draped casually across the back of the settee behind her mother who was helping Kitty trim an old bonnet. Mary, of course, was reading too. She liked having her father spend the evenings with them. There was something comforting to Elizabeth about having her family spend time together, and she was pleased to see that his attention to her mother was so happily received.

  Everyone looked up, then, when they heard the hoofbeats of an approaching rider. Glancing at her father, Elizabeth raised her brows in question. He shrugged his shoulders, but put his book down and waited with everyone else for Mr. Hill to announce their guest.

  To everyone’s surprise, Mr. Darcy was led into the parlor. Elizabeth hardly knew where to look. She could not believe that he would have come so soon! For a minute, no one said anything, and the silence in the air was deafening but for Elizabeth’s heart that was pounding so powerfully she was certain everyone could hear it.

  Darcy was struck motionless from nearly the moment his eyes found Elizabeth. She was everything lovely, especially the way she blushed and nervously fingered her dress where her hands were hanging by her side. Suddenly, he remembered himself and bowed to the rest of the family.

  “Mr. Darcy, you are welcome to Longbourn,” Mr. Bennet said with a twinkle in his eye and a quick glance at his second daughter.

  Darcy mumbled a quick thank you and then was silent again. He looked at everyone in the room and then rested his eyes once again on Elizabeth. He knew his appearance at that hour was untoward. He had only arrived from London, and instead of going to Netherfield — where he hoped to convince the housekeeper to let him stay even though the Bingleys were not expected home from their wedding trip for a few days — he had ridden directly to Longbourn.

  His reason for coming strengthened his resolve, and without further delay, his words spilled out. “Mr. Bennet, I request a private audience with Miss Bennet.”

  The room was thick with silence.
Elizabeth blinked several times, trying to convince herself she had heard him correctly. The heaviness that had settled over her heart lifted, and her mouth turned up into a small smile. Before her father could respond to Mr. Darcy’s request, they heard her mother blurt, “Good Lord! It is about time!”

  Elizabeth gasped at her mother’s outburst, so much like her old behavior, and she blushed profusely. Risking a quick glance at Mr. Darcy, she noticed he was blushing too and looking at his boots. Then her father began to laugh, followed by her sisters. Next, Elizabeth heard Mr. Darcy’s soft baritone join in, relieving her of her embarrassment. She could not help herself then and began to giggle, too.

  Between chuckles and affectionate looks at his wife, Mr. Bennet said, “You have my permission, Mr. Darcy.”

  “Thank you, Mr. Bennet.” He bowed to the rest of the room and waited for Elizabeth to join him.

  Elizabeth moved by instinct, still dizzy from the whole remarkable scene. She kept her head down as she led Mr. Darcy out through the parlor doors and into the garden where they might find some privacy. She was not surprised when he took her hand, placing it on his arm. They went to the set of benches behind the hedge, out of sight of the four expectant faces pressed to the window in the parlor.

  Chapter 20

  There was a cool breeze, though the weather was still warm for early September. Elizabeth looked everywhere but at Mr. Darcy, who was intently looking at her as they walked further into the garden. Her heart was now feeling fairly light compared to only moments before. The sun had not quite set, but the blue hour approached, casting the garden in shadow. Absently, Elizabeth reached for a sprig of lavender as they walked past. Breaking it off with her hand, she twisted it nervously in front of her, releasing the sharp, fresh fragrance.

  She was thankful for their privacy now as she felt the heat on her cheeks when she looked back at her home, only to see the eager faces of her family. When they reached the benches, Elizabeth began to draw her hand from Mr. Darcy’s sleeve. She looked up at him when he took her small hand in his and brought it slowly, mesmerizingly so, up to his face to place a feather light kiss on the back of her ungloved fingers.

  Darcy looked into her eyes and was lost in their depths. They had so much to express, but for now, he could not speak a word. For what seemed like minutes, they simply stood in each other’s presence, feeling relief and disbelief at their being together and looking on each other once again.

  Remembering their last conversation in that location, Elizabeth smiled and sat down on the bench. Darcy smiled too and quietly took up the seat next to her.

  Believing that he ought to be the one to begin, he said, “My sister’s letter . . . ”

  Keeping her eyes on her lap, she whispered, “Yes, I received it.”

  Darcy tentatively reached across the short space and took her hand in his, hoping she would allow him that liberty. In the deep and saturating blues of twilight, he could barely make out her slight blush, but her acceptance of his holding her hand satisfied him, and the press of her fingers comforted him.

  Finding her voice, Elizabeth straightened her shoulders and lifted her eyes to him. “It taught me to hope as I had scarcely allowed myself to hope before.”

  “Yes!” Darcy said with relieved understanding.

  “I knew enough of your disposition to be certain that, had you been absolutely, irrevocably decided against me, you would not have thought yourself the wounded party.”

  “Never, my dear!” He positioned himself closer to her. “I could more easily convince the swallow in the sky to cease its flight forever than I could forsake you, dearest Elizabeth.”

  Elizabeth saw his earnest look. “It was too much to hope, after Lydia’s disgrace, that you would come again. I had hoped that my handkerchief . . . ” Laughing softly, she corrected herself. “ . . . your handkerchief would prompt you to reconsider.”

  Darcy shook his head slowly in disbelief but said nothing at first. With a twitch to his lips, he said, “I liked your rather singular ‘alterations’ to my handkerchief.”

  Elizabeth looked up at him. “Is it not the accustomed fashion among London gentlemen then, sir?”

  His lips twitched again as he tried to keep from laughing at her tease. “Not that I am aware of, madam.”

  “I can unstitch it for you. I would not wish for you to become the laughingstock at your clubs, Mr. Darcy.”

  “No!” He spoke quickly and then gently added, “I would not have you remove the first thing to give me hope in the past few days. Let the other men laugh. I will smile.” He said the last with an endearing sideways glance at her. He was still unsure of her feelings after all that they had endured over the past few days.

  Elizabeth held his hand tightly in her own. “Are you sure of your path, sir? Could you connect yourself with such a family having fallen into disgrace?”

  “Elizabeth, did you really think that I left you because I could not forgive Lydia’s imprudence?” He tempered his voice. “No, I can see from your face that you did. Oh, my dear, how I have made you suffer!”

  Her heart reacted wildly when he spoke such endearments. It seemed more than she deserved and all still a dream. She looked at him with questioning eyes. “Then why did you leave me, Mr. Darcy?”

  Darcy gently smoothed away a strand of her hair that had escaped her pins near her temple, sending a shiver down her spine. He could not meet her eyes, however, when he said, “Because I knew that you would see, and rightly so, that I could have prevented everything.”

  “And how could you have prevented anything, Mr. Darcy? Was it your responsibility to chaperone my sister and Mr. Wickham?”

  “No.” He shook his head. If she had not thought him responsible before, revealing his reasons for guilt now surely would open her eyes to it. Reluctantly he continued. “If I had exposed Wickham long ago, he could not have intruded upon your family, and your sister would have been safe from him — thus, you see, protecting her reputation, preventing her accident and, of course, her death.” He risked looking into her eyes then.

  “I know it was not an accident, Mr. Darcy,” she whispered, saddened only by the guilt she saw in his eyes. “I also know the great lengths, the many mortifications you had to endure to discover Mr. Wickham. I cannot thank you enough, for I also know that you ensured he could not harm us further by exposing my family to a public trial. If my family knew, I would have more than my own gratitude to express.”

  He was not surprised that she knew of his dealings with Wickham or his part in shipping him off to Australia. Darcy lowered his eyes and removed his hand from hers. Standing, he stepped away from her a few paces. “If you will thank me, thank me only for yourself. I believe I thought only of you.” Pausing just a moment, he continued, “I am so sorry, El . . . Miss Bennet. Truly, I am. Would that I could have done something before to prevent it!”

  Elizabeth was bewildered by his removal and the distant sound in his voice. What hurt more was his reverting back to his formal address of her. In the short time they had been in the garden, she had grown pleased with his endearments and use of her Christian name. It was a soothing caress to hear her name on his lips. Now to lapse back to ‘Miss Bennet’ cut her to the core. Swallowing the melancholy welling up in her throat, she determined that no more misunderstandings would come between them. Her father had wasted most of his life’s happiness because of one, and she had promised him not to make that same mistake.

  “Fitzwilliam,” Elizabeth began, embarrassed, having never addressed him so informally before. Such familiarity made her blush, but she had purposely used it to gain his attention and to make a point. She was satisfied when he turned abruptly to her, his face registering a powerful range of emotions. “Please do not pain me by assuming responsibility for actions with which you are so wholly unconnected. Mr. Wickham was a cad — a despicable spendthrift, a gambler. My sister was imprudent, spoiled and reckless. Although I never would have wished this, their choices together led to that end. You
, sir, are not responsible.”

  Darcy struggled to remain firmly where he stood. The determination in her eyes demanded he ought to allow her to finish her speech, but after hearing her sweet lips speak his name, he wished only to take her in his arms and kiss them. Never had he expected to have such an overwhelming feeling of love, admiration and desire by hearing her say his given name. Considering her words, he responded, “But, if I had exposed —”

  “If you had exposed him, my dear, he would have gone on to hurt someone else in another shire that did not know him or his reputation. You could not follow him to every village in England.”

  Mr. Darcy shook his head and drew in a steadying breath. She called me ‘my dear’! “Elizabeth, you must return to calling me ‘Mr. Darcy’ or ‘sir’ — at least until we finish this discussion. I am finding your familiarity uncommonly distracting.”

  “I see.” Elizabeth colored with shame. “Forgive me, Mr. Darcy.”

  Seeing she misinterpreted his meaning, Mr. Darcy came to her side immediately. He took up her hand in his and pressed it to his lips. “You misunderstand, Elizabeth. Please believe me when I say that I am affected in a positive way. I like it. I like it very much — more than I should.”

  When she looked up innocently but with obvious uncertainty as to his meaning, he smiled roguishly at her. “Forgive me. I feel I must speak plainly now, Elizabeth. I believe we must make certain the topic at hand is properly addressed. But when you refer to me so charmingly, I can only think of taking you in my arms and kissing you.”

  “Oh!” Elizabeth blushed and bit her lip as she lowered her head. Her heart beat wildly, her momentary shame turning into relief and more at his words.

  He lowered his voice to a husky timbre. “And perhaps, you might further ease my suffering and not bite your lip in that bewitching manner.”