Page 43

Saye shrugged and then, indifference cast aside, cursed. “Are not women the strangest things! All I meant to do was speak to her of some of the challenges facing our union and all the reply I received for the compliment of my candour was a?—”

Darcy immediately stopped walking. “Saye, pray tell me you did not insult her.”

Saye rolled his eyes. “Insult her? Of course not. What sort of idiot— Oh, wait.” He then cast Darcy a smirk that made Darcy realise the entire conversation had been managed to deliver a rather inconsequential insult to him.

Now it was Darcy’s turn to roll his eyes. “Very well, haha. Yes, I made a dreadful first offer. But Elizabeth is here, and she is engaged to me, which is more than you can say for Miss Goddard.”

“Darcy, no one sinks a battleship with the first cannonball,” Saye replied.

“Actually, if they hit the?—”

“In any case, I merely spoke to her of the difficulties inherent in being a future earl.”

“Such as?”

“Such as my mother is called Lady Matlock. And, not a decade ago, was herself Lady Saye. So, I was merely observing that to call Lilly ‘Lady Saye’ might...well I am just not certain how the captain down there will fare, knowing her as my own Lady Saye and yet clearly recollecting the days when Lady Saye referred to my mother. You must see how difficult that is.”

“Not really, no. What man does not call his wife by a name his mother once held?”

“Well,” Saye pondered a moment. “You, for example. Your mother was Lady Anne. Your wife will be Mrs Darcy.”

“Regardless,” Darcy said, “to me she will be Elizabeth—as she should be to you as well. I surely do not intend to refer to her as Mrs Darcy in the comforts of our own chambers. In any case, surely this was not your proposal?”

“A successful marriage proposal is like a game of chess,” Saye began.

“No, not really.”

“One does not simply capture the king—or queen, as the case may be—on the first move. There are manoeuvres, schemes, plans?—”

“Tell her you love her and wish to marry her.”

“—bishops on the diagonal and rooks going vertically?—”

“Good lord, Saye. You are worse at this than I was.”

Saye cast him an eye that was no doubt meant to look haughty. “You lack imagination. In any case, you and my brother have your own chess game going, do you not?”

“Your brother is a numbskull.”

“As are so many when it comes to understanding their heart’s desires.”

“I remind you again, I am the only man here with a willing bride and a wedding date.” Darcy nearly bit his tongue as he said the ill-thought words; he had laid himself open to more of Saye’s mockery. Oddly, none came; only the sound of their boots hitting the ground was heard for a full minute.

“I take it that no apologies have been offered or received.”

Darcy shook his head. “I am here, with you. Elizabeth is in a carriage with her new friends.”

“And Aurelia had my brother racing about like a lunatic...he will apologise, you know. Possibly even grovel.”

“He must, and soon, to Elizabeth. I can forgive him only when she does—if she does.” Darcy let out a breath. “It was a wise thing, offering me a walk rather than a shooting foray.”

“Ah, blood on the carpets would be the capstone for Aurelia’s betrayals to Mother.”

Darcy laughed quietly and blinked as the sun hit his eye; he squinted upwards to see soft grey clouds drifting away, and a weak but welcome winter sun emerge.

Looking ahead to Matlock, he saw the last in a parade of carriages was rolling down the drive.

Three small figures moved swiftly towards the house.

He would recognise Elizabeth’s red cloak anywhere.

What had happened? Why was she not in a carriage?

Darcy turned to Saye. “Speaking of chess, I have another move or two I must make. Can you not walk any faster?”

Matlock was not so large as Pemberley, but Darcy knew it nearly as well.

Still, it took him better than a quarter of an hour to find a footman who correctly directed him to a maid who knew of Elizabeth’s whereabouts.

He entered the orangery without assurances that she would be alone, but uncaring in his desperation to see her.

He found her sitting on Lady Matlock’s overstuffed chaise-longue, her eyes closed, a book unopened on her lap.

Moving closer, Darcy sank to his knees and gazed freely on the face he so loved; her lips were turned up in a small smile, dark lashes rimmed pale cheeks.

He whispered her name and gently laid his hand on hers.

When her eyes flew open, he smiled tenderly, and her startled expression softened.

“Darcy.”

She said his name with such happy warmth, he could have wept. “Elizabeth, are you well? You are not with the others in carriages.”

She replied with a wan smile. “Nor are you. And neither did you play cards last evening.”

“You had others eager to partner with you. In truth, I was not fit to partner anyone.” He shrugged, glad she had missed him but hoping she had not felt abandoned; Darcy had wished her to enjoy the camaraderie of others without his own looming presence—and split lip—to distract her.

“Are you well?” Was it surprise or confusion that clouded her expression?

“No, I am heartsick, knowing you are angry with me.”

She sat up, looking stricken. “I am not angry with you. I am angry with your cousin, and with my father, and with myself.”

“You are blameless in all of it!” He scarcely heard her dismissal of his faults.

“Darcy, you have been subject to endless provocations from my father, as well as from your cousin. I have been—” here, she struggled for composure—“complicit by allowing one to keep us apart and the other to think himself some rival to you. I am ashamed of what I have become, comfortable and secure in your love, and yet allowing others to create strife and misunderstanding.”

“You are innocent in the games they have played!” Darcy moved quickly to sit beside her, gathering her soft form in his arms. “When we first met, you provoked me as well, and those provocations and teases prompted me to fall in love with you.”

Her eyes glistened with tears. “I am a fortunate woman.”

Darcy smiled wryly. “No more than I am a fortunate man, my love, but in this, I am at fault. We have been apart for weeks, and this house party is but a respite before we again will part. I have little interest in the company of friends and relations, nor making conversation with those new to me. I have wanted only your company, your conversation, and in that I have been selfish, failing to recognise the joy you take in making new acquaintances and the importance to you of establishing new friendships.”

Elizabeth was surprised to find uncertainty in Darcy’s eyes.

“I am a selfish being still in need of correcting my course. While you are doing as any proper person should, becoming familiar with those who will be part of our social circle in town, I have cared only for the moments when I can be with you, as the centre of your attentions.”

“Those moments have been my favourite as well,” she whispered.

Needing to feel him, to touch his flesh, she stroked his cheek, wincing at the sight of his lip, evidence of what had occurred the previous day.

“I shall not wish to share you once we are in greater society. You will be off with your steward or solicitor, attending to your business and visiting your club.”

Elizabeth’s confession earned a small smile from Darcy, followed by a gentle kiss to her forehead. “Society be damned. I shall pull the knocker off the door and allow dust to collect on my ledgers. All I require is your company.”

Darcy breathed in deeply before he again spoke. “I have been thoughtless. Friendship with you is so effortless that watching you charm everyone here has made me proud of you and resentful of others.”

Elizabeth’s finger trailed lightly around the cut on his lower lip. “You were justified in your resentment of one man.”

“I am ashamed of my response to it.”

“He is your cousin, but he was too forward in his friendship with me. In truth, while he enjoyed goading you, I believe he was using me to avoid entanglement with other, more eager ladies.”

“That is one interpretation for his attentions.” Darcy looked at her gravely. “You did nothing to encourage him or lead to my anger. It was—is— evident you enjoyed his friendship, and only that.”

“Of course—only that,” Elizabeth replied with no little relief.

She pulled Darcy closer and kissed the spot below his ear that she knew would please him.

When he sighed, she buried her lips in his neck.

“I cannot speak for your cousin. He has come to me and apologised. He grovelled in a manner that made me uncomfortable, but I am satisfied that he understands the gravity of his poor behaviour, provoking you and presuming I wished for his company over yours.”

Darcy growled. “He is a fool.”

“He was humiliated, realising how true your words to him were—that he could never have been my husband. Colonel Fitzwilliam”—she pronounced his name in a crisp voice— “may not admit defeat on the field of battle, but it is you who has the larger share of valour and determination.” She lifted her face to his and smiled softly.

“Even if you could not have had my hand, he said, you would have done anything you could to increase my happiness—‘in any way he could, if he could. It is what he does.’

“Fool though he is, he spoke the truth. It is what you do, my dear man.”

His expression softened. “Elizabeth...”

They leant into each other and kissed, gently at first, and then with greater passion until Darcy winced. He touched his lip and wiped away a trace of blood. “I am sorry. My cousin’s words may assuage feelings, but their impact lingers on the flesh.”

Elizabeth’s expression fell as she watched Darcy press his handkerchief to his mouth. She reached for his other hand and held it to her heart.

“You have done all you could, for more than a year, to increase my happiness. I have brought you more distress than you deserve.” Elizabeth sighed.

“I am angry with my father, who has outgrown the memory of being in love and is resistant to the changes in the life he was settled into with five daughters. His eldest and youngest are gone, and he is selfish...unwilling to part with me as well.”

“He doubts our felicity, and believes my love for you is fleeting...that you accepted me out of gratitude.”

“You know this is untrue, and he knows it as well. My father claims he does not want me to suffer in a marriage lacking harmony and happiness, yet he ignores our mutual ardour and affection.”

“Aye, he thinks it is your gratitude and my lust.” Darcy shook his head.

“Your father is a fool about love. He mocks the calm felicity of Bingley and Jane, yet doubts the more fevered amity between us. He wishes for you to prove yourself truly in love with me rather than grateful for my assistance?—”

“And for you to prove that your love outweighs your desire? That you will care for me when I am fat and silver-haired?” She laughed at Darcy’s amused and emphatic nod. “Does he think I shall be my mother and destroy your affection for me?”

Darcy brushed a hair from her cheek and looked at her intently. “Are the doubts only your father’s, or do you have them as well?”

“I have no doubts, none at all,” cried Elizabeth. “We are not as Georgette and Mr Anderson are—her family and society would oppose their union, and he appears prepared to give her up. Her heart is broken, but her reputation is left intact. Where is the worth in that?”

His voice deepened as he replied. “I should not give up on Anderson just yet, Elizabeth, but never mind them. Are we not perfectly aligned in our interests and intents? Our hearts are engaged, our desire alit, and we are kept apart only because your father wishes to test our love.”

She was quiet, holding his hand and gently caressing his fingers.

“It is not fair. It is you who brought Jane and Bingley back together. It is you who saved my sister, and my family’s name, and wished I would not tell my father. I am grateful to you for all you have done, but even had those events not come to pass, still I would love you.”

Though he received her words with a smile, its warmth did not extend to his eyes; instead, he looked more troubled than he had moments earlier.

“I have been in love with you for well over a year now, and certain of my feelings for nearly as long—however ineptly I first spoke them to you. We would be married now but that I thought to respect your father’s edict and please you by earning favour with him and the neighbourhood.

But for the past day or so, I lost some favour with you, and with myself.

I have been my own man for many years. I am unhappy with this waiting, feeling as though we are as unsettled as those around us hoping for a match. I wish our life together to begin.”

Elizabeth sat up fully and turned to face Darcy, grasping his shoulders as she settled on his lap. “I share your desire. You, the master of Pemberley, acceded to my father’s request because you wished to please me. You may please me now by marrying me with all due haste.”

His eyes darkened. “All due haste? What do you mean?”

“I hope you do not mind my arranging our affairs, but I would prefer to return to Longbourn as a bride?—”

Her next words disappeared, quickly forgotten in the force of Darcy’s joyful exclamation of relief and the impassioned kisses that followed.