Page 7 of All That Glitters

CHAPTER SEVEN

An hour later—after a short drive in Mr Bingley’s carriage—Elizabeth found herself at the foot of Oakham Mount, looking about for the next clue. None of them had been too difficult to find thus far. In her coat pocket, three others resided, all of which she would save forever. And then, just as she was out of sight of the waiting carriage, a man emerged from a stand of trees.

For a moment, just a moment, she marvelled—how was it that this tall, broad-shouldered, handsome man in exquisitely cut coat and gleaming Hessians, should be here , smiling at her ? He had devised this whole exercise for her intrigue and amusement; how had she ever thought him dull?

He bowed; she curtseyed, smiling back at him.

“Miss Elizabeth, what a surprise,” he said, his low voice causing a little thrill to chase up her spine. “What brings you out in nature on a wintry December afternoon?”

“As it happens, I have misplaced something. A small note card, about so big.” She brought her fingers up in an approximation of the clue paper size.

“Ah. I might have noticed something of the sort. I may have picked it up. One ought not to be so careless as to leave papers lying about.”

“One certainly ought not,” she said, twinkling up at him.

Mr Darcy made a show of patting his coat pockets. “Hm. Now what did I do with it? I could swear it was…” He reached up, feeling along the back of his shoulder, as if it could possibly be there, then twisted around as if feeling for it.

There was the note card, pinned to his coat in the very centre of his back, ‘Elizabeth’ written in his bold, firm hand and she giggled. Stretching for it, she laughed again when he turned in a circle as if trying to see for himself—keeping the clue just out of reach. In trying to grasp it, somehow she found her arms around him, and his went about her, and his lips descended to meet her laughing mouth and she discovered a whole new realm of feeling, of passion, of wonder in the pressure of it, the intensity of the exchange. He was the first to pull away, while she could only remain standing, looking at him, dazed and trembling and astonished.

It was a kiss such as she had never even dreamt nor imagined. Abruptly, she wished he had not ended it—worlds opening up before her eyes.

Slowly he turned, presenting her with his back. With unsteady hands, she unpinned the note card and read the words within.

Oh to be Shakespeare, to possess any idea how one might expertly express the wishes of my heart. Alas, I am only a man, inspired but not inspiring, one who is truly, deeply in love for the first time in his life. If it is too soon for you to return my feelings, I understand. Advise me to wait. Say that I ought to withdraw, and I will. Only…do not tell me that I must give up hope. Anything but that.

FD

Slowly, he turned back around, looking into her eyes as if he could read her tremulous thoughts. Then, he dropped to one knee.

“Elizabeth…my dearest, my loveliest…my heart’s home. Will you have me?”

She went to her knees, heedless of her gown, to wrap her arms around him, to be even with him, to hold his face within her hands. “Perhaps a couple of weeks ago our hearts were not aligned. But I seem to have caught up to you,” she said.

“Is that a yes?” he asked, as if he were hardly daring to hope.

“Yes, yes, yes,” she said, and he smiled warmly upon her—even his eyes were smiling, in tenderness and yearning.

“When?”

“Shall we wait for Mr Bingley to come to the point?”

“While I do not think it will be long before he does, I admit to impatience. Would you object to a licence? Or am I pushing my good fortune?”

Elizabeth had never been flirtatious, never overbold. She was, in all the ways that mattered, very much a lady, and it was important to her to be so. Yet, she saw in his dark gaze a worry—that somehow he was alone in this. He had mortified his pride in order to offer for her the first time; some might say he still was. She was neither wealthy nor important in any of the ways society would recognise. She had misunderstood and under-appreciated him in the past; he, too, had erred. It was a miracle that they were here together, now, in each other’s arms, and she could see his fear, the same as hers—that it was all too good to be true.

“Do you mean, do I wish to wait weeks or months before I can go where you go? Before I can lie beside you in the night and wake to see you in the morning light? Before I can be yours and you can be mine? No. No, I do not. If I could choose the date of our wedding, I would choose yesterday. Go and get the licence, my love.”

“Your love,” he said, pride and amazement in his tone. “I am your love.” His mouth bent to hers, and he showed her, with every kiss, every gentle touch, every breath, by the force of his passion and adoration, the strength of the passion he held in return.