Page 8 of Darcy’s Redemption (Holidays with Darcy and Elizabeth)
Chapter Eight
T he remainder of the week passed with little interference from Lady Catherine or any others. Darcy and Elizabeth were tacitly courting, neither speaking openly about what they were doing but enjoying the time to come to know the other better.
They were seldom left entirely alone—between Charlotte, Colonel Fitzwilliam, and Georgiana, a chaperone was almost always present, though often at a discreet distance that allowed for private conversation. The bishop had remained for a short time after Lady Catherine’s departure for London, but upon her return—her ears still ringing from the scolding her brother had delivered—Bishop Baines deemed it a fitting time to take his leave. Lady Catherine did not repeat to anyone what her brother had said, and, in fact, barely spoke to Darcy at all, and saw fit only to give Elizabeth disdainful looks, but she said nothing else about her daughter’s supposed engagement to her cousin.
Still, the pair managed a few walks alone in the early hours, and several times they ended up in the same garden where they had met on the Monday after Easter. While little had been said about that day, they each recognised their meeting had been fortuitous.
On Friday afternoon, as he took his leave from the parsonage after tea, Darcy leaned in to whisper a request for a meeting in their secret garden the next morning. Elizabeth readily accepted, eagerly anticipating his purpose for asking. She dared not breathe a word to anyone for fear that someone would feel obliged to chaperone the couple. Elizabeth trusted Darcy and did not believe he would do anything that might dishonour her.
Early the next morning, before anyone else in the parsonage had stirred, Elizabeth slipped away quietly. The cool morning air invigorated her as she made her way towards their secret garden, and she took great pleasure in the tranquillity of the hour. A fine mist clung to the hedges, and she was careful to avoid brushing against the damp foliage. Pulling her shawl more tightly around her, she walked carefully along the path, her heightened heartbeat owed not only to the brisk pace but also to the anticipation thrumming through her.
She paused as she neared the entrance, laughing softly at herself. A little over a fortnight ago, she would have dreaded a private meeting with Darcy, perhaps even gone out of her way to avoid him. Yet, here she was, eager—impatient, even—to see him. The thought amused her, and she was still silently laughing at herself as she pushed open the garden gate and stepped inside.
Darcy was already there, waiting in the golden light of the sunrise. His tall form was silhouetted against the morning glow; his posture was rigid, his hands clasped behind his back. For a moment, Elizabeth hesitated, taking him in. His broad shoulders bore the weight of his many responsibilities, and in his stance, she glimpsed something of the man she had first met in Hertfordshire—the proud, reserved figure who had once stood apart from all others. But why did he seem so tense now in this place that had become theirs?
She had no time to wonder further. At the faint sound of her approach, he turned, and at once, his entire countenance changed. The tension in his frame eased, his eyes softened, and a slow, almost disbelieving smile touched his lips.
“You are here,” he murmured, stepping towards her.
Elizabeth smiled in return, her heart warming at the simple, heartfelt words. “I said I would be.”
He exhaled slowly, obviously relieved. “I half feared you would change your mind and not come. It was daring of me, perhaps even reckless, to ask you for a private meeting. It is one thing to accidentally encounter each other, but we have never before planned our meetings.”
She raised a brow. “Have I given you reason to doubt me? As I entered, I was reflecting on how differently I have thought of you since our first meeting here. I know you too well now to doubt your kindness and goodness, and I know you would never harm me.”
Unable to hold back any longer, Darcy reached for her hands, and used them to pull her closer to him. “I wish to love you, Elizabeth,” he breathed. “Do you… that is… I know you have not always liked me, but do you think it might be possible that you would one day accept my love and offer… and offer your own in return?”
“Oh, William,” she said, her voice warm and tinged with a slight embarrassment as she addressed him by his sister’s nickname for him. “It is not only possible but a certainty. Was it not Marlowe who wrote, ‘ Who ever loved, that loved not at first sight? ? 1 ’ I believe the first time I truly saw you was on Monday, here in this garden. Perhaps, had you not insulted me at the assembly, I would have seen you sooner—but your words that night blinded me to the man you truly are.”
Darcy grinned. “Do you recall the first part of that verse?” he asked, his amusement deepening when she smiled in response. In a deep, almost husky voice, he recited:
It lies not in our power to love or hate,
For will in us is overruled by fate.
When two are stripped, long ere the course begin,
We wish that one should love, the other win, ? 2
As he stepped closer, he placed her hands against his chest, his own arms sliding around her waist. “Like you, I was blind to my own feelings at first. Perhaps my blinders fell away sooner, but I refused to admit what I felt for you. I was a fool, Elizabeth, to think I could resist your pull, and I might have remained a fool if not for the timely arrival of my godfather.” He tilted his head, mischief gleaming in his eyes. “Ought we to name a son after him?”
Elizabeth laughed brightly. “You are getting ahead of yourself, sir,” she teased. “We cannot have children if we are not wed, and we cannot marry if you do not ask the question. Since I have yet to hear it from your lips, propriety demands we refrain from such talk.”
Darcy smiled down at her, tightening his hold around her waist. “Marry me, Elizabeth,” he breathed.
Nearly breathless, she gazed up at him, unable to resist one last tease. “Was that an order, sir, or did you mean it as a question? If the latter, I must have a word with your tutors about their instruction, for it was rather poorly formed…”
Her words trailed off as Darcy, having had quite enough of her teasing, silenced her with his lips.
When he finally released her, they were both a little lightheaded.
“You still have not asked properly, sir,” Elizabeth murmured when she could once again form words.
“And now I know precisely what to do when your teasing refuses to end,” Darcy replied, his lips descending towards hers once more. Just before they met, he whispered, “I will try Shakespeare this time, my love. Now, ‘ peace, I will stop your mouth. ”
Eventually, they did depart from the garden. Determined to meet Elizabeth’s exacting standards, Darcy found a way to pose the question properly. When he finally did so, she answered in a manner satisfactory to them both.