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Chapter Twenty-Three

E lizabeth could scarcely breathe as she looked up at Mr. Darcy, her heart suddenly too large for her chest. The man who stood before her now seemed wholly transformed from the proud, disdainful gentleman who had once enumerated her family’s deficiencies at Hunsford with such cold precision. That he should now risk his reputation, his standing, everything he valued, to shield Lydia from scandal was incomprehensible. Yet the evidence of his character was undeniable, written in the grave lines of his face and the quiet dignity with which he offered his aid in saving her sister – and indeed, her entire family – from disgrace.

Words formed and dissolved on her lips as she struggled to articulate the tumult of emotions within her. Gratitude seemed wholly inadequate, admiration too reserved, and anything deeper too profound to speak aloud in her father’s study with four witnesses watching them.

How remarkable that this man before her, who had once been the object of her decided dislike, should now stand revealed as her family’s greatest benefactor. The journey from his condemning words at Hunsford to this moment created a stark contrast in her mind. His voice echoed from memory: “ The situation of your mother’s family, though objectionable, was nothing in comparison to that total want of propriety so frequently betrayed by herself, by your three younger sisters, and occasionally even by your father .”

Those words had cut her deeply then, had fuelled her righteous anger against him. Now, faced with the proof that he had set aside those very objections to rescue Lydia from the consequences of her own impropriety, Elizabeth felt the weight of her prejudice against him like a physical burden. She had misjudged him so thoroughly, had clung to her first unflattering impression with such stubborn certainty, even when those whose judgement she trusted had pressed her to reconsider, for had not both Charlotte and Jane said to her that she should not judge Mr. Darcy too harshly? Both of them had seen him more truly than she, and Charlotte, observant Charlotte, had even noted Darcy's admiration of Elizabeth. Would that she had listened! They might have avoided every evil that had befallen the Bennet family since that date!

It is all my own stubborn fault, that we are come to this pass , Elizabeth thought. And it is Mr. Darcy who is offering to pay the price for us all.

The afternoon sunlight filtered through the study windows, casting slanted rectangles across the worn carpet. It highlighted the dust motes dancing in the air between them, these tiny particles the only movement in a room suddenly frozen in time. Her father sat at his desk, his expression inscrutable as he observed them. Darcy stood rigid near the fireplace, his tall figure silhouetted against the carved wooden mantle, waiting with patience for her response. The ticking of the grandfather clock in the hall marked the passing seconds of her silence.

“I hardly know what to say,” Elizabeth finally managed, her voice scarcely above a whisper. “That you should do so much for Lydia, for all of us, when...”

“I believe,” Mr. Bennet interrupted then, “that this is perhaps a conversation best had without an audience. The garden is particularly pleasant this afternoon, Lizzy. Perhaps you might show Mr. Darcy the roses your mother is so proud of.”

Elizabeth felt warmth rise to her cheeks. Her father’s perception had always been keen, and it was clear he had divined something of the nature of her feelings, perhaps even before she had fully acknowledged them herself. She glanced toward Mr. Darcy, uncertain.

“That would be most agreeable, sir,” Darcy replied.

“I shall inform your mother that you are engaged in showing Mr. Darcy the improvements to the herbaceous borders. That should grant you at least a quarter hour before curiosity overcomes her.”

“Thank you, Papa,” Elizabeth murmured, grateful for his understanding and discretion.

They exited the study and slipped into the dining room, opening the French doors to reveal the garden beyond. The air was sweet with the scents of spring, a gentle breeze stirring the leaves of the old oak that had shaded generations of Bennets. Elizabeth hesitated at the threshold, suddenly aware of the significance of this moment. To step through these doors with Mr. Darcy was to step into a conversation that might alter the course of her life.

Darcy moved forward with quiet dignity, pausing beside her. “Shall we, Miss Elizabeth?” he asked, offering his arm with formal courtesy.

The gesture was simple, yet laden with meaning. Elizabeth placed her fingertips lightly upon his sleeve, feeling the fine wool of his coat and the solid strength of the arm beneath. “Yes,” she replied, finding steadiness in his presence.

The gravel path crunched beneath their feet as they walked in silence for several moments. Elizabeth struggled to order her thoughts, to find the proper beginning for all she wished to say. How did one adequately express gratitude for such a profound service? How could she convey the transformation in her feelings without appearing inconstant or opportunistic?

She stole a glance at his profile, noting the tension in his jaw, the careful way he measured his steps to match her shorter stride. This man had seen her family at their worst, had witnessed Lydia’s disgrace and the near-ruin of their reputation, yet still he walked beside her, his presence a bulwark against the scandal that might yet destroy them all.

They passed beneath the dappled shade of the oak tree, its ancient branches spreading above them like protective arms. A rabbit startled from the undergrowth, darting across their path and into the shelter of the hedgerow. Elizabeth followed its path with her eyes, grateful for the momentary distraction.

“Your father’s estate has many natural beauties,” Darcy observed, breaking the silence. “One can see why you are so fond of walking here.”

“Yes,” Elizabeth agreed, seized by a sudden appreciation for the familiar landscape she had known all her life. “Though it cannot compare to the grandeur of Pemberley, it has its own modest charms.”

“I did not mean to invite comparison,” he replied quickly. “Each place has its own character, its own particular advantages.”

Elizabeth recognised his delicacy in avoiding any implication that Longbourn was inferior. Another mark of the consideration he now showed her, so different from his former hauteur. She drew a deep breath, gathering her courage for what must be said.

“Mr. Darcy,” she began, but found herself suddenly overcome. The enormity of his actions on Lydia’s behalf, the complete reversal of her opinion of him, the implications for her future, all converged in a moment of overwhelming emotion. She paused, collecting herself, aware of his patient silence beside her.

Darcy spoke before Elizabeth could marshal her thoughts, his voice low and measured as though he had rehearsed these words many times. “I suspect my aunt, Lady Catherine, will express her disapproval in the strongest possible terms,” he said, a faint line appearing between his brows. “But I believe if we present her with a fait accompli, she will eventually reconcile herself to the situation. Her need to maintain appearances in society will overcome her objections, given time.”

Elizabeth blinked, momentarily confused by this unexpected beginning. While her mind had been consumed with gratitude and newfound admiration, his thoughts had already leapt ahead to practical considerations. It was so characteristic of him, this methodical approach, that she nearly smiled despite the seriousness of the moment.

“Lady Catherine has long harboured expectations regarding my marriage,” he continued, his gaze fixed upon a distant point beyond her shoulder. “She has made no secret of her wish that I would offer for my cousin, Anne. Such a union would consolidate the family estates and fulfil what she considers a longstanding agreement between our parents.” He paused, finally meeting Elizabeth’s eyes directly. “But I cannot allow my aunt’s ambitions to dictate the course of my life, not in a matter of such personal importance. I have never had any intention of marrying Anne; affection of that type does not exist between us.”

The breeze stirred the leaves above them, casting shifting patterns of light and shadow across his face. In that dappled illumination, Elizabeth saw the resolve in his expression, the quiet determination that had perhaps always been there, beneath the reserve she had once mistaken for arrogance.

“If we proceed with decisiveness, presenting our engagement as a settled matter rather than seeking her blessing, we remove her opportunity to interfere directly.” His voice gained confidence as he outlined his strategy. “She may rage and threaten, but ultimately she values her connection to Pemberley too highly to maintain her opposition indefinitely. The initial storm will be fierce, but not insurmountable.”

Elizabeth realised with sudden clarity that he was not merely speculating about a hypothetical future. This was not idle conversation. He was, in his methodical way, proposing marriage once again, laying before her the obstacles they would face together and his plan for overcoming them.

“Yes,” she said simply, the word escaping before she had time to consider a more elegant response.

Darcy stopped abruptly, his carefully constructed arguments faltering at this unexpected interruption. “Yes?” he repeated, as though uncertain he had heard correctly.

“Yes,” Elizabeth confirmed, more firmly this time. “Your aunt’s disapproval does not dissuade me. My answer is yes.”

A look of startled wonder transformed his features. For a moment, he appeared almost vulnerable in his surprise, and Elizabeth felt a surge of tenderness toward him. This proud man, who could face down the most formidable members of society without flinching, was rendered speechless by her simple acceptance.

He gave an odd little laugh, barely more than an exhalation. “I had many more arguments prepared,” he admitted, shaking his head slightly. “A veritable arsenal of persuasion at my disposal. I had outlined the advantages of our union, prepared responses to every conceivable objection, considered how best to reassure you regarding your family’s comfort and security.”

Elizabeth smiled, truly smiled, feeling a lightness in her heart that had been absent for many months. “You need not employ them,” she said softly. “At least, not on my account. Perhaps you might save them for Lady Catherine.”

This prompted another laugh from him, more genuine this time. “They would be wasted on her, I fear. My aunt is impervious to logical argument when her wishes are thwarted.”

Elizabeth reached out to touch one perfect white magnolia flower, its petals cool and silken beneath her fingertips. “You have demonstrated your honour and noble character more than enough to satisfy me a hundred times over,” she said, her voice still quiet. “If I had only been less proud, less rude to you from the very beginning, we might not have come to this pass. Had I not clung so stubbornly to my first poor impression, had I been more willing to see beyond my own prejudice...”

“Elizabeth,” he said, and the sound of her Christian name on his lips sent a pleasant shiver through her.

“I judged you harshly and unfairly,” she continued, determined to acknowledge her fault. “I allowed myself to be deceived by appearances and false accounts. I took offense where none was truly intended and rejected your good opinion before I had any proper understanding of your character.”

The path was narrow here, bordered by carefully tended flowerbeds on either side. They stood facing one another, not even an arm’s length apart. Close enough that Elizabeth could detect the faint scent of his cologne, could see the precise shade of his eyes as they regarded her with a warmth that made her heart quicken.

“When you spoke to me at Hunsford, I was too blinded by pride to recognise the compliment you paid me,” she admitted. “That a man of your position and character should overcome so many objections to offer marriage... I understood it only as an insult, heard only the criticisms of my family and circumstances. I was determined to be offended.”

A robin alighted on a nearby bush, its red breast bright against the green leaves. It regarded them curiously for a moment before continuing its search for food. Elizabeth watched it, gathering her thoughts.

“Your letter opened my eyes to some truths I had been unwilling to see,” she continued. “But when you came here, knowing that I had become engaged to Mr. Wickham, to offer instead yourself… well, our unfortunate discovery prevented me from giving you an answer that day.”

Darcy listened in silence, his expression intent, as though each word she spoke was of vital importance to him.

“Thinking back on it, your willingness to involve yourself in such a scandal as would have ensued if I broke off with him and accepted your offer...” She shook her head slightly, still marvelling at his actions.

“You give me too much credit,” he said quietly. “My actions were not entirely selfless.”

“No?” Elizabeth raised her eyebrows, a hint of her usual playfulness returning. “You mean to tell me you found some personal satisfaction in the thought of stealing away Mr. Wickham’s intended bride? That does strain credulity, sir.”

The corner of his mouth lifted in response to her teasing. “I meant only that my motives were not purely altruistic. Yes, my initial motive in coming was to ensure you had full awareness of Wickham’s character; but once I understood he had deliberately compromised you, my renewed offer was made primarily from a desire to ease your distress. To see you unhappy was... intolerable to me.”

This simple confession affected her more deeply than any elaborate declaration might have done. The knowledge that her happiness had been a consideration in his decisions, that he had thought of her even when she had given him little reason to do so, filled her with a profound sense of wonder.

“Then I am doubly in your debt,” she said softly. “For the service itself, and for the sentiment that inspired it.”

“There is no debt between us,” he replied, his voice equally gentle. “Or if there is, it is entirely on my side. Your good opinion is a prize I scarcely dared hope to win again after our meeting at Hunsford.”

Elizabeth thought of that parting, of the cold, formal bow he had given her, the controlled anger in his expression as he left the parsonage. How different things were now, standing among the roses at Longbourn, the air between them cleared of misunderstandings and false impressions.

“I judged you by a standard I did not apply to myself,” she acknowledged. “I condemned your pride while blind to my own. It was most inconsistent of me.”

“Perhaps we have both been guilty of pride,” he suggested. “And perhaps we have both learned from our mistakes.”

“Yes.” Looking away, she began to walk again, and he fell into step beside her. “I would have said yes,” she said after a few moments. “That afternoon, if we had not found Wickham, I would have accepted your proposal. You offered an escape from an intolerable situation, it is true, but I had already come to understand that I had been entirely wrong about your character.”

“Not entirely wrong,” Darcy said. “I had grievously insulted your family, and I had indeed separated your sister from Bingley, and I was intolerably smug about all of it.”

Elizabeth shrugged slightly. “I have had a lot of time to think, over the last few days. I found myself considering what might have happened had, for example, Mr. Bingley and Jane been engaged to wed when this scandal broke.”

Mr. Darcy opened his mouth, closed it again, and looked at her thoughtfully.

“Would he have run for the hills, do you think?” Elizabeth said. “Certainly, his sisters would have encouraged him to jilt Jane immediately, and not to bind them to a family embroiled in such a scandal.”

“I do not know,” Darcy said, very honestly. “Their fortune is new enough, their standing in society precarious enough, that Bingley might have had second thoughts. I hope he would not have jilted Miss Bennet, but I cannot say for sure that he would have gone through with the wedding.”

“So in the end, perhaps it worked out for the best.” Elizabeth smiled ruefully. “Only consider; with Mr. Bingley’s fortune as a potential prize, Mr. Wickham might have attempted to compromise me sooner.”

“Heaven forbid!”

“My father will be wondering what has become of us,” she said, though she felt no real urgency to return to the house.

“Yes,” Darcy agreed, though he made no move to turn back. Instead, he extended his hand slightly toward her, palm upward in a gesture of openness. “Before we return, may I ask... are you certain? About your answer, I mean. I would not have you feel any obligation due to my assistance with your sister’s situation; my help is certainly not conditional upon your acceptance. We will find some other way to assist Lydia.”

Elizabeth placed her hand in his without hesitation, feeling the warmth of his skin against hers. “I am entirely certain,” she assured him. “My answer would be the same even if Lydia were not in need of urgent assistance. I would have accepted you on Monday.”

“I want to marry you because of how greatly I admire and love you,” Darcy said, his voice lowering with emotion. “Nothing has changed in that regard since I first told you so at Rosings. If anything, my esteem and affection have only deepened with greater acquaintance.”

The directness of his declaration, spoken without artifice or calculation, brought unexpected tears to Elizabeth’s eyes. There was no hint now of the condescension that had coloured his first proposal. This was a man addressing a woman he considered his equal, offering his heart with simple dignity.

“Your intelligence, your wit, your strength of character,” he continued, “these qualities first drew my attention. But it is your fundamental goodness, your loyalty to those you love, your willingness to reconsider firmly held opinions in the face of new evidence, that have secured my deepest admiration.”

Elizabeth laughed softly through her gathering tears, the sound mingling joy and disbelief. “You speak of my changing opinions,” she said, wiping at her eyes with the back of her hand, “but it is my feelings that have undergone so complete a reversal that I scarcely recognise myself. I feel as though I am standing on my head, with the world entirely reordered around me.”

“In your feelings, perhaps,“ Darcy said, a smile warming his usually solemn features. “Mine have remained remarkably constant, despite my clumsy expressions of them, though I am deeply glad yours have undergone such a change. I had begun to fear I was forever sunk; that you had taken the words I once spoke in my foolish pride and applied them to me – that your good opinion, once lost, was lost forever.”

“Pray do not remind me of how stubbornly I clung to my misapprehensions,” Elizabeth replied, her own smile breaking through her tears. “It is mortifying enough to recall my certainty, my absolute conviction that I understood your character completely upon such slight acquaintance.”

“We are neither of us perfect,” he said quietly. “Which gives me hope that we might be perfect for each other, balancing strength against weakness, pride against humility, caution against spirit.”

The sentiment was so unexpectedly poetic coming from him that Elizabeth found herself momentarily speechless. This was a side of Fitzwilliam Darcy she had glimpsed only rarely, a warmth and depth of feeling usually concealed behind his reserved exterior. That he should reveal it to her now, in this quiet garden at Longbourn, seemed a gift of inestimable value.

“When I think of how close we came to never reaching this understanding,” she said softly. “Had you not heard of my betrothal to Mr. Wickham...”

“I prefer not to dwell on such alternatives,” Darcy interrupted gently. “They belong to a future that will never come to pass.”

He moved closer then, closing the already small distance between them. With deliberate care, he reached for her hands, enclosing them within his own. His touch was warm and secure, his larger hands completely enveloping hers. Elizabeth felt the slight roughness of calluses along his palms, evidence of his riding and fencing, the pastimes of a gentleman but also signs of an active, physical life.

“I believe there are no challenges we will face that we cannot overcome together,” he said, his voice low and earnest. “Especially not with the support of family.”

Elizabeth thought of her own family, with all their foibles and improprieties that had once so offended him. That he should now speak of them as a source of support rather than embarrassment marked perhaps the most profound change in his attitude.

“My sister will be overjoyed to welcome you,” he continued. “I have told Georgiana a good deal about you, and she is very eager to meet you.”

“And I to meet her,” Elizabeth replied warmly.

The mention of sisters naturally brought Lydia to mind, and as if reading her thoughts, Darcy said, “I will make sure your sister is all right. We will ensure she has her baby safely and that nobody here shall ever suspect she had a hand in Wickham’s demise.”

The ease with which he included her in these future plans, the natural way he spoke of “we” rather than “I,” filled Elizabeth with a profound sense of partnership. This was not merely a marriage proposal but an invitation to join her life with his in every meaningful way.

“You are very good,” she said simply, the words inadequate to express the depth of her feeling.

“I am learning to be better,” he replied. “With your help, I believe I might even become worthy of your good opinion in time.”

“You have it already,” Elizabeth assured him, squeezing his hands gently. “Most completely and irrevocably.”

They stood thus for a long moment, hands clasped between them, each reading in the other’s eyes promises too deep for words. The sincerity in his gaze almost undid Elizabeth. How would she ever be worthy of him, this man who was willing to sacrifice his entire future for her sake? All she could do was strive to match his level of honour, she supposed, and held her chin a little higher. Elizabeth Bennet had never yet backed down from a challenge.

“We should return to the house,” Elizabeth said eventually, though with evident reluctance. “My father will be wondering what has become of us, and my mother will have noticed our absence by now.”

“Yes,” Darcy agreed, releasing one of her hands but keeping the other firmly within his grasp. “I should speak with your father without delay.”

As they turned back toward the house, following the winding path through beds of lavender and late roses, Elizabeth felt a sense of rightness, of pieces falling into their proper places after long disorder. The future stretching before them would not be without its challenges, not least from Lady Catherine’s disapproval and the inevitable gossip their match would generate in society. But those concerns seemed distant and inconsequential compared to the certainty she now felt.

“I believe my father will be very receptive,” she said as they approached the house, its familiar outline softened by the evening light. “He values happiness above convention, particularly where I am concerned, and he is fully sensible of everything you are offering us.”

“Then I shall address him with confidence,” Darcy replied, his voice steady though Elizabeth detected a slight increase in tension in his hand as it held hers.

They had reached the French doors through which they had exited what seemed a lifetime ago. Through the glass panes, the warm glow of lamps was visible within, a beacon drawing them back from their private interlude to the realities of family and society. But as Darcy paused before opening the door, looking down at her with an expression of such tender resolve, Elizabeth knew that whatever waited for them within, they would face it together, their understanding complete at last.