Page 22 of More Than You Know (The Love Conquers Pride #3)

Chapter Twenty-One

Early March 1812, London

“ M ama, there is a carriage pulling up at the gate!” Samuel Gardiner called out, his nose pressed against the window in the front parlour as his younger sister struggled to claim her own spot on the narrow bench.

“It is Mr Bingley!” cried Margaret. “And there is another gentleman with him. Oh, he is very handsome. And very tall!”

Across the room, Jane set aside her embroidery, lifting her head to exchange a glance with Elizabeth. The quiet understanding that passed between them was tinged with curiosity.

“Children, hush! And come away from that window,” Mrs Gardiner softly admonished, hurrying over to lay a gentle but firm hand on each child’s shoulder. “Now upstairs and back to your studies. You will see Mr Bingley tonight at dinner.”

Groaning in unison, the children reluctantly allowed themselves to be guided from the room, their joyful chatter fading as they ascended the stairs.

Jane turned to her sister, her voice barely above a whisper. “Mr Bingley did not say anything about bringing another gentleman to call. Do you suppose Mr Darcy has returned to town?”

Despite every effort to retain her composure, Elizabeth felt her heart leap a little in her chest, her pulse quickening in a most unwelcome manner. Schooling her features into calm neutrality, she lifted her chin. “I suppose it is possible,” she replied, her tone carefully even.

It had been above eight weeks since their departure from Pemberley, and in that time, their entire world seemed to have shifted on its axis.

True to his word, Mr Bingley had reached London a fortnight after Elizabeth, Jane, and the Gardiners, becoming a frequent and welcome visitor at Gracechurch Street. In his company, Jane radiated happiness, her countenance brighter than Elizabeth had ever seen it, and she took genuine comfort in observing her sister’s steady joy. Mr Bingley, with his easy manners and attentive care, continued to endear himself to the Gardiners, often joining them at the dinner table and lingering long into the evenings.

As for Elizabeth, she was quietly relieved to find no awkwardness between herself and Mr Bingley. Whatever fleeting discomfort might have existed had quickly dissipated, leaving in its place an easy companionship. He truly was the brother she had always dreamt of, and she could not be happier with the way everything had transpired.

Yet, the letters from Hertfordshire brought news of even greater changes.

Mr Walsh had, quite unexpectedly, proposed to Charlotte Lucas—and been swiftly accepted. Stranger still, upon returning to Longbourn and finding Jane and Elizabeth absent, Mr Collins—at their mother’s urging—had redirected his attentions to their sister Mary. Yet, when an offer of marriage was made, Mary, in an uncharacteristic display of resolve, had refused the gentleman outright—to Mrs Bennet’s indignation and Mr Bennet’s wry amusement. Humiliated, Mr Collins had retreated to Hunsford with uncharacteristic haste.

However, of Mr Darcy, they had heard little. To everyone’s surprise, Georgiana had chosen to remain at Pemberley rather than return to town. Though warm and cheerful, her letters were curiously vague, revealing nothing of her brother’s movements or intentions. Mr Bingley himself had received only one brief letter from his friend, sparse on details and offering little beyond the usual civilities.

And so it was with a prickling unease that Elizabeth now looked up to see Caldwell, the Gardiners’ butler, stepping into the front parlour to announce their guests.

“Mr Bingley,” Caldwell intoned with his usual dignified calm, before turning slightly to gesture towards the gentleman stepping out of the shadows to stand at his friend’s side. “And Mr Darcy.”

Elizabeth’s breath caught. She rose slowly, feeling Jane still beside her, poised and serene. Mr Bingley strode forwards with his familiar, affable ease, his face alight with pleasure at the company. But it was the man beside him—taller, graver—who drew Elizabeth’s gaze.

Mr Darcy was precisely as she remembered and yet, somehow, entirely changed. His countenance was composed, though a certain tension lingered in the set of his shoulders. His eyes—dark and searching—met hers, and Elizabeth felt a curious stillness settle in the space between them.

Turning, she offered Mr Bingley a genuine smile before inclining her head politely in the direction of his friend. “Mr Bingley,” she greeted. “And Mr Darcy. This is unexpected.”

Mr Bingley beamed back at them, while Mr Darcy’s bow was rigidly formal, as was his voice, even as he addressed both sisters by name. However, any further conversation was forestalled by Mrs Gardiner’s cheerful entrance, her gaze immediately drawn to their visitors. “Mr Bingley! Mr Darcy! What a pleasant surprise.”

Mr Darcy acknowledged her with a respectful nod. “I beg your pardon, madam, for arriving unannounced. Having returned to town only yesterday, I called upon Bingley, who mentioned his intention to visit. As I had wished to pay my respects, I took the liberty of accompanying him.”

Mrs Gardiner smiled graciously. “You are most welcome, Mr Darcy.”

A brief exchange of civilities followed, filled with cordial enquiries about Mr Darcy’s journey south. Elizabeth, though outwardly composed, could not overlook the subtle tension in the air.

“Shall I ring for tea?” Mrs Gardiner offered at length. “I imagine you gentlemen must be in need of some refreshment after your drive.”

Mr Bingley brightened, but Mr Darcy, with a slight shake of his head, countered lightly, “The weather is rather mild today, and, as such, I was wondering whether Miss Bennet and Miss Elizabeth might be inclined to walk out with us. I noticed a park nearby.”

Perceiving that her nieces were in favour of the scheme, Mrs Gardiner gave a nod of approval, and soon after, the four of them stepped out into the early afternoon air.

They made their way towards the small park across the street, the sound of carriage wheels fading in the distance as they set out on the winding path. The natural ease between Jane and Mr Bingley carried them ahead, leaving Elizabeth and Mr Darcy to follow at a more measured pace.

For several moments, the silence stretched between them, broken only by the crunch of gravel beneath their feet. Clasping her hands, Elizabeth was contemplating how best to begin, when Mr Darcy quietly enquired, “I trust you have been well, Miss Elizabeth?”

She cast a glance up at him from beneath the brim of her bonnet. “Yes, thank you. I am quite well. And you, Mr Darcy? I trust your journey to town was uneventful?”

“Indeed, it was,” he replied, his gaze firmly fixed on the path ahead.

A moment passed before Elizabeth spoke again. “I imagine you have come for Mr Walsh’s nuptials?” she offered, and Mr Darcy nodded in reply.

“I have, yes. However, I confess my reasons for stopping in London were twofold. I have come for the wedding, of course, but I also wished to see you.”

Elizabeth's breath hitched, and she briefly looked away. “Oh?” she queried, unsure how else to respond.

He seemed to hesitate, as though weighing his next words. Then, his gaze shifted, and Elizabeth followed it to a secluded bench nestled beneath the bare branches of a great oak.

“Would you care to sit for a moment?” he asked, his tone gentler than before.

Elizabeth, surprised by the sudden request, nodded her agreement.

They crossed the lawn in silence, the air carrying with it the distant laughter of children and the whisper of shifting branches. The bench, while weathered, offered a secluded sanctuary from the hum of the city beyond the wrought iron gates. As they settled, Elizabeth took in the scene before them—the skeletal trees casting long shadows across the grass, and the pale sky stretching endlessly above. For a moment, neither spoke.

At last, Mr Darcy broke the stillness. “Bingley seems happy with your sister.”

Elizabeth started slightly at the abrupt shift in conversation, knitting her brows together for the briefest moment. “Yes,” she replied, her tone sharper than she intended. “As I suspected, they are perfectly matched. I have never seen Jane so content, and I dare say Mr Bingley is equally so.”

Mr Darcy inclined his head, his expression thoughtful. “That is well. In fact, it is one of the reasons I wished to speak with you.”

Elizabeth turned to him, curiosity flickering in her eyes.

He drew a slow breath, as though steadying himself. “I wished to apologize for the harshness of my words during our conversation in the library at Pemberley. It was never my intention to cause you distress—I only sought to act in what I believed to be your best interests.” He hesitated, his gaze shifting briefly away before continuing with measured deliberation. “However, I see now that the choices you made were justified, given the circumstances.”

Elizabeth studied him in silence for a moment, noting the sincerity in his manner. “Thank you, Mr Darcy. I appreciate your candour. And I assure you, I understand your concerns were kindly meant.”

He gave a slight nod but did not look away. “But more than that, I wished to thank you—for everything. For your assistance that day at the dower house and your discretion afterwards, but most importantly, for encouraging me to seek your uncle’s counsel. Harper and I have maintained a steady correspondence since his departure from Pemberley, and I now understand why you hold him in such esteem, and why you urged me to put my trust in him. Meeting your uncle has been one of the greatest gifts of my life. He has helped me to better understand my feelings…about many things.”

Elizabeth’s surprise melted into something warmer. “I am glad to hear it,” she said gently.

The air between them shifted subtly, no longer weighed down with hesitation but rather something unspoken, poised delicately in the space they shared.

Mr Darcy cast his gaze downwards for a brief moment, his gloved hands resting on his knees. “Your uncle has done far more than lend a sympathetic ear. He has written on my behalf to several esteemed acquaintances and has been able to locate a physician in Dublin who is conducting research into conditions of the brain. Disorders similar to…mine. We have been corresponding, and he has agreed to see me at my earliest convenience.”

Elizabeth’s breath caught, and the smile that lifted her lips was warm and sincere. “That is wonderful news,” she replied with great feeling. “I am truly pleased to hear that my uncle was able to assist you, and that you have found someone who may be able to offer the answers you seek.”

Darcy regarded her with a slow nod. “I do not want to expect too much, but I am hopeful. The gentleman, a Dr Patrick Doyle, worked under a prominent physician at the Salpêtrière Hospital in Paris, before the war. He has a particular interest in epilepsy, and similar disorders of the nerves, and his approach is far more enlightened than that of most others in his profession.”

Elizabeth considered this before replying, “Dublin is a long way to travel, but it will be worth the journey if this physician can offer you some ease of mind. But…will you be able to manage on your own? I cannot think that Mr Walsh will wish to leave Charlotte so soon after they are wed.”

“No, nor would I ask it of him. But I shall not be travelling alone. Georgiana is to accompany me, along with Mrs Annesley, her new companion.”

Elizabeth’s lips parted in surprise, and Mr Darcy nodded back at her, continuing, “I have told Georgiana everything. Indeed, it was unfair of me to keep the truth from her for so long. And she has handled the intelligence with the munificence and grace of one well beyond her years. She is more resilient than I supposed and stronger than I gave her credit for.”

“I am so glad. Then, you will not bring her out this year? I know you had hoped for her to make a match during the forthcoming Season.”

Mr Darcy shook his head, a flicker of embarrassment crossing his features. “I was mistaken about that as well. It was never Georgiana’s desire to enter society so soon, nor to have a grand come out at all. I should have heeded her wishes instead of trying to dictate her future. Pressing her towards marriage before she was ready is an error I deeply regret.”

Before Elizabeth could offer a reply, the sound of hurried footsteps captured her attention. Turning towards the sound, she was alarmed to see Jane rushing along the nearby path, tears flowing freely down her cheeks, with Mr Bingley in anxious pursuit.

Apprehension rising in her chest, Elizabeth darted in her direction. “Jane! What is it?” she cried, reaching for her sister’s hands.

But as Jane drew closer, Elizabeth could see that her face was radiant, even through her tears. “Oh, Lizzy,” she gasped, breathless and laughing all at once, “’tis too much—far too much! I do not deserve to be this happy!”

By this time, Mr Bingley had come to stand at her side, beaming with unrestrained delight. “Miss Bennet has just made me the most fortunate of men, by consenting to be my wife!”

Elizabeth let out a startled cry before stepping forwards to envelop her sister in a warm embrace, her own eyes stinging with emotion. Nearby, Mr Darcy inclined his head, offering his quiet congratulations.

Jane thanked him with her usual good grace; however, Elizabeth noticed that Mr Bingley shifted awkwardly on his feet, his smile faltering as he avoided his friend’s gaze.

The tension was soon broken, though, as Jane stated her desire to return to Gracechurch Street to share her glad tidings with her aunt and uncle. Mr Bingley immediately acquiesced, and the pair set off in the direction of the house.

Elizabeth and Mr Darcy followed behind at a more leisurely pace. They walked in silence for a few moments, each lost in thought until Mr Darcy spoke, his voice low and contemplative.

“Is it my imagination, or did Bingley seem uneasy just now? I hope he does not think I am displeased at the news of his engagement.”

Elizabeth glanced up at him, studying his countenance for a moment before shrugging lightly.

“From what Jane has related, it seems that you were quite severe with him for showing any partiality towards my sister, so I suppose it is not an unreasonable assumption.” There was a brief pause before she tilted her head slightly. “ Are you displeased?”

“No! Quite the contrary. I can see now that they are well matched, and I hope they will be very happy. I shall tell Bingley as much at the first opportunity.” After a brief pause he continued, “If I was cross with him in the past, it was only for your sake. I could not bear the thought of you suffering embarrassment or heartache due to the withdrawal of his affections. But I realize now that I had no right to meddle in the lives of others.”

Elizabeth looked up at him sharply, wondering whether the astonishment she felt was plain in her expression. Words hovered on her lips, but for once, she found herself hesitant to speak. At length, she began slowly, “Mr Bingley is engaged to dine at Gracechurch Street this evening. Will you and Miss Darcy not join us?”

Mr Darcy’s posture straightened, and for a brief moment, Elizabeth thought she glimpsed a flicker of pleasure in his eyes before he answered steadily, “That is kind of you, but I would not wish to intrude.”

“I assure you, it would be no imposition. Truly, after the generous hospitality you extended to us at Pemberley, I know my aunt and uncle would be delighted to return the kindness. And as for Miss Darcy, I would be most pleased to see her again. Jane and I have both felt the loss of her company.”

Sensing his hesitation, she continued, “It is only to be a small family dinner. Aside from you and your sister, Mr Bingley will be our only guest.”

“Ah, I see,” Mr Darcy answered carefully. “Will Miss Bingley not be joining the party?”

Elizabeth offered up a small smile, her voice light with mischief. “Oh, did Mr Bingley not tell you? Miss Bingley remains in Scarborough with the Hursts. Apparently, she has taken a keen interest in the local scenery and is in no great hurry to return to town.”

At this revelation, Elizabeth watched as Mr Darcy visibly relaxed, the tension in his shoulders easing. The corners of his mouth lifted into a genuine, unguarded smile—a rare sight indeed.

“Then I thank you. My sister and I would be very pleased to join you for dinner.”

After the gentlemen’s departure, Elizabeth retreated to her chambers feeling curiously unsettled. The crisp afternoon air had done little to cool the quiet tumult within her, and though her steps were steady, her thoughts were far from composed.

Earlier, upon returning to the house, she had informed her aunt of the invitation she had extended to the Darcys to join them for dinner. As expected, Mrs Gardiner received the news with delight and had promptly excused herself to the kitchens to notify the cook of the additional guests.

Now, seated by the window, Elizabeth allowed the distant hum of the city to recede, her thoughts drifting inwards. Despite her efforts, questions continued to stir. What did she hope to gain from Mr Darcy’s company this evening? And what could account for the change in his manner since they had parted at Pemberley two months before? Her mind, so often quick and agile, felt weighed down with uncertainties she could not name.

When the hour drew near to prepare for dinner, Elizabeth rose and dressed with deliberate care. She selected the gown she had worn on Christmas Eve, smoothing the delicate fabric as if it might somehow settle the nervous energy thrumming beneath her skin. Regarding her reflection in the glass, she noted that she appeared as composed as ever, yet there was an apprehension in her chest that she could not shake.

Making her way downstairs, she was pleased to see that their guests had already arrived. Jane, standing beside Mr Bingley, seemed to emanate a quiet joy, and their affectionate glances left little doubt as to the depth of their understanding.

Georgiana stood behind on the arm of her brother. For a fleeting moment, Elizabeth’s eyes found his, but then his sister stepped forwards, drawing Elizabeth’s attention. The lively discourse that followed revealed noticeable changes in Georgiana—her shyness had eased since their time at Pemberley. She returned Jane and Elizabeth’s warm greetings with unfeigned delight, her manner poised yet sincere. There was a quiet strength about her now, a newfound composure that spoke of growing confidence.

Dinner that evening was a truly festive affair, brimming with light-hearted conversation and laughter, much of it revolving around Jane and Mr Bingley’s recent engagement. Elizabeth smiled and contributed where she could, yet her usual vivacity felt muted, replaced by a quiet introspection. Her thoughts drifted, and more than once, her eyes sought Mr Darcy’s across the table. Each time, she was startled to find his gaze already resting on her, his expression unreadable.

When the meal concluded, the entire party rose to repair to the parlour, having already decided to forgo the usual separation of the sexes. As they moved to depart, Elizabeth lightly touched Mrs Gardiner’s arm.

“Aunt, I have just recalled—I left my shawl in the garden earlier this morning when I was out with the children. Perhaps Mr Darcy might accompany me to fetch it. I would hate for it to sit overnight in the damp air.”

Mr Darcy, who lingered nearby, responded with some surprise but quickly murmured his consent before seeking Mrs Gardiner’s approbation.

“Very well,” her aunt replied after a brief pause, her brows lifting ever so slightly. Then, with a pointed glance at Elizabeth, she added, “But do not tarry.” Nodding her understanding, Elizabeth went to collect her pelisse, as Mrs Gardiner instructed the maid to retrieve the gentleman’s greatcoat.

With Mr Darcy beside her, they made their way towards the door, the quiet stir of conversation from the parlour fading behind them.

The cool air greeted them as they stepped into the garden, the glow of lanterns casting flickering light over the grass. Elizabeth drew in a calming breath, acutely aware of Mr Darcy’s steady presence as they made their way along the gravel walk. The distant murmur of conversation and laughter from the house slipped into the background as they followed the familiar path to a small clearing, where a cluster of wooden benches sat, nestled among the garden’s hedges. It was a favourite spot of hers, one she had often retreated to during her visits in Gracechurch Street. Here, lantern light barely touched the shadows, casting the secluded corner of the garden in a quiet intimacy. With measured steps, Elizabeth moved to one of the benches, seating herself and smoothing her skirts with deliberate care before folding her hands lightly in her lap.

Mr Darcy hesitated at the edge of the clearing, his posture rigid, his hands buried deep in his coat pockets. His eyes, dark and unreadable, met hers briefly before shifting away.

“Should we not be searching for your wrap, Miss Elizabeth?” he intoned gravely.

Across from him, Elizabeth met his steady gaze. “There is no wrap, Mr Darcy. Or at least, not one that I have left in this garden. I simply wanted a moment to speak with you. Alone.”

A flicker of confusion crossed his countenance, swiftly replaced by a carefully guarded composure. “I see,” he murmured, though his stance remained wary.

Elizabeth tilted her head, studying him intently. “Tell me, Mr Darcy, do you respect me?”

His head tilted slightly, seemingly caught off guard by the question. “Of course. I hold you in the highest esteem.”

“Do you believe me intelligent?” she pressed, her voice even but firm.

He shifted slightly, his unease apparent. “Undoubtedly.”

“And capable of making my own decisions?”

He hesitated, understanding illuminating his expression. “Yes,” he answered slowly.

“Good. Since we spoke earlier this afternoon, I have given the matter a great deal of thought and have come to a decision.” She inhaled deeply, steadying herself before continuing, “I wish to accompany you and Miss Darcy to Dublin. I would like to be there when you meet Dr Doyle.”

Mr Darcy stared back at her, his guarded demeanour fracturing as a series of emotions crossed his face—surprise, a fleeting spark of hope, and then, inevitably, regret. He turned slightly, as if to distance himself, though his voice was gentle when he spoke.

“Elizabeth, please believe me when I say that there is nothing I would like more,” he admitted quietly. “But you must know that such a thing is impossible. Your father would never permit it.”

Elizabeth lifted her chin, her tone firm despite the heat rising in her cheeks. “He would. That is to say, he would not have a choice…if we were married.”

Mr Darcy froze, his breath catching as the weight of her words settled between them. For a long moment, he said nothing, only searching her face—as though unsure he had heard her correctly.

He looked away, then turned back, searching her eyes.

“Elizabeth…” he began, but she stopped him with a shake of her head.

“No, pray, let me speak.”

Her voice was even, though her heart hammered within her chest. She rose from the bench, her eyes never leaving his.

“In Derbyshire, you accused me of not listening, but I assure you, nothing could be further from the truth. I feel as if I have done nothing but listen. I listened to Miss Bingley tell me you had formed an attachment to Mr Walsh, and I listened to my mother tell me you were destined for Jane. And most importantly, I listened to you tell me you would never marry. Now it is your turn to listen.”

She took a step closer, regarding him with quiet defiance.

“I love you, Fitzwilliam Darcy, exactly as you are. Broken or whole, damaged or intact, rich or poor. I love you , the man you are inside, and there is nothing about you that I would change, even if I could. What is more, there is no other gentleman in all the world whom I could ever be prevailed upon to marry. I want you for my husband, and nothing you say or do will change my mind.”

For a long moment, the silence stretched between them, then, to Elizabeth’s surprise, Mr Darcy’s mouth curved into a slim smile.

“Are you making me an offer of marriage, Miss Bennet?” he asked, his voice laced with wry amusement.

Elizabeth flushed slightly but lifted her chin. “Yes, Mr Darcy, I believe I am. As you do not seem inclined to make an offer to me, it seems I must take matters into my own hands.” Then, in one swift movement, she dropped to her knees, causing Mr Darcy to visibly startle before barking out a laugh.

“Elizabeth, what are you doing? The ground is damp, and you will stain your gown.”

She shot him a pointed look, her lips pressing into a knowing smirk. “Quiet. You are ruining my proposal.”

Mr Darcy fell silent, though his astonished grin remained. Elizabeth reached for his hand, her fingers curling lightly around his.

“Fitzwilliam Darcy, I love you with all my heart, and that will never change. I promise to stand beside you in all things, to cherish you, just as you are, and to face whatever comes our way. Will you do me the immeasurable honour of becoming my husband?”

Mr Darcy stared back at her intently, before lifting their joined hands and pressing a tender kiss upon her knuckles. His gaze softened, yet there was an intensity behind his eyes that made Elizabeth’s breath catch.

“Elizabeth,” he murmured, his voice low and rough with emotion, “you astonish me beyond words. I cannot?—”

“Ahem,” Elizabeth interjected, clearing her throat with a pointed expression. “Mr Darcy, if you are inclined to make a speech, might I at least request an answer to my question before you do so? As you have remarked, the ground is rather wet.”

Mr Darcy’s surprise melted into a deep, earnest laugh. Without hesitation, he gently drew her to her feet, his hands steady and warm on hers. His palms rose to cradle her cheeks, his thumbs brushing lightly against her skin.

“My dearest, loveliest Elizabeth,” he began, his voice a tender caress, “the honour, as you must know, will be all mine. But yes, I will marry you. I could hardly refuse after such a magnificent performance.”

A playful smile tugged at his lips before one hand slid to the nape of her neck, the other tilting her chin upwards. His eyes, dark and intent, searched hers for the briefest moment before he leaned in, capturing her lips in a searing, breath-stealing kiss.

For Elizabeth, the world seemed to fall away, leaving only the quiet rustle of the garden and the rapid beating of her heart. It was several long moments before Mr Darcy finally drew back, his breath mingling with hers.

“Thank you,” Elizabeth whispered, and Mr Darcy chuckled, letting his forehead rest lightly against her own. “Are you thanking me for kissing you or for agreeing to be your husband?”

Elizabeth grinned back at him. “Both, I should imagine.”

His smile deepened, and he had just opened his mouth to speak when the calm, clear voice of Mrs Gardiner rang out across the garden, startling them both.

“Lizzy, pray come along now. Your uncle and I are waiting.”

Elizabeth’s cheeks heated, and she winced inwardly, wondering exactly how much her aunt had seen.

“Coming, Aunt,” she called back, her voice pitched with feigned cheer. Turning to Mr Darcy she continued quietly, “I suppose we ought to return to the house before my uncle comes after us with a pistol.”

Mr Darcy’s lips twitched, but his features soon sobered. A prickle of unease stirred in Elizabeth’s chest at the shift in his expression. “What is it?” she asked. “Is something troubling you?”

“No… It is only that I wish to be certain—that this is truly what you want. You know it is very unlikely that my prognosis will change.”

Elizabeth’s eyes narrowed. “Fitzwilliam Darcy, are you trying to renege on our agreement already? We have not yet been betrothed a full five minutes!”

Laughter rumbled in his chest, the sound low and warm. “No, nothing of the sort. You have my word—I shall happily marry you if that is your wish. I only want to be certain that you will have no regrets.”

Elizabeth’s expression softened as she reached up, fingertips grazing his jaw in a feather-light touch. “There could be no regrets. I have wanted this from the first day we met—when you led me to believe I was about to pick a poisonous flower.”

Mr Darcy’s lips quirked into a tender smile, but his eyes searched hers with quiet intensity. “Have you?” he asked.

Elizabeth nodded slowly. In the pale moonlight, she could see the subtle shift in his eyes, a flicker of vulnerability, chased swiftly by something deeper: unbridled joy.

“Lizzy!” Mrs Gardiner called again, her tone firmer this time, drawing them back to reality.

Elizabeth sighed, casting Mr Darcy a reluctant smile. “We should go.”

The gentleman, however, did not release her hand. His grip tightened ever so slightly, as though he was grounding himself in the moment.

“Yes,” he murmured. His eyes lingered on her face, as if memorizing every line. “But not before I steal one last kiss.”

And with that, he leaned in once more, sealing their future with a kiss as soft as a promise.