Page 10 of Mrs. Gardiner: Matchmaker (The Pemberley Collection #3)

Elizabeth felt like she was floating on air the rest of the dinner—she already felt as if she were mistress of this great house. The way Darcy paid her such attention, without a care for what anybody saw—and she realized with some pleasant surprise, that she didn't care who saw, either. She ignored Miss Bingley's jealous glares and even her aunt and uncle's knowing smiles (they seemed to understand what was happening, didn't they?), but one person whose reaction she didn't ignore was Miss Darcy.

The girl grabbed her arm the moment the ladies separated to the drawing room.

"Is it true?" she whispered excitedly, looking around and gently pulling Elizabeth further into the room, away from the others, "Mr. Bingley says that you and my brother have formed an attachment. Can it really be so?"

The smile on her face told Elizabeth that Darcy's sister was happy to know this, so she was pleased to nod yes, even if she was blushing in some embarrassment.

"Your brother and I have had an... unusual courtship, to be sure," she said slowly, her face flaming when she thought of all her misunderstandings and especially that horrid April night at Hunsford, "But I am happy to inform you, yes, we do have an understanding."

Darcy hadn't proposed, though, but she wasn't worried about that, knowing it would only be a matter of time. She still inwardly cringed with regret when she thought about how difficult it must have been for him the first time he proposed—how he must have worked up the nerve to even speak with her, let alone confess his admiration and propose for her to be his wife.

Elizabeth realized she desperately wanted to make it all up to him the second time around.

"You have no idea how pleased I am to hear it," Miss Darcy said with a smile, "When he first wrote about you last year, I was so certain he would come home announcing a betrothal, even then."

Elizabeth's eyes widened. "Truly?"

She blushed, wondering what he could have possibly had to say about her last autumn. She had been nothing but rude to the man then!

Miss Darcy nodded enthusiastically.

"Oh, yes," she said with a little laugh, "He's never written to me about any ladies at all before then. When he wrote about you in not one but three letters, I was convinced he was going to return home with a wife." She suddenly looked downcast and then said in a lowered voice, "But perhaps it is my own fault he was reticent about marrying..."

Elizabeth frowned, looking at Miss Darcy with some worry. She knew the poor girl must have been thinking about Ramsgate, but she didn't want to reveal to her—and mortify her—that she knew about what happened.

"My dear girl, are you well?" Elizabeth asked carefully, giving the girl a comforting smile.

Miss Darcy nodded and tried to smile. "I shall be well, do not you worry. Now—" here she raised her voice and looked at Mrs. Gardiner, "would you please play for us, Miss Bennet? Mrs. Gardiner has told us you are a pleasant performer. My brother thinks so, as well."

That last revelation made Elizabeth smile and blush once more—had he told Miss Darcy as much in one of his many letters?—and she readily went to the instrument to do as requested. Her aunt was beaming, she noticed, and she thought she saw a spark of some kind of knowing in her aunt's eye—she would have to talk to her later, having the uncanny feeling Mrs. Gardiner knew more about what was happening this night than she let on.

As Elizabeth played the pianoforte, she tried to focus on the music, but very soon, the men entered, and she looked up just as Darcy came into the room. They eyes met, and she stumbled on the keys a little. Reddening furiously, she drew her eyes back down, to avoid being distracted by the object of her admiration—and finally, she completed the piece to happy applause. She stood and made to sit somewhere, and as Miss Darcy began to play, she felt the presence of that young girl's brother come and sit beside her. She was hyper aware of him now, and every time his gaze met hers, her heart turned over in response. Oh, how she wished for a moment alone with him, to speak with him—but sitting beside each other at this moment must satisfy her for now.

Pretty soon, Miss Darcy was finished, and there was much talking throughout the drawing room between the men and the women. Bingley, in particular, was very jocular and happily loud, occupying a rather large circle of the Gardiners, Miss Darcy, Mr. Hurst, and even his sisters, albeit reluctantly. This gave Elizabeth and Darcy a moment together, and he offered his arm so that they might move over to the window, away from everyone else. She happily complied, and soon they were gazing out over the dim lit garden through the window.

"Elizabeth," he finally said, breathing out her name in a reverent way, "Would you accompany me outside, into the garden for a moment?"

The garden was within view of the drawing room windows, so she knew there was nothing improper, especially if his plan was to propose. She smiled shyly and nodded, granting her permission, and they slowly moved out onto the veranda just outside the doors. Then they walked slowly outside into the warm, late summer night, and when they made it near the large hedges, he stopped and turned toward her.

"Elizabeth, I have tormented myself for months since April—I have struggled and come to terms with what I thought might be your permanent disdain for me—"

Elizabeth winced, hating to hear how poorly she made him feel. She opened her mouth to interrupt but he stayed her with a gesture.

"Please, you did nothing wrong when we were in Hunsford. It was I who was in the wrong, arrogantly assuming you would accept me and belittling you in the act of proposing. I have spent many an hour recovering from my folly, accepting my loss—” here he broke off, seemingly choked with great emotion. Elizabeth's heart heaved in her chest, her blood beginning to pound, but he continued: “But then you appeared here, at Pemberley, and it was like a miracle: I was given a chance to show you I could still be a gentleman, even if I could not have you as a wife."

He paused, and Elizabeth couldn't help but break in and say, "Oh, Darcy—your letter, why, it changed everything. My mind was overturned almost upon the instant I read it, and then I reread it, over and over again. I almost have its entirety committed to memory from how often I perused it."

Now it was Darcy's turn to wince, and she shook her head.

"No, no, why do you look so?” she said with energy, “That letter changed everything—I am grateful you sought me out to give it to me."

Her energies seemed wasted against his granite stand, his hardened face.

"It was uncharitable,' he said morosely, “Unkind. I wrote it in anger. It was a very bitter letter, and badly done."

The shock of her defeat held her immobile, but only for a moment, because then she laughed. He looked stunned at her reaction, gazing at her with a curious frown. She silenced herself, but remained smiling, reaching up to caress his face—his frown fell, his body shuddering only an instant as she grazed his skin lightly, before pulling her hand away.

She said softly, "You ended with your letter by saying God Bless You— that was charity in itself, for I deserved no such salutations.”

There was an intense feeling of electricity between them, and she blushed as added quietly, “And pray, if it was bitter, did you not have every reason to be?"

It was silent for a moment. Her whole being seemed to be filled with waiting, the prolonged anticipation almost unbearable, and as she saw the heartrending tenderness of his gaze, she wordlessly implored him with her own.

He finally took a deep breath as he reached for the hand she had momentarily touched his face with, and he uttered breathlessly, "Elizabeth, will you consent to be my wife? As I shall continuously endeavor to be a gentleman, the one you truly deserve?"

She nodded, silently, too overwhelmed with excitement and happiness to speak. Suddenly, he pulled her into his arms, and she was engulfed by him—his scent, his presence, his power—and she knew this was where she belonged.

Here, at Pemberley, in the arms of its master.

He held her for a long moment, what felt like forever, when they finally pulled apart and gazed into each other's eyes. She knew she loved him, she was overcome with the feelings of it. She was amazed it took her so long to finally see the man for whom he truly was—but she knew she would never lose sight of him now that's she's found him.

"Elizabeth," he breathed, looking at her with some kind of expression she had rarely ever seen.

"Yes?"

He parted his lips, an agonizing pause on them before he finally whispered, "May I kiss you?"

She smiled and blushed, nodding slowly. Slowly, but surely, his lips found hers, and he was kissing her. It was a curious, slow sort of thing—Elizabeth had certainly never even been this close to a man, let alone kissed one—but it was over before long, leaving Elizabeth with a swell of feeling, wanting more.

As he locked her in his embrace for a moment longer, she closed her eyes and relished in it, never wanting him to release her.