Page 56 of Some Natural Importance (Pride, Prejudice and Romance #3)
The butler had taken only a few steps towards the drawing room when Lady Matlock emerged, her expression clouded in fury. It darkened further when she saw Elizabeth, although she attempted to mask it.
“Serendipity itself.”
Despite her wariness, Elizabeth strove to be pleasant. For good or ill—and if she was fortunate and Darcy was receptive—they would be family, after all .
“Good afternoon, Lady Matlock.”
“Why are you to Darcy House, Miss Bennet? Your wedding date is nearly past. You have a regard, then, for the honour and credit of my nephew? You wish to save him from a disgrace in the eyes of everybody by ending this unequal alliance?”
“I will not.” Elizabeth said, her voice wavering a little as she saw Darcy emerge behind his aunt; he wore a scowl that lightened upon seeing her. “I believe our feelings have never been so aligned.”
“That is difficult to believe. Darcy would in no way profit from a marriage to you.”
“On the contrary. Each of us will gain from our marriage.”
“Gold for him and Pemberley for you.”
“We should be happy together on a small farm, if need be.” Elizabeth’s voice grew huskier as she bit back tears. “You do not know what he really is, so pray do not pain me by speaking of him in such terms.” She turned her misty eyes to Darcy.
“I love him.”
Darcy’s expression transformed to one of pure happiness. “As I love her. And that, Lady Matlock, is everything to me. You can have nothing further to say. You know our sentiments.”
Uncaring of manners or deference to his aunt, Darcy moved quickly to Elizabeth’s side, taking her arm and ushering her into the sitting room. He latched the door behind them and drew her to him.
“Elizabeth,” he whispered, his fingers gently tracing her cheek before he leaned down and pressed his lips to hers.
It was as if a door had opened, and feelings and sensation surrounded him.
His hands, moving tenderly, felt the softness of her curls and the delicate curve of her ear.
With a sigh, he pulled away slightly and leaned his forehead against hers.
“I was about to send a note to you. We had not heard...all is well with your sister? The Gardiners?”
“They are well, thank you.”
“And you?” He searched her eyes. “What you said to my aunt—you meant it?”
Blushing, she reached up and stroked his cheek. “Yes.”
“I knew you would not have accepted me if you did not like me or could not love me, but I had no idea...” He paused; his lips nearly grazed her cheek, before he whispered in an awe-struck tone, “You love me.”
“I have not always expressed myself well, but my words to her were genuine. The need to say it, to see whether you would still have me...”
“That has never been a question for me. I would not have you think it possible for me not to want you as my wife.”
“I could not stay away. I too must honour my pledge. Your letter...it was beautiful,” she said, her words tumbling out. “I need-I have to apologise to you, to tell you what you already know: that I have wronged you, been mistaken, been selfish.”
“Selfish? You?”
“Yes, when it came to my father’s company and my place in his book room, I have been a selfish being.
That chair was mine. My uncles or Sir William Lucas or a neighbour might borrow it for a time, but it was mine.
It symbolised my father’s affections for me, the pleasure he took in my company, and then you came and took my place. ”
“Elizabeth—”
“No, please. I must speak of this, so you understand. It was not your intention. You and Papa forged a friendship of trust, which I think was rare for both of you. I realise now I was not jealous of you taking my place. I was jealous of my father, of the time he was spending with this intelligent, handsome, interesting man. Jealous of him , not of you.”
Darcy felt her trembling and pulled her closer. “Come, sit.” He led her to the window seat and sat beside her, holding her hands within his. His eyes lingered on hers before he recollected himself. Let her speak.
Elizabeth’s eyes glistened with tears. “I have been so angry with my father—not just for dying, for leaving us, but for the way he lived. Pushing us away, looking for treasure in books instead of the family he was given. But one cannot rage at the dead, so I pushed it at you.”
She sighed. “My father quoted King Lear to me in his letter. He said he would regret not living long enough to ‘sing, and tell old tales, and laugh at gilded butterflies’. He thought me his Cordelia.”
“No,” Darcy said firmly. “You were his Lizzy, in whom he took great pride and with whom he enjoyed easy companionship. No man is perfect. Your father admitted that when he asked for my help.”
He shook his head, desperate that she not blame herself for any of their discord. “You have had reason to be angry. I made decisions and arranged things. I failed to explain things to you, because as it has been all my life, it is easier for me to do , rather than to share my decisions.”
“Yes, but that is not a terrible thing. My father asked much of you, requested favours a lesser man would scoff at, but you agreed. You have done a selfless thing, asking me to be your wife.”
“Selfless?” He laughed bitterly. “No, I was selfish as well. I saw the chance to marry the dearest, loveliest lady of my acquaintance, and pushed to do it quickly, perhaps before she could know her mind.”
“I have perhaps wondered at yours, for I have taken far too long to appreciate the man who offered me choices and chances, and to ensure he knew that she returned his affections.” Elizabeth pulled one of her hands from his and laid it on his cheek.
The tips of her fingers gently tickled his sideburn; it made him lightheaded and he was glad he was seated.
Such a declaration deserved a kiss, which Elizabeth bestowed once, gently, and again, with increasing firmness until her lips parted and desire took hold.