Page 57 of Some Natural Importance (Pride, Prejudice and Romance #3)
CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE
Moments later, breathing heavily and clearly desperate to regain his wits, Darcy pulled slightly away.
Elizabeth, no less overwhelmed, was mindful that Georgiana was somewhere close by in the house.
She placed her hand on Darcy’s chest and, blinking away the mist of desire, rested her head on his shoulder and watched him clench and unclench his hands.
It was all too much and yet never enough .
Blissful as his words and kisses were, Elizabeth took a deep breath and realised what must be done. Now that they had declared themselves to be in love, and their desire was mounting, they must learn more about one another.
“After the wedding, we shall have three days in a carriage for you to tell me of Pemberley and your childhood and how you came to determine the perfect cut of your hair.” She laughed at his bemused expression and caught his hand as it rose to smooth the curls above his ear.
“And I shall speak of my great artistic endeavours spilling paint on Jane’s screens, and why I believe an apple tart is far superior to gooseberry trifle. ”
“The comparative qualities of one dessert over another shall be our first and last argument,” he countered with a smile.
Her expression turned serious then, and she told him how important his letter was to her, how grateful that he expressed his love and respect regardless of her decision regarding their future.
“I have long been afraid of an unequal marriage, as in most marriages I see, one partner holds power over the other,” she said, adding quickly, “It is the husband, of course, in nearly all instances. Your aunt hoped to fool me, but she traded honesty for pride and selfishness, and has found herself all the poorer for it.”
Darcy kissed her fingers, one by one, then held them in his own.
“So she has. However, you need have no fear of imbalance between us. We shall always be equals. Your father opened his book room to you on his whims. We will share the study here at Darcy House, and at Pemberley, and at any home we make together.”
He rose suddenly. “Wait here, please.” Startled, yet still warm from his embrace, Elizabeth watched as Darcy walked quickly out of the room.
She listened to his rapid footsteps and the sound of a door opening and closing; it was but a moment later he was returned to her, a small box in his hand.
He looked at her almost shyly, an unexpected and most endearing expression, before setting it in her lap.
“Weeks ago, I gave you the shocking news that we were betrothed,” he said wryly, touching his fingers to hers before placing them gently on the box. “I have been remiss in marking my joy at your acceptance.”
Curious with feeling, Elizabeth opened the lid and found inside a necklace of emerald and pearl. “Oh! This is-this is so beautiful.”
“My favourite of your dresses, the green and ivory, is now grey. This is a meagre replacement for a beloved gown, but a reminder of our beginnings.”
Elizabeth tore her misty eyes away from the jewels and, resting her hand on his chest, looked at him intently. “You, sir, are a man of far more words, and more goodness and sentimentality than I could have imagined in ‘our beginnings’. You do too much.”
Darcy returned her gaze. “You are my friend, and there is nothing I would not do for those who are my friends. I love you and have no notion of loving you by halves.”
The feeling in his expression stirred her memories of all the times she had felt his eyes on her in other rooms, weeks ago, in Hertfordshire. “It is not in your nature, nor in mine. I feared that I would fall in love, and you would not return that love, and pain would be a cruel reward for both.”
“That did not happen,” he replied happily.
Elizabeth’s eyes shone with earnest delight. “No, it did not. You are my friend. In fact, I believe you are my dearest friend.”
Darcy could not help but take his soon-to-be wife into his arms and kiss her as senselessly as a man violently in love with his dearest friend could do.
Mrs Bennet was anxious to welcome her daughters home to Longbourn the following day.
Her unease over their delayed arrival home had not led to the tearful flutterings that had irritated Mr Bennet; instead, she displayed a calmer, more naturally maternal worry.
Widowhood and the quiet society imposed by mourning—as well as the security she felt with a wealthy son-in-law who liked to arrange things for others—had altered her.
With no wedding celebration to plan—at least until Jane and Bingley could wed in the spring—much of the afternoon was spent recounting the blinks and smiles of the newest Gardiner, the grandeur of Darcy House, and the reception her second eldest daughter had received from Darcy’s family.
Elizabeth had anticipated the question and found it a convenient time to bestow gifts on her sisters and mother .
“In a few months, you shall wear more than black,” she reminded Lydia as her youngest sister unwrapped a grey shawl trimmed with yellow and violet thread. Lydia gasped and held it close to her chest. “I think Papa would expect you to wear it here when no callers are present.”
Her mother, Jane, and Mary received their gifts with similar gratitude; Mary was especially pleased with new sheet music and moved quickly to the pianoforte.
Elizabeth wished for time alone with Jane, to speak of her felicity with Mr Bingley, but they had only a few minutes to exchange thoughts before Darcy and Bingley were to arrive for dinner.
The chamber door had barely closed when Elizabeth seized her sister’s hands and twirled around the room. “Jane, I am so happy for you and Mr Bingley, and so sorry that none of us can truly express it. And,” she said more sombrely, “that Papa is not here to share our joy.”
“Or walk us to the church. He has been gone only a short time, Lizzy, and I miss him, but he spent so little time with us that even now his absence seems familiar.” Jane sat at the table and peered into the mirror; she reached for a comb to smooth her hair.
Watching her sister’s reflection in the mirror, Elizabeth saw easily that Jane was struggling with the same guilt and remorse she had discussed with Darcy.
“Our father shut himself away from his family and his duty to us. He did not learn he needed a friend, and to plan for us, until it was nearly too late. Mr Darcy’s arrival here was fortuitous for him, and for us.”
Jane turned and gave her a small smile. “Mama has said so, at least twice a day, since your betrothal became known.”
Elizabeth squeezed herself on to the small bench beside her sister.
“I share your feelings about Papa, and have talked to Mr Darcy about them. I shall be gone in two days,” she said, her eyes widening as she realised the brevity of her time at Longbourn.
“Talk to Mr Bingley. Tell him when you are sad or happy, and make certain you and Mr Bingley are friends.”
“Friends.”
The soft, uncertain way Jane had repeated the word ‘friends’ provoked a wry smile from Elizabeth. “I am sorry to tell you, dear sister, that Darcy and I have declared ourselves to be each other’s dearest friend.”
“Lizzy, you care so much for him? You do love Mr Darcy?”
“Very much. I like him as well, and it is important to like your husband. You and Mr Bingley have some five months before you marry to become the closest of friends.”
Tears were in both sisters’ eyes when Mrs Bennet came to the chamber door.
She hurried away Jane, and Elizabeth imagined her mother wished to impart marital advice or complaints about the lack of even a wedding breakfast; instead, she sat on the bed, ordered Elizabeth to sit beside her, and offered a mother’s reassurance.
“Your wedding will not be all that it could be, but it will be as it should be, Lizzy. You and Mr Darcy will leave us then.”
“Mama, you shall not be alone or unsupported.”
Her mother patted her hand. “Mr Darcy has taken our future in hand, and I do not fear for myself or your sisters. Jane shall marry Mr Bingley, and perhaps you will take Lydia or Kitty to town with you.”
Startled by her mother’s ease, Elizabeth cautioned her, “Mr Collins will come in the new year?—”
“Oh, Mr Collins is welcomed to take Longbourn but he shall not have any of my daughters.” She smiled proudly at Elizabeth’s stunned expression at this sign of maternal equanimity.
“Your Mr Darcy has put Uncle Philips to work finding us a house in Meryton, and ensured we may offer places to all who wish to stay in service with us rather than with that loathsome vicar.”
Elizabeth, fully aware of all the arrangements Darcy had made to provide for the Bennets, took her mother’s soft hands in hers and looked at the familiar face; although she looked tired, Mrs Bennet’s eyes were bright, and her complexion remained unlined.
“I am happy you will be content, Mama.”
“As I hope for you. Mr Bennet saw Mr Darcy as a good man, and see how well they planned for us. He speaks little more than your father did, but Mr Darcy puts real effect behind his words.”
In spite of the sympathetic thoughts she had just spoken to Jane, Elizabeth felt her eyes stinging at yet another mention of her father’s failings. She had blamed him for so much and missed him dearly in spite of it.
“We all grieve for dear Mr Bennet, of course. Myself most of all.” Mrs Bennet dabbed at her eyes. “Oft times he told me I would be fortunate he would never grow to be an old man. Mayhap he knew something he did not speak of to me, but I came to believe it, and prepared myself for widowhood.”
Elizabeth did not wonder at it; her parents had never been friends, nor even respectful partners.