Page 31

CHAPTER 31

Sweet Williams

T he group spent the next half hour discussing further details surrounding Elizabeth and Darcy’s impending wedding as well as plans to ensure the continued safety of both Elizabeth and Georgiana.

At length, they parted ways—Fitzwilliam escorting his mother back to Netherfield, while Darcy accompanied Elizabeth on the walk back to Longbourn, arm in arm.

Bennet had ridden ahead, taking their horses with him, leaving the pair with a rare opportunity for private conversation.

“I know you have said more than once that you do not care how the wedding is conducted,” Darcy began again, his brow furrowed as they walked, “but can you truly be content with a rushed ceremony kept secret from nearly everyone for an indefinite period of time?”

Elizabeth smiled, the amusement in her eyes softening the firmness of her voice.

“It is not how I imagined it, no. But truly, the only part that matters is marrying you .” A laugh slipped from her lips at the sight of his small smile her words evoked.

“Of course, I would prefer something more open—and to live under the same roof once we are wed— but we both know there are matters to resolve first. Whatever the earl is entangled in is only part of it. Until things are settled, our marriage at least grants us some protection from the plots that appear to be surrounding us.”

Darcy gave a groan, though the corners of his mouth tugged upward.

“Must you always be so reasonable, Elizabeth? Must you give me hope precisely when I would prefer to dwell on the impediments?”

Her laughter answered him.

He continued, his tone more playful now, lightened by her laughter and presence next to him.

“I had few expectations about marriage, but I certainly never imagined beginning it separated by three miles, forced to suffer in Miss Caroline Bingley’s company, when all I wish is to lock myself away in my chambers with my wife.”

His candour caught them both off guard.

A blush rose on his cheeks as he realized what he had said aloud, and Elizabeth’s colour deepened to match.

The heat of it surprised her—not just from his words, but from the emotions they stirred within her.

She might have known only a little about what passed between husband and wife, but her Aunt Gardiner had been forthright with both her and Jane when they entered society.

Now, with Darcy’s desire plainly voiced, she found herself unexpectedly—and undeniably—eager for what lay ahead.

“If nothing else, there is always the cottage,” she blurted, flushing again at the thought of arranging for an assignation, even if the man would be her husband.

“Never mind that now,” she said again, shaking off these thoughts, as she attempted to return to the subject at hand.

“You have already arranged for the license?” she asked.

“I have.”

“Then we can marry at the end of next week or early the following week,” she replied.

“It will be Papa’s business to worry about what Mama might say or do, and he will need to keep her silent. While perhaps it does not matter, not really, if the people in Meryton know of our wedding, the more who know, the more difficult it will be to keep the news away from the two with whom we do need to concern ourselves.”

“Yes,” Darcy agreed.

“It is imperative that neither Miss Caroline Bingley nor Wickham learn of it. That means I cannot tell Bingley either, but I believe Miss Horatia Bingley could be trusted to keep the matter a secret though I suggest we not tell her unless it becomes necessary for some reason.”

“What of Georgiana?” Elizabeth asked gently.

Darcy exhaled, his expression tight.

“I have been reluctant to tell her any of this, but I know I cannot delay much longer. It would be better for her to hear it from us directly than to be startled by a careless remark or stray bit of gossip.”

He paused, then looked at Elizabeth.

“Will you be with me when I speak to her? She will take it better with you there—or rather, you will explain it more clearly, and with less…unintended alarm. You have seen how easily I can make a muddle of things when I try to explain them.”

Elizabeth laughed.

“Yes, that is probably for the best,” she agreed.

“Perhaps tomorrow you and she can take a ride which ends at Longbourn. Or, I can meet the two of you at the cottage as we did this morning, accompanied by my minders, of course.” This last was said with a teasing lilt, and Darcy smiled at her once again.

The rest of the walk to Longbourn passed swiftly, their conversation drifting between concern for Georgiana and the quiet joy of imagining the life that awaited them once their union could be openly acknowledged.

Elizabeth found herself increasingly enchanted by her intended—not only by his evident devotion to his sister, but also by the flashes of dry humour that emerged when he allowed himself to relax .

He was, perhaps, a touch overprotective of Georgiana, treating her more like a daughter than a sister—a tendency likely born of their age difference and his deep sense of responsibility.

But even before they were wed, he was already treating Elizabeth as his equal, listening to her thoughts with genuine attention.

With time and her influence, she felt certain he could learn to treat Georgiana more as a sister, bridging the years between them with affection rather than solemn duty.

In some ways, it felt strange, and yet utterly natural, to speak of a future together—as husband and wife, partners in every sense.

She caught herself smiling often as she considered this.

If this was only the beginning, she could hardly wait to see what came next for them when they would arrive at Pemberley, whenever that would occur.

As Longbourn came into view through the thinning trees, Darcy slowed his steps.

Then, quite suddenly, he released their linked arms and instead, grasped her hand and gently drew her off the main path, behind a small copse of trees that stood just far enough from the house to shield them from view.

He turned to her, still holding her hand, and she saw the intensity in his gaze shift—no longer just thoughtful, but openly tender.

“My dearest, loveliest Elizabeth,” he said softly, his voice low and slightly roughened, “we have been engaged these four and twenty hours, and I have yet to kiss you as I wish.”

Elizabeth felt her breath catch.

There was something unguarded in his words, a glimpse of the longing he had been holding back.

She recognized it—because she felt it, too.

Smiling, and feeling strangely breathless, she teased gently, “Have you been suffering terribly?”

He stepped closer, his eyes fixed on hers.

“You have no idea.”

His hand lifted, his fingertips brushing lightly along her jaw before curving behind her neck, reverent and unhurried.

She seemed to feel his touch everywhere though his hand barely moved; she felt the steadiness of his breath, the warmth of his palm, the slow, inevitable closing of distance between them.

When his lips met hers, they were not hesitant nor timid.

His kiss was reverent, a promise and a confession.

Elizabeth leant into him, her free hand rising instinctively to rest against his chest where she could feel the rapid thrum of his heartbeat under her palm.

The world slipped away.

There was only the quiet rustling of leaves overhead and the dizzying sweetness of his mouth on hers.

When they finally parted, it was only by a breath.

His forehead rested gently against hers, and she realized she was smiling—helplessly, joyfully.

“I’ve imagined this moment often,” he murmured, his thumb gently tracing the curve of her cheek.

“But I never dreamed it would feel like this…my Elizabeth.”

She pulled back just enough to meet his gaze, her voice soft, filled with quiet wonder.

“Nor did I…my William.”

His smile deepened, as he whispered in reply.

“Yes, dearest Elizabeth. I am yours.”

The family was seated at breakfast when they entered, met by nothing else than a raised brow from her father at the lateness of their arrival and obvious glow on her cheeks.

Elizabeth shrugged slightly at him, and while he seemed to glare behind her at Darcy, he still did not say anything.

“Mr. Darcy,” Mrs. Bennet said a moment later, unaware of the exchange between father and daughter.

“Mr. Bennet said he and Elizabeth encountered you on their ride and that you would join us for breakfast this morning. ”

She looked at the couple expectantly, but they did not satisfy her curiosity.

“Thank you, Mrs. Bennet,” Darcy replied.

“Did you intend to call at Netherfield today? I believe I heard my aunt and Bingley’s speaking of your coming, but perhaps I am mistaken, and it was tomorrow.”

“Oh,” she gasped, before collecting herself and continuing, “Yes, well, I had intended to return their call soon. I had not thought about going today, but if you say it is expected...” she trailed off, her surprise clear on her face.

“My aunt was quite complimentary of Longbourn yesterday,” Darcy replied before seemingly running out of praises himself.

He turned to greet the rest of Elizabeth’s sisters and soon found himself seated next to Elizabeth at the table, a plate full of food in front of him.

Without a word, Elizabeth prepared him a cup of coffee, exactly as he liked it, and sat it in front of him.

Under the table, he squeezed her hand, showing his appreciation.

“Mama is beside herself,” she whispered.

“She has seen enough to suspect something, particularly Papa leaving the two of us behind to return to Longbourn on foot, but she knows that he will not appreciate it if she speaks out of turn.”

“What will he tell her?” he asked, following her lead and keeping his voice low.

“I am not sure,” she admitted.

“I will speak to him after we finish eating and explain what we talked about.” She paused, her cheeks warming as she dropped her gaze.

“Well…perhaps not everything we talked about,” she added, a quiet giggle escaping her—just enough to draw the attention of her father and Jane.

“What, may I ask, is so amusing, Lizzy?” Bennet enquired, eyeing the growing flush on her cheeks.

He looked at Darcy with a raised brow .

“Mr. Darcy was simply recounting an amusing story from his childhood,” she replied quickly, lifting her teacup in a valiant attempt to hide her face.

Bennet eyed the couple speculatively, but he allowed the moment to pass, turning the conversation towards the events recounted in the newspaper he had only been able to scan that morning.

Darcy answered him intelligently, with Elizabeth interjecting here and there, and even Mary spoke up a few times, something she had been loath to do during most of Darcy’s previous calls.

Darcy rewarded her participation with a brotherly smile, and he reflected on the fact that he and Georgiana had never had a conversation such as this one.

It was something else he needed to remedy, and he began to wonder if he truly had harmed Georgiana by allowing her to be so sheltered.

He pushed that thought aside as he returned his attention back to the conversation.

When the meal was finished, Darcy accompanied Bennet to his study.

Elizabeth would have followed, but Mrs. Bennet insisted she join her instead, and plied her with questions about Darcy’s attention.

“What can your father be about, Lizzy, allowing you and Mr. Darcy to walk together as he did this morning?” she demanded.

“It was only a short walk, Mama, and you know how much I enjoy the exercise when I can,” Elizabeth explained.

“What did the two of you speak of?” she asked, trying again to discover what was going on between her second daughter and the wealthy gentleman.

While she might believe Jane was better suited for such a wealthy gentleman who was connected to the nobility, he had paid that daughter little attention.

“We spoke about his estate and some of the changes he’s made there,” Elizabeth said.

“As you know, he and Papa have corresponded since Mr. Darcy’s father passed, often exchanging ideas about managing their land. We were simply discussing how some of those improvements were received at Pemberley and how the response from his tenants compared to those here.”

Mrs. Bennet scowled.

“That is hardly the way to make him fall in love with you and offer you marriage one day,” she huffed.

“Perhaps, though, he enjoys that, for he continues to seek you out for conversation. I cannot understand it. Will anything come of your friendship with the man?”

“What do you mean, Mama?” Elizabeth asked, attempting to not answer by asking her own questions.

“Will the man offer you marriage, Lizzy? Is that not your purpose in seeking him out as often as you do?” she asked, leaning forward as though she could entice the information she sought from her most obstinate daughter.

“No, Mama, it is not,” Elizabeth replied.

“I do enjoy Mr. Darcy’s company, but I will do nothing to induce him to offer for me. While I cannot deny that I do seek out his company, I cannot suppose any and every man who speaks to me will necessarily offer for me. If he wished to marry me and made me an offer, I would answer in the way that would guarantee my happiness. I know that Papa has told you the same about all of your daughters.”

Mrs. Bennet sat back in her chair with a huff at this response.

“You would feel very differently were you forced to ponder a life in the hedgerows.”

Elizabeth shook her head.

“You know that none of us are destined for the hedgerows. Papa has ensured that we will all be provided for if something happens to him, and Mr. Collins inherits before my sisters and I are wed. There is the dower house, and we all have funds set aside for our futures.”

This time, Mrs. Bennet scowled at her daughter although there was little she could say to contradict her.

Elizabeth knew far more about the estate and its dealings than she ever would.

Even what her husband had attempted to explain she had not understood, and, frankly, she had not cared to.

Her husband had forbidden her from speaking of their daughters’ dowries, not that he had told her the amounts.

Unsatisfied, Mrs. Bennet picked up her sewing from the basket and was determined to punish her second daughter by refusing to speak to her for the rest of the morning.

Relieved that her vague answers had gone unchallenged, Elizabeth retrieved her embroidery basket and took up the handkerchief she had started not long after first meeting Mr. Darcy.

Almost without realizing it, she had begun stitching Sweet Williams into the fabric—a choice that now struck her as both ironic and fitting.

The flower, after all, symbolized gallantry and admiration—qualities she had come to see more clearly in him over time.

Once she noticed, she had resolved to finish it and had been working on it diligently when she could.

Now, as her needle moved through the cloth, she considered adding his initials and, perhaps, offering it to him as a token of their engagement.