Page 57 of Strange Happenings at Longbourn (Darcy and Elizabeth Variations #11)
Her father’s eyes twinkled. “No, but I have no doubt he will. And if Jane inherits, Bingley need not throw his fortune into purchasing an estate of his own. It will all be quite tidy.”
Elizabeth considered this and nodded slowly. “That does make sense. Though it is, of course, your choice.”
“It is,” he agreed mildly. “And the particulars can be sorted out later. For now—“
A gentle rap came at the door, interrupting them, and Mrs. Hill’s familiar, motherly face appeared around the edge. “Miss Elizabeth,” she said, her tone tinged with the faintest smile, “Mr. Darcy is calling for you.”
Elizabeth felt her heart give a curious leap, and her father’s knowing look followed her as she rose.
Elizabeth’s fingers tightened around the folds of her cloak as she stepped into the front hall.
Darcy was waiting there, tall and striking in his dark greatcoat, a hint of wind-ruffled hair lending him a slightly less formal air than usual.
The faint December sunlight slanted in from the fanlight above the door, touching the edges of his profile with pale gold.
“Miss Bennet,” he said, bowing with perfect composure, though there was a certain gravity in his eyes—a quiet urgency that made her pulse quicken.
“Mr. Darcy,” she returned, inclining her head.
From behind the closed doors of the drawing room came the muffled sound of her mother’s voice, raised in animated conversation with some visiting neighbor.
“Would you—“ She hesitated, lowering her voice.
“Would you care to take a turn in the garden? It is brisk, but the sun is out, and…” She allowed herself a small, wry smile. “It is quieter.”
A fleeting smile softened his features. “I should be most glad to.”
They stepped out into the chill brightness of the late morning.
The gravel crunched crisply beneath their boots as they set off down the wide front path, their breath puffing faintly in the cold.
The sky was a pale, washed blue, streaked with high feathery clouds, and the air smelled of damp leaves, cold earth, and the distant, lingering smoke from some neighbor’s hearth.
The garden was stripped of its summer splendor now, the rosebushes bare save for the stubborn hips clinging to their thorny branches, the yew hedges clipped into dark green walls against the pale light.
Frost still lingered in the shaded corners, the grass silvered and brittle underfoot.
Beyond the hedges, the rolling fields of Hertfordshire lay in soft browns and golds, the plough furrows dark against the stubbled land.
For a time they walked in silence—not the uncomfortable kind, but the sort filled with awareness, with the weight of unspoken things. Darcy’s long strides slowed to match hers, his hands clasped loosely behind his back, his head bent slightly towards her.
“I am glad to find you well,” he said at last, his voice low and even, though something in it betrayed the depth of the words. “These past days… I have thought often of how near we came to another outcome entirely.”
Elizabeth kept her gaze on the path ahead, her heart tightening. “I have thought of it as well,” she admitted. “And I cannot thank you enough—for everything you did. I am certain I owe my life to your intervention.”
He shook his head. “You owe me nothing. The thought of harm coming to you was…” His voice faltered briefly, the slightest break in his self-command. “Unbearable.”
They turned down a narrower path between tall yew hedges, where the air felt stiller, more private. Here the grass was soft underfoot, muffling their steps. The pale sun filtered through the hedge gaps in shifting patterns.
Elizabeth glanced at him, her voice quieter now. “I confess I have scarcely had a quiet moment since that night. So many callers, so many questions. I long for peace again. ”
“You have borne it with admirable grace,” he said. Then, after a pause, “But I am selfishly glad of an opportunity to see you alone.”
Her heart gave a small, traitorous leap. “As am I.”
They reached the farthest point of the path, where the hedge curved inward to form a small, sheltered alcove, a place where a stone bench sat beneath a great yew whose branches had grown wide and thick over decades. Here, they were entirely hidden from the house and the lane.
Darcy stopped, turning towards her. His gaze was fixed on hers with an intensity that held her rooted to the spot.
“Elizabeth,” he began, and there was a quiet force in the way he spoke her name.
“When I thought you lost to me, the world… stopped. In those moments, I understood with complete certainty that my life—my happiness—was bound irrevocably to yours. I told myself I would wait, that I would not speak until time had put distance between us and that danger. But I find I cannot hold my peace any longer.”
Her breath caught.
He took one deliberate step closer. “I love you. Most ardently, most entirely. I have loved you from almost the moment I first knew you, though I was too proud, too blind to see it clearly then. I would be honored beyond words if you would consent to be my wife—if you would let me spend the rest of my life devoted to your happiness and protection.”
For a moment, all she could hear was the faint rush of wind in the hedge, the soft hammering of her own heart. His eyes were steady on hers, a mix of hope and vulnerability she had never seen in him before.
“Yes,” she said softly, the single word carrying all the warmth, the certainty, the joy welling inside her. “Yes, I will.”
Something in his expression shifted—relief, wonder, and deep, unguarded affection. He stepped closer still, lifting his hands to take hers, his fingers warm and strong around her own chilled ones.
“I will never take you for granted, Elizabeth,” he said, his voice roughened with emotion. “From this day, I will guard your heart as I would my own.”
She smiled, her eyes bright. “And I yours.”
For a moment they simply stood, close enough for her to feel the warmth radiating from him against the cold air. Then, with the faintest hesitation—as though still seeking her permission—he bent his head and kissed her.
It was not hurried nor fierce, but gentle and sure, the kind of kiss that spoke of a promise rather than passion alone.
The world seemed to fall away—the cold, the damp, the weight of the past weeks—until there was only the press of his lips against hers, the steadying hold of his hands, and the quiet certainty that they belonged to one another.
When at last they parted, her breath clouded between them in the chill air, and he smiled—a real smile, unguarded, and all for her.
“Shall we walk back?” he asked quietly.
She nodded, her heart impossibly light, and they turned together towards the house, the gravel crunching softly beneath their steps.
Elizabeth hardly remembered the walk back to the house—only that Darcy’s hand brushed hers now and again as though he could not quite bring himself to let her drift more than an inch away.
The air seemed warmer, though she knew the winter wind still bit against her cheeks.
Her heart felt too full to keep pace with her thoughts.
When they reached the steps, he paused before opening the door. “Shall I speak to your father now?”
Her lips curved. “Not just yet. Let me… tell Jane first.”
He inclined his head, his smile touched with amusement. “I would expect nothing less.”
Inside, the household still bustled—voices from the drawing room, the tread of servants crossing the hall.
Elizabeth slipped away towards the upstairs rooms, her skirts swishing softly against the carpeted steps.
She found Jane in her own chamber, seated by the window with her needlework.
The pale winter light touched her hair with gold.
Elizabeth closed the door behind her and leaned against it, smiling so widely she could hardly speak.
Jane looked up at once. “Lizzy—what is it? You have been out with Mr. Darcy, and now you look…” She tilted her head, eyes narrowing with gentle curiosity. “…like you are about to burst.”
Elizabeth crossed the room and caught her sister’s hands. “He asked me to marry him.”
Jane’s work fell unheeded into her lap. “Lizzy!” she cried, springing up to embrace her. “Oh, I am so happy for you! I could not imagine a man more worthy of you—or one who loves you more dearly.”
Elizabeth laughed into her sister’s shoulder, relief and joy mingling. “I am quite certain I love him more than I knew was possible. ”
Jane drew back to study her, her own eyes bright with tears. “And to think, after all that has happened, you have found your happiness in the very man you once claimed to dislike.”
Elizabeth smiled ruefully. “I was taken with momentary madness, then. I see him now as he truly is.”
They embraced again, and for a moment Elizabeth wished they could linger there, just the two of them, letting the joy settle between them in peace. But she knew the news could not be kept secret long.
By the time they descended together to the drawing room, Darcy was already there, speaking quietly with Mr. Bennet. Elizabeth guessed from her father’s expression—a mix of surprise, pleasure, and the faintest trace of wry humour—that Darcy had asked for her hand in the proper way.
Her mother, Mrs. Bennet, was seated on the sofa with Mary and Kitty. “What is this, Mr. Bennet?” she demanded as soon as she caught sight of Darcy. “Why is Mr. Darcy looking at Lizzy so…so…” She waved her hand vaguely. “in that manner?”
Mr. Bennet gave Elizabeth a pointed look. “Perhaps you ought to tell them, my dear.”
Elizabeth stepped forward, her hands clasped lightly before her. “Mr. Darcy has done me the great honor of asking for my hand in marriage. And I… have accepted.”
For a heartbeat, the room was utterly still.
Then Mrs. Bennet clapped her hands together so sharply that Kitty jumped.
“Oh, gracious heavens! Lizzy! Married to Mr. Darcy of Pemberley! Oh, my dear girl, you will be mistress of such an estate as I have never seen! Ten thousand a year at the very least! Oh, Mr. Bennet, this is splendid—splendid, I say!”
Kitty and Lydia gasped and rushed forward to hug their sister, each begging to stand up with her. Mary inclined her head gravely and murmured her congratulations, though Elizabeth thought she saw the faintest smile at the corners of Mary’s mouth.
Mr. Bennet’s voice cut through his wife’s effusions. “I am very pleased for you, Lizzy. I trust you will be happy—and that Mr. Darcy will know the value of the treasure he has won.”
Darcy, standing straight and steady beside her, inclined his head. “I assure you, sir, I do.”
Mrs. Bennet was still half in raptures, half in disbelief. “Oh, I must write to my sister Phillips at once! And Mrs. Long! And—oh, I daresay all of Meryton will know by supper! Such a fine match! Such prospects! ”
Elizabeth caught Jane’s eye across the room, the two of them exchanging a private smile in the midst of their mother’s exclamations. For all the commotion, Elizabeth felt as though a kind of peace had settled inside her at last—warm, steady, and unshakable.
Darcy’s hand brushed against hers again, almost imperceptibly, and she thought of their walk in the garden, of the promise in his kiss. Whatever storms might come, they would meet them together.