Page 20 of The Rogue’s Widow (Sweet Escapes Collection #3)
October 1813
E lizabeth closed the door behind herself as she set out after Jane and Mr Bingley. The lovers had decided upon a short walk on this autumn day, and the duty of chaperoning them fell happily to her lot. It was a far more pleasant task than that which had fallen to Mary—instructing a petulant Lydia on the pianoforte.
A few leaves crunched underfoot as Elizabeth strayed somewhat from the path taken by the couple ahead of her. The day was cool and crisp, and not unlike that day nearly a year ago, when she had peered timidly out of the door of a carriage to examine Corbett Lodge for the first time. She sighed in contentment, relishing the clean scent of winter coming and the earthy aroma of the land turning inward for slumber. And then, a second pair of footsteps joined her own. There was no unnecessary greeting, no callous touch—she simply felt, and he was there.
Fitzwilliam Darcy.
“I had hoped you might join us today,” she said.
“I did threaten to come. Did you not believe me?”
She laughed and looked him full in the face. “Of course, I did, but that does not diminish the fact that I hoped for your company.”
His mouth appeared ready to break into a smile, but he seemed to try to appear nonchalant. “Come, madam, you must be in jest. One does not hope for what one is sure of.”
“On the contrary, I find that my hope is best served when it is set upon a secure foundation. From there, it may flourish, where a hope placed in something uncertain can do little but stretch until it is broken.”
“And where is your hope, Elizabeth?”
She snapped off the stem of a tree as she passed it and idly twirled it about her fingers. “Here. Like a wild sapling cut from its native roots and then grafted into a new tree—here is my home and here are my people.”
He stopped and turned towards her, stepping close. “Do you know, Elizabeth, that mind and tongue of yours have bewitched me from the first time I met you. You see things that I do not, and you can express in a simple phrase what I have tried to describe all my life.”
Her cheeks warmed, and she looked down. “It is nothing. Merely the ramblings of a mind that no doubt wants for discipline and education.”
“No one admitted to the pleasure of hearing you speak could think anything wanting.”
She dared to meet his eyes. They were soft, now—warm and inviting her to step in, to try him and to linger. “Mr Darcy,” she whispered, “I am too often impertinent. It is ill advised of you to encourage that habit in me.”
“Yet, such is precisely my intent. I live in constant anticipation of what you will do or say next. What would you say, for example, if I asked to kiss you?”
“Nothing at all, for I suspect my lips would soon be more agreeably engaged.”
He stood, still and expectant, watching her and saying nothing.
She arched a brow. “So, are you asking?”
“I was trying to decide if I dared.”
“If you dared? Come, Mr Darcy, when have you ever failed to dare?”
“Frequently. But not this time.” He set his hand boldly at her waist and pulled her close. “May I?”
She never said yes. She never even nodded. All she could later recall was wrapping her arms round his neck, claiming him as her own. His hat was a tragic casualty of the moment, but his hair was rich between her fingers, his breath as familiar as her own, and his body the safe stronghold to which she would forever cleave in times of joy or heartache.
She pressed her lips against his chin, pushing herself away by a mere inch—enough to catch her breath. “Wait… I cannot.”
He stiffened, and for the first time in all their acquaintance, a look of uncertainty clouded his eye. “Elizabeth? What is it?”
She pulled the glove from her left hand and, with a hint of mischief in her expression, held up the plain gold band she yet wore. “I am still in mourning.”
He snatched her hand and slipped the offending jewellery from her finger, tossing it carelessly into the trees. “There. A decided improvement.”
“Mr Darcy! What sort of gentleman would discard a lady’s last token of her beloved husband?” she cried in mock outrage.
“Elizabeth—” He leaned close to her ear and whispered. “In my haste, I never asked, and I never gave you a chance to tell, but upon your marriage, you were still underage. If anyone had thought to challenge it, you were never lawfully married.”
She stared at her naked finger in startled dismay, then a smile grew into a shaking laugh. “What will Mama say?” she wondered aloud.
“I am more curious what she will say when you tell her you are engaged.”
“I am?” She set a fist on her hip and tilted her head. “To whom do you mean to marry me this time?”
“Why, myself, of course!”
“No, no, Mr Darcy, I must protest on this occasion. A proper engagement must be accompanied by a most thorough proposal and a kiss so scandalous that the prospective bride would be too ashamed to refuse.”
“That kiss was not scandalous enough? And what do you mean, ‘a most thorough proposal’? Are not the words, ‘Will you marry me?’ sufficient to the task?”
She considered. “They might be, if I had ever heard them.”
He growled beneath his breath and pulled her to himself for a kiss that left her dizzy, panting, and instinctively clinging to his neck, for her foot had somehow twined itself round his leg. “Marry me, Elizabeth.”
She huffed for breath and righted her bonnet. “I certainly cannot refuse now.”
He kissed her more softly this time, brushing her lips tenderly and stroking a wayward curl back from her face. “Then, my love, you will wish to inform your mother at once. I assume she will ask me to stay to tea, then I must send word to my solicitor right away to draw up the papers. Shall we shock the world and marry next month, or wait until your ‘mourning’ is officially complete?”
“Oh! I have no special fondness for long engagements. By all means, let us be practical, as you always are.”
He wrapped an arm around her and rested his cheek on her forehead. “No hope of that. Any thought I had for my own way is long gone. From this day forward, your pleasure is all my desire.”
She leaned into him. “That, I can accept.”
K eep reading more of Darcy and Elizabeth's romance! Pick up your copy of The Courtship of Edward Gardiner , and find out what happens when Darcy and Elizabeth meet as children! Will they share an instant connection? And will Lizzy's beloved Uncle Gardiner win the lady of his heart? Keep reading for a sneak preview of a very young Elizabeth Bennet dressing down the handsome young Master Darcy.