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Darcy had Elizabeth on his arm and reveled in the rightness of it. He longed to set her mind at ease, for he’d be a fool not to realize she’d been about to cry when he came upon her at the base of the stairs. What else could she be crying over save her ruined reputation?
She could simply be overwrought, he realized. If that was the case, asking for her hand might be highly unwelcome. It could be putting too much on her to bring up marriage after all she’d been through. Was it right for him to press such a decision on her now, when she was already in a questionable emotional state? He didn’t want to repeat his error of thinking only about what was right and correct, and not about the feelings of the other person involved in his decision.
He pondered this as they walked. As he usually did when he was uncertain, he didn’t speak. He glanced at Elizabeth, to ascertain if she was displeased with his silence, and found her studying his face. She colored slightly and looked away.
“I’m glad Wickham is gone,” she said, finally breaking the silence. “I would not be comfortable with him here.”
“He wouldn’t have killed you,” Darcy said. “He was never prone to violence, even as a child.”
“And my kidnapping wasn’t violence?” she asked sharply.
Darcy realized she’d taken his attempt to reassure her as one to excuse Wickham’s behavior. He searched for something to say to make that right, worried to misstep again.
“He must have snuffed his candle when I drew near,” she said, her voice soft. A glance revealed her eyes held a distant look, focused on nothing. “I realize now that I smelled it. I didn’t really think about it then. It’s odd what memory will do.”
“Some memories are very distinct,” he said, seeing a way to pay her a complement and distract her from thinking about Wickham. “I remember you at Rosings. It was enjoyable to see you stand up to my aunt without becoming rude. I’ve never seen anyone do that before.” He hadn’t even been able to accomplish it.
“She had no power over me,” Elizabeth said.
With a flash of insight, he realized his attempt at distraction had failed. She was still speaking of what had happened. “But Wickham did.” His voice came out flat as he worked to suppress a fresh surge of anger at Wickham. “He made you feel powerless.”
“He proved to me how helpless I am.” She let go of his arm. Darcy resisted the urge to reach out and recapture her hand. “Even though I rationally knew that almost any man could overpower me, this made it real. Even at Netherfield, where I should be safe, I wasn’t.”
He wanted to say that he could make her safe, but worried it would sound like the empty promise it would be. He could make her safer, but there was no guarantee of complete safety for any of them. Elizabeth wrapped her arms about herself as they continued to walk. Emotion creased her delicate features into lines of distress, emphasized by the pallor she’d had since returning with Wickham.
Darcy watched her from the corner of his eye. He longed to take her into his arms and kiss her unhappiness away. He realized he would do anything to make it disappear. In that moment, he knew he loved her.
All of his rationalizations about how much he owed her and how she would make a good wife meant nothing. Even his thoughts about her insignificance and her lower place in society had simply been a poor attempt to stop himself from doing what he desperately wanted to do. He wanted to propose marriage to Elizabeth Bennet. He wanted to live the rest of his days with her at his side. Not because of any logical reasons or debt of honor, but because he loved her and had from the moment they met.
He opened his mouth to speak, and closed it again, swallowing the words. For once in his life, he felt unworthy. What if she wouldn’t accept him? Why should she? Simply because her reputation was in tatters?
Elizabeth was strong. She could overcome that, and she would never want for anything, living in Netherfield with the Bingleys. He could reveal to her the extent of his worth, but he had little material security to offer her beyond what they would. He didn’t even think material security held much sway over her inclinations. At Rosings, she’d paid attention to Colonel Fitzwilliam, who had little beyond his pay. It was obvious money didn’t move her.
There had to be some way to insure her acceptance. He had a duty to protect her after what she’d done, and never had duty and inclination been so much in accord. Whatever he did, he must do it correctly.
He was glad they were accustomed to silences, because he needed time to think. If only she were the slightest bit avaricious, he would finally reveal the extent of his wealth to her. That wouldn’t fail to influence most marriage-minded young ladies. Darcy smiled, not inured to the irony of him wishing a woman wanted him for his money.
“Memory is odd,” he finally said. “I was jealous of Colonel Fitzwilliam when we were at Rosings.” How many months since then had he wasted, how many opportunities squandered, all the while telling himself Elizabeth wasn’t in his class? What a fool he was. She was above his class in the ways that matter.
“Jealous?” She asked, confusion easing some of the worry lines on her face.
“Of your ease with him.” He offered his arm again, careful not to move closer. She would have to take a step nearer him to take it. She did, to his relief. “I thought then that it didn’t matter. I told myself I was being foolish, harboring jealousy for my cousin, over a woman I’d only recently met. I assumed, errantly, that I would be free of such feelings shortly after leaving your company.”
He decided it best to leave out that he’d thought himself above her and that he’d been too worried about Georgiana to pursue marriage. He could now see those things for the paltry excuses they were. In fact, he realized he’d been cowardly, dredging up grievances to place between himself and the prospect of Elizabeth.
They kept walking, but she didn’t respond. He was glad to see a little color was coming back to her face, although it didn’t conceal the red marks which would become bruises. He looked away, feeling anger at Wickham’s threats. He pulled together his shredded discipline. He wasn’t accustomed to having to deal with so many strong emotions at one time. If only Elizabeth would respond to his thinly veiled sentiment, his anxiety could, at least, be eased.
Finally, he couldn’t withstand the silence any longer. “Georgiana and I will be leaving here as soon as she and Emily are ready to travel,” he said, endeavoring to excuse the abruptness of the question he was about to ask. “I don’t know when, or if, I shall return.”
He stopped walking, regretting that her next step drew her hand from his arm. She turned back to look up at him with wide, unfathomable eyes. He wished fervently that he could read the emotion in them, but there was nothing now but to press on. She must realize his intent, and he wouldn’t brand himself a coward.
“I hate to take advantage of your distress, but now that I can marry, I have to tell you how ardently I love and admire you. In consideration of this, I would like to marry you.”
He tried not to cringe at his own inadequacy. For some men, the words would have flowed off the tongue, rife with complements. All Darcy could do was hope she could see his sincerity, understand the passion in his heart. She still stared at him, standing too far away, her reaction unreadable.
“Please don’t feel any pressure to answer immediately, if you are uncomfortable doing so,” he said as her silence stretched on. “Your bravery and presence of mind in this recent incident have increased my admiration for you, but you should know my admiration started at Rosings and has increased daily since I came to Netherfield.”
He stopped short of blurting out her other reason for marrying him, that she wasn’t likely to get another offer after her shame was made public. Darcy wouldn’t insult her and belittle himself by speaking that desperately. Besides, she was sure to be well aware of her position.
“If I married you, my time alone with Wickham wouldn’t matter as much,” she said, revealing that her thoughts traveled along a similar line as his. “Would it bother you that I might be influenced to marry you because of that?”
“No.” It wouldn’t bother him at all, he realized, surprised to find himself so quickly brought to such a desperate state by her lack of assent. He found he couldn’t bring himself to care what might influence her to accept; only that she did.
“You might be censured for marrying someone with that in her past,” she said, wrapping her arms about herself again.
“I don’t care. No one’s censure is worth losing you,” he said, wishing she didn’t seem so withdrawn from him, standing a few steps away, her arms crossed. She wasn’t even looking at him, but down at the ground. “Don’t worry that I’m being rash. I have thought this through and compiled numerous reasons for the match.”
“My father might not be able to give you any money,” she said, as if worried that was one of his reasons.
“I am wealthier than Mr. Harvey,” he said. “I will settle some money on you. The only thing I want from your father is his consent. Please believe that I wouldn’t ask for your hand if I didn’t feel I would be able to provide for you.”
She finally looked up, her eyes serious. “Mr. Darcy, I realize you’ve committed to maintaining Georgiana’s household. I can’t begrudge it, for it was my idea. I imagine that would strain most any man’s income.”
He opened his mouth to assure her it wouldn’t strain his, but she held up a hand.
“There’s something you should know,” she said.
For the first time that day, her expression lightened. Darcy couldn’t be sure, but she seemed almost as if she might smile. A mischievous gleam lit her eyes, one he recognized from their hours of playing chess. She took a step nearer to him, and his heart increased its pace.
“What should I know?” he asked, his voice coming out lower and rougher than he’d anticipated.
“When I formulated that idea, I wasn’t thinking only of Georgiana’s happiness.”
“You were not?”
“I was also thinking about a man, a tall, rather striking fellow, and how I couldn’t bear the thought of him leaving for Ireland, or Scotland, or, heaven forbid it, Canada. Not when I can hardly bear it each time he leaves the room.”
He stared down at her, stunned. “Are you trying to say—”
“I’m trying to say, Mr. Darcy, that I don’t care if you don’t have any money. I don’t care if I ought to marry you, or if it’s the moral thing to do, or for any other points of reason on your list of appropriate considerations.” She closed the distance between them, until they stood nearly touching. “All that matters to me is the one thing you seem so reluctant to consider: my feelings.”
“What, then, are your feelings on the subject?” he asked, looking down at her. How could she stand so close, that gleam in her eyes, and expect him not to take her in his arms and kiss her? He clasped his hands firmly behind his back.
“Well, for one thing, I feel that I’d wed you in spite of your lack of wealth.”
Darcy chuckled, trying to stifle his nearly giddy response as relief and joy surged through him. It wasn’t exactly the yes he’d been hoping for, but it was a yes, or near to one.
“That is terribly funny?” she asked, tilting her head to the side in a questioning manner. He wondered if she realized it made her look even more kissable. Most likely not, which was something he would have to rectify.
“I never thought I’d see the day that a woman would tell me she would wed me even though I am poor,” he said.
“You must not think very highly of my sex then, sir.”
“I suppose I didn’t, until I met you.” He dropped his gaze to her lips, so enticingly near. “You said, for one thing,” he reminded her.
She seemed to give herself a little shake, and he was pleased to realize she was as affected by their nearness as he. “Yes, that’s right,” she said, breathing the words out into the space between them. “The other thing you must consider is that I love you, and I’ve been hoping that you would ask me to be your wife ever since you told your aunt you would never marry Miss de Bourgh.”
Darcy couldn’t restrain himself any further, not after hearing words of love on her lips. His hands still clasped behind his back, he lowered his head slowly, giving every consideration to her feelings. He knew she’d already been forced, at a man’s hands, into something she didn’t wish to do, and that the incident was still fresh upon her. The last thing he wanted was for her to feel as if she couldn’t evade him if she wished.
Evading his kiss didn’t seem to be on Elizabeth’s mind, and worrying that she might was soon the last thing on his, for reason left him the moment their lips met. Darcy didn’t know exactly when his arms wrapped around her, or hers around him. He didn’t care about the when, only that his world was suddenly complete in a way he’d never even fathomed.
