| |
Darcy wished the ground would open up and swallow him whole. It was a feeling he was familiar with, for he was so uncomfortable in social settings he must have wished for such a thing at least a dozen times on any given year. But this evening he wished it most fervently. Idiot! He berated himself. Why had he allowed Caroline Bingley to goad him into confessing feelings he was - as yet - still only slowly coming to understand himself? And, worse, to know that the very young lady about whom he spoke had not only been present in the room but had heard every word he uttered!
He sank into his seat, glancing anxiously around the room but was gratified that nobody else seemed to notice his discomfort, nor Elizabeth’s hasty departure. Caroline looked at him with something that might have been triumph.
You see? she silently crowed. You may feel however you wish about Miss Elizabeth Bennet, but it does not mean you shall win her!
Darcy wrenched his gaze free. If there was one thing he did not need at that moment it was Caroline Bingley’s spite and wounded pride. Checking once more that each of his companions was engaged in their own conversations, or in Mary’s case, bent once more over her book, he took a steadying breath before stepping lightly into the corridor.
He saw Elizabeth straight away, the curve of her shoulders, her body angled away from the door, from him.
“Is something the matter, Miss Bennet?” he asked, taking a step closer to her. She flinched at the sound of his question but did not turn around. Shaking his head, Darcy tried again.
“Elizabeth.”
His use of her Christian name in place of the formal Miss Bennet seemed to do what his first question could not, and she turned back around to face him. Her features were unchanged, and yet entirely different. Her face was radiant – there was no other word to describe it, and when she smiled, though it was tentative, he could do nothing but smile back.
“Did you mean what you said to Miss Bingley?” she asked, her voice little more than a whisper.
Darcy frowned, casting his mind back over their conversation. His heart sank. She could not mean Caroline’s accusations about Jane, surely? She could not think that he still stood opposed to the match when he had done all in his power to reunite the pair, to undo the damage his interference had already caused?
“I want my friend to be happy,” he replied, cagily. “I am not as opposed to your family as Miss Bingley -”
Lizzy let out a delighted laugh, and Darcy held his breath, certain that, this time, she was laughing at him, but it was not meant unkindly.
“I meant what you said to Miss Bingley about me.”
Darcy’s mouth was dry, and it took him a moment to find the courage to speak again. At least, he took a breath and decided there would be no avoiding the truth. Come what may, mockery or dismissal, he must at least tell Elizabeth the truth he had only recently come to appreciate himself. He nodded.
“I meant every word of it. I tried not to care for you, but it was folly on my part. How could I have ever thought escaping to London would be to escape you when you were in my thoughts every moment we were apart?”
Elizabeth’s eyes were wide, shimmering with what might have been tears. Darcy felt a pang of fear that she regretted his confession, but when she blinked, and her smile grew, his worst anxieties disappeared. She was not sad, but happy, so very happy. Encouraged, he took a step closer to her, reaching out his hand. Wordlessly, she slipped hers into it, and he marvelled at how well they fit together.
“You must forgive me whatever errors I have made in regards to your family, and, most importantly, to you. I do not - I have not - had cause often to feel any more than passing admiration for any young lady. To not only admire, but to come to love one such as yourself was not at all what I expected to come from my winter in Hertfordshire. I can only hope that you will overlook any misunderstandings from our first acquaintance and trust me when I confess, now, that I love you, Elizabeth, with my whole heart.”
***
LIZZY, WHO VERY RARELY found herself without anything to say, was stunned into silence. She had not dared to imagine Mr Darcy could care for her. At first, the idea did not disturb her beyond wounding her pride. She swallowed a laugh as she recalled how vehemently she had dismissed him upon their first meeting. Arrogant, rude, opinionated! She had made a vow, to herself and to Jane, that she should never choose to care for such a man. It was bravado, at least in part, for it was at Netherfield, not any ball or assembly, that she had glimpsed the truth of Mr Darcy’s character, or begun to understand him a little. Still, her first opinion was not easily done away with, and his actions in separating Jane shored her up against him. Until now.
“You need not say anything,” Mr Darcy muttered, relinquishing his hold on her hand.
Lizzy realised, with a start, that a long moment had passed without comment and he clearly took her silence for rejection. She squeezed her hand around his, refusing to be let go of.
“Mr Darcy,” she murmured. “Forgive me. I am not used to being unsure of what to say!”
That was enough to provoke the smallest hint of a smile in the features she was beginning to love for the character they concealed, as much as for their own inherent beauty.
“You may laugh!” she allowed, her own voice ringing with amusement. “You speak of love as something you are unused to experiencing. I confess silence is strange for me. Yet, let me see if I can make some progress in fashioning a response, and you must forgive me my lack of eloquence.”
She wet her lips and tried hard to shuffle her racing thoughts into sense.
“We were not friends from the beginning, you and I, but I think that we are friends now. More than friends.” She swallowed. “I am not as accustomed to romance as you seem to think, but I know my heart and mind well enough to say that I saw myself in you, or rather, something in me recognised something in you that was alike. I am glad you returned to Hertfordshire. Not because you have now done what I could not, and reunited my sister with Mr Bingley, but because you came back. I missed you before I even knew that I cared for you at all. I...” She fell silent, forcing herself to speak the last words in little more than a whisper. “I love you.”
“Lizzy!”
The door behind them crashed open and Lydia barrelled through it. “Where have you got to? Mary is being beastly, and - oh!”
Mr Darcy took a step away from Elizabeth, letting go of her hand, but the movement was not quick enough. Lydia read the scene in an instant and clamped a hand over her shocked mouth.
“Are you?” She turned to look at Darcy. “Did you? Oh, my goodness! Mama! You’ll never believe it!”
“Lydia!” Lizzy lurched towards her sister, but Lydia had already danced out of reach and back into the room. She heard her declare, triumph ringing in her voice.
“I do believe Jane and Mr Bingley are not the only couple in love under this roof at present!”
Lizzy let out a low groan of embarrassment, colour flooding her cheeks. She looked up at Mr Darcy, surprised to see an amused smile tugging at his lips.
“I’m sorry,” she said. “My sister...she will draw whatever conclusions she wishes, and I am afraid that now everyone will have decided to think the same way.” She drew a shaky breath. “I am sorry.”
“I am not.” Darcy - for she could not think of him as Mr anybody, now he was her own dear love, leaned close enough to seal the matter with a kiss.
“Lizzy!” Mrs Bennet’s cry of alarm and delight was what ended the moment, as the door was flung open once more and half of their party scrambled out of it. “Is this true?”
Darcy enfolded one of Lizzy’s hands in both of his and turned to greet her family with a courage she could not help but admire.
“My dear Mrs Bennet, it is indeed true.” His eyes met Lizzy’s and he smiled. She could see her own happiness reflected in his face, and felt, at last, that this had been the very best Christmas season she could have hoped for. She was even grateful for the snow, for it had been snow that brought Mr Darcy back, snow that brought them together again.
She shivered, wishing she had not been so quick to leave behind the warmth of the parlour hearth.
“Come on,” she murmured to Darcy, tugging him into motion. “Let’s go and sit by the fire.”
“As you wish, my dear Elizabeth.”