Chapter 28

CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

M r Darcy's demeanour at Longbourn's breakfast table, sitting across from Kitty as she expounded on what Maria had told her of ‘the magnificence of Rosings', had surprised the Bennets—and Elizabeth, just a little. He was uncomfortable in such boisterous society but his willingness to be there and involve himself with her family was based on far more than simple hunger—although his blissful expression when he saw the breakfast table certainly supported his avowal of being famished.

Elizabeth knew now that his desire to protect her was only part of his wish to marry her. He had given her the liberty to choose him as a suitor, allowed her to decide whether he could propose to her. No man of his standing, of such pride and gravity, would behave as he had, giving her the means to decide his fate, unless he truly loved her.

He loves me. The certainty of it was such that she wondered why she had not been able to fully embrace it until now. She had felt it when he held her after Mr Collins's offensive actions in the meadow. In the grave look he gave her when he last saw her in London. In the shy smile that grew larger when he saw her at Longbourn yesterday, and in the tenderness in his eyes when he assured her of her prescience in knowing what— who —he truly sought in a wife.

If he had hoped she loved him as well, Elizabeth understood her letter certainly gave him reason to believe so. Once it would have been mortifying to be so exposed; now it was past necessary, for had he not exposed his heart to her over and over?

And yet he remained vulnerable, and found ways to guard them both from injury. He requested two sets with her at the ball, cloaking his sincerity with a jest that it was his duty to protect her from unwanted partners rather than simply appealing to her that he wished her company.

It was time she made herself vulnerable. She was not formed for unhappiness nor creating it for others, and she would not spend her life deliberately courting it.

Although nothing to Jane in beauty, Elizabeth felt herself in looks for the ball. Her creamy gown, trimmed with green and yellow ribbons and lace, was simple; her hair, pulled up and threaded with a small crown of yellow flowers, spoke well of Kitty's eye for fashioning hair. She acknowledged but felt little of the compliments paid her by her sisters or neighbours or Charlotte—poor Charlotte, so worried their friendship was ended over the ridiculous actions of her stupid husband. All it took was the moment when Mr Darcy spotted her. He was standing in Netherfield's entry hall beside Miss Bingley and one of her aunts, looking stoic yet bored, when Elizabeth entered with her family. The attention went to Jane, of course, and Mrs Bennet's voice announcing her own happiness carried through to ensure all knew the family of the bride had arrived. But Mr Darcy looked only at her, his eyes dark and intent, his mouth opening as it had when she had told him of breakfast.

He came to them with alacrity, joining Bingley in greeting the Bennets warmly—although he was all solemnity with her father. Then he turned to her, looking a little dazed, she realised, and everything within her welled up in sheer joy. They were saved from their awkwardness when the sound of the musicians readying for the first set were heard. He offered his arm; she took it and they went into Netherfield's great, dazzlingly decorated ballroom.

They remained silent, a marked contrast to their previous dance together, months ago, at Netherfield. He looked at her curiously, as if wondering at her unusual silence, and perhaps wishing for her to initiate a topic, as she so often did. She smiled and said, "It is all too lovely not to simply enjoy it."

"As are you," he replied, returning her smile. She wondered if he too felt the thrumming in his hand, his waist, any spot they touched as they whirled about the floor. She regretted her next set was with Mr Bingley, who was not as handsome or compelling and chattered tirelessly about the ball, the wedding trip, the musicians, Jane's mood, Jane's beauty, Jane's happiness. She looked away and found Mr Darcy watching her, his eyebrows lifted in amusement as he danced with Jane. She gave him an arch look and wished to exchange partners with Jane.

I shall never be safe from him, nor do I wish to be.

The music had barely ended when Elizabeth knew what she must do. Stepping across the few feet between them, she tilted her head and smiled. Mr Darcy bit his lip and her heart soared.

"Sir, if you have the next dance free, I wonder if you would take a turn in the garden with me."

He looked surprised—perhaps concerned—by her application and offered her his arm. They walked towards the terrace doors.

"I have seen you watching Mr Collins and Mr Nugent. All is well, I assure you," she said quietly as they moved past others enjoying the fresh air.

His expression softened. "Is it? I am glad, but if you are to tell me to go away as you did them, I think you would not ask me to escort you out of doors, alone."

She led them, or perhaps he did, she could not tell, down the lamp-lit path towards an especially tall stand of honeysuckle hidden behind an even larger stand of shrubbery. She stopped and turned to him, gripping her skirt to keep her hands from fluttering almost as wildly as her heart.

"I have been called ridiculous and capricious—and far worse, as you know—but I am nothing but not determined when I finally come to my senses and understand my heart." Elizabeth paused, hearing his sharp inhalation. "I can only hope I am not alone in my hopes and understanding when I tell you that you are the best man I know." She faltered, needing to say more, but unable to express it when he looked at her with so rapt an expression

Mr Darcy took her trembling hand, gently pressing it in his own. His dark eyes bored into hers, making her almost lightheaded with the intensity of it. "You are not alone, my dear Elizabeth. As I said after first expressing my admiration for you, I know you have been besieged by proposals since you were a girl, and if you are not frightened by again hearing the proper words a proposal contains, I would like to offer you one more, which I hope will be your last and the one most acceptable to you."

Elizabeth blinked. She blinked again, wondering why her view of Mr Darcy was obscured by mist. Swiping at her eyes, she realised the source of the wetness and smiled weakly at him.

"You wish to marry me."

"Yes." Now he was blinking.

"I-I... Are you certain? It is my sixth proposal."

"Seventh. I understand seven to be a lucky number."

"Let us hope," she said weakly. Seven?

His expression grew more serious as he took both of her hands in his. "However, it is the first proposal in which the man making it loves and respects you and understands your worth as a woman. As I am a man who abhors failure and wishes only for your happiness, I wish it to be your last."

She nodded, and mindful of the deep blush that must be overtaking her cheeks as quickly as the elation filling her heart, she smiled. "Well, then, it shall be the last for each of us. Will you marry me, Mr Darcy? I would like to marry you. "

He kissed her hands, murmuring her name again and again. "Yes, Elizabeth. How I love you."

"And I love you," she whispered, trembling a little in her joy. "It is new to me, saying it aloud, but this love feels as if it is an old friend."

Elizabeth lay her head against his chest, and then his finger was under her chin, lifting it and peering closely at her. He leant closer, and touched his lips to her cheek, the side of her mouth, and then, ever so gently, to her lips. After a moment, he stepped back and gazed at her tenderly.

"Seven proposals, and but one kiss," she whispered, which Mr Darcy clearly took as yet another challenge to be bested. His lips fell onto hers, gently as before, before pulling away and returning again and again, each time with more tender force, until her mouth opened under his and the world seemed to open up into something Elizabeth grew quickly eager to explore.

But then, he pulled away, and breathing heavily, simply stood and beheld her. "Dear God, but you are beautiful."

He was, too. His hair was untidy, his lips soft and swollen, his dark eyes alight with what she understood was desire. Realising she must look even more dishevelled, Elizabeth shyly buried herself in his arms, listening to his racing heart, and inhaling deeply.

He smelled familiar to her, wonderfully so. Her father smelled of tobacco and peppermint, her uncle Gardiner of cinnamon. But Mr Darcy smelled of cologne, a rich mixture of balsam and sandalwood, and of some essence that must simply be his alone. Burrowing her face into his neck, she let out a happy sigh .

A moment passed before he spoke in a light if somewhat strained voice. "Are you well? Have you discovered a small bird or squirrel in my collar?"

She smiled and lifted her face to his. "I have discovered you, the man I truly wished for."

"The man who did not truly propose, but you agreed in spite of it."

Elizabeth felt laughter rumble in his chest. "You are certain of it being seven proposals?"

"The boys—Goulding and Lucas. Collins, twice. Nugent. And myself, twice. The proposal at Rosings I could not voice, and this one."

"Eight, it is eight," she said, surprising them both. "Your first proposal, made not to me but given by you to my father, to marry me should my honour be questioned. I knew nothing of it until just last week."

"Ah yes. Your father was in disbelief of my sincerity, and dismissed it entirely. I thought it irresponsible of him."

Elizabeth pulled back to search his eyes. "He thought I did not like you. I had, um, shared your comment about my lack of ‘tolerability' with others."

"Oh." His brow furrowed.

"I am sorry."

"No, no. I am guilty as well of a poorly made disclosure," he admitted. "In fomenting dislike because of our own confused feelings, I said something to Miss Bingley about your fine eyes. I fear it only deepened her animosity towards you."

She laughed, he pulled her closer, and their lips met again.