Chapter 13

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

I t was not at all what Darcy had planned to say—he had imagined teasing her a little about that first, unplanned proposal, and then, when they were laughing together, he would ask if she would care to make a different answer. Instead, he had offered something so stilted, it could have come from his solicitor.

“Yes,” she said simply, unsmiling.

Almost, he was afraid he had not correctly heard her reply. “Did you agree? You will?” His eagerness, the utter lack of dispassion in his voice probably made him sound like a schoolboy, but disguising his emotion was beyond him.

Her sober expression changed to an impish grin. “I believe that my first answer was given to a man I understood so little, he was almost a different person. The second is for the one I have come to know since.” She placed her hands upon his cheeks. “I would be honoured to be your wife. ”

It was such an easy distance to her lips. It was so natural to take her in his arms. The feel of her, the taste of her was explosive; that day he had kissed her in the library he had been unprepared for the volatility of taking her into himself in any manner. He had found himself wild, the urge to mate almost a necessity—the lone solution, to flee. Once he had, however, he had been ashamed—of both his lack of control, and to have treated her so callously. At seven-and-twenty, he ought to know what behaviour was lover-like, and what was rude or even dangerous. He had told himself that if the opportunity came again, he would show her by every action within his power that he knew the difference.

It was maddeningly difficult, however. She inspired such magnificent passion—and, judging by her response to him, he aroused the same in her. Those responses were sweetly untutored; it was obvious that he held all the experience, and it was up to him to protect her, even from himself.

“My dearest,” he whispered, kissing up her satin-smooth jaw, her eyes closed, the lashes fanning her cheeks. “When can we be wed?”

She let out a breathy sigh. “In a few weeks, I would think. If you speak to Mr Palmer, the first banns could be called this Sunday?—”

“Impossible,” he interrupted.

She looked startled, and it was his turn to sigh. He moved to sit beside her, keeping his arm about her—he could not bear for there to be any more distance between them than necessary.

“I told you of my sister,” he said, feeling her nod.

“Her letters, of late, have been…worrisome.” The most re cent had been a litany of complaints over the regimented, uncaring, oppressive attitudes of her aunt and uncle towards her, her loneliness and unhappiness, along with her request for an increase in her pin money—which had always been more than ample. And yet, additional cash for shopping, her sole amusement, was the only one of her needs he could meet! Mrs Annesley, too, was hopeful of his immediate return.

“She is not adjusting to town life?” Elizabeth guessed.

“No. She and my aunt have been at loggerheads, and yet, I doubt her ladyship even realises that they are not…in agreement with each other. Georgiana is not proficient in speaking her thoughts, and my aunt is not proficient at listening.”

“Do your aunt and uncle realise…her recent disappointment?”

“No. Georgiana’s joint guardian—their younger son, Colonel Fitzwilliam—strongly advised against telling them. I have already told you of my aunt’s nature. The earl is very political, and his standing in the circles he inhabits means everything to him. He would not be sympathetic.”

“Surely his reputation does not mean more than his niece.”

Darcy shrugged. His uncle’s uncertain temper upon issues such as these did not bear testing.

“They only know she has been unhappy of late.”

“I am sorry for her.”

Her tone was compassionate; so few people would be. He hugged her to him, relieved when she laid her head upon his shoulder. “What I would like to do is leave for town tomorrow afternoon, that I might both procure a licence and go to the earl, to make arrangements to bring my sister home. ”

“Your relations will not like it.” She said it as if it were an understatement. She was probably right.

Again, he shrugged. “They are not her guardians. I shall tell the colonel first—I shall write to him today, in fact. He has always been a good comrade; I cannot imagine him objecting to any idea of mine for her care.”

“I meant, they will not like you marrying me.”

“I do not live to please my relations. They may like it or they may not, but if they wish to maintain our connexion, they will accept it. I shall not brook any disrespect towards you, and they will understand it quickly.”

“What will your sister think?”

“She will love you. Of this, I am certain.” He leant down and pressed a kiss upon her lips—just a soft one, not allowing himself more than the briefest of touches. But he was pleased when a certain stiffness in her body eased, and he had to keep talking so that he would not overindulge in the pleasure of her nearness.

“I must also meet with my solicitors and make arrangements for your settlement. Settlements are not the work of a moment and take time to prepare properly; I will see you well provided for, no matter the future. This, I promise.”

She reached up and stroked his cheek again, her touch feather-light and yet, electric; he closed his eyes to savour the bliss of it. Then, he had to kiss her again, for longer this time. “Even with all that to accomplish, I, with Georgiana, will be back to Longbourn by Tuesday, Wednesday evening at the very latest. If I am diligent, we could be married a week from Thursday. Is that acceptable?”

She did not answer immediately, a little furrow appearing in her brow. He pulled back to look at her more carefully. Most women would object to his haste, wanting parties and new wardrobes—but she was not ‘most women’. “Next Thursday is too soon?” he asked.

She shook her head a little. “Oh no, it is not that. Well, not quite that. It is…it will be such a surprise to everyone. There is no way round it, I suppose.”

He tried to imagine the response of her neighbours and found it, on the whole, nothing he wanted to witness; bearing with her mother’s overzealous jubilation would be difficult enough. However, it was likewise very possible that the small-minded amongst them—or, in other words, most of them—would exhibit a distasteful curiosity.

He was asking a great deal. Moreover, he meant to convince Bingley to go to London with him. There was a party at the Philipses’ that he no doubt wished to attend—but the boy had been putting off meetings with his solicitors in town long enough. Darcy could guess that talk at the party would be of nothing except his own forthcoming nuptials, which he did not wish for Bingley to hear, not yet. If Bingley did not go to the Philipses’, neither would his sisters—no one from Netherfield would attend. Likely, no one in town would hear of his and Elizabeth’s marriage for some time, especially if, in his haste, he did not hurry to place any announcement in The Herald . Deceit of any sort was an abhorrence, but he did not mean to forgo the announcement altogether, just delay for a few weeks. The Bingleys would then remain completely uninvolved; within a week or two, doubtless another ‘angel’ would be along to lure his friend’s heart in a different direction, and the news would not then matter. He is so very young .

“I know I am asking for so much,” he said, softly brushing Elizabeth’s cheek. “I promise, I shall make this up to you. This summer, we could take a lengthy wedding trip to anywhere you wish.”

Elizabeth’s smile was sunshine breaking through the clouds.