Chapter 6

“Miss Bennet and Miss Elizabeth Bennet,” announced Bingley’s butler.

Darcy stood up, his heart in his mouth as he watched the door. He had arrived at Netherfield the day before to a hearty welcome from his friend. His plan to suggest a sojourn to Longbourn the next day had proved unnecessary when Bingley announced that Miss Bennet and her sister were already engaged to come for tea. He had been in an agony of suspense ever since.

Miss Bennet came through the door first and was visibly gratified to find Bingley present. Her manner made Darcy even more surprised that his friend had not yet proposed, but observing Miss Bingley and Mr and Mrs Hurst’s insincere greeting, he suspected they had been filling their brother’s head with doubts. He resolved to make clear his support of the match before the day was done.

Elizabeth entered next. All things considered—from his family’s certain displeasure to the very real disadvantage to Pemberley of marrying without material gain—Darcy had suffered relatively few moments of doubt on the journey hither. Every remaining qualm but one evaporated entirely upon seeing her again. She walked in laughing over her shoulder at something or someone out in the hall and did not immediately see who was present. Everything about her was delightful—her unguarded mirth, her unaffected elegance, her eminently kissable lips—and all were incontrovertible proof that coming was the soundest decision he had ever made.

All he must concern himself with now was convincing her that he was not the proud, disagreeable man she had once thought him.

He knew not what to make of her response when she eventually noticed him. That she was surprised was obvious, but what her slight blush and apparent loss for words signified he could not begin to guess. He might have called it embarrassment, but he could think of no reason why she should be uneasy at present. She curtseyed and took a seat next to her sister, all her amusement now vanished.

“We did not expect to see you in Hertfordshire again so soon, Mr Darcy,” Miss Bennet said.

Neither had he. He ignored the flurry of nerves that eddied up in his gut at the reminder of the tenuous hope that had brought him back. “My business in town was concluded quicker than I anticipated.”

“What a shame you did not bring Miss Darcy back with you,” Miss Bingley said. “I should have dearly loved to see her again.”

“She is much occupied with her masters,” he replied firmly, for he would not bring Georgiana anywhere near Meryton while George Wickham remained nearby.

Miss Bingley launched into a panegyric on his sister’s excellent pianoforte playing. He left her to it and leant closer to Elizabeth. “Might I be so bold as to enquire what happened in the hall that diverted you so?”

After a brief hesitation, she quirked her mouth wryly. “I tripped on the edge of the rug and caught the footman trying not to laugh at me for it.” She shrugged very slightly. “It made it funnier, somehow.”

He smiled, unsurprised but strangely proud that she should laugh as readily at her own folly as anyone else’s. “I am sure he appreciated your finding the humour in his lapse.”

She looked at him oddly but had no chance to reply before a footman arrived with tea, and Miss Bingley made enough of a show of serving it to preclude any further private conversation.

“Do tell us what you have been up to while you were in town, Mr Darcy,” she said as she poured him a drink he did not want. “We have been excessively dull here and long for more exciting news.”

“We have not been the least bit dull, Caroline,” Bingley said irritably. “We have been nearly every day engaged with Miss Bennet and her sisters.”

Miss Bingley looked expressively at Darcy, clearly expecting him to find this as uninteresting as she.

“I did nothing that was of any great interest, madam,” he told her. “I should far rather hear the news from Hertfordshire.”

“My cousin got engaged to Miss Charlotte Lucas,” Elizabeth said.

Darcy almost laughed aloud at the sardonic turn to her countenance. He fully comprehended—that the sensible Miss Lucas should have allied herself with such a buffoon was difficult to credit. He was nevertheless glad she had, for it was affording him the most exquisite, prolonged look of understanding with Elizabeth.

“And my aunt and uncle are come to us for Christmas,” Miss Bennet added.

“Oh—the ones from Cheapside?” Mrs Hurst asked with exaggerated glee.

Darcy had not forgotten that Elizabeth had relations in the City, but he was reconciled to it. It had been a lesser struggle than resigning himself to Mrs Bennet as a mother—and even that had been easier after his conversation with Elizabeth about Lady Catherine. He could not deny there was little to choose between the two women as potential mothers—except their daughters, and in that contest, Mrs Bennet was leagues ahead.

“I hope I have the chance to make their acquaintance,” he said to Elizabeth.

She nodded, her expression a mixture of amazement and confusion.

The conversation stumbled on a little longer before Miss Bingley tripped it up completely with a snide remark about the Bennet sisters’ unusual fondness for the militia.

“I am not sure what you mean,” Elizabeth replied. “We have not seen any of the officers since you invited them all to your ball.”

There was an awkward silence, but Darcy only vaguely noticed. His attention was on Elizabeth, who had cast him a meaningful look as she spoke, cementing her message that she had not seen Wickham. He nodded very slightly in acknowledgement, though inside, he was crowing with relief.

“Look, it is snowing!” Miss Bennet cried.

They all looked. Bingley went to the window to peer into the garden. “It is not settling. That is well. I should not like to see you forced to leave again so soon for risk of being stuck. What say we go for a stroll in the garden?”

Hurst flat out refused, and Miss Bingley did not withhold her disdain for the suggestion, but when everybody else expressed their enthusiasm, she was the first to don her bonnet and gloves. She lingered by the front door, but if she was waiting for Darcy to offer his arm, she would be disappointed: he offered it to Elizabeth.

The party wandered for long enough that Miss Bingley and her sister gave up and went back inside, stating the excuse of keeping Hurst company. Elizabeth’s nose went pink with cold, and Darcy’s lips began to feel as though they could not form words properly, but he did not suggest that they go in, for neither did she. It gave him some small but tangible cause to hope.

He began to form a desperate resolution to speak at the earliest opportunity, but when Bingley eventually managed to lose himself and Miss Bennet along another path, Elizabeth did not give him the chance. She stopped walking, let go of his arm, and turned to him with sudden distress.

“Mr Darcy, I am so very sorry for what I said to you when we were last together. I never intended to give you any pain, but you were pained, and the memory of it has plagued me. I was cruel. I should never have mentioned it in the first place, let alone be persuaded to expound upon it.”

“Your apology is not necessary. As usual, you said nothing that was not true. It only took me a while to admit the truth of it.”

“You are not offended? I expected you to be angry.”

That explained her reticence when she saw him. He shook his head. “I am the very opposite of angry. I am always light of heart when I am with you.” She gasped quietly, but he took heart when a ghost of a smile flickered about her mouth. He reached for her hand and privately rejoiced when she allowed him to hold it. “Elizabeth, I have not been able to stop thinking about you. I have become jaded, but I am not when I am in your presence. You make me feel alive in a way I had forgotten how to feel. I have never met anybody like you.”

“Nor I you.”

“Pardon?” He had not been expecting that. He watched in disbelieving exaltation as Elizabeth put her other hand atop his and fixed him with a shy smile but an unflinching gaze.

“You have surprised me at every turn. I was determined to dislike you, and had you not been really amiable, you would have hated me for it, but instead you accepted every one of my reproofs with a humility that put me to shame. Your understanding of people who I had assumed you were too proud to notice was equally humbling. Your kindness to me when I was unwell, I shall never forget. And your dancing?—”

“Pray, do not compliment my dancing, I beg you!” he interrupted with a strangled laugh. He had been revelling in her praise until that moment. “It is all I have heard in London—and it served only to prove you right—I am tired of it all.”

“Very well,” she conceded fondly. “But I enjoyed that dance better than any other I have ever had. I was excessively sorry to have ruined it.”

“You did not ruin anything,” Darcy assured her. “I am only here because of you. I came to see whether I had any hope of convincing you that I was somebody you might one day learn to admire.”

He tugged very gently on her hands to see whether she would willingly come closer. She did, and he added, “The way I admire and love you.”

“You do not need to convince me that I could admire you. I already know that.”

“You do?”

She nodded. “It was a few days after you left before I realised how sorry I was you had gone, and another few before I realised I missed you. It was perhaps another week before I began to suspect why.”

Darcy wanted desperately to trust that he knew what she was implying, but he dared not presume to know her feelings again, having erred so drastically before. Taut with hope and need, he regarded her in a silent plea for her to explain.

She sighed wistfully. “As much as you claim that I have opened your eyes, you have opened mine just as well. I love my family and my home dearly, but I believe you are not alone in having grown jaded with the way things are. I did not realise it until…you.” She blushed deeply and looked away.

She looked back when Darcy let go of her hands, her obvious alarm soon replaced with interest as she peered at him curiously. He had delved a hand into his inside breast pocket, overjoyed by the unexpected opportunity Elizabeth had given him.

“I had not dared to imagine that I should be afforded such a perfect moment to give you this—and certainly not so soon—but…” He drew out a small, oblong box and opened it to show her the bracelet within, formed by a chain of small, silver-mounted jade stones. “I saw it in a jeweller’s window the day after I returned to town and tortured myself for days with the wish of presenting it to you. Once I made up my mind to come, I went back directly to purchase it.”

She breathed out slowly and ran a fingertip admiringly over the stones, then retracted her hand sharply and shook her head. “I cannot accept this.”

“You could, if you were my wife.”

She looked up at him, wide-eyed. “What?”

“I know it is soon. I meant to wait—and I will wait, as long as you desire, but I am too in love with you to pretend I feel any differently. I would marry you, Elizabeth. If you would have me.”

A slow, glorious smile spread over her face, and she nodded. “I would,” she whispered.

Darcy was not an impulsive man; he had not resolved to come until he was assured that to secure Elizabeth’s hand was to guarantee his future happiness, but nevertheless, he had not expected the power of sentiment her answer produced. There seemed no words momentous enough to express what he felt. He did not waste time searching for any. In reverent silence, he took the bracelet from the box—his heart racing when Elizabeth held out her hand for him—and fastened it about her wrist. When the clasp was closed, he kept hold of her hand and lifted it to press his lips to her fingers. Then he tugged her closer and wrapped her in his arms. Neither’s heart was jaded as they sealed their burgeoning love with a kiss.